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Astray - Chapter Three

It was a lengthy journey, made even longer by their overnight stay at a country inn that had been nothing short of horrid. The Swifts had led privileged lives and yet had only the most basic expectations for their lodgings: clean sheets and beds that did not list to one side at drastic angles, a kitchen whose offerings did not provoke nausea, and fundamental courtesy from the innkeeper and his staff. Even the stables were filthy, and Farris had taken it upon himself to see to the feeding and welfare of the horses. Indeed, after their night at the Squire Thomas Inn, brother and sister both were eagerly anticipating their arrival in Blackbriar.

Evening was approaching once more as the carriage rolled through Herefordshire. Tamara yawned and stretched, the seat creaking beneath her slight form. "God, I long for clean linens and a bath that is actually hot."

"Not to worry, Miss Swift," Doctor Nichols assured her. "In comparison to our lodgings last evening, I think you'd find the least inn in Blackbriar a heavenly respite. And our Rose and Thorn has been a wayside stop for nobility for generations."

William had been nodding off, rocked into a peaceful rhythm by the motion of the carriage. At the doctor's voice, however, he perked up. "We'll both relish it, sir. I could do with a glass of ale that didn't taste like someone's left over bath water. The more I hear of Blackbriar, the more of a tragedy it seems that such a nightmare should have touched your village."

"Thank you, William," Doctor Nichols replied. Throughout the trip his eyes were often clouded by sadness, and this moment was no exception. "I am only troubled at having been away. I shudder to think what more might have happened in my absence."

Tamara leaned forward to lay a comforting hand upon the doctor's arm. "We're almost there. And then William and I will get to the root of this trouble. Whoever is behind it lacks subtlety. I don't think it's going to take very long for us to find an answer."

"I pray not," Doctor Nichols replied, and then he turned to peer out the window, brows knitted as he drifted off to a place where he might be alone with his most vexing worries.

William glanced around the interior of the carriage. "Where's Bodicea gone?"

Tamara shrugged lightly. "I haven't a clue. You know the ghosts, William. They come and go as they please. As long as they appear when there's danger about, I'm not going to begrudge them their travels. You might check the driver's seat, though. Bodicea and Farris were carrying on a bit earlier, while you slept."

Her brother's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, Bodicea and Farris?"

She smiled. Tamara was just as taken aback as William by the idea that their proper butler might share a good laugh with the ghost of a naked woman - a queen, in point of fact - and be as comfortable as he would have been serving tea.

"We're lucky to have him, Will," she said. "That's one of the first lessons we've had to learn, isn't it? Being Protectors of Albion might be our legacy, but it isn't one we can fulfill without help. Not just from the ghosts and allies like Nigel, but from good, decent people who provide us a place to come home to. I know Byron and Nelson are there to watch over Father, but I think if it weren't for Martha, I would not have been able to leave him. Even in his current state."

William nodded. "Agreed. We are fortunate."

He looked thoughtful and then he stood up to rap on the small sliding door that separated the carriage from the driver's seat. A moment later it slid back and the sound of the horses' hooves pounding the road grew louder. Though it was growing dark, Tamara caught sight of Farris glancing down through the small door at them.

"Yes, Mister Swift?"

"Stop the carriage a moment, Farris. I think I'd like to drive a while."

Tamara smiled. William had driven for part of the previous day, though Farris had remained upon the high seat with him, feeling it improper to join his employers in the greater comfort of the carriage. At least the poor man would have a break.

"You're certain, Master William?" Farris asked. "By the doctor's gauge I suspect we've only fifteen miles or so until we reach Blackbriar."

"Absolutely certain. If I hadn't slept quite so long I would have relieved you earlier. You're a butler, Farris, not a driver. We appreciate your stepping into the job, but there's no reason why the burden can't be shared. Besides, I quite like to drive a carriage."

There was such a little boy tone in her brother's voice that Tamara could not help chuckling softly. It was true, actually. Ever since he had been a small boy, William had dogged the various drivers in the family's employ to let him take the reins. It wasn't only courtesy that prompted him now. There was still a bit of the boy in him.

Doctor Nichols was shaken from his reverie by the slowing of the carriage. He turned to gaze at Tamara but then addressed himself to William.

"Must we stop?"

"It will only take a moment," William said. His gaze shifted from the doctor to his sister. "If you'd like a bit of a stretch, now's your chance."

Tamara offered the doctor an apologetic glance. "Just a moment, if you don't mind, Doctor. As we're stopping."

The man's eyes revealed his impatience but he nodded.

William stepped out of the carriage and put his hands behind his head, then bent backward far enough that his bones popped. With a satisfied sigh he strode to the carriage and vaulted himself up onto the seat beside Farris, who slid aside with what seemed genuine reluctance.

"Thank you, Farris. Relax for a bit."

"Thank you, sir."

Tamara bunched up the folds of her dress and used the single step beside the carriage to drop down to the hard ground, one hand on the door. It surprised her not at all that William neglected to offer her his hand - she had proven herself self-reliant long ago, and her older brother rarely stood on ceremony unless they were in public. As for Farris, she attributed his inattention to exhaustion. They had made their best possible speed to reach Blackbriar, and she knew the man must be quite tired. No doubt he'd had little sleep in the dreadful, filthy ruin of an inn they'd stayed at the night before.

They had stopped on a road that passed through a thick, dark wood, whose branches seemed to twine impenetrably together. Though there was just a hint of daylight left, making the sky a dark, richly textured blue, the evening was coming on quickly. The wind rustled the leaves and the night birds sang. Animals skittered in the undergrowth. Tamara felt a deep contentment. It was a beautiful evening. She took a deep breath of the night air and performed a rough approximation of the stretch that her brother had done, her hands behind her back, arms pushing outward.

The sound of hoofbeats startled her.

Tamara frowned and turned to peer ahead of them on the narrow road. Farris had lit a lantern and its light flickered and glowed, illuminating only a dozen feet or so in front of the carriage. Through the soles of her shoes she could feel the pounding of dozens of hooves upon the earth and the noise grew to a thunderous clamor.

Dr. Nichols poked his head out through the open carriage door. "What is it?" he asked.

"I don't know," Tamara replied. She looked up at William, but his gaze was locked at the road ahead, eyes narrowed in the lamplight as he tried to see the oncoming travellers. "Is there an army garrison nearby?"

"No. No, there isn't."

The air was suddenly filled with a familiar, almost musical sound as an apparition blossomed to spectral being before them. In the night, washed in lantern light, Queen Bodicea seemed more ghostly than usual, and Tamara was struck with an aching, profound sadness at the sight of her. Tamara had never thought Bodicea's nakedness made her seem vulnerable. Until now.

"William! Tamara!" Bodicea snapped, spear gripped firmly in both hands, prepared for battle. "You must get the carriage off this road." The ghost glanced toward the sound of oncoming horses. "Immediately!"

Her tone would brook no argument, and they trusted her implicitly. But as Tamara saw William look quickly around, she knew he had the same reaction as she.

"Where can we move it?" Tamara asked. "The woods are too dense."

"Translocate it if you must," Bodicea replied.

"But we've never translocated something of this size," William reminded her. "There's no way we'll be able to-"

"No way," Tamara interrupted him. "And no time."

No time at all, for the oncoming thunder of the horses' hooves had suddenly become impossibly loud. Tamara stared at the darkened road beyond the spread of the lantern's light. They should have been able to see something, some sign of the animals and their riders. But there was nothing.

Despite her power, Tamara Swift shuddered in fear, a tremor going up her spine.

"You must move!" Bodicea shouted more forcefully. "William, get down! Wild Edric leads his soldiers to the hunt!"

Tamara barely heard the words and certainly did not try to make sense of them. Doctor Nichols stood now in the open carriage door, leaning out to peer up the road. Tamara reached for him and pulled him by the hand. The old man stumbled to the single step and then to the ground and she was forced to open her arms wide to catch him. The man was speaking to her, asking questions she could not hear over the pounding of hooves.

The horses were no longer approaching.

They had arrived.

William and Farris leaped from the driver's seat and rushed to the roadside, tangling themselves in the lower branches of the wood perhaps twenty feet from Tamara. Bodicea raised her spear and thrust it out as though at nothing... and yet it found its mark. With a shrieking neigh, a horse appeared, a creature seemingly woven of moonlight, its form as gossamer as the warrior Queen's own. Upon this phantom sat a rider who was a shade of England's past, a soldier wearing a quiver of arrows and with a bow slung across his chest.

"Damn," Tamara whispered. She glanced frantically around as the sound of hoofbeats surrounded her. How many, she thought. How many are there?

"Move, Doctor!" she snapped, and she shoved the poor old man away from her so that he fell dangerously hard into the brush at the shoulder of the road.

"Tamara!" Bodicea shouted.

William called for her as well, but their voices seemed distant, as if the road upon which she stood had been transported somehow to a far off place where the moonlight had a magic all its own. And it did. For as she glanced around Tamara saw at first only the silhouettes of other riders, other soldiers armed with swords and clothed in green and brown. Though still spectral they took on greater solidity, so that she could see them now very well.

A languid sort of stupor overwhelmed her, then, and it felt as though she had abruptly slipped into a dream. Tamara began to sway with the invisible current of some etheric force. She blinked several times, trying to focus as her gaze darted from one of the soldiers to the next. Their faces were grim and unforgiving, their eyes glowing feral yellow in the strange magical haze of that road, the woods on either side darker and more impenetrable than ever. She was alone beneath the harsh glare of those yellow eyes.

Yet there was one among them whose visage was not so terrible.

The soldiers had all noticed Tamara and reined their horses in. Their galloping charge had been halted and now the phantoms began to surround her and the carriage, the moonlight passing through their translucent forms. Several of the ghosts moved aside to allow another rider to pass amongst them. He had been at the head of the charge and now he trotted his horse toward Tamara, and she felt the breath go out of her. More and more she felt as though she were dreaming, her thoughts almost incoherent. The leader of the charge rode a white horse, a horn slung around his neck and a white feather in his cap. He wore a short sword that hung from his golden belt. His hair was thick and curly, dark as the night, and his eyes were blacker than the deepest shadow.

There was something about him that was more solid than the others but it took Tamara a moment to comprehend that his flesh was not transparent. He had been just as invisible as the others before, but now that they had materialized, he did not seem like a specter at all.

Once more her eyelids fluttered and then he spoke to her and she felt as though she began to come awake. His horse was closer than she had thought and it snorted hot breath in her face. She could smell it. Which made no sense at all to her, for how could she smell a ghost?

"Good evening, lady," said the horseman, and Tamara felt as though she was cast adrift in his dark eyes. He smiled so sweetly that she had to catch her breath. "What good fortune for us to find you here upon the road. I cringe to think what might have befallen you should you have run afoul of the brigands who prey upon travellers on this road."

He nudged his horse closer to her and reached a hand down toward her. "Come along, bright-eyed lady, and I will see you safely to your destination."

Something nagged at the back of her mind, a distant echo of memory that seemed to argue with the horseman's version of events. She had not been travelling alone, had she? And her carriage was not disabled. Yet the man was so handsome and so gallant that she could not deny his good intentions. It was not safe for her to be out on the street at night alone. And as she swayed and her eyelids fluttered she felt her heart trembling as well and a weakness in her legs that seemed unrelated to her dazed state and instead directly connected to the way he gazed at her with such brazen appreciation.

Tamara reached up and took his hand. It was cool but strong and a mischievous smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He began to pull her up so that she might ride behind him on his mount. She felt strangely shy and glanced demurely away from his intense eyes, and a strange ripple of fear went through her.

But why was she afraid of this handsome, gallant man? Why was-

Ghosts. Phantoms. Thundering hooves. He was not what he seemed. How could she have-

"Lady?" he asked, voice so kind and soothing that she looked up at him again.

Tamara hesitated.

In that moment of hesitation she heard Bodicea shouting for her again, crying out her name. Tamara shook herself and the mist that had enshrouded her mind lifted. She snapped her head around in time to see Bodicea in combat with two of the ghostly soldiers. The once Queen parried a sword attack with her spear and let out a long, ululating war cry that woke Tamara further from the trance she had been in.

The grip on her arm grew painful and the handsome horseman tried to haul her up behind him. Tamara glared at him.

"Unhand me, sir," she commanded.

His eyes grew sad and for a moment she felt herself falling under the mesmerist's sway once more. When Bodicea had so abruptly appeared she had warned that Wild Edric was riding this way. Tamara realized now that this must be Edric himself, though his name was unfamiliar to her.

"I wish only to serve you, lady," he said.

But his spell upon her, the glamour he had used, had lost its power. She could hear Bodicea shouting and the clashing of weapons and so she only met his gaze with her own. "As far as it pleases you, that may be true," she allowed. "Now release me."

He did not. Instead, Edric struggled with her, trying to force her up onto the horse.

"Patiri fasma!" she snapped, and a shiver of power went through her, shooting up her arm. Her bones ached as the spell drew upon her own anger and a flash of bright golden light seared the shadows around her, erupting from her fingers.

Wild Edric cried out and released her hand and his form shimmered and dimmed, becoming just as much a phantom as his soldiers, little more than a silhouette in the darkness, a shade seen most clearly out of the corner of her eye. But quickly he began to solidify again and there was a dark determination etched upon his face as he glared at her.

What little moonlight there was and the glow from the lantern on the carriage did not seem to reach the forest on either side of the road. The branches were too thick, the trees too dark, and now that her wits had returned to her Tamara understood what had happened. Farris, Doctor Nichols and William had somehow been shut out, kept away from whatever magic was happening there on the road.

Tamara turned her back on Wild Edric even as he spurred his horse toward her. With both hands she unleashed a bolt of magical power that arced across the road and struck whatever phantasmic barrier the ghosts had been able to place there. Blue sparks danced in the air, and then the darkness withdrew so that she saw only the ordinary night. The barrier was down and she saw the three men on the other side.

William had one hand up, fingers contorted in the midst of a spell, and she knew he had been attempting to find a way in to aid her. The relief in his eyes when he saw her made Tamara smile, but then William's eyes went wide and he looked past her and she knew that Edric was upon her once more.

"Some men," she said, spinning to face him, "are annoyingly persistent."

All the kindness had gone from Wild Edric's face now, replaced by lust and frustration. He reached for her again.

Tamara raised her hands just as William reached her side. In her peripheral vision she saw that Bodicea had unseated several soldiers from their ghostly horses and was locked in vicious battle with them. The Swift siblings had always shared a bond, but it had grown even stronger in the time since they had inherited the power and responsibility of the Protectorship of Albion. Without the need for any words, they seemed able to anticipate one another's actions, especially where magic was concerned. Together, brother and sister thrust their fingers forward and a green fire exploded from their hands, engulfing Wild Edric and his white horse.

The ghost was driven backward, thrown from his mount, and the green fire seemed to cling to his spiritual form. He forced himself to rise to his feet, his horse trotting away and disappearing as though it had never been there. Parts of him faded into the moonlight and shadows, as though the night was swallowing him.

Strangely, when he glanced up at Tamara it was without any anger at all. Wild Edric offered a charming, roguish smile instead.

"Oh," he said. "I think I like this one."

Then he raised his horn to his lips and blew and the sound echoed up and down the road and off into the woods, where it sent night birds flying and nocturnal creatures scuttling into their hiding places. Wild Edric faded as though he had never been there at all, and when Tamara glanced around she saw that all of the soldiers had disappeared as well. Queen Bodicea was the only ghost who remained and she held her spear at the ready, just in case, lantern light passing right through her sculpted, naked form.

The thunder of hoofbeats came again, so loud that Tamara cringed, but a moment later she realized that the sound was receding, that Wild Edric and his men had continued on their way. It was not long before they had diminished completely, merging with the other sounds of the night.

Bodicea remained alert for any sign of the ghosts' return.

"Tam, are you all right?" William asked.

She nodded. "He had me mesmerized for a moment, but yes, I'm all right. The rest of you?" she asked, glancing around.

Farris was escorting Doctor Nichols back to the carriage. The old man was shaken but seemed unharmed. Tamara narrowed her eyes as she watched him, the lantern light making him seem even older than his years.

"So who is this Wild Edric fellow?" William asked.

Bodicea seemed at last to relax and she joined them. "A local legend," she said. "I'll explain more when you're under way again."

Tamara left Her Majesty speaking with William and hurried to the carriage. Farris assisted Doctor Nichols in climbing the single step into the vehicle and then stepped back. She paused to look at their butler a moment. Farris was pale but raised his chin to let her know that he was all right. A gentleman's gentleman he might be, but Farris was also as stalwart an ally as they'd ever had, and refreshingly lacking the sense of drama that the ghosts seemed to have acquired.

She ducked her head into the carriage. "Doctor, I wondered if I might ask you about Wild Edric. Do you think there might be a connection between–"

"We've seen him a lot round the village of late," Doctor Nichols said, eyes averted from Tamara, a terrible dread upon his features. "Edric's taken a liking to Blackbriar, it seems."

"Quite a bit of mystery surrounds him," Bodicea said as the carriage rounded a curve in the road.

William settled himself into a corner of the carriage with his arms crossed, studying the others who rode with him. The ghost queen was grim as ever, a dreadful seriousness having overtaken her now that there were enemies about. Tamara listened intently to her words but William saw that his sister's eyes shifted toward Doctor Nichols every few seconds with a dark curiosity. Those stolen glances confirmed William's own thoughts. The man was genuinely afraid for his granddaughter, for their village, but he had not been completely forthcoming. He had, for instance, not been at all surprised that they had been waylaid by Wild Edric. William suspected he had worried that they might have been daunted by the truth and if that were the case, was prepared to forgive the old fool. But not quite yet. Despite his promises he had been forced to allow Farris to continue with the driving. William wanted to be a part of this conversation. There would be no rest for any of them at the moment, it seemed.

"I've heard of him, of course," William said, drawing the gaze of all three of his companions, both the living and the dead. "But my little knowledge of him doesn't give me a clue as to what happened tonight. He led an uprising against the Normans, didn't he? Eleventh century?"

Queen Bodicea nodded gravely. "To a point, he did. And quite successfully. Edric was a wealthy landowner who gathered up some of the miners who worked for him and trained them as soldiers. He led them against the Normans, but later he made peace with William the Conqueror, even allied himself with the Normans. He was cursed for that betrayal, condemned to haunt these lands."

William listened to her, but his eyes were on Doctor Nichols.

"And you, doctor," he said. "What do you know of Wild Edric?"

The old man's gray eyebrows knitted together and he seemed almost surprised to be spoken to, as though he thought they might have forgotten his presence altogether. "Much the same as Her Ghostly Majesty," Doctor Nichols said. "Save that there is more to the tale. Edric's curse was that he and the spirits of his followers, these miners he made soldiers, are supposed to haunt the mines of Herefordshire. They live underground and legends say they tap the walls where rich lodes are, to lead miners to discover them. But there is another story, one closer to home. It claims that Wild Edric was hunting in the nearby forest one day and became lost. He wandered until he found a house with candles in the windows. Inside, he came upon a circle of women dancing together. Tall and beautiful women in silken clothes. One of them, the most beautiful of all, smiled at him, and Edric entered the house to woo her.

"The beauties attacked him with teeth and claws but Edric would not leave the house without the opportunity to see the fairest of them again. She alone did not attack him. When he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her from the house she protested only weakly, wanting to go but not wanting her sisters to know that was her desire. The moment they had left the house, it vanished."

William stared at Doctor Nichols as the carriage rocked them all back and forth with its near-hypnotic sway. Only slivers of moonlight reached inside the carriage, along with the diffuse glow from the lantern that hung in front of it. Bodicea glowed slightly in the darkened interior of the carriage. Tamara held her hands upon her lap, one over the other, but William saw that her back was rigid. The doctor certainly had all of their attention.

"Faerie sisters," Bodicea suggested, her voice low and laden with anxious warning. "You're saying Edric took a faerie bride."

Doctor Nichols nodded. "Or so the legends say. Her name was Lady Godda. She is said to have remained with Edric after he was cursed, and lives with him beneath the ground, trapped by her love for him just as he is condemned by the curse. One day, it is said, England will have need of him and he will be given a chance to redeem himself and on that day Wild Edric will ride out of the ground with Lady Godda and the miner-soldiers, and the curse will break."

"And until then, they're stuck with one another," Tamara said, her voice hoarse in the gloomy dark within the carriage.

William studied the doctor. "Or so the legends say."

Bodicea stared at the doctor. "But they aren't merely legends. Not any more than the stories about my war against the Romans."

"The question," Tamara said, "is what is Wild Edric doing running about Herefordshire with his men? Why has he been seen so often of late in Blackbriar? And perhaps more importantly, why is his wife not with him?"

The carriage began to slow. In the driver's seat, Farris could be heard to call a gentle whoa to the horses. William frowned and glanced out the window, just as his travelling companions did. They had long since left the forest behind and now the moonlight illuminated the village around them, the shops and dwellings and the Inn that was set off to their right, lamplight in the windows. Though the night darkened the sign in front of it, William knew this must be the Rose and Thorn, the Inn where Doctor Nichols had arranged for their lodgings while they were here.

"Bodicea, perhaps you ought not to be noticeable when we enter the Inn," Tamara began. "Perhaps it might be wise for you to search the local hauntings, seek out other spirits. If there are supernatural creatures in or near the village, it's likely they would have some idea what sort of power is at work here."

"Of course," the ghost replied. "I shall return as soon as I've found some word." Her spirit flesh began to shimmer before she simply disappeared with a sound like a bow lightly dragged across a violin.

Farris opened the door for them and William was the first out. He offered his hand first to Tamara and at last to Doctor Nichols. The butler assured them he would speak with the innkeeper and see to their baggage and the stabling of the horses. William was grateful and wanted to help him, but they had arrived now, and there were other things to attend to.

Doctor Nichols led them into the Rose and Thorn and William felt immediately better upon entering the place. There was a fire in the hearth and though it was not precisely cold outside, still the night had been damp and unfriendly. He glanced at Tamara and saw his sister breathe a sigh of relief.

"This way, my friends," the doctor said, and he led them through the small foyer of the Inn, decorated with intricately woven tapestries and filled with the smell of wood and fresh cut flowers. There was a long desk upon which a bell rested. The doctor rang the bell and its chime seemed far too brash in the quiet foyer. In response a squat woman in an apron appeared from a back room. She was in her forties and her face was weathered, but she still might have been pretty were it not for the anguish in her eyes.

When she saw Doctor Nichols, however, she brightened immediately.

"Oh, doctor," she said. "Thank the Lord you're back."

"Hello, Mrs. Gilroy," the old man said kindly. "Yes, I've returned, and these are the young people I spoke to you about. Miss Tamara Swift, and her brother, Master William Swift."

Mrs. Gilroy lowered her gaze and nodded in a gesture of deep respect. When she looked up at them again William was made profoundly uncomfortable by the intensity of her gaze.

"Thank you both for coming," the woman said, lower lip quivering, coming around the desk to greet them as though she were a forgotten aunt who never thought she would connect with her family again. Mrs. Gilroy touched Tamara's wrist but when she grasped William's hand she squeezed. "You've no idea what it means to us, to have you here. You really don't." Her eyes were pleading. "Do you think you can help my Betsy?"

William offered a polite smile. "We'll do our best, madam," he said, though he had no idea who Betsy was.

"Betsy's your daughter, then?" Tamara asked. "One of the girls... is it seven, all told? One of the girls with the..."

Mrs. Gilroy looked stricken as she whispered to them. "With the changeling baby, yes. We're all supposed to pretend it's little Arthur, aren't we? But I can't pretend. I swear I can't. Not when-"

A wail of misery cut off her words, the cry of a baby.

William, Tamara, Doctor Nichols and Mrs. Gilroy all turned to see a pretty blond girl of perhaps eighteen standing outlined in the doorway through which the Innkeeper of the Rose and Thorn had just entered the foyer. The girl was short and there was something about the eyes, a resemblance that confirmed that she must be Betsy, and Mrs. Gilroy therefore her mother.

"Not another word, Mum. Not another word," the girl said, her voice barely a grunt through gritted teeth.

But it was not the girl William was focused on, not the girl to whom he found his gaze drawn. Rather it was the squalling babe in her arms, a child whose cries sounded like those of any other and whose gums were as pink and toothless as might be expected of an infant. But its skin was brown and tough as rutted leather and there were nubs upon its hairless scalp that had burst through the skin and were clearly the beginnings of horns. This hideous, ugly thing opened its jaundice-yellow eyes and it stared at William and it ceased its crying.

The baby saw him and it smiled, and then a tiny gurgle of laughter escaped its throat.

Betsy Gilroy spun on one heel with her grotesque child and left them all staring after her.

"It's terrible," Tamara whispered.

William agreed. But in the strangest way he found himself pitying not only the Innkeeper and her daughter, but that dreadful infant as well.