Chapter Four
The Tower
Aveta tried to go about her day as she usually would, though her ears pricked at every noise outside the cottage. She rolled her newest dress in a blanket and packed a basket with food and a skin of wine. Despite Alaunus’ assurances that his father would approve of the marriage when he learned of the child she carried, she was not about to hang her hopes on the belief that the chieftain would willingly marry them. If that were the case, they would need to do as Alaunus suggested the night before and walk to the next village to be married by the leader there.
She felt as though she were waiting for an eternity as the early morning hours stretched into afternoon. She spent time in her garden, preparing the plants for her time away. They had not discussed where they would live, but Aveta hoped that Alaunus would agree to reside in her cottage for a while, at least until the baby was born.
As the hours passed, the afternoon fading into early evening, her excitement and joy waned. The sun sank lower and lower into the sky until the meadow was shrouded in twilight.
Yet Alaunus did not come.
Finally, as the moon rose, Aveta reached out, using the link between them to feel if he was near. Just as he had been able to sense her distress the day before, she hoped she would feel if he was upset or in pain.
There was nothing. She could feel him breathing and sense his heartbeat, but divined nothing of his emotions. There were only two possibilities; he was detained or he did not intend to return.
Either way, she could not know what had happened until she spoke to him. Aveta did not want to assume the worst. She could not believe that Alaunus would be so fickle in his intentions. Though she desperately wanted to walk to the village and speak to him, she decided to wait until the next day. If he were still arguing with his father over breaking his betrothal with Rhiannon, Aveta’s arrival could very well worsen the situation.
Her heart heavy, Aveta prepared for bed. She wished that Alaunus were with her now, the warmth and weight of his body as comfort during the chilly autumn night. Wistful, she almost wished she had not insisted that he return to the village the night before.
Now that they were to be married, she was ready for the lonely nights to come to an end and to wake up to the face of her beloved each morning. Tomorrow, she would go into the village and find out why Alaunus had not arrived at dusk as he promised.
Aveta woke with a start. Unsure of what roused her, she sat up and listened to the night.
There. The sound of running feet. Someone was sprinting toward her door.
Hope filled her heart. Perhaps Alaunus had come for her after all. Quickly, she climbed out of her bed, not bothering to throw a blanket over her nightdress as she opened the door.
Although she recognized him, Alaunus was not the person coming down her path. It was a young boy, a servant in Alaunus’ household.
“You must come quickly,” he panted. “Master Alaunus is ill. Gravely so.”
Without hesitation, Aveta turned and snatched up her dress and cloak. She put them on over her nightgown. Once her shoes were on her feet, she picked up the basket that she used to carry her herbs and potions.
“What is his affliction?” she asked the servant boy.
His thin chest still heaving, the boy shook his head. “I am not sure. He will not wake up and his skin is pale and cold. His lips are blue though he is breathing. The village healer has tried for hours to revive him, but has been unable.” The servant swallowed hard. “He believes that there may be a curse involved.”
Focusing on the possible causes for Alaunus’ illness, Aveta chose pouches of dried herbs and small jars of tinctures. With careful hands, she gathered a small wooden box. This was old magic, rare, powerful, and not to be trifled with. She rarely used the mixtures her mother had taught her to make or the incantations that accompanied them, but when it came to Alaunus, she was willing to do anything to help him.
“I’m ready,” she told the boy.
Though fear gripped her, Aveta’s legs were strong and steady as she ran with the boy toward the village. She must remain outwardly calm in order to care for Alaunus. He needed her help and she would not fail him.
When they entered the house, Alaunus’ father, Bran, looked up from his study of the fire. At the expression on his face, Aveta faltered. The man appeared ravaged, aged several decades since she last glimpsed him a few weeks ago.
Caderyn hovered in the corner of the room, but did not speak. His face was pale and drawn, which told Aveta more about Alaunus’ condition than anything else.
Bran moved to stand in front of her. “Thank you for coming.” When his eyes dropped to her waist, Aveta knew that Alaunus had told his father about the child she carried. “While you may not be the woman I would have chosen for my son, he pointed out to me that it is he who must live with his wife.” Bran drew in a deep breath. “And if you can save him from whatever ails him, then I will happily see the two of you wed and be proud to call you daughter.”
Aveta nodded. While she appreciated Bran’s offer to put aside his preferences, now was not the time to discuss them. “Where is he?”
“I will take you to him,” Caderyn offered.
As Aveta followed him toward the back of the house, leaving Bran and the servant boy by the hearth, the healer stopped her a few paces from the doorway.
“I do not have the touch of the god or goddess as you do,” he began. “But there is more than an illness here.” To Aveta’s shock, he continued, “I fear he has been poisoned or cursed. As soon as I realized, I told Bran to send for you. It took some persuasion.”
She nodded. “Thank you, Caderyn.”
The healer put a hand on her arm. “Bran knows he should have sent for you immediately after Alaunus took ill, but old men are often full of pride. Including me.” He cleared his throat. “You were right about Branwen and her babe. I did not want to make the same mistake in this case. If Alaunus recovers, it will take time, but Bran will follow through on his vow to treat you as a daughter.”
The healer’s reassurances were even more of a shock than his choice to send for her as soon as he realized the problem. Though she loathed thinking the worst of people, Aveta wondered if her betrothal to Alaunus was the cause. She had no doubt that the healer intended to ingratiate himself to her now that she was to wed the next chieftain.
Aveta set her suspicions aside. There would be time to ponder them later.
“Give me a few moments alone with him,” she requested.
Again, to her surprise, the healer nodded his head in agreement.
She entered the room where Alaunus lay and instantly recognized that there was dark magic at play here. Evil tainted the very air. At first she thought that he was no longer breathing, but as she approached the bed, she saw that his chest rose and fell with slow, shallow movements. His usually tan complexion was nearly gray and the edges of his lips were tinged blue.
Her eyes welled with tears as Aveta looked upon her beloved. Without tapping into her power, she could still sense that he was moving toward the edge of life. Once he reached the precipice, his fall into death would be quick and inevitable.
There was no time for her to wallow in fear and worry. She shook herself, wiping the tears away and removing her cloak. Unless the witch who cursed him recanted the spell, it would be up to her to save him.
Rolling up the sleeves of her dress, Aveta laid her hands on Alaunus’ head. Though she tried to avoid using her gifts in front of those she cared for, Aveta was not about to waste time. Not when Alaunus was in such dire need.
Slowly, she breathed in and opened the gate in her mind that housed her talents. She directed energy down through her arms and out of her hands, letting the power move through his mind.
His forceful personality was absent, all consciousness was still and quiet. The joy and humor that he always carried with him was muted and nearly gone. It explained why she could feel his breath and heartbeat but not his thoughts when she sought him out earlier.
Her heart aching from the changes that wreaked inside Alaunus, Aveta explored his mind, searching for the cause of his decline. If she found the root, perhaps she could call on the touch of the goddess to heal it.
After several long moments, she withdrew in frustration. Though she could sense the curse that afflicted Alaunus, it did not originate in his mind.
Unwilling to give up, Aveta laid her hands on his chest. As she repeated the process of letting the energy flow through her palms, she immediately felt the curse. It twisted and hissed within his lungs. She focused on the dark magic in an effort to discover who had done this to him.
A shadow stood before her, a hand raised in front of its black face. A small pile of shimmering gray powder lay cradled in its palm. Suddenly, there was a gust of breath and the powder filled her nose and mouth.
Aveta realized that she was seeing what occurred when Alaunus was cursed. Though she tried to see the face of the witch who cast the spell, all that remained was a silhouette, a blank shadow with no face or shape.
There would be time enough to ask Alaunus who did this to him. Aveta removed her hands from his body and moved to her basket.
“Caderyn!” she called.
He appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”
“I need you to boil water for a tea. You were correct in thinking that there is dark magic at play here.”
The healer nodded, his expression grave. “Will you be able to save him?”
“I will do everything in my power. If this does not work, then I will have to seek someone stronger than I.”
Through the night, Aveta brewed cups of tea and potions derived from herbs. Each time she would coax several sips down Alaunus’ throat, then lay her hands on his chest and attempt to heal him.
It was all for naught. There was no sign of improvement in Alaunus. Her efforts to heal him using the touch of the goddess were ineffective. The curse writhed within his lungs, worming its way toward his heart.
Exhausted and damp with sweat, Aveta curled up on the bed next to Alaunus’ still form, laying her hand over his heart.
“I will find a way to save you, my love,” she whispered the promise against his shoulder. “No matter what it requires.”
If Alaunus heard her, she would never know. His eyes remained closed and his breathing seemed even lighter and slower than before.
Pressing a kiss to his lips, she rose from the bed, gathered her things, and left the house after promising Bran and Caderyn she would return shortly. She hated the look in Bran’s eyes when she explained that she needed to seek the counsel of someone more knowledgeable than herself. It mirrored the terror she felt in her own heart.
In the golden light of the dawning sun, she did not walk toward her cottage, but toward the forest that surrounded her meadow.
She might not have the power to save Alaunus, but she knew someone who would.