Chapter 9: Tread Upon the Lion
When the men had started back across the mountains, a small party of explorers was sent to verify the contents of a map taken from the Vallards. Briardene, Lord Gregory saw, had been complacent long enough. Who knew what riches, what wonders this land might hold?
But in the background of Gregory's mind a question had kept turning over. The victory had been so quickly won, there was not really a chance for any one man to distinguish himself; rather, this triumph belonged to all of the men. All who had departed Briardene were returning, and only a few had received injury from returned volleys. None of these seemed to be in danger, thanks perhaps in part to powerful healing balms provided by his daughter. The question returned-- who was it who had not only warned of the Vallards's attack, but crafted the strategy that might annihilate them so easily? It was to him that Briardene owed their overwhelming victory. Such a man was worthy of honor and glory...or at least, such a one was to be reckoned with. "Were he a rag-picker, I'd knight him," he said to himself. "Were he a knight, I'd...why, I'd have my Margaret to wed him, I vow it!"
This refrain he recited more than once a day on all the happy march home, the men's spirits not dampened by rain, singing hearty songs and lays as they walked the wooded trails. "I'd have my Margaret to wed him, confer title and lands upon him. I vow I would!"
And this his refrain by the fireside in the Great Hall when he made his homecoming, and gathered all his family, his servants and knights before him to recite the tale of the battle, with scribes to write it in the Castle's History manuscript. "I'd give my Margaret to wed him, confer title and lands upon him, and crown him with spoils from the Vallards, I vow I would!"
Gregory was greatly pleased to see a full smile of deep and wistful joy, surprise, and pride spread across his daughter's face. He didn't see that her hand slipped into her pocket secretly, and that she slipped the heavy gold ring with the deer beneath the spreading tree onto her thumb, and tightly squeezed it. "You have not seen the last of me, Tamlyn," she thought. "God help me, but you will see me this very night, or I die trying. I'll not let you go without a fight."
As the crowd in the hall dispersed, Margaret sought out Gilling. She tugged his sleeve as he was going out through the door toward the servant's quarters with Elora. He stopped and bowed slightly to her, and stepped aside with her to let others pass. "Gilling, I want to thank you for giving my message to my lord my father. I wish you now to tell him, if you will, that it was I who gave the news to you; it came to me from Sir Tamlyn of Braewode-- aye, Gilling, the same one as you have heard strange tales of. But tell him not until after midnight of this night, Gilling. Will you do this thing for me?"
"Your servant, Lady Margaret. Tamlyn of Braewode...I would wish to meet such a storied man myself."
"And perhaps you shall, Gilling." She looked somewhat troubled. "Oh, pray for me, Gilling. Pray to Heaven's High King."
"Yes, little Lady," said Gilling, bowing deeply. "That I will."
"I thank you," she whispered, and turned away. Gilling stared after her in wonder.
The Church overflowed with persons, spilling out into the evening. Margaret stood beside her father, arrayed in celebratory dress of white, wearing her bridal wreath of gold over her combed-out hair and the necklace Hildreth had given her, and she openly wore the Ring on her thumb. In the excitement it went unnoticed. Margaret listened closely to the service. So much of it was for the first time illuminated to her, she had to suppress the urge to laugh with joy, to cry out, Aye!
But she was also watchful of an opportunity.
Father Raphael stood after the nuns had chanted a Psalm. He had in his hands a leaf of paper. It was the part of the service for him to preach a sermon; instead, he explained that the words of the Ninety-first Psalm which they had sung were sermon enough; and he had translated them from the Latin.
"He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High
Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.
I will call the Lord, My refuge, My Fortress, My God; I will trust in Him.
"Surely He shall deliver you from the hunter's snare,
And from peril and pestilence.
He shall cover you with His feathers,
And beneath His wings you shall take refuge;
His truth shall be your shield.
You shall not be afraid of the terror of the night,
The arrow that flies in the day,
The death that walks in darkness,
The destruction that lays waste the noon."
There was a stir of assent from the people in the church.
"A thousand may fall at your side,
And ten thousand at your hand;
But it shall not come near you.
But with your own eyes you shall look
And see the reward of the wicked.
"Because you have made the Lord, My refuge,
The Highest, your dwelling place,
No evil shall befall you,
Nor any death come into your dwelling;
For He shall give His angels charge of you,
To guard you in all your ways.
"In their arms they shall lift you up,
Lest you strike your foot against a stone.
You shall tread upon the lion and the cobra,
The wild lion and the serpent you shall trample underfoot.
Because you have set your love upon Me, therefore I will deliver you;
I will set you on high, because you have known My name.
When one calls upon Me, I will answer him;
I am with him in trouble;
I will deliver him to honor.
With long life I will satisfy him,
And show him My salvation.
"Amen."
Margaret repeated to herself, "Amen, oh my God, my ownest God, Amen." She felt that the Priest's words had been for her alone, that they were embroidered upon her heart, and she savored them. Easily she regarded the carven figure of the Lord on the cross.
Church was soon over, and the joyous crowd withdrew into the night that had fallen. Margaret looked up at the teeming stars. She turned to Rivanone.
"Auntie, there is a thing which I must do, for love of God and for one who has done us a great good. But I may not speak of it, for every moment is needful. Please pray for me!"
Rivanone looked at her, astonished. She saw the determination in Margaret's eyes where there had been uncertainty before today. Rivanone wished there were enough of her to have been more like a mother to Margaret, for she suddenly realized how since the night of the wedding, they had hardly spoken. She sighed. "Go with God, Maggie dear. You are grown, and I'll not second guess you."
Margaret kissed her Aunt and ran to the stables.
She rode into the unknown dark. She knew only that she must find what remained of the briar hedge that was not yet hewn down.
She followed the well-beaten trail of the men into the hills. Star was undaunted by the dark, and followed a trail with a fresh smell of horses and men. Margaret's senses were alive to the black trees stretching over her, leaves softly rustling, to the occasional stir of some creature in the woods or in branches overhead. Fireflies danced in a swath of grass. An owl flew silent as breath overhead.
After two or three hours, Margaret came to a place where, in the starlight, the woods opened in a wide swath. She reined in Star, and dismounted. Holding the reins, she felt the ground beneath her. She picked up a pale, limp object and fingered it. It was a dying rose.
Margaret leapt back upon Star and turned her up the hill, following the swath of hewn vegetation. Star tripped over thick rootstocks. Margaret could see starlight faintly reflected off the cut stumps. These wild roses had been centuries old, some of them. She thought of Tamlyn's description of the Elves slashing at them with their narrow swords, and marveled. She urged Star on, for time was passing.
They were climbing higher, away from the River. She wondered that few men h
ad tried to penetrate this thicket and enter the lands on the other side, but she knew it had something to do with the Elves. Brambles could be burned and land cleared.
But the land was not yet ready for us, she heard herself thinking. And now it awaits us. They are laying it open to us.
She had followed this strange road for perhaps another hour, when she came to its end. A stream reflected starlight, babbling quietly; on the other side a wall of foliage arched over her head, studded with pink thimbleberry blossoms. It appeared to have met the hedge on the other side, forming a tunnel over the stream-- a hidden passage. This was the end- the cut section ended here. She could go no further, and dismounted. She led Star away from the opening and removed the bit from her mouth, tied her to a tree. She spoke to her and petted her, trying to reassure herself as much as the dark-eyed horse; then returned to the slain hedge, and stood by a large tree in the dark, somewhat away from the murmuring stream. She peered about, pulling her cloak about her.
"Oh Heaven's King, please let them come here this night. Please let me set my eyes on him whom my heart loves. I call You Lord, My Refuge, My Fortress..." She sat in the quiet of the forest night, listening. But she did not feel alone.
Perhaps hours passed; the stars so slowly swept overhead. She started at every leaf fall or water drip; there was no danger of falling asleep. She twisted Tamlyn's ring around her finger. A lone, lost firefly wended through the trees. A nightingale sang far away; then an owl hooted, causing her heart for a moment to flutter as if the nightingale took flight in her own chest. She prayed. And then she heard something.
At first it was a low roaring. But it quickly rose, and rose, filling her ears with a deafening rumble, and a jangle as of a thousand silver bells. The stars brightened; the light burnished the steely beeches surrounding her. Horror filled her heart, Margaret couldn't breathe or move from the dark of the tree she leaned against. But when she saw what made the ringing and roaring, her heart leapt, both with dread and elation.
A black horse headed up the procession from down the hill, and on it rode sidemounted a creature who must be the Queen. Golden hair streamed back from an angel's face in which eyes seemed to blaze with their own inner light. A starred crown shone on her brow and she bore on her arm a shield, and on it the deer with the sapphire eye. Margaret immediately understood why Tamlyn had decided as he had. In the arresting face was no deceit or malice, but it was terrifying in beauty and power. Yet when she saw Galorian, her will was steeled. “You shall not be afraid of the terror of the night,” she whispered repeatedly. The black horse passed her by as if not seeing.
Then came a great company of brown horses, their harness jingling with a multitude of tiny silver bells, glittering in the radiant starlight. Such faces she had never seen, which shone with exhilaration, their heads bare, and hair streaming behind them. Each one, male and female, was taller than any living man. They seemed not to see her there, and rode by within inches. They brought a wind that blew back her hood.
Then she saw white horses approaching. She looked upon the faces, and even as she saw his face, he saw hers; when his pale horse passed, fighting the bit, without thinking she threw back her dark cloak and leapt upon him with all her strength, locking her arms round his shoulders and dragging him down from his horse. He threw away the reins and swung his leg over the horse's back and leapt away and somehow they landed standing, his arms steadying her. His horse reared over them, and circled around them, bellowing.
The Elfland Queen gave a thrilling cry, and there were horses all around them, and wild, beautiful faces, and jeweled accouterments flashing in the starlight. Margaret's heart was a drum and her throat a desert. Tamlyn spoke in her ear, "Be not afraid, my Margaret, whatever may follow; fear me not, nor let me go. I'll not harm you!" She tightened her embrace and found her voice.
"I claim Sievan Tamlyn of Braewode, and I will not release him, so help me God!" she cried with a bravery she did not feel. Horses’ hooves thundered and harness bells jangled all around; the stars blazed forth brighter than day.
Margaret was holding no longer to a man, but felt the rib cage expand, prickling with coarse hair; and the arms that held her become powerful, tawny furred limbs with claws biting into her flesh, and the blue eyes became amber in the face of a lion, which snarled and roared deafeningly, huge fangs glinting in black gums close to her face; every sinew in the furred, hot body straining against her, a pungent musky smell emanating from the fiery mane, the claws tearing open her clothing and her flesh, but at the moment when she could no longer hold him and her arms were giving way, she screamed out,
"You will tread upon the lion and the cobra, the wild lion and the serpent you will trample underfoot..."
The roaring ceased, the claws withdrew and the agony ebbed away, the body in her arms shrunk to the size of a man, but her relief was short lived, for next she had in her arms smooth scales, cool to the touch, and a serpent's face with inhuman eyes fixed on hers, chilling her very soul; she could not look away. Each scale formed into a jewel, iridescent in the brilliant cold light of the stars. She felt powerful coils encircle her torso, abdomen and legs, and begin to contract, tighter and tighter; a dry and loathsome forked tongue caressing her face and neck and the circlet on her hair; and at the moment when she knew her bones would snap and she would suffocate, her heartbeat banging in her ears and throbbing in her head, her vision swimming with the hypnotic stare of those amber eyes that whispered seductively of the sweet intoxicating oblivion of abandonment and surrender, she gasped,
"You shall not fear the death that walks in darkness."
Abruptly the air rushed into her lungs, and she sobbed and coughed with relief and weakness. But just as she caught her breath, and strengthened her grip, she felt within her arms a hard, round, unforgiving mass; she smelled an iron smell.
It began to heat, and in a moment was scalding, and continued to heat until Margaret turned away her face as far as she could and heard the sickening hiss of her own flesh searing, could smell her burning hair and could see through her clenched eyes the white-hot glow of the metal, and her brain was white with pain, and she was screaming with torment, and could only sob "It shall not come near you...it shall not come near you..."
Then all was dark, and quiet.