Chapter 12: Chapter II: The Shadow Across the Sea 1.4

“It is strange that Wulfnoth has not visited yet,” Daegan complained three weeks after the messenger had visited, full of self-righteous fury over this perceived slight. Dressed in an orange dress which reached down to her ankles, and which left her arms bare. Hammer in hand, with every complaint she made she struck the steel they were forging together, with all her might.

“Calm yourself Dae,” Grunted her father indifferent as ever, towards all, that she took to heart needlessly in his dark eyes which were the same colour as his tunic and hose.

“But, he ought to have arrived already.”

“Unless the Queen’s condition is still in an early stage,” Corin rejoined from as he hurled down a mighty blow of his hammer upon the sword for the local laird, Bádrach that they were in the midst of forging. The two were hard at work, forging a large collection of blades for the laird of Thernkirk, the two of them having finished the forging of his requested hatchets.

That day Cormac had not come to assist them, as Kenna had no intention of allowing him out of her sight. Her demands of her son had only grown, in the days since the death of Murchadh so that many wondered if the lad’s mother suspected him of the crimes of which he had been accused, regardless what Corin or Wiglaf claimed.

“Really, quite why we have to forge so many swords in so little time is beyond me.” She huffed much to her father’s exasperation.

“It is work, and winter has arrived, therefore some gratitude lass for this chance to earn some extra coin,” He snapped at her, every bit as ill-tempered then as she was.

She could not deny this fact; they had also already been paid more than six hundred bronze-thistles (coins stamped with the royal thistle), which was a veritable fortune for peasants from the village of Glasvhail. They were to be, she surmised the envy of all the locals with this great fortune within their grasp. Her father had already buried the small fortune, alongside the rest of the coin he had long since saved beneath the ground where his bed lay in his room. Though unaware of how much he had previously saved, she knew that this practice of his was one that few in Thernkirk practiced with Corin claiming that it was one he had learnt over in Gallia.

It was later that day that separated this day from the previous or succeeding one, for it was shortly after sun-down that Trygve arrived in search of Cormac. The fisherman’s apprentice having arrived from the lake early, with a set of darkened circles beneath each of his eyes so that he appeared several years his senior. Having noticed in the past weeks just how miserable he was she had savagely enjoyed this knowledge due in no small part to her resentment of his prior mockery of her, and his passion for Helga whom she still despised.

“Where is Cormac, O She-Paladin of Rothien?” Asked the son of the half-Northman, his tone arched yet wearied.

Pleased that he had addressed her with due respect, as he had failed to do so in some time, Daegan failed to as always when he spoke thus, take note of the sarcasm or sardonic wit in his voice, she therefore answered in earnest. “I know not, why?”

“That is between my brother and me, and him.” Trygve countered irritably, his words drawing a frown from her.

“In that case, I refuse to assist you.”

They may well have continued to bicker, were it not for Indulf. He came with little clamour, eyes encircled by a great dark duo of spheres, haired slightly longer and misery carved into every inch of his face as always, but there was a resoluteness to his gaze that disturbed her. For she did not yet know, what he thought of the murder of his beloved Inga, if he was of a mind that such a crime was Cormac’s fault or not.

Unsurprised to discover that his brother had accosted her, in search of the son of the local seamstress, he spake then with the most serious and confident of voices he had ever used to utter a single phrase. “Dae, I image Trygve has already informed you that, we seek Cormac. We wish to speak to him, yet as he took flight from his home, the first chance he had once again, we had hoped to find him here.”

“Oh, whatever are the two of you doing here?” Asked Corin the moment he poked his head out of the smithy.

“We seek Cormac.”

“He should be by the temple I believe, he said he wished to visit his father’s grave.”

“I’faith father, have you lost all semblance of reason?” Daegan hissed her harsh words merited her little more than a glower from her sire.

“Do not ever question me again, in that tone lass,” He scolded just as she gave chase after the brothers.

She arrived just as they did, wherefore the three almost raced without wishing to seem to, before the cemetery. A miserable place full of grass, flowers and a number of wooden grave-markers, which had carved into them the names of those who had passed on to one of the realms of the dead. There were probably nigh on two hundred graves, within the enclosed area, with the fence carved from local ash and oak-wood. The duty of digging graves was one that was a voluntary one on the part of those who were closest to the deceased. Those selected for Murchadh’s first funeral, were Corin, Wiglaf and Freydis whereas the second one after they had cremated his corpse in the forge had required the three to dig in the dark, without a single torch. That night was cold, she recalled with a shiver with neither Cormac nor her father having given any indication that they felt the icy wind that had reduced her to trembling in the dark.

They arrived just as Kenna’s son, was headed away from the cemetery in their direction, his head clouded with thoughts of his father, or so she guessed. Unaware of their presence until they stood before him, he all but leapt as he always did whenever he took notice of others when lost in his own thoughts, after of course Trygve had cleared his throat.

“There you see that he is occupied, and must not be bothered by your petty concerns Trygve,” Daegan said as always the most pompous of them all.

“Really She-Paladin, it is a wonder to behold the depths of your wisdom, of your knowledge of the humours that plague Cormac.” Replied Trygve in a voice that was filled with such sarcasm that any other person might well have felt insulted, yet the smith’s daughter as ever failed to realize she had but a moment ago been insulted.

“But of course it is,” She boasted as always.

“Cormac, may I speak with you?” Queried Indulf, playing at deafness where his brother and friend were concerned, where he would ordinarily add his own sardonic wit to teasing the unwitting lass.

Doubtlessly he had Inga weighing upon his conscience, or so Daegan divined. Cormac was of a similar mind it appeared, and was to demonstrate the same sort of reluctance that he had, all throughout the previous months since Inga’s passing, “Aye.”

“Wait Cormac!”

“I would prefer if we were to speak somewhere more private,” Indulf requested urgently.

“We could go back to the shop, if you wish as mother intends to visit with Ida.” Cormac proposed politely, leading them away from the cemetery with a profoundly mournful air to his every step.

Grumbling beneath her breath, Daegan turned to move follow them in the direction of the home of the seamstress’s son. Thereupon he opened the door for each of them, ignoring as he did the glower several passing folk directed towards him. A glare she might well have returned with considerable interest, just before the door was closed behind Trygve. Bread was handed out to all the guests, alongside wine by Daegan who took considerable delight in doing so before any of the lads had thought to request food. It was Cormac who was in the middle of asking if either of the two sons of Freygil were hungry, only to blink in surprise at her. His surprise swiftly transformed into a pleased look, one that sent a thrill straight to her stomach alongside the butterflies that always appeared the moment she saw him smile.

“Are either of you hungry? Oh it appears that Dae has our bread and wine ready,” He remarked with a start.

“But of course,” She said at once, taking a long sip of wine from her own clay-goblet after she had filled those of the three men.

“I must speak with you Cormac, regarding the matter of my dear Inga and her death,” Growled Indulf zealously, to the visible consternation of both Trygve and Daegan.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Cormac for his part though, already seated with his dark tunic and dark-green trousers he cut a fine figure, though a shorter and slighter one than either of the two seated before him (they had moved the chairs from behind the looms, to sit and eat together). He frowned in response, soon lost in his own worried thoughts as Daegan bristled a little.

“Surely you do not suspect Cormac!” She hissed at him.

“But of course Indulf does not; it is simply that he-” Trygve began in a voice meant to placate them; his hands in the air in a gesture intended to also appease.

“Quiet Trygve,” His brother interrupted him sternly.

To the surprise of Daegan, the younger of the two siblings did exactly as ordered. A reproving glance later, and she felt mildly better though the lad returned her glance with an irritated one of his own. This left her pleased with herself, as it was a rare occurrence to have annoyed Trygve.

Cormac appeared as unsure of himself, as his friends were with the ordinarily timid Indulf eyeing him warily. “Cormac, were you truly with Wiglaf that night?”

Cormac nodded at once, “Aye, he wished to speak to me.”

“What about?”

“He wished to discuss matters of my leaving with him, for the land of Carreyrn,” Cormac admitted with a touch of reluctance.

“Why Carreryn?” This time it was Daegan who piped up, bewildered and horrified by the admission that Wiglaf wished to convince him to leave Glasvhail.

“He said that I was a good lad and could be a good influence, upon several of the laird’s great-great-grandchildren.” Cormac revealed to the surprise of those who sat about him.

His words filled Daegan to her shame with considerable doubt towards him, due in no small part to how ridiculous the notion of him as a tutor to noble-children.

To her shock, if there was one person who forgot all semblance of doubt towards the youngest of the lads present in Kenna’s home, it was Indulf. A nod and a relieved smile followed, “I knew you had had naught to do with Inga’s death. You are too honourable, and charitable a soul to have wrought such a thing upon another.”

The gratitude with which Cormac responded to this praise, was apparent, “Thank you Indulf, I am grateful for your kind words.”

“You believe him?” This time it was Trygve who spoke up.

“But of course.”

“Truly?” Daegan queried.

“Certainly, especially with how my brother and I were en route to visit you days after her death, wherefore we saw your father welcome into his home Uncle Murchadh.” Indulf said with a piercing look in both their directions.

Trygve squirmed where he sat, adding to his brother’s revelation, speaking at some length with his brother’s approval and occasional nod. “We knew it was him for I had a torch on hand, and had been sent to the quay to ensure that all the boats were secured. For it was a stormy night, with the Salmon unsure if he had properly seen to it, Indulf had followed me because mother had no desire for any of us to go anywhere alone. It was there that I beheld Uncle Murchadh’s arrival onto the quay.

We did not at once recognise him, and shrunk back preferring to flee to hide yet curiosity drew us near when we saw him leave the quay for Corin’s home. As he moved we recognised him more by ear, than by sight. We were very curious; however given how he had hurried thither to the smithy rather than his own home, we decided to return home unsure if what we had seen and heard was real.”

“I’faith, I had no notion that you had borne witness to my father’s arrival into Glasvhail,” Cormac exclaimed amazed, he shook his head before he asked, “What of before? Did you doubt me prior to seeing him?”

“Nay,” Indult said at once, only to add sheepishly after he received several sceptical stares, “Mayhap for a moment, I considered the notion that you may have some sort of involvement, however I know you Cormac. You adored Inga, and could never have harmed her.”

Moved by his words, Cormac did not answer him beyond a quiet ‘thanks’, Trygve for his own part piped up with a small laugh. “Then if such is the case brother, you are a better man than I. Because I must confess to having had my doubts, given that most evidence appeared to me to point to you, as the culprit.”

“Snake!” Daegan hissed prepared to all but leap from her chair to strangle him.

“Wait Dae!” Indult called just as Cormac did, the two of them leaping to intercede in favour of the fisherman who was on his feet in alarm, at her sudden threat of violence.

Once they had calmed her, with the two of them then shoving her back into her seat, to her immense displeasure. She continued to glower for some time, at her friend who eyed her worriedly until he was prompted to continue his speech by the ever cautious Cormac.

“Do you still believe me, capable of such a crime?”

“Well,” Now Trygve eyed Daegan a little cautiously, before he commented, “I suppose such a question is ridiculous in light of what has happened yesterday, and how if you were guilty we would not still be discussing the matter of Inga’s death.”

An awkward silence followed his words.

Indulf brooded, Cormac lost himself in his thoughts once more and Daegan chewed her lower lip. It was Trygve bold as ever, who broke the silence keen to hear more of Murchadh, “May I inquire Cormac, the reason for your father’s appearance and the secrecy regarding why you had to cremate him in the forge so disgracefully?”

Now it was the turn, of the fisherman’s son to have his face darken with grief, “I am not certain, it appears that he had been swept onto the Misty-Isle, it was there that he lived for many years before he returned, deeply wounded. He mentioned that he had been enslaved for some time, to some sort of evil master.”

Neither brother answered him; instead they appeared to receive this information with startled expressions and an exchange of startled eyes. The grimace they shared between one another was one that made them appear so alike physically that none could have mistaken them for anything other than brothers.

Curious now himself, Cormac asked of Trygve, “You spoke of something that had taken place yesterday Trygve, of what did you speak?”

Reluctantly, Trygve answered him after another exchanged glance with his brother who encouraged him with his own dark eyes, “Very well though the two of you did not hear it from us. Many of our neighbours had no wish for either of you, or Corin to hear of what has transpired out of suspicion of Cormac, and certainty that either you assisted him alongside your father Daegan.”

“Just speak man!” Daegan flared up.

“Old man Graeme, the Salmon’s good friend, the woodcutter has vanished.” Trygve stated quietly, his words drawing a gasp from both of them, before they could presuppose that the woodcutter had treaded too close to Dyrkwood, as he at times did, the son of Freygil added. “He vanished from his home late the other night.”

“How is it known that this occurred the other night?” Asked Cormac staring raptly at him with burgeoning shock, for he was very friendly with old Graeme, who had always encouraged his and Daegan’s love for the old oak by the Dyrkwoods.

“Because, Úna had gone for a visit two hours before Ruaridh left to go visit him in his home, in the hopes to convince him to take his son Amlaidh, on as an apprentice. He disappeared some time between the two visits, and that is not the worst of it.” Trygve went on, “Úna claims to have seen some sort of dark figure ride about some distance to the north, and headed thither for the home of Graeme. This possible dark-rider was later seen by Ruaridh leaving the wood-cutter’s home.”

“A dark-rider? Who? Was it laird Bádrach?” Daegan queried her words drawing a shrug from Trygve.

“I do not know, though why would he resort to secrecy to slay an old wood-cutter?” This time it was Indulf who spake sceptically, “I think it was someone else.”

“Hmm,” Was all that Cormac said in response, humming to himself for a moment with a troubled expression.

“What is it?” Trygve asked.

“Aye, what do you have in mind?” Daegan questioned.

“I do not know, but it appears strange to my mind that there should be so much happening in so short a time; Inga’s death, father’s return and death, and now old Graeme’s murder. Where was he found?” Said the most contemplative of the four of them, scratching the back of his neck.

“That is another peculiarity; he was found in the doorway to his home just as Inga was,” Informed the quarter-Northman grimly, his gaze downturned.

They brooded once more, in silence. Towards the end of this long minute Daegan fidgeted impatiently. Hers had never been a particularly patient nature, one that was content with waiting for the slightest thing, not when there was some sort of action she could be in the middle of doing.

Their moment of dark musings and shadowed words were shaken up by a great blow to the door that seemed louder than any earthquake could ever have been.

It was Kenna. Loud as all the King’s great hordes of warriors and servants could have been, she took them all to task for speaking so intently so without having lit a single candle. Trygve left at once, embarrassed by her presence with Indulf swift to volunteer to take responsibility, his face withdrawn once more before he set out with his brother, not before he requested that Cormac walk with them to as he claimed ‘commiserate over Inga’s death’.

Bewildered by this suggestion, Kenna could think of no reason to object, wherefore the youths departed for the home of Freygil and Ida. The conversation turned now to their suspicions of whom this dark-rider could possibly. Daegan was of a mind that it was some sort of phantom or fairy that had appeared from within the Dyrkwoods. Trygve for his part was sceptical of this theory, and was without his own.

“It matters little to me, who did it… only that whosoever is responsible will one day answer, for the murder of my beloved Inga,” Indulf vowed to all who walked by his side, and though there was no clergyman to stand by his side to hear and observe his oath.

None questioned him, all leant their support with the first proving himself to be Cormac, “If ever you should require assistance Indulf, you have but to ask my friend, as you said Inga was as a sister to me.”

“Thank you, Cormac,” Indulf said genuinely touched, by the sincerity in his voice.

“I also swear, to assist you,” Daegan promised also just as readily, “Between Cormac and my assistance; it should be all the aid you shall necessitate.”

“I am certain he feels utterly reassured, to have the assistance of a weaver and a blacksmith’s daughter, I know that I for one am gratified that my brother may count upon your services should danger seek him out.” Trygve mocked with a small smile on his lips, certain that Daegan would not guess at the true meaning behind his words.

“Oh do be quiet you! I have had enough of your sarcasm!” Daegan snapped at him, which drew a short-lived smile from his lips before they turned downwards.

“Inga would have sought to make peace, between us,” He remarked wistfully.

“Aye,” Cormac agreed with a down-turned expression, “Where are we to look to in sorrowful times now that golden Inga has left us?”

A quiet nod followed from all of them, before Trygve added that they were also to survive without Murchadh, which abruptly tore a sad melody from the man’s lips.

“Joyous were we of the high-mounts,

High as the skies, did our spirits abound,

Chasing the wild deer, laughing went we sons of fire,

Raise a horn, and hide thy tears, for they who left for the mire,

Down away from the mounts we went hearts torn by the fog,

Why o why did we forsake the peaks for a bog?

Joyous were we, and now we lie in the lowly-southron lands.”