Chapter 18: Chapter IV.1: Alette Petal-Queen

Flames and smoke beat down upon the two of them. Seeking with all the fury of a berserker to choke out the twin souls that lay frozen in cold dread inside of Corin’s home, with the two unable to summon the courage necessary to stand before the phantom-rider. He laughed then, and so scornful was his jubilant snort that Daegan felt as small as a mouse at that moment. She desired naught else but for her father to hurry home, to take her into his arms and to reassure her that all would be well. At the same time that that laugh, was filled with a dark-mirth, it denied all that was good, all that was sunny and all that the gods had brought into being thousands of eons ago.

There they may have remained, as scared as mice of a tomcat were it not for the sudden bellow from just past the dark one. “BACK! GET BACK, YOU FOUL BEAST!”

The roar might well have burst forth from the lungs of a great lion, so majestic and powerful was the command. The stench of flesh burning and a shriek of pain filled the air far more than the smoke, the ash and flames did. Yet as Daegan and Cormac stared the phantom-rider’s cloak dripped with what appeared to be ale.

“Hoc dea sanctificet et confirmet ale!” Shouted Wulfnoth with such a fury, such majesty that he could well have been mistaken for a king at that moment.

“Dae!” Cormac called, in the same instant that the dark-figure turned away from them to face their rescuer. “We have to get out!”

He shook her, wherefore the smith’s daughter regained her wits, and filled with a kind of wild, hysterical rage against this man who had set her father’s home ablaze she leapt to her feet. Pushing Cormac out of her way, as he attempted to pull her away to freedom she made for the only weapon she could reach.

Removing Cosantóir from his scabbard, she heard what appeared to be a great hymn then. It was one that enchanted her ears and brought to mind the sound of the wind whistling and caressing the peaks of the Highlands Mountains of Caledonia. Of the spray of the sea, as it struck in great waves the promontory of the Lairdly-Isle, and of the greatest of Caled choruses that Cormac loved to listen to and join in on when he thought none others would notice him doing so whilst the temple was in session. This sword-song filled the whole of her being, so that Daegan knew this thing that she held within her grasp better than she had ever known aught else. This great defender, from the tip of its silver-white point down the gold-gleaming blade to the emerald-bejeweled cross-guard to the unicorn head shaped pommel was every bit as alive as she.

Wrath filled her and for the first time in many a weeks, she felt the terrible influence of the Blood-Gem fall as scales from her eyes. This was her home, sang the song, this was her father’s abode and she would defend it.

Daegan did not notice until she felt the sword make contact with the back of the hauberk of the phantom-rider her sword-arm (her right one) move.

Swift as Ziu the war-god upon his great red-steed did she move then, and swifter did the dark-figure of nightmares shout before he vanished from all mortal-sight within Glasvhail.

For a moment Daegan breathed heavily, heart beating faster than the great wind that tore through the land and more fiercely than she possibly could have struck he who had set her home aflame. Such was the exhilaration and the shock of her own deed that when she realized what it was that she had just done, she felt her head lose all semblance of thoughts.

“Dae, move!” Choked out Cormac, as he brought her attention back to the here and the now, reminding her that she could hardly breathe also, what with all the smoke that had clouded out the air within the house.

Daegan was thrown out in a daze, landing hard upon the ground her grip upon Cosantóir the White’s unicorn-pommel slackened so that it fell a short distance away in the snow. Helped up to her feet by the panting and wheezing Wulfnoth, “Are you alright?”

“A-aye,” She whimpered feeling all of a sudden as cold and small again as a moment ago, when the phantom-rider loomed above her. “What of Cormac?”

“He is still inside.” He answered only to catch her with a great yell as she sought to dive back inside, “Nay! Fool lass, what will you do? See how the entrance is already blocked by flames? Stay here!”

“But Cormac could-”

“Stay here and aid me with throwing some snow upon the entrance. There may still be a chance,” Wulfnoth commanded with another cough as he breathed in, a tad too much smoke so that his whole fat body shook a little as a drum might when struck.

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Daegan simply nodded, too afraid to resist and too grateful to give over command of the situation to him as he appeared to know what it was that he was up to. This desperate attempt though foolhardy and peculiar in the way that all such hysterical plans tended to be, yielded few results, as the flames appeared to only grow worse and hotter, as if in defiance of their best efforts.

Wulfnoth cursed, Daegan wept and the house burnt. A great cry arose though, from field to field as Glasvhail arose to the danger of fire that cut through the midnight air as a blade through innocent flesh. The alarm was raised, with the knowledge that Corin’s house was aflame; there was nary a single soul who remained in the safety of their own homes.

Countryside folks by nature, they thus had a kind of courage, a vigor all their own that came from living so closely to the savage wild. Fire could be devastating to all, they knew. Flames though, could hardly dampen their spirits or cow even the youngest of souls, or the eldest of folk. Even the most cowardly, such as Tasgall the fisherman or Drest the farm-hand were quick to answer the call for aid.

“Water! Water! Someone fetch some water!” Salmon shouted as he burst into the fields.

“I have buckets, all fetch some water!” Conn uttered, normally one of those who slept the most heavily, he had been awakened by his frightened wife and had burst forth and down the hill to lend his aid also.

Much as this might have otherwise provided hope for Daegan, it hardly moved her. Her heart in her throat, and her only prayers were not for material things, or the potential danger of the flames spreading, but with Cormac. He was trapped inside, and she was outside, she thought. What a fool she had been! So angry with him that she had never told him what she thought and felt, what it was that she had wished to tell him what she had always felt, since so long ago!

“Oh gods he shan’t die to-night! No god can be so cruel to allow such a thing!” She whimpered hating the weakness in her own voice, as Wulfnoth held her tightly, quivering with fear himself.

“Nay lass, I am certain he has made it, take heart!” He urged so fervently she almost believed him. She knew from bitter experience though, with her mother and with Murchadh that fate and life could be that cruel.

As though in defiance of the great flames that arose what appeared to her eyes to be a league above the small house and of the great torrents of water carried over and tossed unto the all-devouring flames by the local villagers a great bellow was heard.

It burst out from the door by which Daegan and Wulfnoth stood, with all the ferocity of a griffon taking flight from atop the mountains of the north, and with all the might of a war-horse. Such was the force of the leap that Cormac undertook that he barreled straight into the plump old cleric, knocking him over and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

Thrown aside if accidentally so, Daegan was fortunate in that she succeeded in maintaining her balance. Wrapped up in a cloth, that he swiftly cast aside, Cormac held against his chest a roll of cloth, with which he rolled about in the snow with. Etched onto his face was an expression of stunned relief, the moment he at last halted in this panicked motion.

“Cormac!” Daegan cried out as she threw herself against him, knocking him over and the wind from his unprepared lungs, as he blinked in surprise.

So utter and complete was her relief that she very nearly kissed him then, with the instinct multiplying a thousand-folds the moment she noticed the bundle of cloth in his arms; it was her silk-dress, given to her by Kenna.

Just behind him a dozen of the men stomped on the large fur-drape that Corin had opted to sleep under days ago, when Wulfnoth first came hither to Glasvhail. With Daegan having left it bundled up in a corner of the main-room of the house, too indolent to think to put it away.

“What has happened?” Indulf shouted loudly as he appeared from just behind Salmon.

“What difference does it make, lad? We must put this fire out!” Salmon roared as he forced a bucket into his hands, and urged him to toss its contents against the enflamed house.

For some time, the locals worked to put an end to the flames, all of them filled with shock and courage as they worked together. Wulfnoth though, wearily proclaimed that he would escort Cormac and Daegan to the house of the seamstress where the three of them would stay.

“They have undergone a great shock,” He proclaimed to all present, many of whom proceeded to eye the blue-eyed youth suspiciously or in other cases such as Ida, gazed upon him with pity.

“Trygve, go fetch some stew from home, the poor dears must be so hungry after this travesty!” She called out, ever the mother and ever the she-bear of Glasvhail, swift to pick up new cubs regardless if they were hers or not.

Trygve hurried away, to do as told his face twisted with fatigue as he dropped the bucket he had been given by Freygil.

Following after Cormac, though not before Indulf called out to her to hold up for her the sheathed sword Cosantóir to her, “Daegan you appear to have forgotten one of your father’s blades.” He gazed upon her with a shred of pity as he placed it into her arms, “Sadly it appears to be the last of his work present herein Glasvhail to have survived the flames.”

Once inside Kenna’s home, Daegan was to take up the family matriarch’s room at Cormac’s insistence, whereas Wulfnoth was to be given his own room. As to the youth himself, he was to rest in the shop itself, under a bundle of furs by the chimney, in which he lit a small fire. The last thought Daegan had ere she fell asleep bundled up in Kenna’s warm bed, was to thank heavens for Wulfnoth and Cormac’s timely actions. Her last sight being her father’s sword leaning against the wall by the said bed.