Gateway to Elvendom Read online

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  This edition published in 2017 by Burning Willow Press, LLC (USA)

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  The persons, places, and events of this novel are works of fiction. Any coincidence with individuals past or present, is merely that, coincidence.

  © Carol Browne, 2018

  © Donna Marie West, editor, 2018

  © Mayhem Designs, cover design, 2018

  © Lori Michelle, The Author’s Alley, interior formatting, 2018

  For Pat Longmuir

  She made me do it

  OTHER WORKS BY CAROL BROWNE

  The Exile of Elindel (Elwardain Chronicles I)

  Amazon US: https://tinyurl.com/ydayn6n3

  Amazon UK: https://tinyurl.com/ybhgaa3c

  Being Krystyna—A Story of Survival in WWII

  Amazon US : https://tinyurl.com/jesnssb

  Amazon UK : https://tinyurl.com/js4d2ab

  An Elf’s Lament upon Leaving & Other Tales

  Amazon US: https://tinyurl.com/y77wvpjm

  Amazon UK : https://tinyurl.com/yc6kmsvo

  Editor’s note: Carol Browne will also appear in Crossroads in the Dark IV: Ghosts with her short story, “Ghosts in the Machine” releasing December 1, 2018 from Burning Willow Press

  CHAPTER ONE

  Autumn 503 C.E.

  Godwin’s house was far too quiet, and his daughters’ beds were empty. He scrubbed his face with his hands and wiped the sleep from his eyes. No matter how many times he told his daughters to wake him before leaving the house, they rarely remembered.

  He didn’t fear for their safety—since the accident, everyone kept a careful watch on all the children of the settlement—but Godwin wanted Mildryth and Dena close by for his own sake.

  But it wasn’t his daughters’ absence that sent him hurrying out into the bright morning sun. It was the house itself, the spaces and the stillness in it that his wife had left behind. After ten years together, six months wasn’t nearly enough time to get used to being alone.

  He took comfort from the fact that his love for Rowena had never changed. Elgiva had been an unlooked-for complication in his life, and had the elf-queen stolen his heart? It was a question he preferred not to address. Elgiva was lost to him anyway and now so was Rowena; a double bereavement.

  Upon his return to Othere’s domain, he had fully intended to take his family and move elsewhere, but Lord Othere wouldn’t hear of it. His joy at seeing Godwin alive and well had prompted him to agree to any terms Godwin set down in exchange for remaining nearby—that and the gold Godwin was willing to share with him.

  And so, Othere had set aside several acres of land outside the walls of the stronghold and a fine house had been built there for Godwin and his family—their status as freemen now established—and the stronghold walls had been extended to encompass the new house and outbuildings.

  Godwin had returned an entirely different man from the one who had been abducted by Beortnoth’s men, so he kept apart from the Saxons more than he would have liked, but he had been content to stay for Rowena’s sake. She had made everything right and he could ignore those things that were no longer acceptable to him. So, for two years, they were happy together and whatever Godwin’s ambitions had been, he had put them aside and carried on with his life.

  He had never revealed his adventures in Elvendom to anyone, apart from Rowena and she, of course, was not privy to all of his secrets. All anyone knew about his time away from the settlement was that he had somehow found his way back to his own tribe and come into an inheritance. But one day he planned to tell his daughters the whole truth. Soon they would be old enough to fully understand everything and to appreciate the wisdom of keeping it to themselves.

  At least someone had to know about this wretched ability he had to talk to animals. By Frigg, it was more like a curse than a gift.

  Godwin made his way to the latrine area at the rear of the stable and while he was standing there, deep in thought, he heard a sarcastic voice and looked towards its source with a frown on his brow.

  “Charming, I must say. Out in public for all to see,” snickered Grimalkin, her long face peering at him around the corner of the building.

  “You do it indoors, I suppose,” he said.

  “Yes, master, she does,” came another, more refined equine voice and Farran appeared at Grimalkin’s side. “I have asked her to refrain, but, alas, my words have no power to move her. Mares will not be ruled. So it is that I greet each new day with rapture, for it means I can escape the rancid straw whose fumes have choked me all night long.”

  “You talk a lot and say nothing worth hearing,” said Grimalkin. “And don’t call him ‘master.’”

  Godwin walked around the side of the stable and the two horses trotted behind him. “Why aren’t you penned up?”

  “We were, master,” said Farran. “Your daughters fed and watered us there. Milady here decided to kick the fence down as soon as they were gone.”

  Godwin sighed and shook his head. “So, you’ve seen the girls, then. Where did they go?”

  “Across to the great hall, master, for reasons unknown to us.”

  “I hope they’re getting some goats,” said Grimalkin. “I like goats. Sensible beasts, they are.”

  Godwin gave her an arch look. “I doubt if they’ll be doing that.”

  “Well, they should. One thing we need round here is goats. Better than those bloody chickens. Always under my hooves, they are, making their din and filth and stink.”

  A sudden flurry of clucking from the stable would have been that and nothing more to any other man, but Godwin knew it for what it was, a string of angry expletives from the offended poultry.

  “About time you shoved ‘em in the pot,” suggested Grimalkin.

  “They’re not going in any pot!” cried Godwin, his anger and exasperation aimed not entirely at Grimalkin. “I keep them for their eggs. You know I don’t . . . I can’t . . . ” His voice cracked, leaving him not merely speechless, but also taken aback by the sudden upsurge of emotion that had caused it.

  Grimalkin nudged his shoulder with her mealy muzzle and blew hot, sour breath into his face. “I know, Brit. Perhaps that’s why the girls keep running off. Need some decent fodder now and then.”

  He glared at her. “They don’t keep running off! And I feed them well enough.”

  At that moment, a young girl’s exuberant greeting hailed Godwin from the distance and all three of them looked up to see Mildryth running towards them, smiling broadly. Her sister, Dena, followed close at her heels and both of them carried cloth-wrapped bundles.

  Mildryth almost skidded to a halt before Godwin, breathless and flushed with running and excitement. Her coppery-red hair caught the morning sunshine and shimmered in its braids. “Good morning, Father! We have gifts from Eadgyth!” She opened her bundle to reveal two large loaves of bread. “Wheat and fresh-baked!”

  “And look, a pot of honey too, from Hulda!” cried Dena, standing proud
ly beside her sister. Her bronze tresses had also been braided, but nothing about Dena could be put under any form of constraint; much of her hair had broken free of the braids and danced around her shoulders in the breeze.

  Each time Godwin looked at his daughters, he was struck by how much they resembled their mother in looks and spirit. He swallowed down a sudden surge of grief. They were joyful today. He mustn’t spoil their mood with his own melancholy.

  “And widow Elswyth says it’s her birthday and we’re to eat with her this evening,” said Mildryth. “Griddled trout and peas and onions and cream pie and blackberries and plums and walnuts and . . . ” At this point Mildryth ran out of breath, leaving Dena no choice but to complete the list of delights.

  “And barley beer and oatcakes and apple juice and games afterwards!”

  Grimalkin whinnied. “I bet widow Elswyth wants games afterwards!”

  “She does like to play dice, I know,” said Godwin, scowling in Grimalkin’s direction. “And she’s very kind to invite us to her celebration. However, I’m sure she will understand if you two go without me.”

  “But Father!” they protested in unison and their soft young faces were darkened by disappointment.

  “No, I wish to stay at home tonight. You two go and enjoy yourselves.”

  Mildryth stepped forward carefully and touched her father’s arm. “You keep too much to yourself.”

  “Don’t be sad,” said Dena.

  Godwin held out his arms to them and they put down their bundles and were willingly swept up into his embrace.

  “Sad, my dears? How could any father be sad who is blessed with two such wonderful daughters?” he said.

  “Well, we’ll leave you the bread and honey, so you’ll not go hungry while we’re away,” said Dena.

  “We . . . we miss her, too . . . ” Mildryth’s bottom lip trembled. “But . . . ”

  Godwin hugged the two girls again, tightly. “My brave girls,” he said, “it’s a poor example I’ve set you. You’re being strong for me and it should be the other way around.”

  They smiled and their eyes shone with modest pride; his face responded in spite of his sadness.

  “I’ll be too tired to go visiting later anyway, that’s all. We need fuel and that means many hours of hard work in the woods.”

  Mildryth’s hand flew to her mouth in horror. “Oh, I forgot! Cerdic said we must keep out of the woods for a while. There are more . . . more . . . more orders, Father!”

  Godwin laughed. “Marauders?”

  “Yes, marauders and outlaws, he said, and wild men! Wild men in the woods! He’s taking spearmen out tomorrow to search for them.”

  “Someone saw smoke over the woods yesterday,” added Dena.

  “But we must have fuel, my dears,” said Godwin. “It’s cold at night now and how shall we cook our food? I can’t wait for Cerdic and his old men to scour the woods.”

  “But Cerdic said it’s dangerous in the woods now,” protested Mildryth.

  “Cerdic worries too much,” said Godwin. “Now, you two have had breakfast, I suppose?”

  “Eadgyth gave us apples and oatcakes, Father,” said Dena.

  “But I expect you’re both still hungry? I thought so. Off to the house with you, then. I need to return these two animals to their pen, then I’ll collect some eggs and we can eat them with some of that fresh bread. And perhaps we’ll have some porridge, too, eh?”

  “Did she kick the fence down again, Father?” asked Dena. “Why does she do that?”

  “I don’t know, but I think this pony and I are going to have a serious falling out before much longer,” said Godwin. Grimalkin snorted and tossed her thick black mane at this. “Now off you go!”

  The girls skipped away, giggling and chattering, and love and gratitude combined to lift Godwin’s spirits, like the dawn after a long night of deepest winter.

  “You’re not going to the woods, are you, Brit?” asked Grimalkin. “Alone?”

  “Yes, after breakfast. And why not?”

  “You never used to be so brave.”

  “Master is a chief of the Gododdin,” snorted Farran. “He is elfryth, a warrior and a freeman, the son of an elven queen. How can he not be brave? And now he is a thegn too!”

  “What’s that when it’s at home?” huffed Grimalkin.

  “I am not sure,” said Farran. “I think it has something to do with Lord Othere having given him some land. Master has become a sort of lesser nobleman now.”

  “He collects titles like a cowpat collects flies,” snickered Grimalkin. “You can call a turnip the King of Mercia, but it’s still just a turnip.”

  Godwin gave her an arch look and refused to rise to the bait. He turned and made for the stable.

  “Hey,” whinnied Grimalkin. “If you’re going to the woods, I’m going with you.”

  “Of course you are,” he said, casting the words behind him as he walked away. “Who else is going to pull the cart?”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Among the quiet, old trees the sounds of an axe cleaving into wood echoed like the splintering of bones. Godwin ceased his labours for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow.

  “I’m glad I can’t understand the language of trees as well,” he said, breathing hard.

  “Takes a special gift to do that,” Grimalkin said, swishing her tail back and forth to discourage the midges. “They’re not like us. Asleep mostly. You’d need some real magic to talk to a tree.”

  Weary and hot, Godwin sat down on the fallen trunk he had chopped into manageable logs and took a long swig from the waterskin he had brought along. He had taken off his shirt and tunic and the breeze was pleasantly cool on his bare skin.

  “None for me, I suppose,” said Grimalkin.

  “You can’t be thirsty. You’ve done nothing but stand there and watch me work.”

  “And who dragged the bloody cart here? I can’t see why I had to do it, a poor, old lady like me. Cabbage hearts, there’s that idle, young layabout back home, my lord Muck. He could have pulled it. I’d be dozing in the straw by now.”

  Godwin ignored her and scanned the clearing, then the pile of logs he had cut. His arms and shoulders ached from his exertions and his axe would need to be resharpened.

  “I think that’s enough wood for one trip,” he said.

  He put his shirt on and began to fill the cart with the logs, while Grimalkin snorted and fidgeted and lashed her tail at the cloud of biting insects that swarmed in the balmy autumn sunshine.

  “No sign of Cerdic’s wild men,” he said with a laugh, but the laughter died on his lips as a great twig cracked somewhere in the wood, the sound loud as a whip and filled with the certainty of human stealth.

  “You may want to change that statement, Brit.”

  Slowly, Godwin hefted the axe and searched the surrounding trees for movement, his pulse beating in his temples. “What do you sense?” he hissed into her ear.

  “More than one,” she snorted. “Who knows how many?”

  “But they might be Othere’s men,” he said, hoping to be proved right.

  They both stood frozen into statues of fear and apprehension, waiting for the intruders to show themselves.

  “We should hoof it, Brit,” Grimalkin said. “Climb on quick, then away. They’ll not see us for the dirt flying.”

  But five of Cerdic’s rumoured wild men, as real and as fierce as they were ugly, strode from the trees. Four carried spears; the fifth had a short sword, though he was clearly more serf than freeman.

  “That’s a dirty bunch of beggars and no mistake,” snorted Grimalkin. “We’ve been ambushed by scarecrows, Brit!”

  The ragged band of men drew closer, spreading out so they could circle Godwin and the cart. They had cropped hair and pinched faces, and Godwin fancied they had run away from a master far more severe than his own, but it didn’t make him sympathetic to their situation. He gritted his teeth and tried to look menacing, the great axe in a battle-ready grip, but the sw
eat of fear was running down his spine.

  “That’s a fine cart you have there, master,” one of the men said with a snarl. “And a goodly, fat pony in the traces. We may have to take them for ourselves, seeing as how we’ve not even one horse between the lot of us.”

  “A pony and cart,” the swordsman said. “The gods have been kind to us, lads.”

  “Who are you?” demanded Godwin, his voice far too wobbly for his purpose. “What are you doing here on Lord Othere’s land?”

  “Don’t make no trouble for us, master, and we might let you go,” said the swordsman. “Just want that pony and cart, if you please.”

  “Fine clothes he’s wearing though,” another man said. He peered at Godwin. “Got any gold on you?”

  “I’m out chopping wood. Why would I have gold on me?”

  “Why, master, just a harmless question,” said the swordsman. “No need to get your dander up.” He looked Godwin up and down. “Freeman, are you?”

  Godwin nodded and his grip tightened on the shaft of the axe.

  “That’s a fine tunic you have there. Wouldn’t mind a tunic like that.”

  “Take it, then, and be gone. You’ll get nothing else.” Godwin raised the axe for emphasis, his arms trembling as if to betray him.

  “If we want something, we take it, offered or not.”

  The ragged men moved closer, their spears upraised, and Godwin knew he couldn’t fight them all.

  “You won’t take me!” whinnied Grimalkin. “You’re in for a right good kicking, by all that’s green and edible!”

  Godwin thought of his motherless children and what a fool he had been to come here alone. The men were now mere yards away.

  “Take off!” he hissed at Grimalkin. “I’ll not have you stolen by runaway slaves.”

  Grimalkin said nothing, but stood her ground, one forehoof stomping the earth. Godwin was outnumbered; he was going to be slaughtered no matter what he did, but he refused to make it easy for them. He would take as many with him as possible.

  One of the men raised his spear in readiness to attack.

  And then the spearman crumpled and fell to the ground, a knife buried halfway to the hilt in his back.