Alys Clare - The Way Between the Worlds

‘I thought I was safe. Six months had passed, Herleva seemed happy and content, and it appeared there was nothing in her new life to remind her of the events that happened as she was leaving the old one. I was about to slip quietly away, when something happened. Herleva’s friend had a visitor; her sister, I believe, although I did not meet her, or even see her myself, so I cannot be sure. But this young visitor was learning to be a healer. She was being taught other skills, too; I hid carefully and sat unobserved, listening as she whispered to her sister the nun, telling her of the wondrous things she was learning.

‘She left, and the nun went to seek out her friend Herleva. She told her with awe in her voice of the things her sister had just been speaking about. I knew what was going to happen. I wished I could stop it, but I could not. I moved my position slightly so that I could observe the two of them. I can see them now: Herleva’s frown, the downturned mouth, the disgruntled expression as she realized that her best friend’s visitor had left a deep and lasting impression. She was jealous.

‘The temptation, it seemed, was too much for her. “I once saw magic too,” Herleva said, in a tone of such self-importance that you would have thought she had performed the magic herself. “It was just before I left home to come here,” she went on in her light little voice. “I’d been up by the sea, saying goodbye to some of my favourite spots. I saw that a storm was brewing, and I took shelter in a hedge. I saw the storm grow and burst. I saw a fleet of ships that perished. I saw hundreds of men drown, screaming as they died. I saw the man who stood alone up on the shore and made the magic happen.”?’

He paused, running a hand over his face. Then, his expression oddly ironic, he said, ‘She might have been about to say more, to utter the words that I dreaded to hear. She didn’t. But I dared not take the risk; I had to act. She was sent out here, to tend the donkey in this field down by the water. I followed her. I said, “Cold this morning, Herleva.” I held out my flask. “Here, have a sip of this. It’s gruel, and it’s hot.”?’ He glanced at us: Rollo, Hrype, me. As if to exonerate himself, he muttered, ‘She suffered no pain.’

I sensed a mighty, silent protest form itself in Hrype and burst out of him. The impostor felt it too; he staggered back a pace or two.

Quickly, he recovered. ‘She might have told her friend of her suspicions! I couldn’t risk it. I sought out her friend — her name is Elfritha — and I said I was making a new mixture to warm and comfort the cold and hungry poor who flock to the abbey for aid, and asked her if she would be so kind as to sample it and tell me what she thought. “You have a friend, or perhaps a relative, who is a healer, I believe?” I said.

‘?“Yes, I have,” she agreed readily, blushing and smiling with pleasure at being able to help. “My sister is apprenticed to our aunt, whose reputation is widely known in the fens around our home village.”?’

I felt a pain like a knife in my guts. It was all my fault! If I’d kept my mouth shut and refrained from boasting of my latest knowledge before my sister, then she wouldn’t have told Herleva, and Herleva wouldn’t have been driven to try and do better with an even more fantastic tale of her own. Herleva would still be alive, and Elfritha would never have been poisoned. And, even worse, my beloved sister had actually bragged about me, her very words making her more suitable to test out the false Father Clement’s foul draught!

He was shaking his head. ‘I do not know why she did not die,’ he mused. ‘The draught was made in the same way as that which killed her friend and my predecessor.’ He shot a look at Hrype. ‘What do you say, cunning man? Any suggestions?’

Hrype, with the power of speech returned, sounded hoarse. ‘Elfritha is both sister and niece to healers,’ he said, and his voice was icy with hatred. ‘She has been given healing remedies since she was a child. It was your misfortune, false priest, to give your poison to someone who was used to the deadly ingredients, and so better able to withstand their impact.’

The impostor nodded, as if the explanation made sense. ‘You are probably right,’ he said.

He was concentrating intensely on Hrype. I wondered if that meant he had identified him as the main threat. I hoped so, for that would mean he was less concerned with Rollo and me. I tried once more to look at Rollo, and this time I managed it. He, too, was staring at me. He mouthed something, but the movements of his lips were so subtle that I did not pick it up. I concentrated on him, so fiercely that my head began to ache in protest. I bent all my mind to his, and then I knew what he wanted me to do.

I wasn’t sure if I could. Turning my head slightly was one thing, but what I had to do involved far more than that. But we had to do something, and quickly. This man before us, dressed in his priest’s robes, had already demonstrated that he had power, and it was highly likely that he had already sent out a summons to his storm-raising friend. We might just be able to overcome him alone, but if both faced us, we’d have no chance.

I tested myself. I tried to bend my knees, to let my shoulders slump. I managed both, after a fashion. Then I took a big breath and let my entire body go slack. I fell, in what must have looked exactly like a faint, and found myself lying on the damp ground.

He was distracted, as Rollo must have known he would be. Not for long, but it was enough. The moment his fierce, intense attention slipped away from Rollo, Rollo raised his sword and leapt on him, flattening him so that he lay on his back, and then quickly straddling him, the point of his sword to the man’s throat. Hrype was only the blink of an eye behind him, dropping to his knees beside the black-clad figure.

I thought Rollo was going to kill him. So, I believed, did Hrype, for he reached out and took hold of Rollo’s sword arm. ‘You cannot,’ he said. ‘In the eyes of the world, and, far more importantly, in the eyes of the church, this man is a priest.’

‘Those who knew the real Father Clement will testify that this man is no such thing!’ Rollo’s voice was hot with furious protest, and he wrested his arm out of Hrype’s grip.

I shut my eyes. I could not bear to see him kill.

But nothing happened.

After a moment, I opened my eyes again.

Hrype’s silver eyes were fixed on Rollo’s. Hrype said, very quietly, ‘Those who know the real Father Clement are not here. You will have been arrested, tried and hanged for priest murder before they even get here.’

‘What do you suggest, then?’ Rollo demanded harshly.

‘We bind him and take him back to the abbey,’ Hrype said, untying a length of rope belt from his waist and handing it to Rollo. ‘We make our accusations, and we send for the sheriff.’

I had never thought to hear Hrype propose anything so mundane. He does not normally have much time for the forces of law and order.

Rollo had pushed the impostor on to his side — I wondered briefly why he was making no protest — and Hrype was tying his wrists. ‘We will have to-’ Rollo began.

Then the impostor suddenly gathered himself together, lunged up at Hrype and hit him very hard on the side of his jaw. Hrype went over like a felled tree and lay very still. The impostor flung himself at me, and I felt the sharp prick of steel on my neck.

‘Yes, it’s a blade,’ he said, right in my ear. ‘I should keep very still, if I were you.’

Rollo stood before us both, his sword pointing at the false priest’s heart.

‘Kill him!’ I yelled. ‘He’s evil, he tried to poison my sister, and he doesn’t deserve to live! Kill him !’