Page 181 of The Daughters of Avalon
“Only lords have tombstones.”
“Mayhap, though you don’t need a tombstone to be remembered; I know the names of many men who have gone from this world.”
He lifted his chin. “Like who?”
“King Arthur, for one.”
Jack frowned. “I don’t know this man.”
Well, of course he wouldn’t know a Welshman. Seren tried again. “What about your grandsire? He captained the Mora, did he not?”
The boy nodded, peering up hopefully.
Seren smiled. “You know, The Conqueror is my grandsire.”
“`Tis true, then; your papa is King Henry?”
Seren nodded, then shrugged. There was so little of her father’s presence in her upbringing, even despite that they’d spent their early years wandering his halls. Alas, Henry was but the stallion who’d sired her, and despite that England might never forget him, she had no inkling of him at all. He was but a shadow from her past. And, perhaps Elspeth knew him better, but, in Seren’s estimation, barely more than she did. Her sister, for all that she was Goddess sent, was a beautiful dreamer. She was afantast, who imagined the Empress cared about her bastard siblings, and so much as Seren would like to believe it as well, she supposed now she would never know forsure. Whatever opportunity she’d had to meet Matilda was gone, along with the Whitshed. And it was just as well; that part of their journey had meant more to Arwyn than it ever did to Seren. If the truth be known, she was glad to be seeking her true sisters instead of Matilda.
“I don’t believe in witches,” Jack said proudly, without any prompting. “My papa says people love to talk, and I should ignore them.”
Seren peered down at the boy, puzzled for an instant, only to realize that he and his papa must have been discussing them. No doubt some rabble-rouser had warned Captain Airard about harboring witches. Was that what led to his death?
Indeed, Seren suspected there was foul play, but so much as she wished to believe it must be Morwen, perhaps there was another reason for the burning. More’s the pity, one way or another, she had the sense Captain Airard would still be alive were it not for her and her sister, and Jack might not blame her, but she did blame herself, and now more than ever, she was duty-bound to do right by the boy.
“What is the second part?”
“Second part? Oh!” Troubled as she was by her glum thoughts, she had nearly forgotten what they were discussing. She pointed to the shadow of their horses lumbering before them. “Shadows,” she said. “They contain a piece of our essence, and so long as we live, our shadows follow wherever we go.”
And, though it was hardly a thing to share with an innocent boy, shadow lore was a discipline of blackmagik.
“But shadows are gone when we are gone, no?”
Seren nodded, though it wasn’t entirely true. Essentially, shadows also remained after the casting of shadowmagik. It was like sucking nectar from a fruit; all that remained afterward was naught but a rind. But with shadowmagik, so long as the essence remained tethered to its host, the flesh survivedin perpetuity. Only once severed, the body withered, and the essence was loosed into the world without a receptacle. These were something like ghosts.
But only their mother would ever dare to challenge the laws of nature, and, if they doubted that was true, they needed only remember the blood bath she’d wallowed in at Darkwood.Virgin’s blood,so she’d claimed. And once again, that memory left her sick to her gut.
The tinny scent in their room… the putrid stench of death. The sight of Morwen’s grisly little pet hiding in the corner, pecking at the remnants of her victim.
How could they ever vanquish such evil?
Morwen would do whatever she wished, whenever she wished, whatever it took, to serve her will. She would murder innocents, eat their….
“And the third part?”
Seren shuddered, shaking away the gruesome memory. “Heart,” she said, masking her distaste. “This is where the spirit lies.” And that, inevitably, was why her mother consumed it… to steal the very essence of her victim.
Seren swallowed the bile that rose in her throat, wishing with all her soul that she could be free of the memory of Darkwood.
Listening to her talk,Wilhelm slowed his canter. Her voice was soft as velvet, and he was glad Jack prodded her to continue, but not only so he could hear the musical lilt of her voice. He was curious as well. He wanted to know more about Seren Pendragon.
Who were her people? Whence did they come? How was it they were able to conduct sorcery? Was witchery truly an abomination of nature, or was it something holier?
How could anyone as lovely and pure as Seren Pendragon be anything but good and true?
In fact, hadn’t Giles claimed his sword glowed only in the presence of evil? If that were true it never once glowed in Rosalynde’s presence when Wilhelm was near, nor should she be able to wield it. And yet, she did.
“The last of the five areysbrydandmorâl.Morâlwould be akin to character; all that makes you unique—like how brave you are.”
