Chapter 20 Skarth the Godless #2
I glance at Emeline, still unbelieving this is her. She merely looks as if she sleeps. I remember the first time we met, mere children, but we were bonded from the first moment our paths crossed.
My heart aches, and I know the pain will never subside. I have never felt this sort of loss before. It feels like I’m caught in a nightmare that’ll never end.
And I guess it never will.
There is a young soldier in front of me who leaves his sword unguarded. It’s an easy steal.
I look at Ulf, who nods.
“Victory or Valhalla.”
“Let’s send that son of a bitch to hell,” Ulf says, removing a blade that was hidden in his sleeve.
“King Aethelbald, please, address your people in their time of need. Offer them guidance and assurance that England will prosper under your rule.”
The people hum in concord, kissing the ground he walks on.
I see red.
As he stands and makes his way to stand in front of Emeline’s coffin, Ulf and I subtly excuse ourselves through the crowd. We keep our heads down, ensuring no one sees us.
“The good people of England, hear me now,” Aethelbald commences, spreading his arms out wide. “Queen Emeline had malice in her heart, but I forgive her, and I ask that you do too.”
The more he speaks, the angrier I become because he tarnishes her name when she cannot defend herself, because he killed her, a fact he omits. He claims Emeline was killed in battle, a battle she started to overthrow Christianity.
I cannot let him tarnish her name a moment longer.
The closer we get, the excitement grows because once Aethelbald is dead, then my queen can rest in peace until I join her.
I will relinquish Valhalla for her false gods because I would go to heaven or hell for my Hugrekki. I don’t care where I go, just as long as I am with her.
Ulf and I are about to strike when the distant squawking of ravens suddenly echoes from above. The crowd grows silent, slowly turning their attention to the stained glass windows, where a murder of ravens circles through the glass.
The cries grow louder and the clouds darker. Soon, the church is eclipsed in darkness as a thunderclap cracks like a titan’s whip throughout the congregation.
Screams suddenly erupt, and hysteria explodes when one of the stained glass windows shatters and in fly dozens of ravens. They swoop down at the crowd, pecking out their eyes and using their sharp beaks to break skin.
The mob soon rushes toward the exits, but the doors are locked from the outside. Men bang on the doors, whilst women shriek for help.
“Calm down!” Aethelbald roars, attempting to regain order, but the fact that ravens are feasting on the flesh of his people cancels out any orderliness.
It’s pure anarchy, which is the perfect time to strike.
However, when three ravens sit perched on a pew in front of me, Loki’s note in my pocket suddenly feels heavy. Retrieving it, I unfold the parchment and read something which changes the course of everything.
Thy drugs are quick…
I read over Loki’s words over and over, attempting to decipher what that means. I look at the ravens, then back at the paper in hopes of uncovering the vital clue.
The sun is eclipsed, and when darkness creeps in, I see it. In the darkness, I see Emeline sipping the poison from a vial just as she used a concoction to make me sleep. But her tonic was a lot more potent, so powerful that trained doctors pronounced her dead.
A tonic created by the abbot who knew Emeline was their only hope of saving England. And this was the only way.
The poison made her pulse weaken, but she never stopped. They all assumed she died because the wound she sustained should have killed her…but it didn’t.
“Emeline is alive!” I scream at Ulf, ripping off my hood and face covering.
When the Christians hear me, they turn and point, their hysteria directed at something else, and that something else is Emeline.
When I see her, I beg the gods that this isn't a dream. I will sacrifice anything if it means she is alive and standing behind Aethelbald with a knife pressed to his throat. Just as Lord Rufus attempts to disarm her, a brother throws off his hood, and it seems the abbot was passing robes around to all because Benedict extends a sword and places it to Rufus’s heart.
He raises his hands in surrender.
The church is pure pandemonium.
Ulf and I stand back in awe, unsure what we’re seeing. Emeline meets my eyes, and when she smiles, I am reborn.
“Forgive me, heathen,” she says, her voice hoarse.
“I will punish you later, my queen.”
“Don’t threaten me with a grand time,” she replies, pressing the blade deeper into Aethelbald’s throat.
The brothers take off their hoods, and I recognize their faces. They are here seeking retribution for what Aethelbald did to their fellow brothers and their home.
The abbot was in on this all along. Although peaceful, that doesn’t mean Abbot Maxwell won’t play dirty to bring the bad guys down.
“The good people of England, hear me now!” Emeline says, demanding attention. “I am not a ghost. Or a necromancer has not performed her magic to bring me back to life. The Lord protected me because he knew I wasn’t done with this life.
“I was born to be the queen of England, but Aethelbald lies to you all. He incites war because he lies and cheats. He is no leader. He has killed innocent people. He killed my friends, King Raedwulf and King Beornwulf, all because of greed.
“He wishes to rule all kingdoms. That is not democracy. That is a dictatorship. Aethelbald believes you good Christians to be nothing but fools.”
Emeline wavers, still weak on her feet after being prone for three days. But she doesn’t stop.
“With God as my witness, I promise it was King Aethelbald who delivered what should have been a fatal blow. Yes, I incited war, but only because Aethelbald wished to destroy England. I could not sit back and allow it.
“Not when I have fought so hard for her freedom.”
“She lies! She is a witch! She was dead but has arisen from the dead. She must be burned at the stake!” Aethelbald cries, looking for an ally.
But no one is quick to come to his aid.
“No, she comes in the form of our lord savior who rose from the dead once he was condemned to death,” a villager says.
The crowd nods in agreement.
“I can vouch for Queen Emeline,” says a brother, stepping forward. “Here is the proof.”
He passes the priest a roll of parchment.
Aethelbald squirms, attempting to break free, but Emeline merely snickers.
The priest takes his time reading over the parchment, and once he is done, he shakes his head. “The parchment is evidence from the abbot who documented what happened at the monastery. King Aethelbald, you have committed treason.
“Provoking war in the house of the Lord is punishable by death! The parchments detail all the other atrocities you committed. Blackmail. Extortion. You are unfit to be king! We are shaped in the form of our Lord. Our words are His as we are His vessels.
“The abbot does not lie. He has taken an oath. And you were adamant about changing the law of the church. Who do you think you are? There is only one God!”
Rain begins to pelt down and wet us through the broken windows. Soon, it’s a tempest storm.
“By the law of the church, I place you under guard, where you will be tried and handed a verdict the clergy deem fit. Guards, take him to the dungeons!”
How those words are poetic justice.
All thanks to the abbot and a false god, Aethelbald will finally get his day.
But Emeline shakes her head, for she knows he will somehow escape the charge, and this will never end. So I nod, telling her to finish this.
Aethelbald twists and punches Emeline in the face. He reaches for a soldier’s sword, ready to stab her. Ulf and I rush forward, but there is no need because with a roar, Emeline drives the blade into Aethelbald’s throat. Coated in his blood, she begins to sever his head from his neck.
Women faint.
Men vomit.
But Ulf and I merely stand back and admire the woman we both love.
Once his head is detached from his body, Emeline holds it high in the air by his hair.
Slathered in his blood, she screams, “This is no king!
He does not deserve a fair trial, for he imprisoned Danes and burned our symbol of the Lord into their necks because he does not agree that England is accepting of all nations.
“We are not bigots. The Lord practices love, not war. We do not fight amongst ourselves. We thrive together, and we see England grow!
“This is the face of a coward, of a man who dared to challenge my throne. But I won.” She tosses Aethelbald’s head down the aisle.
She turns to Rufus, who shrieks. “Please, show mercy.”
Emeline scoffs. “You did not show mercy to my ladies-in-waiting when you killed them. Or my children when you orchestrated their kidnapping. You are as bad as your dead king.”
The priest, who is paler than a sheet of snow, nods wobblily. “Take him away!”
Rufus fights against the men who drag him down the aisle, but I know Emeline won’t let him see another day. Once in the dungeons, she will ensure he pays dearly for what he has done.
No one seems to know what to do, but there's one thing that seems to fit.
With precision, I drop to my knees and bow in front of Emeline. “All hail Queen Emeline!”
Soon, the procession follows and kneels in front of their rightful queen.
With no one to contest, Emeline is the ruler of England, as the rest of the kingdoms no longer have kings. She looks at Benedict and smiles.
“Dear nephew, Northumbria is yours.”
Benedict bows. “My queen, I cannot.”
“Yes, you will. I ordered it. This throne is rightfully yours as my brother’s blood runs through your veins, but unlike my kin, you are of good heart. Northumbria will prosper under your rule.”
Benedict eventually agrees.
That leaves Mercia and Wessex.
Emeline gently orders us to stand as she ponders over the right thing to do for herself and for England.
The church doors open, and in flow Sigrith, Aeden, and my sons. This is the first time they’ve seen so many of their countrymen. Sune looks with a suspicious eye. Whilst Loki scans the room with knowledge.
Aedan stands beside us, and Emeline smiles. “Lord Aedan, you are strong, brave, and your Irish roots continue to help keep England strong. There is a princess in Mercia, who, if you both agree, I would wish you to meet, and perhaps, if God permits, you both rule Mercia with justice and love.”
The priest nods, seeing this union as prosperous.
Aedan stares at Emeline, stunned. “Yer makin’ me king? Milady,” he adds whilst Ulf snorts.
“How about you meet Princess Charlotte first?”
“Aye, yer right,” he says, running a hand through his scruffy hair.
One more kingdom…
Emeline toys with the idea, and although being on the throne has caused her nothing but hardship…she was born to rule.
I will never stand in her way.
She opens her arms, and Sune and Loki step into her embrace. She hugs them tight, eyes closed as she inhales their scent and kisses the tops of their heads. It’s apparent she is weighing her choices.
Does she choose her family?
Or does she choose England?
When she opens her eyes, I see that she wants both. “I was once Wessex’s whore, but now, I will be Wessex’s queen, and I will take a king.”
She looks at me, and with a smile, she gestures for me to join her.
My feet feel heavy as I do.
We stand before the Christians, and with no other choice, they bow to Emeline and me, and chant, “Long live Queen Emeline and King…Skarth the Godless!”
This is unorthodox, and I am certain more wars will follow because once again, Emeline has changed history. But Emeline was born to rule, and it seems I was born to rule alongside her all along.
I am hardly her Prince Charming, but Emeline doesn’t need a prince to save her…and she never did.