Chapter 15 #3
“Hear what?”
“The noise!” She pointed up to the cross.
“There is no noise!” Peter’s gaze dropped to his hands that still gripped Avice’s shoulders. He quickly removed them and carefully smoothed his fur trimmed robes. His expression switched from one of anger to one of passivity. “Thank you for waiting, Midwife Avice.”
She took a step back, wrinkling her nose at his perfumes. “Yes, Father, of course.”
Peter cleared his throat, looming over her. “It has come to my attention that the last two children born in Lamorna were born wrong.”
Avice rubbed her ears through her coif. “Yes, Father, that is correct.”
“And what happened to these children?” the priest pressed.
It was not difficult for her to put together. If Lucille was the priest’s betrothed, she would have told him what happened with Boarden. Gossip also spread like wildfire through the villagers, so he could have heard it through a parishioner as well.
Avice flicked her gaze up to Peter’s face.
He was young, perhaps seeing twenty full turns of seasons.
She bristled under his glare. Here she was, being interrogated like a child who had stolen honey cakes, at thirty-five full turns of seasons.
A muscle feathered in the priest’s jaw as he waited for her answer, and the veins in his neck bulged.
“I offered them to the Well King. He gave them to the Good Neighbours. To save their lives,” she replied smoothly. She knew there was no point in lying, as the father already knew. “And saved they were.”
“You offered Christian children to that serpent?” Peter hissed.
Avice stuck her chin out. Normally, she would be demure, lower her head, and do as she was told. Perhaps it was the relentless noise in her ears, or the insult to someone she cared deeply for, but she seethed at Trewoofe being called a serpent.
“Knucker. He is a Knucker. A type of Dragon. Not a serpent,” she said through gritted teeth. “King Trewoofe has been here far longer than the village, or the church, and he will be here far afterwards.”
“I am concerned of this serpent’s effect on you and the women of the village. To think, they have willingly offered their children to it.” Peter narrowed his eyes at her. “Steps needed to be taken to ensure it is no longer influencing you.”
Avice jerked. “What do you mean no longer influencing me?” Her stomach twisted at the idea of something bad happening to Trewoofe. “Tell me, what have you—”
“Avice! Avice, I need you!”
Her hand shot up to the crystal pendant around her neck, gloved fingers slipping under her cloak to feel the deep resonance that came from it.
“Avice… please. I am ill. Something happened. Come to my well.”
Her heart hammered at the desperation in Trewoofe’s voice as it echoed into silence. Remembering the priest was still glowering down at her, she turned her attention back to him.
Did he hear that?
Avice studied Peter’s face. He looked angry, brow furrowed and veins prominent in his neck, but no worse than before she heard Trewoofe call through the crystal.
No, he does not have the sight. It is why he cannot hear his voice or that noise.
“We have done what we must,” Peter replied, his scowl shifting to a smirk.
“Then, I will do what I must,” Avice countered, side-stepping the priest, so she could exit the church and answer Trewoofe’s cry for help. I am coming, just hold on.
“We are not done here! Where do you think you are going?” Peter shouted, grabbing her elbow.
“Father, I am leaving!” Avice strained against his grip, his nails digging in through her sleeves. “Ow! You are hurting me, let me go!” She thrashed. “brAMBLE!”
A vicious snarl ripped through the nave.
Her familiar stood at the open door of the church. His eyes burnt blood red. His lips peeled back to reveal startling white teeth, stark against the black of his pelt.
In a blink, the Grim was by her side, hackles raised.
Let her go! he growled.
Avice threw the priest a scowl. “He says you should let me go.”
Peter’s grip tightened. “What is this witching? You have summoned a hound from Hell itself to protect you!”
RELEASE HER!
Bramble pounced and crunched his jaw around the father’s forearm. The brutal bite loosened his grip on her arm, and Avice yanked it free. She sprinted down the central aisle, heading down to the door, ignoring the screeching commands of the priest.
Avice glanced back over her shoulder to where her familiar still snarled up at the priest. “Come, Bramble!”
The Grim shut his muzzle with a snap and bolted after her. Are we going home?
“Yes, but just to fetch my medical satchel,” she panted as she darted outside.
Who needs you?
Finally free of the church, and that infernal buzzing, she ripped the coif and wimple from her head and tossed them aside. Avice raked her fingers through her scalp, finally able to breathe.
Her gaze met her familiar’s. “Trewoofe.”
Tears stung her eyes at the thought of the Knucker being injured and alone. Had Peter hurt him? What had the priest done? Was he alright? What if it was too late by the time she got there?