Tregeagle boasted. “This plate was tin! Made right here on the moor. But see it glitter now.”
Instead of answering, Vortigern sniffed the air through his moustache and turned to face the Stone. His eyes became glassy, and a leer spread across his face.
Owain turned away lest his own gaze be drawn toward the Stone.
He walked past the two men and saw Mônda standing near the back of the crowd. He called, but she didn’t answer. He stepped next to her and gulped at his mistake. This was some black-haired druid wife, toothless and dour. Her arms and face bore many scars, proof she’d partaken in many rituals. Owain shuddered as he realized this could be Mônda’s fate, or worse, if he failed to bring her back.
As he strode away, someone tapped on his arm.
He spun but immediately dropped his defensive stance. My Ganieda! She looked up at him, her pretty nine-year-old eyes filled with fear. “Mammu is sick. She’s over by the meeting house. Please hurry!” She turned and sped away.
Owain sprinted after her as she ran to the south edge of the pasture. She darted past a small cluster of men and approached a campfire that had collapsed into embers. There Owain found his wife sleeping fitfully on a bed of dried grass. Her face was pale. Too pale. He bent down and felt a burning fever on her forehead. “Mônda, it’s me … Owain.”
She opened her eyes halfway. “Wha’?”
“I’m here.”
She turned her head, and her hair fell near a live coal that had tumbled from the fire. “Owain?” she sputtered.
He scooped her hair back and flicked the coal away. “I came to take care of you.”
“It hurts.” She pulled up her left sleeve, and the skin was bloody where her covenant band had circled her arm. Pus wept from the sores.
Merlin held on to Dybris as they stepped through the now chanting crowd. How the villagers had learned this gibberish, Merlin could only guess.
Reaching behind him, Dybris handed Merlin a bag. “Can you carry this and hand it to me when I tap you?”
“Sure. Let me put my hand on your shoulder so we don’t get separated. Is it much farther?”
“Twenty paces.”
Merlin took a few careful steps. “Is Mórganthu near the Stone?”
“No.”
Merlin peeked past Dybris, and a blur of blue light shone from inside the Stone. “If possible, don’t look at it,” Merlin said.
“I’ll try not to.”
“And don’t touch it.”
“I won’t.”
“And —”
“Shah! We’re almost there.”
Someone stepped in front of them. “Halt! Why do you approach the Druid Stone?”
“We come to worship,” Dybris answered.
“A monk? Do you think I’m a fool?”
“We’re here to worship. Let us pass! Are not all welcome?”
The man paused, then shrugged his shoulders and waved them on.
“I didn’t say whom I was going to worship,” Dybris whispered as they stepped closer. “We’re before it now. Let’s bow and pray to our God. I won’t look until I have to.”
Merlin dropped down and kept his eyes shut so he wouldn’t see even a glimmer of the Stone’s fire. Alternating waves of heat and cold flowed through the ground under his knees, and he realized with rising panic how close the Stone lay. Remembering his last encounter, he brought his hand to the back of his neck and prayed for Dybris.
He also prayed that Garth and the villagers would have their eyes opened. That God’s Spirit would halt the mockery of the Stone. That Christ would be exalted.
Dybris double-tapped on Merlin’s knee.
Unstringing the bag he’d been given, Merlin reached in and drew forth a sealed ceramic pot and placed it, cool and heavy, in Dybris’s waiting hand. Next he pulled out a brush with a short wooden handle and passed that forward as well.
Standing on the outside of the circle near the drummers, Mórganthu spied a monk and Merlin wending their way through the crowd toward the Stone. Whatever that boy is planning, he shall pay dearly for the attempt.
Garth tugged at Mórganthu’s robe. “I’m all done with stackin’ firewood, Ard Dre. Am I free now?”
“More. More wood.” Mórganthu reached out to push Garth’s insistent hand away, but he missed as his gaze followed the two intruders.
“But Ard Dre, I’ve already gotten enough. The pile’s a great heap!”
“Get wood,” Mórganthu yelled at him. “Get wood, you stray dog!”
Garth shut his mouth and ran off.
“Anviv! What do you make of those two who speak with that ignorant guard?” Mórganthu pointed to Merlin and the monk as they were intercepted by one of his druidow.