William R Crosgrove

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

 

Edition 2.0

Copyright © 2018 William R. Crosgrove

Cover design by Melanie Crosgrove, Darcydoll Art

 

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. All rights reserved.

 

ISBN-10: 1517488648

ISBN-13: 978-1517488642

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Celtic Thorn

Part 1

Chapter 1

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391 C.E.

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     The rabbit stretched itself long and thin to nibble on the lush cluster of grain at the top of the wild barley stalk. The arrow took it in the neck, tumbling the body across the grass. It lay twitching, then still. Darcy slung the bow on her shoulder and gathered her kill, tying it to the three others hanging from her belt. She sat on her heels, placed the rabbits on her lap, and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she mumbled unintelligible words, and waited as though for an answer. Then she nodded her head and stood.

     She sped up a slope to the top of the highest hill in the area, leaving little trace of her passage. Her hooded cloak rippled in the breeze as she paused to look over the island—her island. She had no doubt this was a fact. No one in her village of Iscaya traveled the island as she did. Occasional groups might pass through the ancient forest to strip wood from the buildings and piers abandoned by the Romans years ago. But they didn’t do much more than that.

     Darcy loved to explore the island. It had been two years since her adoptive grandmother, Kiara, sent her on her first hunting trip alone and since then she had increased her range until finally, on this trip, she made the twenty-mile journey to the far western shore. It was also the first time she had spent a night alone and away from her home. And she had spent two nights so far. Now she was halfway back with the prospect of a third night, and maybe a fourth. Kiara would frown but understand. Mavis, her adoptive mother, would be worried and angry. But Darcy was glad she had done it.

     She gazed contentedly across the unbroken landscape, seeing nothing unusual. Darcy pulled the wooden plug from her water skin and set it to her lips. As the last of her water trickled down her throat, she turned in a slow circle, scanning the channel for boats coming from Gaul. The population of her village of Iscaya had increased over time with refugees fleeing Roman hatred for Celts. It had something to do with religion. Kiara would know.

     Darcy froze, mid-pull on the water skin. Far to the southwest, a fleet of ships sailed eastward. Not Roman craft with their grayish-white sails, usually sailing solitary or in pairs. These were the Irish—a dozen ships with black sails for night raiding along the coast of Gaul or Britannia. There had been such a fleet on the day of her birth, the day of her mother’s death, the day Kiara had rescued her and brought her here. Darcy knew the story.

     There may be other villages along the southern coast of Britannia, but here on her island, on Albion, there was only one—Iscaya. She had to warn them. Her body trembled at the thought that she would not get there until late in the night. Move! Now! Darcy sped down the hill, across the grassland, and into the deep forest. It would be a long run—the longest she had ever made.

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     Darcy staggered alongside the fields of her village. She glanced at the moon—near midnight. Late. Too late? Her feet, which could glide soundlessly and without trace across a forest floor, seemed to find every bump and crevice in the ground. She stumbled into the trees that surrounded Iscaya on three sides and grabbed hold of one for balance. Sinking to her knees, she found a large root, pressed her ear against it, and closed her eyes. She whispered, asking for help from the forest dryads, but no stray sounds came through.

     Her legs complained as she rose to her feet. Swaying briefly, she pressed through the trees to the edge of the village clearing. All seemed calm. Past the nearly two dozen round houses with their conical roofs, the water of the harbor beyond was empty of black-sailed ships. She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped out of the trees.

     A cry issued from the darkness ahead of her. The heavy woolen pad covering the door of her house moved and two women emerged. The younger one, Mavis, started forward, but Kiara put out an arm and held her back, speaking quietly. Darcy read the body language and thought perhaps she had underestimated their reaction to her absence. She didn’t think the four rabbits hanging from her belt, nor even a warning about Irish pirates, was going to save her.

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     A week later Darcy still did not have her bow back and had spent long days closely tethered to the house doing chores. Nothing about her absence had been mentioned—until now.

     “Sit down, Darcy,” Kiara said as she and Mavis adjusted two stumps of wood.

     Darcy sat in the dirt and waited while the two women—Kiara and Mavis in her head, Gamma and Mama when speaking—seated themselves. It wasn’t a perfect system, but it suited her need to both honor them yet distinguish them from her birth mother.

     “You have worked hard this week, Darcy,” said Mavis. “I have not heard you complain.”

     “I do not mind working, Mama. I know I am being punished, not by working, but by not being allowed to go into the forest.”

     Kiara spoke. “No, Darcy, you are not being punished. We wanted to give you time to think about things. You were gone a long time. How do you think we felt?”

     “You were worried. I knew that, Gamma.”

     “You did. Yet …”

     “Yet I stayed away. I crossed the entire island, Gamma, Mama. It took two days. I came all the way back in one day because I saw those ships and was worried for you.”

     “You were worried for us?” asked Mavis, one eyebrow raised.

     “Yes, Mama.”

     Darcy had told them about the ships as soon as she had arrived and lookouts had been posted, weapons readied, but nothing had come of it. It was not a question of them believing her. They did. But, obviously the pirates had passed them by.

     “Did you know you were going to be gone for three days?” asked Kiara.

     “No, Gamma. I thought I would be gone for four days.”

     Mavis gasped. “You knew? And you …”

     “Yes, I did not tell you.”

     “Why not,” asked Kiara.

     “You would not have let me go, Gamma. But I know everything about this end of the island. I needed to know the rest. It was time.”

     Kiara took a deep breath and put her hand on Mavis’ leg. “All right, Darcy. But you must tell us when you are planning to be gone for more than just a little while.” Mavis gasped again and started to object. Kiara pressed down and squeezed. “We worry, Darcy, when we do not know where you have gone or for how long.”

     “Yes, Gamma. But, Gamma? There is nothing on this island that can hurt me. No large animals. And no people.”

     “There are the Romans, Darcy.”

     “Yes, Gamma, but they are in their forts. They never come out. They are afraid of the forest.”

     “Forts?” asked Mavis. “There is more than one?”

     “Yes, Mama. There are two of them. The one nearby on our end of the island and another one on the other end.”

     “You have seen them, Darcy?” asked Kiara.

     “Yes, Gamma, I have. But I did not steal anything from them this time.”

     “That is good, Darcy,” Kiara said dryly. “I admire your restraint.”

     The conversation evaporated. Darcy’s fingers poked at the dirt.

     “Mama, Gamma? When I am in the forest, the dryads whisper to me. The sprites speak when I am near water. And others when I am elsewhere. They tell me all is well and they will warn me of danger. There has never been any danger, Mama.”

     “Have you ever seen a dryad, Darcy?” asked Kiara.

     “No, Gamma. I have not. They stay within their trees.”

     “And the sprites stay in the water?”

     “Yes, Gamma.”

     “But they talk to you.”

     “Yes, Gamma.”

     Kiara took a deep breath and let it out. “That is good, Darcy. But we will still worry. Please let us know.”

     “Yes, Gamma.”

     Kiara took Mavis’ arm and stood up, drawing her away. They held a whispered conversation as they prepared dinner, Mavis distraught, Kiara calming. Darcy knew what it was about. Mavis always wanted to keep Darcy close. Her love was fierce, tenacious and possessive. Darcy didn’t mind. She understood Mavis. There had been that day, nine years earlier, when Darcy’s birth mother had been killed … and Mavis had lost her own new-born son.

But Kiara’s love filled Darcy with strength, taught her about the world, and allowed her to explore it. Darcy watched the two women closely as they talked and dropped dried meat and raw vegetables into the dinner pot. She loved Mavis. But she adored Kiara.

     After dinner, Darcy found her bow and quiver hanging over her bed. She smiled, undressed, and crawled in. As she lay there, her brow suddenly furrowed.

     “Gamma?”

     “Yes, Darcy?”

     “The Irish were sailing east.”

     “Yes?”

     “They have to sail west to get back to Ireland.”

     Silence. Then grunted acknowledgement. “I will bring it up with the council tomorrow. Perhaps we should post guards again for a few days.”

     Darcy nodded to herself. She thanked the gods for a good day, and fell asleep. Later that night, she heard the dog die.

     

 

Chapter 2

 

     Darcy searched the darkness of the one-room house. Why am I awake? Nearby, her grandmother and mother slept soundly. Darcy closed her eyes and listened hard. There was only the sound of the summer wind rustling the dry grass of the thatched roof. Usually a reassuring whisper, it brought only unease. Something was wrong. The village cur was silent. No. The dog is dead. The squeal still echoed in her memory—short, but enough to wake her.

     Her feet slid into soft, leather shoes and she padded over the straw-covered dirt. Careful not to bump the heavy woolen mat hanging across the doorway, she peered through the narrow gap between it and the frame. Moonlight flooded the grassy area between the village and the forest. Nothing. She pushed the gap just a little wider. There, on the forest verge, the dog lay curled in apparent sleep. The feathered end of an arrow jutted from its body.

     Darcy’s heart thudded. They are here!

     She sped across the room and put her hand over the older woman’s mouth, urgently shaking her shoulder. Hovering over her, Darcy felt Kiara’s mouth move, making muffled sounds before she stopped and stared into Darcy’s eyes. She nodded. Darcy sat back as Kiara rolled to her feet and went to the door of their round hut. Darcy’s mother sat up, startled.

     “What is the…?” Mavis asked.

     “Shush,” Kiara answered, her eye at the door frame, searching.

     A sharp intake of breath. The dog. Darcy waited near the wall. At a nod from Kiara, she reached for a short stick wedged low in the wall. Attached to the stick was a leather thong which disappeared under the wattle siding and ran through the dirt to the next house. She pulled on it. Nearby was a shelf with a fist-sized rock on it. A few seconds later, the answering tug collapsed the shelf and the rock hit the ground with a thud. Darcy hurried to the other side of the hut and did the same with the stick and thong she found there. Again, the acknowledgement was returned. Darcy knew rocks fell in each hut throughout the village.

     Darcy grabbed her deerskin tunic and pants and pulled them on, then slipped her arms into the straps of a small backpack. She threaded a leather sheath onto her belt and slid her beloved knife into it. Her hooded cloak was followed by the small bow and quiver of arrows.

She stood before Kiara. “I am ready, Gamma.” A brief, sad smile crossed her grandmother’s face before the woman retrieved her own bow and quiver from the wall.

     “Mavis, take Darcy and be ready to run. I think they are in the forest so go toward the swamp. Avoid the harbor. They probably have ships there.”

     “What about you?” the younger woman asked, her voice shaking. “Come with us. I need … we need you.”

     “I will stay to cover you,” Kiara said.

     “No!”

     “Yes. When I tell you, roll through the hatch and run.”

       Darcy looked wide-eyed at the two. She understood Mavis’ panic. On the day of her own birth, the sudden attack … run … escape … leave loved ones. Those that stayed to defend had all died. Darcy fought back tears. She threw her arms around her grandmother and squeezed hard.

     Kiara unlocked Darcy’s arms, kneeled down, and held the girl by the shoulders. “You, my little warrior, are always brave. Now you must be strong. I have taught you much. But you have learned even more without me. Is that not true?”

     Darcy nodded, tears now streaming. She felt herself crushed in her grandmother’s arms. Kiara’s voice whispered in her ear.

     “If you are captured, they will make you a slave. But you will survive! Do you understand? Use what you have learned. Show them who you are. Do not look back, Darcy. Look forward.” She gave Darcy a shake. “But when you can, you come back to me.”

     Kiara looked up at Mavis. “Do not try to save each other. If one of you is caught the other must run.”

     “Leave Darcy?” asked Mavis, horror written on her face.

     “Yes, Mavis. There will be nothing you can do for her. And you, too, will be captured. And, Mavis,” Kiara said ominously, “you must not be captured.” Kiara stood and gave Mavis a tight hug. “Be brave. Do what you have to do. Are you ready?”

     Mavis nodded. “I am ready.” The quaver in her voice indicated otherwise.

     Kiara looked again out the gap in the door. At that same moment, a smoldering arrow pierced the tinder-dry thatching. She threw open the door covering. Setting arrow to bow, Kiara shouted, “Go, now!” and disappeared through the doorway.

     Darcy followed Mavis, rolling through the hatch at the rear of the hut. Darcy armed her bow as she crouched outside. Men roared as they streamed from the forest. Villagers screamed. Mavis scanned the night, then looked back at Darcy, her eyes reflecting fear and memory. The route to the swamp appeared clear. They ran, darting from hut to hut, storage shed to stable. As they passed the last building, Darcy felt a hand claw at her head. She twisted and ducked. The hand slipped through her hair, closed on the ends, and snapped her head back.

     “Run, Mama!” she cried as she spun and let her arrow fly at a close shape. She heard a grunt of pain. A blow to the side of her head knocked her to the ground, the bow falling from her hands. Rolling to her belly, she saw Mavis, several paces away, stop and turn back for her. Darcy scrambled to her hands and knees, but a hand yanked her ankles and she fell back to earth.

     “Mama, run!” she cried once more.

     Mavis stepped toward her, hesitated, feet shuffling, face twisted with indecision.

     “No! Run!” screamed Darcy, but she knew Mavis wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not again.

     Mavis darted forward, took Darcy’s hand, and pulled. Darcy heard a growled word and a hand pushed her hard to the ground. A dull thud followed and Mavis fell senseless in the dirt. A leg across Darcy’s back pinned her to the earth and blocked access to her knife. She rolled and glared at the bearded, rough-looking man as he dropped the cudgel. She was pleased to see him work at her arrow which had pierced his leg, though not deeply. With a grunt of pain, he plucked the arrow out, held it up, and cursed her.

     To her dismay he picked up her bow, cracked it in two, and threw the pieces away. He struggled to his feet and grabbed both of them by the backs of their shirts. Kicking her quiver aside, he limped toward the docks, dragging his prisoners through the dirt. Darcy tried to gain some footing but the man lifted her higher. With her shoes barely touching the ground, Darcy spun around and saw the village burning behind her. A confusion of men and women ran in all directions, some with weapons, others carrying children toward the swamp or into the countryside. A few lay dead or wounded in the dirt. She didn’t see Kiara.

     Darcy shouted as loud as she could. “I will come back, Gamma. I promise!”

     She stretched her arm down against the pull of the tunic and got her fingertips on the grip of her knife. She felt herself lifted higher, knife handle still in her fingers, when the man’s knee crashed into Darcy’s gut, driving the air from her. Mouth opened wide, stomach muscles convulsed, she struggled to breathe. The knife slid from her fingers. Her vision darkened and narrowed. Distantly, the man’s guttural voice called and others answered.

     The knot under her sternum relaxed and she inhaled noisily. With hazy vision, Darcy saw two ships, reefed sails dyed black, grounded on the beach next to the dock. Two men stood guard. Unconcerned with her difficulty breathing, they pointed at his leg and mocked him for the wound. He lifted Darcy into the air and shook her. The burly man said something crude as he dropped Mavis’ limp form in a heap. They grunted their approval.

     Darcy kicked at her captor and reached again for the knife at her waist. Her hand closed on an empty useless sheath. He cuffed her head and dragged her across the sand to one of the ships as she blinked with the pain. Her arms were pulled behind her and bound at the wrists. Then her ankles. Lifted, she was placed on the narrow edge of the boat. Rough hands squeezed her chest, waist, hips, and legs. A pause. Her head was twisted until she stared into the man’s face. A grunt. Then a push and she fell hard into the open boat where she lay in a puddle of cold saltwater.

     She rolled herself to a drier position and lay still, breathing hard, scared, wet, and cold. A sharp gasp. Mavis! Kiara’s veiled warning had been ominous but just beyond Darcy’s immediate understanding.

     From her knees, Darcy was unable to peer over the side. Darcy listened for any sound indicating her mother was all right. Instead, she heard a man grunt and Mavis gasp. There was a thump on wood followed by silence. Minutes later, she heard the sound of someone climbing out of the neighboring ship and the two guards exchanging words. Similar sounds repeated and the second man returned as well to his place in front of the ships. No other words passed between the two guards. Confused, Darcy slumped back to the bottom of the boat.

     Shortly, two dozen men armed with clubs, hammers, and pole arms hurried from the village carrying farm implements, bleating sheep slung over their shoulders, and stacks of woolen blankets and cured hides. More than a few nursed wounds. No other prisoners were tossed to the bottom of Darcy’s ship.

     The raiders climbed in, laughing and talking. Many of the words they spoke sounded familiar, especially the cursing. The Irish. She was sure—fellow Celts but an enemy still. They casually kicked and shoved Darcy about the bottom of the boat. She tried to avoid them but, with her hands and feet trussed, it was difficult. If I had my knife, I could have escaped. Where is it? She remembered the knife in her fingertips as the man kicked her in the gut and knew she had dropped it in the dirt.

    The crew anchored the long, wooden sweeps in the oarlocks and settled onto the benches. They held the oars aloft, waiting for the rising tide to lift them off the sandy shore. Two men pushed to dislodge the ships. A minute later there was sudden motion followed by a cheer and the last men were helped aboard.

     The oars creaked as they were dipped and pulled in unison. The boats crossed the harbor toward the open sea. Darcy found a spot in the corner of the stern and fought to contain her tears as the only home she had ever known receded into the darkness.

Mavis! Darcy half-hoped her mother had been left on the beach, unconscious and discarded. The other half wanted her here, wanted to be wrapped up in her arms and kept warm and safe. She closed her eyes trying to feel Mavis’ presence. Suddenly her eyes opened. She rolled onto her knees and put her face high into the air.

     “Mama!”

     A foot lashed out catching her in the chest, but as she went down she heard Mavis’ voice before it was cut off.

     “Dar—!”

     She fought once again to breathe and then sat quietly in her corner. Her ribs ached. Her head hurt. Her soul was ragged and torn. She took a deep breath, held in what she could, then blew it out slowly. I must be like Kiara. Her grandmother was tough and strong. She always knew what to do. A medicine woman, some thought she put magic into her powders, pastes, and drinks. Darcy didn’t think so. Her grandmother had taught her to make some of the medicines. Nothing had ever been said about magic. But, Darcy knew Kiara was special. And, in the disaster of a night, nine years earlier, she had saved Darcy’s life.

     Kneeling wet, cold, and bruised in the darkness at the back of the boat, she remembered Kiara had promised to make barley cakes with honey and cream in the morning. Darcy’s face crumpled and she sagged to the floor and wept.

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End of Chapter 2 of Celtic Thorn

 

     Continue the story of Darcy's life in Celtic Thorn as she is kidnapped into slavery in 4th century Britannia and, after years of servitude, escapes only to find herself in the midst of a religious dispute between Druids and Christians, a war between Scots and Romans, and stalked by an assassin—not to mention her belief that the gods have a mysterious involvement in her life. Plagued by the uncertainty that she can navigate this feral landscape and still go home again, Darcy sets sail across the Irish Sea unaware of the ancient legacy that awaits her.

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