Lore by Becky Wright

Author:Becky Wright [Publishing, Becky Wright;Platform House]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Becky Wright
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Dawson did not see his brother. However, he knew well that his brother had been aware of his visit. A young lad, skinny and not long from his mother's skirts, had taken the letter from his fingers.

'Be sure to give this straight to your master. Make haste. It is of great import.'

'My master is not here, sir,' the lad had said.

'Then please see he receives it on his return?'

'Yes, sir,' the boy replied with a nod and swift bow.

Dawson had lingered a while, waiting just out of sight and noted the humble, bustling establishment with the warmth of pride. He would like to have said how proud he was—instead, after waiting more than an hour, he resigned to his brother's unwillingness to see him. The journey back to the Priory seemed longer, his footing a little laboured. Perhaps the anticipation of stepping back into the dark fold of Hardacre weighed all the heavier after the freedom of natural life.

Six days in the usual dismal tedium went by with no reply. Not even a refusal, which had been Dawson's fear. In the early dawn hours on the seventh day, Dawson resolved to venture another visit. If he could only talk to his brother and express his plight face to face, for the matter had become urgent, his master had grown impatient.

With resistance, Dawson's feet lingered outside his master's room, breaking the news of his failure weighing heavy in every limb. He pressed a palm to his tired eyes, filled his chest and knocked, but as his knuckles met the wood, a loud commotion from the great hall flooded through the Priory. Servants gathered, lively in expressing how outsiders were on the grounds.

'May the good Lord have mercy on them, for they do not know what they do,' one uttered as Dawson strode to the great door.

'Enough, go about your business. They are here upon my request,' Dawson ordered, then pulled on his cloak.

With his feet firmly rooted and his hands clutching the door, he looked up to find the customary stark white sky was now dark and thunderous. The sun barely held against the mounting clouds that had begun to swell. Something had stirred, and a storm was brewing.

Lord Edward followed the din, dismissing his scattered servants as Dawson pulled the door wide. Dawson stood with his back to him, his eyes still on the darkening sky. The Lord followed his gaze high into the thickening grey. In mere moments, it had spread like a blanket over the whole of Hardacre. Churning and swirling across the sky, roiling at its point of origin: the oak tree.

Dawson turned to find his master by his side. 'My Lord,' he bowed slightly, his eyes focused on the clouds.

'I see we have company,' Lord Edward replied.

The outsiders, eight or nine of them, hovered tentatively down at the boundary. Slowly, they wandered around the vast oak tree, axes and ropes in hand. One pointed up high into the boughs and, with a shake of his head, walked backwards and crossed himself, his hand lingering over his heart.

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