CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: NEB'S FATE.
The gates had barely closed behind them when Kattin flew at them, her long blue cape streaming behind her.
'What do you two play at?' she asked, her face contorted with rage.
Alfred eyed her coldly. 'The boy wanted to stretch his legs and bid farewell to his griffin,' his eyes flickered over her shoulder and he added, 'good evening Father Thomas.'
With a visible effort, Kattin swallowed her anger. 'Father Thomas, my man thought it might be as well to allow the youth to stretch his legs. The girl won't be ready for an hour or two.'
Father Thomas frowned. 'The ceremony should take place after sunset, but before moonrise.'
Kattin giggled, the rusty sound caused both Neb and Alfred to cringe. She opened her hands, and spread her fingers, implying what's a person to do? 'She's young, she's insisting on being married in her mother's wedding gown. Your women have almost finished sponging it free of blood.'
Neb shuddered, and when Alfred led him away, back towards the courtyard, he followed willingly. Father Thomas' low hum of a voice followed them 'All is prepared in readiness, it won't do you know, to keep him waiting.'
Before Neb could wonder about who he was, Samara hurtled towards him, wearing only her under-shift. A trail of women followed her, keeping a few paces behind.
'Neb!' she cried, and threw herself at him. Neb returned her hug, feeling her bony spine beneath his hands. She smelled wonderful, of freshly laundered skin and hair. Still clutching his upper arms, she pulled away slightly to stare into his eyes.
'Did you call him?' she asked earnestly.
Neb bared his teeth in a grin. 'Oh yes, I called for him.'
Alfred stared at them. Samara raised her chin, and stared back defiantly.
'Do not begrudge us this last goodbye. In two hours, I shall be married to a corpse, and he –' she jabbed a finger at Neb, 'will be forced to surrender his body to a demon's spirit.'
Her words stunned Neb. Surely this couldn't be true? It seemed Alfred shared his disbelief. One hand flew to the hilt of his sword while the other grabbed at Samara's arm. 'What stories do you dream up now?'
Samara shook her arm free. 'That is the bargain your dear lady has made with the good Father Thomas,' she glanced around, her eyes sweeping over the gaggle of women, to the beautiful stone building. 'How do you think all this is paid for? Why do you think the local chieftain allows this – this mumble jumble – to take place on his lands? Father Thomas' gold may be tainted, but it is still gold,' she smiled, a smile to shrivel souls. Certainly Alfred shrivelled from her contempt. Sister Catherine was made of stronger stuff. She hustled Samara away, saying 'our faith is not mumble jumble! Ready or not, you will get dressed now, and the ceremony will be completed before moonrise.'
An uncomfortable silence settled over the outer courtyard. Neb still struggled to understand exactly what new ordeal awaited him. His expectations of Father Thomas were low, but surely Samara was exaggerating, maybe even lying?
Finally Alfred spoke. 'You weren't saying goodbye to your griffin were you?'
Neb glanced at him from the corner of his eye and didn't answer. Instead he asked his own question. 'Did you know about this … ' words failed him.
With only one ambition in life; to work in Romulus' griffin sanctuary, Neb paid scant attention to the spiritual world. He respected the spirits, and like everyone, prayed when his own spirit moved him to do so. In times of hardship or triumph, communities would gather and commune with the spiritual world as a group. But this cloister demanded unadulterated worship and strict adherence to ceremony. Neb hadn't dreamed it involved summoning demons. He knew it could be done, but associated the practice with magicians, or rogue druids.
Alfred shook his head, and gave a weary sigh. 'She … my lady Kattin and Vander … they helped hatch a plan to dam the river. Chief Luther would have a fish filled loch, and they calculated that Chief Wulfstan would panic, and gladly agree to Vander's marriage with Lillian in exchange for a loan of gold,' he paused. Neb frowned. 'Lillian?!'
Alfred nodded and went on 'that was the original plan, but when the chief bulked, Vander quickly suggested he marry Samara instead – she had no-one to speak up for her,' he paused again, 'Samara's pretty enough, when she's not scowling. But then Lady Lydia interfered, and Vander was still pleased with the bargain, but my lady Kattin – well …' his voice trailed away.
Neb's frown deepened. 'How much of this is Kattin's doing? Did she murder her own brother?' Alfred shuffled his feet, threw his head back to look up at a rapidly darkening sky, and then simply strode away.
Recovering himself, Neb yelled after him 'Did she murder her own brother?!'
His voice echoed around the courtyard and bounced back from the high grey walls: "murder her own brother". Forcing his feet to move, Neb started to follow Alfred. He was brought short by a jolt around his neck. Turning his head, he saw long nosed Sister Catherine holding the end of a rope and leering at him. She tugged at it and his neck burned again. Neb grabbed at the rope and tugged back. 'Stop that!' he said, and began to loosen the noose from his neck. He had the craziest notion that he would find Samara, and together they would simply walk away from this madman's dream.
Suddenly, the large frame of Father Thomas loomed over him and snatched the rope from Neb's hands. From the direction of the cloisters, Kattin approached, dragging Samara behind her. Samara's crimson robe swamped her small frame, and her hands were lost in the flared flowing sleeves, although golden ribbons criss-crossed the bodice to draw it tight around her chest. Her long black hair was pushed away from her face by a narrow gold band, and then braided into a plait that hung down to the small of her back. She looked like a little girl dressed up in her mother's finery; apart from her eyes: they glittered with an ancient fury. Alfred reappeared and tied Neb's hands behind his back again, as though their brief comradeship had never been.
Father Thomas addressed them in a cheerful manner, pretending not to notice Samara's tears of rage. 'Samara, you look stunning. Your husband will be overjoyed,' he leered at Neb. 'He grows impatient, come, the hour is upon us.' Then he crooked his elbow, and drew Sister Catherine's arm through his.
'Come, Sister Catherine, finally, your son will wear flesh again.'
Neb looked from Catherine's hag like features to Kattin's angular face. There was no family resemblance, they couldn't possibly be mother and daughter. Then Neb's spine melted; no matter whose spirit was about to be summoned, there was no doubt about the flesh it intended to wear: His.
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