“Father,” Beatrice went on, “your present conversation with Master Wistan isn’t entirely within my understanding. Yet it interests me greatly.”
“Is that so, mistress?” Father Jonus, still recovering his breath, opened his eyes and looked at her.
“Last night in a village below,” Beatrice said, “I spoke with a woman wise with medicines. She had much to tell about my sickness, but when I asked her about this mist, the same that makes us forget the last hour as readily as a morning many years past, she confessed she had no idea what or whose work it was. Yet she said if there was one wise enough to know, it would be you, Father Jonus, up here in this monastery. So my husband and I made our way here, even though it’s a harder road to our son’s village where we’re impatiently awaited. It was my hope you’d tell us something of this mist and how Axl and I might be free of it. It may be I’m a foolish woman, but it seemed to me just now, for all the talk of shepherds, you and Master Wistan were speaking of this same mist, and much bothered by what’s been lost of our past. So let me ask this of you, and Master Wistan too. Do the both of you know what causes this mist to fall over us?”
Father Jonus and Wistan exchanged looks. Then Wistan said quietly:
“It’s the dragon Querig, Mistress Beatrice, that roams these peaks. She’s the cause of the mist you speak of. Yet these monks here protect her, and have done so for years. I’d wager even now, if they’re wise to my identity, they’ll have sent for men to destroy me.”
“Father Jonus, can this be true?” Beatrice asked. “The mist is the work of this she-dragon?”
The monk, who for an instant had seemed far away, turned to Beatrice. “The shepherd tells the truth, mistress. It’s Querig’s breath which fills this land and robs us of memories.”
“Axl, do you hear that? The she-dragon’s the cause of the mist! If Master Wistan, or anyone else, even that old knight met on the road, can slay the creature, our memories will be restored to us! Axl, why so quiet?”
Indeed, Axl had been lost in thought, and although he had heard his wife’s words, and noticed her excitement, it was all he could do simply to reach out a hand to her. Before he could find any words, Father Jonus said to Wistan:
“Shepherd, if you know your danger, why do you dally here? Why not take this boy and be on your way?”
“The boy needs rest, as I do.”
“But you don’t rest, shepherd. You cut firewood and wander like a hungry wolf.”
“When we arrived your log pile was low. And the nights are cold in these mountains.”
“There’s something else puzzles me, shepherd. Why does Lord Brennus hunt you as he does? For many days now, his soldiers have searched the country for you. Even last year, when another man came from the east to hunt Querig, Brennus believed it might be you and sent men out to search for you. They came up here asking for you. Shepherd, who are you to Brennus?”
“We knew one another as young lads, even before the age of this boy here.”
“You’ve come to this country on an errand, shepherd. Why jeopardise it to settle old scores? I say to you, take this boy and be on your way, even before the monks come out of their meeting.”
“If Lord Brennus does me the courtesy to come here after me this night, I’m obliged then to stand and face him.”
“Master Wistan,” Beatrice said, “I don’t know what’s between you and Lord Brennus. But if it’s your mission to slay the great dragon Querig, I beg you, don’t be distracted from it. There’ll be time to settle scores later.”
“The mistress is right, shepherd. I fear I know too the purpose of all this woodcutting. Listen to what we say, sir. This boy gives you a unique chance the like of which may not come your way again. Take him and be on your way.”
Wistan looked thoughtfully at Father Jonus, then bowed his head politely. “I’m happy to have met you, father. And I apologise if earlier I addressed you discourteously. But now let me and this boy take our leave of you. I know Mistress Beatrice still wishes for advice, and she’s a brave and good woman. I beg you preserve some strength to attend to her. Now I’ll thank you for your counsel, and bid you farewell.”
Lying in the darkness, still hopeful sleep would overtake him, Axl tried to remember why he had been so oddly silent for much of his time in Father Jonus’s cell. There had been some reason, and even when Beatrice, triumphant to discover the origin of the mist, had turned to him and exclaimed, he had been able only to reach out his hand to her, still not speaking. He had been in the throes of some powerful and strange emotion, one that had all but put him in a dream, though every word being spoken around him still reached his ears with perfect clarity. He had felt as one standing in a boat on a wintry river, looking out into dense fog, knowing it would at any moment part to reveal vivid glimpses of the land ahead. And he had been caught in a kind of terror, yet at the same time had felt a curiosity — or something stronger and darker — and he had told himself firmly, “Whatever it may be, let me see it, let me see it.”
Had he actually spoken these words out loud? Perhaps he had done so, and just at the instant Beatrice had turned to him in excitement, exclaiming, “Axl, do you hear that? The she-dragon’s the cause of the mist!”
He could not remember clearly what had happened once Wistan and the boy had departed Father Jonus’s chamber. The silent monk, Ninian, must have left with them, probably to provide the ointment for the boy’s wound, or simply to lead them back unobserved. In any case, he and Beatrice had been left alone with Father Jonus, and the latter, despite his wounds and his exhaustion, had examined his wife thoroughly. The monk had not asked her to remove any clothing — Axl had been relieved — and though here too his recollection was hazy, an image came to him of Jonus pressing an ear to Beatrice’s side, eyes closed in concentration as though some faint message might be heard coming from within. Axl remembered too the monk, with blinking eyes, putting to Beatrice a series of questions. Did she feel sick after drinking water? Did she ever feel pain at the back of her neck? There were other questions Axl could now no longer remember, but Beatrice had replied in the negative to one after the next, and the more she did so, the more pleased Axl had become. Only once, when Jonus asked if she had noticed blood in her urine, and she replied that yes, she sometimes had, did Axl feel unease. But the monk had nodded, as though this was normal and to be expected, and gone straight on to the next question. How then had this examination ended? He remembered Father Jonus smiling and saying, “So you can go to your son with nothing to fear,” and Axl himself saying, “You see, princess, I always knew it was nothing.” Then the monk had eased himself carefully back down in his bed and lain there, recovering his breath. In Ninian’s absence, Axl had hurried to fill the monk’s drinking cup from the jug, and as he had placed it to the sick man’s mouth, had seen tiny droplets of blood slide from the lower lip and spread in the water. Then Father Jonus had looked up at Beatrice and said:
“Mistress, you seem happy to know the truth about this thing you call the mist.”
“Happy indeed, father, for now there’s a way forward for us.”
“Take care, for it’s a secret guarded jealously by some, though it’s maybe for the best it remains so no longer.”
“It’s not for me to care if it’s a secret or not, father, but I’m glad Axl and I know it and can now act on it.”
“Yet are you so certain, good mistress, you wish to be free of this mist? Is it not better some things remain hidden from our minds?”
“It may be so for some, father, but not for us. Axl and I wish to have again the happy moments we shared together. To be robbed of them is as if a thief came in the night and took what’s most precious from us.”