Chapter Eight

The Seer

From the very beginning, Isabella's plan didn't go as she had hoped. Oh, it was all right as they went to the Inn. They went more quickly than the day before, making up for lost time. She either walked next to Bran or with his father or with Merriman. They all seemed to enjoy her company, and the "children" started following her, smiling and telling jokes and stories. Catherine was the only one who hung back, though Isabella had no idea why. Most often, Catherine would walk beside Bran or Jane or Clara, but she would leave as soon as Isabella began to approach.

By the time they arrived at the Inn, Isabella was walking with Bran most of the time, sharing stories and laughing. As the Seer, she got a room at the Inn to herself. Not many adventurers came by in this season since there was hardly ever anything going on. The other three girls had been placed in a room together, and the others had been split up accordingly.

The first real problem literally reared its head during dinner. His name was Herne, and she remembered with dismay that he was a hunter. When she had been a child, her parents had taught her to always put the animals in on that one night of the year, for that was the night Herne the Hunter had his hunt, and any animals that were loose at the time would be lost. Herne had the same yellow eyes as Arthur and his son, with antlers. The mouth was hard, the beard below it soft. Feathers rimmed the eyes.

He pulled up on his white mare and waved to Arthur, who opened the door to welcome him.

"Good evening to you, King Arthur. I would have thought by now you would be farther!" he said with a smile.

Arthur smiled back. "A bit of difficulties have changed our schedules somewhat," he admitted. "I am glad you could make it, Hunter."

"I wouldn't have missed it for all the hunting dogs in the world!" One of his hunting dogs, lithe and with burning red eyes, glared at him for this remark and promptly ran off to the kitchens, leading the others.

Arthur showed Herne inside and introduced him to all he did not know. Clara waved while Catherine sat with a sleeping Michael beside her. She grinned at him while Jane readjusted her pupil's grip on a fork and looked up with satisfaction. While Jane wasn't looking, Catherine changed her grip and speared a piece of meat, sticking it in her mouth and switching to the proper grip before Jane noticed. Herne grinned.

Isabella stood. "Pleased to meet you," she said softly. She curtseyed and went upstairs, saying she needed a rest.

Once she was out of earshot, Herne said softly, "That girl reeks of the Dark."

"You can smell it on her?" Catherine said, surprised.

"Of course he can, dear," Clara said offhandedly. "He's a hunter. What did you expect?"

"Where I come from, the hunters don't smell things," Catherine retorted. She got up and picked up Michael. "Sir?" she asked Arthur. "May I put him in your room again?" Arthur nodded, and Catherine climbed the stairs, saying she'd be back in a second for more unnecessary torture.

At this, Herne looked to Jane, somewhat alarmed. "This does not become you," he said simply.

Jane laughed as he sat down. "We're trying to teach her manners. It was the oddest thing. She just caught up with us and asked us to teach her manners, and I guess it's turning out to be more trouble than she thought."

"Ah," Herne said. Something in Arthur's eye stopped him from asked more. Instead, he leaned forward, and Arthur started speaking softly of his thoughts. By the time dinner was offered, which he politely declined, saying he'd already eaten, Herne had the same small laughing glint in his eye.

* * *

Catherine went into Arthur's room and grinned at the blanket that had already been spread on the floor. She set Michael on it, smiled as he stirred sleepily, and stroked his hair until he was calm again. Arthur had left a note on the blanket, and she read it in the fading light. "Lock the door behind you." She grinned. From what Bran had told her, this was his first true chance to be a full-time father again, rather than a few short-lived meetings. She suspected Arthur had been up half the night playing with Michael, who had been incredibly tired in the morning and had slept nearly till noon, when he'd finally gotten hungry enough to wake up.

Sighing happily, she went into the hall and locked the door behind her. While she'd been in his room, someone had lit all the candles in the hall. She started walking back to the room where they'd eaten, she wasn't sure what to call it, and was distracted by a giggle.

She paused. She could have sworn she recognized-

There was another giggle, coming from behind her. Catherine turned and followed the noise.

* * *

So far, so good, Isabella thought as she giggled again. She hated giggling, but it never failed to make the person feel wittier than they were.

"Thank you for escorting me to my room," she whispered.

"No problem," Bran said.

"Would you like to come in?" she asked.

"No, thank you. I think I should be getting back."

"Oh, come on," she coaxed. "Live for once."

"I am living," Bran said, his voice beginning to get frosty.

Isabella ignored it tactfully and laughed as if it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. She wrapped her arms around Bran's neck and looked into his eyes, shivering. "They're yellow," she thought. How strange.

She had him to the wall. "Kiss me," she whispered. One kiss and he would be hers, whether he wanted it or not. She leaned forward and felt someone tap her on the shoulder. "Oh, what now?" she asked loudly. She turned to reprimand whoever had interrupted for and saw a fist flying toward her. She wasn't quick enough to get out of the way.

"Ow!" she shouted, touching her cheek gingerly.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Catherine said, disgusted. "Suck it up."

"Bran, darling, surely you don't want her to-"

"Cat, I'm afraid she's right."

"Well, if I can't fight her, can I throw her out a window or something?"

"Of course not!" Bran said.

"Well, then can I take her to the kitchen and stick her hand in-"

"No, Cat."

"Bring the boiling water up here?" she asked hopefully.

"No."

"Fine. Be responsible and mature." She glared at Isabella. "If I ever, ever catch you trying to hit on him again when he obviously doesn't want it, and if I ever catch you acting sweet on him again, I swear to you I will do the worse thing you can imagine."

Isabella laughed. "Such as?"

Catherine took a step forward. Although they both knew she wasn't going to try anything, Bran held out an arm to stop her just in case things got out of hand. "I'll cut all your hair. If I leave any left, it will be uneven. I'll scar your face, dropping hold liquid on it and making it bubble. I'll cut out your tongue just to make sure you won't be able to flirt with anyone, and just in case you get the bright idea of sign language, which I'm pretty sure hasn't been invented yet, I'll cut off your fingers too. And for the rest of your life, wherever you go, whomever you meet, people will shriek when they see you. The braver ones will look at you in horror, and you will see their faces. You will hear people talk of your ugliness behind your back." Catherine sighed. All the while, Isabella had been backing up, horrified, and Catherine turned to grin at her audience, which had been responding to Isabella's shout.

"Well- Well..." Isabella stammered. "Your mother is whore!"

Catherine laughed. "No argument there."

"You are the daughter of a pig!"

"I suppose they do eat..."

"You will get the precious boy of yours killed because you don't know how to protect it." Catherine stopped walking, clenching and unclenching her fists. Bran gave her a slight push forward, Catherine a slight nod, and they started walking again. "The boy is ugly, and stupid!" Isabella shouted. "He would be better off being raised by Daniel in a whorehouse!"

Catherine spun around. "Say it again," she said in a low voice. "Give me a reason. Just one."

"Cat," Bran said sternly. He gently turned her shoulders around, but Catherine stood firmly rooted to the spot.

"Daniel could be a better parent than you," Isabella said softly.

"Oh, that is it!" Catherine shouted. And with that, she flung Bran's arm aside and ran at Isabella.

* * *

"You know full well you shouldn't have done that," Clara said. Michael was laying on the bed. She dangled a ribbon in front of him lifted it right before he grabbed it, letting it run through his fingers. Michael smiled and tried to get it again.

Catherine watched and smiled. "I know, I think. But honestly, Daniel? Daniel? I've seen his idea of being a parent."

"Perhaps. But it still wasn't an excuse. Especially when they were teaching you should only fight when it's absolutely necessary."

"Yeah. I guess I just have to learn that a bit better."

"If they continue to teach you at all," Clara pointed out.

Catherine sank onto her bed, miserable. That thought hadn't even occurred to her. "I haven't been grounded before," she said. "I suppose he's really angry."

"Well, you did everything he told you not to," Clara said. She held up her hand and started counting things off on her fingers. "1) He kept telling you not to, and you did it anyway. 2) He tried to keep you from doing it, and you shoved his arm out of his way. Haven't you learned by now that when he tries to use force, he means it? 3) They'd taught you not to fight in situations like that, and you still did it."

"You aren't a mother," Catherine whispered quickly.

"Neither are you," Clara reminded her in a whisper.

* * *

"Well?" Bran asked as Clara came out.

Clara shook her head. "I don't think she's ever been punished by her peers before. Did you tell her what would happen if she disobeyed you or went against what you taught her?"

Bran shook his head.

"You might want to. I don't think she understands punishment like this. She understands immediate cause and effect. Someone killing another, not getting away in time, and getting caught by the police. Someone stealing and then suddenly having a free lava lamp or something. Stuff like that."

Bran shook his head again. "No one could have grown up like that."

Clara sat down next to him. "Not everyone was as lucky as you, Pendragon. Always remember that."

"Please don't call me Pendragon," Bran asked coldly.

"It is your birthright," Clara said curtly. "You need to learn that sometimes the price of things is worth it."

"Sometimes?"

"Yes, sometimes. Everything depends upon what you make of it, Pendragon. Work hard, understand what you are doing, see the need for what you do, want to do what you do, and the price of being the Pendragon will have been worth it."

"Only if I make changes," Bran said with a dark laugh.

"Then make them, Bran, son of Arthur, Pendragon."

* * *

Clara next went to see Isabella.

"Oh, please go away," Isabella said when she entered. Clara saw Isabella hadn't seen whom it was, since she was hiding her face, and cleared her throat.

"You need to put some meat on that," Clara said. "Or else it will swell."

"It's already swollen," Isabella said miserably. Clara walked over and finally succeeded in prying Isabella's hands away from her face long enough to get a look.

"So it is," she agreed. "If I were you," she said, changing her tone as well as the subject, "I'd leave and go back to wherever you came from. The Dark has made you vain, my friend. The Voice never meant it to be so."

"And how would you know?" Isabella said with a cold laugh.

"The Voice says so. Learn how to listen to it again, Isabella de Francis. The Voice will look after you to the point where a swollen face and few scratches will not frighten anyone, least of all you." Clara continued in this vein until there was an empty room at the inn.

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© 2001. Guess what? I finished the story! YAY!