She was quiet a moment. “How do you know about that name?” she finally asked. “Was it in the book?”
“In a way,” he answered, feeling confused. “While I was reading the book, I heard the name. I heard it twice. The voice said King Eredur wasn’t the Dreadful Deadman. Then it said Lord Dunsdworth—not the boy, but his father—was also not the Dreadful Deadman. What is it?”
“I don’t know for certain,” Ankarette said, her voice soft and subdued. “It is a superstition, mostly. One that is whispered about late at night. It is a legend of the first king of Ceredigion, the one who ruled before Occitania invaded our lands. I told you before of his Wizr. Myrddin was Fountain-blessed and could see the future. There are stories that he left a prophecy. Before he disappeared, he said that the first king of Ceredigion would return someday. He would come back from the dead to rule Ceredigion and Occitania. This prophecy was named the Dreadful Deadman, for when he returns, there will be much war and bloodshed. This legend is not written down, but the people believe in it. It is rumor ladled on gossip and served in a trencher of lies. King Eredur claimed he was the Dreadful Deadman. It’s a ploy many have used to become king. But that is the nature of prophecies. They are much speculated about. I know the Occitanians fear this prophecy. To them it is certainly dreadful. But in this case, Owen, I cannot tell you what is true and what is false. I do not know.”
Owen rubbed his hand over the cool, smooth stone of the well. He kept staring into the depths, wishing he could see her. “Are you truly down there?” he asked.
“I am,” she answered, a smile in her voice. “Now, you said you wished you could help.”
“Can I?” he asked, growing more hopeful.
“Owen, you are the biggest help of all. You are the one who is going to save your family.”
He leaned forward so far he almost fell in. “Really? How?”
“You are going to tell the king your family is guilty of treason.”
His hope suddenly wilted. “Ankarette?”
“Listen to me, my boy. The verdict of the Assizes has already been determined. There must be enough evidence in that book to condemn your parents. I cannot do anything about that. The king has already made up his mind. He will use Duke Horwath to execute his will and deliver the king’s justice. No matter what is said tomorrow at the Assizes, your family will be declared guilty of treason and will be attainted. Do you know that word?”
“No,” Owen groaned miserably. He wanted to be sick.
“Attainder means the forfeiture of land and rights as a consequence of a sentence of death for treason or felony. It means the king will strip away Westmarch from your family and put them to death. Then he can claim the duchy as royal lands or give them to another person. That is what happens. That is what is going to happen tomorrow. What I need to know is what is in that book. Because you are going to have a dream tonight, Owen, and you are going to share it with the king before the Assizes begins. You will confess your family’s treason. That exhibition of your power will not only astonish the king, but the fact that you used it to benefit him will put you in a position of trust. The Assizes, Owen, is your test of loyalty. Your parents have already failed theirs. They failed it months ago when your father didn’t fight for the king at Ambion Hill until it was too late. Your father is useless to the king now, for he can never trust him again. What Severn needs to know is if you will be faithful to him.”
Owen felt tears stinging his eyes. “But I don’t want my family to die!” he gasped. He felt utterly miserable.
“I know, I know,” Ankarette soothed, her voice thickening with pain. “But you can save them, Owen. Listen. Don’t let your grief run away with you. I’m doing the best I can to help you.” Her voice trailed off and Owen stifled his own sobs, wanting so much to reach into the black hole to comfort her.
“Listen to me . . .” she whispered, her voice so soft. “Your dream will reveal your parents’ treason. I will find out what’s in the black book so I can tell you tonight. It will solidify your reputation as one who can see the future.”
“But how?” Owen asked, confused. “What my parents did was in the past. Why would knowing that convince the king I can see the future?” The sound of approaching boots met his ears, and when he looked up, he saw Duke Horwath approaching, a look of concern on his face.
“He’s coming,” Owen whimpered nervously.
“Listen carefully,” Ankarette said. “Even if someone is attainted, found guilty, the king can show mercy and pardon them. We will make the future. Your dream will predict that the king will pardon your family and banish them from the realm. Exile. That is what your dream must tell him. I will work out the details tonight. I’ll find you before dawn.”
“He’s almost here!” Owen warned.
“And in your dream,” she whispered, her voice ghosting up from the well hole, “the rat dies.”