by Holly Race
‘Bring it on, I say,’ Phoebe calls over her shoulder as she shoos Donald the lion away from the horses.
Soon we’re all lined up on horseback in gently drifting snow. Miss D is joined by a few other teachers. I welcome the chill on my skin. I’ve been spending more time lurking around the castle in my downtime instead of practising on Lamb like I used to. But I don’t know where to start finding more clues to Mum’s life. Perhaps some fresh air and a different kind of challenge will give me new ideas.
‘Think of this as an agility course,’ Miss D says.
‘A race,’ another teacher adds. ‘We’ve put the thanes’ flag on one of the parapets in the Tower of London. Whoever gets to the flag first, wins.’
‘Under no circumstances are you to engage with dreamers, dreams or nightmares,’ Miss D says. ‘You can save the heroics for after Ostara, thank you very much. We’ll be stationed along the route, ready to help if you get into any sticky situations.’
‘The harker squires will be testing their mettle tonight as well. Pop these on and you’ll find out who you’ve been paired with.’
They hand out helmets to each of us. Slipping the steel cap on feels like a coming of age. A familiar voice speaks in my left ear – Rachel.
‘Hi, Fern, how exciting is this? I’ll be there with you in spirit, or should I say, in voice!’
‘Hi,’ I attempt to chirp back, even as I inwardly groan.
‘Let’s win this, right? Dream team.’
Lamb stamps her hooves and tosses her head. Miss D and all but one of the other teachers disappear across the drawbridge, heading for their stations.
Ollie’s murmuring something in his horse’s ear. Probably a pep talk. His eyes are scanning the castle walls, looking for the best place to jump over. My feelings towards my brother have mellowed somewhat. Less red-hot hatred, more just-about-boiling wariness. But the desire to prove myself better than him is still very much alive.
‘Yeah,’ I say, more to myself than Rachel. ‘I’ve got this.’
The remaining teacher stands in front of us, holding up his hand.
‘Ready!’
I know Lamb and I can do this. The others might have mastered jumping the walls now, but Lamb and I are still the best at it. What better way to prove that I’ve earned my place here than by winning this race? Ollie looks over. I meet the sparking challenge in his eyes.
‘Steady!’
I plan my route. Over the wall at its highest point then down towards the river, past Monument, and come up to the Tower from the south. I’ll bet my scimitar everyone else is going to head for the straight, wide street. It means an easier jump and at first glance it looks as though it would be more direct.
‘Go!’
Lamb doesn’t need kicking. She springs off like a gazelle. I fixate on the wall, nearly four times our height. I don’t hesitate. Up! I think, lifting Lamb with my mind at the very moment her front legs take off. We sail over easily. I glance back. Ollie and the others have done exactly what I expected, going for the lowest part of the wall. This is why it pays to enjoy your own company – years of roaming London’s streets, instead of going to parties, is going to win me this challenge.
I steer Lamb down an alleyway. Up ahead something is flickering in the sky, like fireworks in daytime. I mustn’t let it distract me. The Tower’s just beyond the next wall. I can’t see the others, but I can feel that I’m ahead of them.
The inspyre feels heavier and more visible here, like a billowing veil. The Tower’s castellated tops rise into view. I spot the thanes’ flag on the near corner. A circle enclosing a five-pointed star, signifying the five lores of the thanes sitting within the Round Table.
Then I hear it. The unmistakable sound of fire. How could I have forgotten – the monument marking the source of the Great Fire of London, prone to bursting into flame. I had believed I was being so clever coming this way. My thoughts coagulate. I can see the road ahead of me, hear the pounding of Lamb’s hooves, but all I can think is that it is too close, too close, feel its heat before it’s touched me.
Concentrate, Fern.
Already burning.
Don’t think about it, don’t think about how big the fire must be to make that noise.
The fat beneath my skin rippling.
Then I turn a corner and the fire is there. It twists around a stone column, reaching upwards as though it wants to consume the very sun. Everything slows. My head is nothing but a scream. Then I notice the figure approaching it. An old man, confused wonder on his wrinkled face, stares up at the tip of the fire. I want to scream, ‘Run!’ but my body isn’t mine to command. Lamb is whisking me away from the danger even as the man approaches it.
‘Fern, are you okay?’ Rachel says in my ear. ‘You should be able to skirt the fire at Monument, just don’t get too close.’
Rachel’s voice separates me from the panic. I rein in Lamb.
‘There’s a dreamer,’ I tell her. ‘He’s in danger.’
A split-second pause where I feel alone and frozen again, then Rachel’s voice reappears. ‘We know. Someone’s on their way. Don’t engage, Fern, you’re not ready.’ She sounds urgent, excited.
‘How far away are they?’
‘Palomides is coming. They won’t be long.’
But the man is within reach of the flames. He stretches out a hand. The regiment won’t make it in time, but there’s no way I can go closer to that fire. It would be easier to make me breathe in space. There must be something I can do. If only I had my diamond marbles I might be able to quell the flames, but they’re back in my locker.
The man’s face is open and trusting. I know what will happen next. When the flame takes hold he’ll start to crinkle, the smoke will seep behind his eyes so that he can’t see where the fire will strike next. It will take his fingers first, then run up his arms …
‘Don’t, Fern!’ Rachel shouts.
But I launch myself off Lamb’s back and charge towards the dreamer. I try to pretend the fire isn’t there, to ignore the furnace pushing me back.
‘Get back!’ I shout at the man. ‘Move away!’ But he doesn’t see or hear me, too immersed in his dream to notice something he’s not expecting.
The flame catches the old man’s sleeve and skips along it until his whole jumper is ablaze. I’m too late. His face crumples in childlike shock, but he doesn’t truly understand what’s happening. He doesn’t know he’s about to die. All I can think about is his family finding him in bed in the morning, like Dad found Mum. Maybe his skin will be pinker than usual, or maybe there will be nothing out of the ordinary, no clue as to why he was taken from them. They’ll chalk it up to old age, say it was a natural death, when there’s nothing natural about this at all.
The man’s scream is shrill and I am helpless. Frustration, anger, fear, desperation course through me. I can feel them rushing through my arms. They crackle inside my bones.
‘Fern? Fern! Are you okay?’ Rachel sounds tinny and distant.
There’s a sound like the bursting of a dam. My ears pop. My brain erupts. Something cool rushes over me, but it can’t stop the red hot heat spreading across my head, sticking knives inside my eyes. I turn, and am almost thrown off my feet by the curve of water that arches above. The river. The Thames has risen from its channel and is battering the column of fire. Brilliant, I think, as the pain becomes too much and darkness takes over. Whoever thought of that is brilliant.
22
The first thing I’m aware of is that I’m lying in a puddle. How undignified. I attempt to open my eyes, even though someone is ringing church bells against my skull. I try to ask what’s going on, but all that comes out is an incomprehensible groan.
‘I think she’s coming round. Fern?’ Someone tries to lift me up by my shoulders, which sends another shockwave through my head. I must cry out in pain because they quickly put me down.
‘Is that blood in her ears?’
‘Shut up, Ramesh.’ That’s my brother. There’s something odd about Olli
e’s voice, like his throat is too tight.
‘Get her up, Drew,’ Miss D says. ‘Lord Allenby will want to hear about this.’ Drew – that’s the name of the Apothecary Captain. What’s he doing here?
‘Lord Allenby will need to wait. She’s in no fit state to be interrogated.’
Interrogated? I open my eyes, only to be assaulted by sunlight. I was only trying to save an old man’s life!
‘This can’t wait. Didn’t you see what she did? It’s all the harkers can talk about.’
I’m bewildered. What did I do? There was the fire, and then the water, but I didn’t do anything except stand there like a lemon. ‘Is the dreamer okay?’
‘He’s fine,’ Drew says. ‘We woke him up. He’ll barely have a mark on him, thanks to you.’
‘What?’ They’re not making any sense.
Miss D kneels beside me. ‘I’m sorry, Fern,’ she says, her voice the tenderest I’ve ever heard it. Her arms slide beneath my knees and my back, and the next thing I know I’m being lifted onto Lamb.
‘She needs proper rest, Elaine, as soon as possible,’ Drew calls as she leads Lamb away.
The journey back to Tintagel is excruciating. Lamb is trying her best to move gently, but every clop of her hooves sends painful waves right into my brain. By the time Miss D slides me into one of the chairs in front of Lord Allenby’s desk, all I can focus on is the globe, spinning slowly in its stand. She and Allenby talk in low voices, then she leaves. Lord Allenby kneels in front of me.
‘Fern? I’ve been told that you have a rare gift.’ It’s difficult to process what he’s saying. My head is mostly agony, and words are too complicated for it right now.
‘It’s a mistake,’ I say thickly. ‘I didn’t do anything. There was a dreamer. I was waiting for help and then someone made the wave.’
‘That was you, Fern. You brought the wave, because Palomides wasn’t going to make it in time.’
I think about the rushing sound, the pop in my ears and the crackle that ran through my bones. Is it inconceivable that it was me after all?
‘Oh. Well, you’re welcome then. Can I go to bed now?’
Lord Allenby smiles.
‘Don’t you realise what you’ve done?’
‘Yes. I brought the wave.’ That sounds funny. Brought the wave. I start to giggle until a fresh bout of pain rolls through my head.
‘Yes. You brought the wave. You controlled the inspyre that makes up the Thames – some of the most established inspyre in the world. Think, Fern. Think about everything you’ve learned.’
I’m struggling to think about anything beyond ‘Ouch’. There are two black dots in the centre of my eyes, like that swirling darkness at the Globe. I controlled inspyre, apparently. But that’s impossible. Impossible for anyone other than …
No. Never. Big, huge nope. I must be a narcissist to even think it.
‘Fern.’ Lord Allenby lays a hand gently over mine. ‘You have Immral.’
‘Nah uh.’ I shake my head.
‘No one but someone with powerful Immral could do what you just did, Fern.’
I can’t be. No matter how much I’ve imagined having the power over the last few weeks. This is too much.
‘It’s good that you’re frightened, Fern,’ Lord Allenby is saying. ‘A power like Immral can be seductive. Look at Sebastien Medraut.’
I remember something else that they told us about Immral, that night beside the monument to the fallen, and my heart plummets once more.
‘I don’t …’ I slur through the growing migraine.
‘You’ll need to train yourself to manage it, of course –’
‘Stop,’ I say. My headache is nothing compared to this feeling of total inadequacy. ‘I don’t have Immral. I should be able to control inspyre and read minds, right? Well, I can’t read minds. So I can’t have it. And I don’t have violet eyes, do I? That’s how you know someone’s got Immral, right?’
To my surprise, a smile breaks out on Lord Allenby’s face.
‘Wait here.’
He strides out of the room and I can hear him calling for someone. I wish he’d shout more quietly. When he returns, he pours me a tumbler of an alarmingly neon drink that tastes like chilli.
‘Fermented lotus,’ Lord Allenby explains as I splutter it down. ‘Ah, come in.’
I look round. My brother is standing, pale and wide-eyed, in the doorway.
‘Why don’t you take a seat next to your sister?’ Lord Allenby says.
I shuffle my chair over as best I can.
‘Now, Ollie,’ Lord Allenby says, ‘I want you to do something for me, and I want you to answer me honestly.’
‘Okay, sir,’ Ollie says uncertainly.
Lord Allenby offers Ollie his hand. After a pause, Ollie takes it. And goes even whiter. He gasps, struggling against Lord Allenby’s grip. A trickle of blood meanders out of Ollie’s nostril, aiming for his mouth. When Lord Allenby releases Ollie’s hand, my brother virtually throws himself back in his chair.
‘You saw?’ Lord Allenby says.
Ollie nods, his expression rigid, although I can’t tell if he’s dazed or in shock.
‘What just happened?’ I ask.
Lord Allenby ignores my question. ‘Fern, do you remember what Merlin said when you and Ollie took the Tournament together? He said, Hatched from the same egg. Do you follow me?’
My red eyes meet Ollie’s blue eyes, and with maddening clarity I suddenly understand. I always used to joke that Ollie got the looks and I got the morals, but I was closer to the truth than I’d realised. We are twins. Red and blue make violet.
I can control minds, and Ollie can read them.
We went halves.
23
‘Your Christmas feast is ready!’ Dad’s voice booms up the stairs. I haven’t even showered yet. My head feels as though a trickster nightmare is racing round inside it causing havoc.
Usually I help Dad out on Christmas morning – peeling parsnips and rolling stuffing mix into balls. This morning I pleaded sick. There’s no way I could face playing nice with Ollie after what we learned last night. Anyway, Dad has Clemmie to help. This is the first time in the five years they’ve been going out that she’s come over for Christmas lunch. I can hear her high-pitched rendition of ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’ through a flight of stairs and my closed door.
The news of my power had spread throughout Tintagel before I even left Lord Allenby’s office. The harkers up in the tower had seen what I could do, and they’d been vocal about sharing the information. That bothers me the most. Not because I’m ashamed of it or out of some misplaced consideration for other people’s jealousy, but because I’m going to be the freak again. I’d been starting to feel as though – dare I say it? – I fitted in with the other knights, even if we’re not friends. They seemed to like me. Without the burn, they’ve taken my eye colour in their stride. Now that everyone thinks I’ve got Immral I’ll be different again. It’s already started: when I left Lord Allenby’s office last night I was greeted by a mixture of staring, muttering and scattered applause. Even Phoebe, who’s usually so level-headed, rushed out of the knights’ chamber to wave at me as though signposting that she knows the girl with Immral. Ollie had it easy. No one knew about his half of the Immral yet so he was able to slink out of Lord Allenby’s office behind me. He was immediately swallowed into the fold of squires waiting there, avoiding any questions by slipping away with Ramesh.
But what scares me even more than being the centre of attention is something that wasn’t mentioned last night at all. Lord Allenby may not have said it outright, but it didn’t take a genius to work out that he was expecting a lot from us. He’d talked about helping us to train our power. Then there was the sharp, assessing glances he kept sending my way. The glances that I couldn’t fully meet. The glances that wondered what a girl like me had done to deserve such power, and whether I’d be up to wielding it.
‘Come on, Ferny, food will do you good!’ Dad calls a
gain. He might be right. The smell of turkey and chestnuts and cinnamon and all that is good about Christmas has reached my room. Peeling off my pyjamas and climbing into jeans and a moth-eaten festive jumper, I try to shake off the existential dread that has fallen over me along with the headache.
‘Oh my word!’ Clemmie exclaims in horror when I appear downstairs.
‘You’ve seen me a few times, Clemmie,’ I say, miffed, ‘you probably should’ve got used to my appearance by now.’
‘No, love,’ she says, simpering towards me. ‘It’s your ears, you’ve got some blood –’
I step away before she can touch me. She’s right though, I can feel something rough coating the bottom of my ears.
‘What happened, love?’ Dad asks, carrying in a little pot of bread sauce that smells of cloves. ‘Do you want me to make up a tray for you to have in bed?’
‘It’s just a headache.’ Ollie comes in after Dad, holding the cranberry sauce in one hand and a bowl of parsnips in the other. ‘She’ll live. Or are you really at death’s door again, Ferny love?’
‘Stop it,’ Dad says loudly, before I can retaliate.
He puts the pot down hard on our little dining table and stomps back into the kitchen. It seems like his offer has been retracted. There’s nothing I’d like more than to enjoy Christmas lunch without the awkward small talk, but there’s no escaping now. I pull a face at Ollie, which is exactly what I would always have done in this situation, but it feels odd when I do it now. The revelations of last night hang between us, charging every interaction. Dad and Clemmie talk enough to make up for the silence between Ollie and I, though. They talk about work and the weather, about family traditions. And then they talk about politics.
‘You know what, I’m warming to Medraut,’ Dad says around a mouthful of honeyed parsnip. ‘He had a rough few years.’
‘Oh, me too,’ Clemmie agrees.
‘You didn’t used to like him,’ I say.
‘A man can change his mind, can’t he?’
‘Mum didn’t like him either. You said she didn’t trust him, remember?’
