Wizard's Daughter

by Catherine Coulter

  He nodded. "Oh, yes. Every day they think of you, mourn your loss. As for Vittorio, he is wedded to another lady and abuses her endlessly. She has borne him no children. His seed is lifeless, you see. When your father realized this, he knew Ilaria could not have borne Vittorio's child. And he wonders who the real father was, and wonders about those deaths and how you, Isabella, disappeared so quickly after­ward. He remembers perhaps seeing you in that ship's cabin, but he can't be certain since he never saw you again through his magic, because the link was broken, you see. You no longer remembered him. Nor could your elder brother, Raf-faello, ever find you and he carries his father's strong magic blood. Your mother grieves, Isabella, she still grieves. You have four brothers now, the youngest only four years old. It would seem that there will be yet a fifth brother bom very soon."

  "I have four brothers? Almost five?" She couldn't compre­hend it, simply couldn't take it all in. But she did comprehend one thing very well: Vittorio had never been punished.

  Nicholas said, "Sarimund, you said it was better she didn't remember because Ryder Sherbrooke would have contacted her family, she'd have gone home to San Savaro and still been in danger. My question is why in the name of Heaven didn't you simply strike down Vittorio? Then she could have gone home without risk."

  Sarimund said slowly, "I know so many things, see so many things, but I am not of the physical world now, my lord. I could no more call down a plague on Vittorio's head than a Tiber could trap a red Lasis. Do you understand?"

  "Yo u mean you cannot cross from here to England?"

  He smiled at that and shook his head. "No, I cannot even cross into England. Nowhere on earth, for that matter." "But_"

  Sarimund closed his hand around Nicholas's wrist. "If I 'd been able, I would have blighted that evil monster to the pit of Hell. Ah, there is so much evil everywhere. Here in the Pale evil flourishes madly."

  Rosalind looked squarely at Sarimund. "After I have saved Prince Egan, after Nicholas has paid his debt to me, I will go home and see that Vittorio is punished. Now, Sarimund, what are Nicholas and I to do now that we are here in the Pale?"

  49

  Sarimund lightly touched white fingers to her cheek. "Once you have saved the little boy, the earthly wizard who stands beside us will pay his debt to you."

  Nicholas said, "Very well. I will accept that here in this strange land, I am a small boy, who is also a prince. She will save the boy, and thus save me. So, tell me, Sarimund, does this mean that you are my father as well, back when all this began? Are you a Vail?"

  Sarimund laughed. "My line is long and noble, perhaps more powerful than either of yours, but my line is not of your line, my lord. Your father is your father, the Earl of Mountjoy, descendant of Captain Jared Vail. You are English through and through.

  "You have come into the Pale as you were meant to do. You have become who you were meant to be. Time grows short now and it is time for you to act."

  "Will Nicholas survive when he pays his debt to me?

  Sarimund was silent for a very long time. He turned to look up at the three bloodred moons. "When Taranis approved my spell, he dreamed to me that if I interfered in any way at all, then the spell would cease and all would be lost. I de­manded then to know why he couldn't interfere; after all, he was a god, he lived in the Pale. He sang to me: I do not med­dle in the affairs of witches and wizards and they do not meddle in the affairs of dragons.

  "Therefore, since I promised not to meddle, I cannot cast my eyes to what came to pass, and thus I cannot know."

  Rosalind grabbed Sarimund's beautifully stitched collar and shook him. "Damn you, wizard, that lame bit of reason­ing is not good enough."

  Sarimund eyed her, a gleam of pride in his beautiful eyes. "It is the best I can do. If only you had come to the Pale when I first selected you, Isabella, the bright child so filled with magic light—then all would have come to pass as I foresaw it. Jared Vail would have been here to protect you.

  "But the time was still far into the future. Actually, I have wondered if Taranis meddled and knocked time awry. He is occasionally bored, you know, and it would perk him up to create some mayhem."

  Rosalind began shaking Sarimund, so frustrated she wanted to clout him. "You listen to me, Sarimund. I do not care if the magician Merlin himself knocked time awry, I don't want Nicholas in danger, do you understand me?"

  "Since you are yelling," Nicholas said, grinning at her, taking her hand in his, "he certainly hears you."

  He turned to Sarimund. His voice was emotionless when he said, "You believe I will die, don't you?"

  Sarimund said, "I cannot know, I told you. But now that I have seen you, my lord, I realize you are formidable, that you will not be easily vanquished, but your powers are still crude because you do not want to accept your magic. You must forget your hidebound earth rules with all their constraints. You must allow yourself to believe and accept what you are and you will grow stronger here, stronger than the three bloodred moons. You will be invincible.

  "Here in the Pale, magic is sharp and clear and embedded in the very air itself. Here, there is nothing to impede your ability—if only you will let your magic have its full rein. Here, you will find it obeys you, mayhap with some ele­gance. Elegance and grace of action is a very fine thing in a trained wizard."

  Rosalind said, "The lines I sang when I first began to speak again - I know of his death and her grievous sin. Who are they? What does it mean?"

  "The he is Prince Egan, you know that his death is very possible indeed. Naturally, Epona's is the grievous sin, which could come to pass if you fail. I planted the lines deep in your mind, so they would always be with you, a reminder, a trigger, I suppose you would say in your modern day, to make you see, to understand."

  "But I did not understand."

  "Perhaps my elegant lines were a bit too subtle, but no matter, you are here. Ah, look yon, there is Taranis. He is the leader of the Dragons of the Sallas Pond.

  "Listen to me, hath of you. The balance in the Pale is always precarious. Taranis knows this very well. He made cer­tain I knew it when he dreamed the danger to me so long ago."

  Taranis, Rosalind thought as she and Nicholas turned to look at the magnificent dragon who was soaring through the night sky, silhouetted against the bloodred moons, coming closer and closer. The very air around him seemed to part with his passage. He flapped his huge wings lazily, remain­ing perhaps a dozen feet above them. His emerald eyes whirled in his great head as he studied them. He was much larger than his son, and he was elegant, all his movements lithe and supple, as if practiced for a very long time.

  Taranis smiled, pleasure flowed through him, although no one could tell that. He opened his great mouth and sang, "I am Taranis, Dragon of the Sallas Pond. I am glad you are here. Time grows short. Come, my lord, Isabella, it is time to end this. Blood Rock awaits." He turned his great head to­ward Sarimund and sang, "You have kept faith with me. A wizard with a dragon's honesty."

  Rosalind said, "Do none of you speak simply here in the Pale?"

  Taranis sang, "The cadence of simple words is boring. The air lies flat when simple words spill out of a mouth. Singing the words gives them life and interest, and relieves tedium. I have waited for you for a very long time, as has Sarimund. We will see how well he casts his wizard's spells, though this one is beyond old and perhaps unravels. Welcome, Isabella." Then there was laughter, deep rolling laughter that seemed to come from the belly of that huge creature.

  "Go with him," Sarimund said. "Taranis is pleased, he knows it is all about to come to an end. The Pale has been teetering as would a man on a stretched rope. What would have happened had you not come now? I do not know, but the possibilities curdle my innards." He smiled at them. "Yes, I have innards." He shrugged and patted his belly. "Go with him," he said again, "be cautious, trust no one, and never forget, Isabella, no evil can touch you? And then he simply wasn't there anymore. Nicholas found he was only mildly curious. He knew Sarimund had simply
vanished, impossible, yet it was so. I can do the same thing, he thought. Here in the Pale I can do the same thing. Here in the Pale I can do anything.

  He said to the spot where Sarimund had stood but a mo­ment before, "Captain Jared is at Wyverly Chase."

  They heard Sarimund's voice as a sigh in the still air. "What a grand man he was. He was so very sorry he could not pay the debt, but it was not to be; time had shifted on it­self. And so the dreams came to many firstborn sons, and generations passed, all waited for the right time. When the two of you were finally united, Captain Jared wanted to see both of you, learn what you were about. He tells me you will succeed. But his magic is now as weak as a flicking flame in a high wind. Alas, he cannot even sing as he used to."

  The great dragon bowed his head to them and sang in a sweet high voice, "My son would like to burn you to your toes, my lord, but he swallowed his flame since it is forbidden that he expel fire until he has reached his maturity. The penalty is grave enough to make even an immature dragon consider carefully. I was pleased he was able to show some restraint. Unfortunately, his mother also believed it would be great sport. It is difficult to chastise her, for she is very quick to violence. I, however, am a god. I have knowledge none other have, dragon or man; I have visions that would blind others. I know what is and what could be. I am an extension of the Great Wizard. I am here and I am now, and will always be here. Let us go."

  Sarcasm rolled out of Nicholas's mouth as he rolled his eyes. "You know 'what is and what could be.' Ah, I wish to take lessons in magic speak."

  Taranis's eyes whirled madly. The ground shook. "Per­haps first, you should learn to sing properly."

  Rosalind said, "He is right, Taranis. Perhaps when this is over you can give us instruction. But now, what are we to do?"

  Taranis landed beside them and the earth shook beneath his weight. He lowered his great head and sang, "Settle your­self between my magnificent scales and hold on tightly."

  After Nicholas and Rosalind managed to climb upon his back, he sang, "That's right, hold yourselves steady." He lifted himself effortlessly into the night sky.

  I am riding on a dragon's back, Rosalind thought. I am terrified and I wish to sing with the joy of it. Her soft white woolen skirts billowed, longer it seemed now, billowing be­hind her. She and Nicholas clung tightly to Taranis's shining scales. His wings moved rhythmically, and her hair tangled about her head in the wind.

  Rosalind tightened her hands together around Nicholas's waist. "Look at all the snaking rivers and lakes. They appear, at least from up here, to bulge inside their boundaries, like a man's veins rising on his hands. Isn't that strange?"

  The barren land below them was a vast plain that led to Mount Olyvan, its peaks jagged-toothed, bleak, and deso­late. On its highest summit stood the huge fortress of Blood Rock. It was like a Hieronymus Bosch painting—Nicholas could easily picture abundant sin and moral turmoil residing within that fortress, and endless suffering, and endless pain and wailing.

  Taranis rose higher and they felt moisture on their faces as they passed through clouds the color of eggplant and as wispy as dreams before dawn.

  Nicholas said, "Sarimund wrote that you, Taranis, were the Celtic thunder god. The Romans wrote that Taranis was the god to whom human sacrifices were made. Your name is Taranis. Are you indeed he?"

  "It is all of a piece," Taranis sang. "All knits together in this realm and in most other realms as well. There is sin, there is worship, there is some good and more evil, and there is unity and devastation. The ancient Celts knew both, as do you in your modern day. As do we in the Pale. Ah, but the Romans, they were something else entirely."

  Rosalind rolled her eyes at this and said to Nicholas, pointing, "There are so many animals running on the plain. Ah, there are Tiber below running in a herd, at least two dozen of them."

  Taranis sang, "The Tiber believe the meat of the red Lasis will somehow elevate it above other creatures." There was a snort, then, his voice singing higher, sharper, "But the red Lasis is much too smart. You should see Bifrost throw the fire spears in the pits he builds. It is one of the few things that give him pleasure since the death of his mate."

  But Bifrost has hooves, not hands, Rosalind thought, how could he ever build a pit or hurl a fire spear?

  "Existing in your tedious, mind-numbing world has given you such limited imaginations," Taranis sang into the high wind that had just sprung up near Mount Olyvan. He glided straight up, right at the fortress of Blood Rock. "There, I have distracted you, made you forget what is to come. Endless worry can limit a wizard's powers, make his magic freeze. Now, however, it is time for you to focus and think and re­member. As Sarimund said, be cautious, believe nothing you see.

  "Ah, I quite despair of all this, but Sarimund is so very confident. Even though I am a god, all is hidden behind a thick veil. Events are trapped in the folds of time, and since time is bounded by place, my vision is obscured."

  In the next moment, Taranis came to a smooth landing on a wide flat expanse at the top of the black stone fortress that had frozen Sarimund's blood when he'd first seen it, and now froze theirs as well. They saw the streaks of blood snaking down the black rock, thin as the rivers cut in the land below. It looked fresh, a vivid red. It looked thick and heavy, the droplets rolled slowly, inexorably. Nicholas remembered Sarimund had written that the sight kept all crea­tures in the Pale away from the fortress because it terrified them. Nicholas suspected all were right to be terrified of this hideous pile of blooded black rock. The fortress rose high above them, impossibly high arches with sharp spikes com­ing downward a good six feet, towers that speared into the eggplant-colored clouds or passed through them, wide en­trances with huge iron portcullises poised halfway down, and so much ugly black stone covering everything. A mar­velous illusion, Nicholas thought, and fancied he would alter this damned illusion once he had the time to do it. He smiled. He turned when Taranis sang, his voice deep and smooth, "Go, my children. I shall return when the time is right. Don't forget that here, in the Pale, you are very power­ful, you are ancient magic." Then he raised his mighty head and trumpeted. It seemed the very fortress trembled and the streaks of blood on the black rocks spiderwebbed, creating new rivulets, a terrifying sight.

  Nicholas and Rosalind carefully climbed off Taranis's back. Suddenly Rosalind cried out, "Oh, dear, I cut my fin­ger on one of the scales."

  "Let me see," Nicholas said and took her finger. He didn't think, simply squeezed and more blood shot to the surface. Then he took her finger in his mouth and sucked the wound. He studied the prick for a moment, then looked closely at the drop of blood on the tip of Taranis's scales.

  Taranis rose straight into the air. He hovered there, his great eyes on Rosalind. He sang so loudly Nicholas would swear all the beasts on the far plain could hear him. "I have mixed with your blood. A Dragon of the Sallas Pond mixed with a witch. Now, what will come of that? I wonder." And he g lided upward, wheeled to the right, and was away. They watched him fly back across the barren plain, where from their vantage point atop Mount Olyvan, the herds of crea­ tures below looked very tiny indeed.

  "What did he mean mixing his blood with—" Rosalind got no further.

  50

  A young man stood directly in front of them, paying them no attention, as he shaded his eyes with his hand, watching Taranis fly away.

  "He did not speak to me," the young man said as he turned to Nicholas and Rosalind. "Surely he did not see me, else he would have spoken to me. My lord, mistress, my name is Belenus. I am vastly important in your history, a god—of agriculture, the giver of the life force."

  Rosalind eyed the brightest red hair she'd ever seen. Only his incredible blue eyes were brighter. She felt like a faded copy standing next to him. He had big, very white square teeth. She said, "The Romans called you Apollo Be­lenus and named the great May first festival after you, Beltane. In this modern age, we still celebrate Beltane. Did you know that?"

  "Modern age? An ag
e is an age, nothing more."

  Belenus hawed to Nicholas, deep and graceful. "I am re­lieved you are finally here. There is only a sliver of time, feel it; all do. We must open the door and step into the seam

  that divides what Epona wished to happen from what actually will come to pass. You wonder how I know this. Taranis had no choice but to think it to me so I would not stand here like a dolt, questioning you but not understanding. I have no time to give you a nice cup of witmas tea." He grinned, show­ing every one of those big square teeth. "It is Epona's favorite drink. She tries to hide it from the other witches. Witmas changes its taste, you know. I prefer it when it tastes of the juice of the newly killed Tiber. Now, follow me."

  Nicholas and Rosalind fell in behind the young man with his pale white skin, and his burning blue eyes, and that vio­lent red hair. It seemed even redder now. Nicholas felt the power in him, felt it drawing him, though he walked in front of them, saying nothing, simply walking.

  They passed through impossibly wide corridors, like rooms really, some lined with Roman swords and helmets, others with skeletons, all standing erect against the corridor walls, like soldiers standing at attention. They walked through chambers, all painted in vivid colors, from the deep­est purple to a pale, pale yellow, filled with precious Greek statues standing immediately next to crude wooden statuary, carved by ancient hands.

  "All of this is much too large, too vast," Nicholas whis­pered to her. "It is an illusion meant to impress us."

  "Of course it is an illusion," she said matter-of-factly, "and it is well done." Rosalind called out, "Belenus, perhaps you have created too many rooms and corridors to impress us with your power. However, you said we must hurry. Why are you delaying us?"

  Belenus stopped at the next chamber, one whose walls were painted vivid bright blue, the color of his eyes, Rosalind saw. There were velvet-covered benches against all the walls, a sultan's large jeweled pillows stacked everywhere, and on the walls were niches where statues of the Celtic gods stood. How he knew this, Nicholas didn't know, but he was sure.