‘No prisoners are to be taken. No one is to be left alive; neither man, woman nor child,’ the captain said. ‘These are the king’s precise orders. When Huandaw’s estates are cleared they will be awarded to a loyal subject. Who knows, one of you might take his place – the one who proves most zealous in carrying out these orders,’ he added darkly.
Viviane put her hand to her mouth with a horrified gasp. These were certainly not Caradawc’s orders, but Idoc’s. She thanked God that she had overheard this speech. She now had no further doubt that Idoc must be overthrown and Caradawc returned to his rightful place as soon as possible.
One of the knights broke away from the rest and started towards the doorway in which she hid. It was Gerin, sent to wake the king. Gerin, Caradawc’s closest friend, his face deeply troubled. He would know that these orders could not be typical of Caradawc – and yet he knew nothing of Idoc’s power.
She waited until he was inside the shadow of the doorway before she touched his arm, instantly putting her fingers to her lips to keep him silent. He was startled but he said nothing. Beckoning, she led him back into the house towards Cai’s room. It seemed to her the safest place to talk, for if they were found it would seem unremarkable that they were visiting their sick friend.
The priest, Father David, was beside Cai’s bed as usual and looked up in surprise as they furtively entered and shut the door behind them.
Viviane went at once to Cai’s bedside, hoping there would have been some improvement so that he too could hear what she was about to say. His wounds at last had healed, but he lay as though in a coma, staring unseeingly at the beams across the ceiling.
Viviane knew that the family priest was by no means a man of Father Brendan’s calibre and knowledge, but an ally against Idoc he would certainly prove as soon as he suspected that devilish spirits were involved. Yet still she hesitated, though Gerin was speaking questions with his eyes, and Father David was waiting expectantly for an explanation. This elderly, good-natured monk was no match for Idoc and, if the plan she was now hatching were to work, he might have to put himself in great danger.
But there was no alternative. They had very little time left.
As quickly and simply as she could she explained that Caradawc had been taken over by an evil spirit; that she knew this spirit well but could not tell them more at present; that they were all in danger and that a great many people would suffer and die if they did not find ways to exorcise him soon.
Gerin was instantly alert. It made sense of the many things that had troubled him ever since Caradawc had returned – and now it certainly made sense of Caradawc’s recent cruel and ruthless orders to his warriors to massacre Huandaw’s people.
The priest was flustered and frightened. He had heard of these things, and indeed had often preached about them – but now that he was faced with the reality he was terrified, and everything he had been taught to do flew out of his mind. Viviane rapidly began to regret that she had involved him.
Whether Cai heard or understood was hard to tell. His expression did not change. He lay as though already dead – yet still breathing.
‘I am intending to journey immediately to Father Brendan at the Community of the Fish,’ Viviane said. ‘I know he will be able to help us.’
‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ babbled Father David in relief. ‘He’ll know what to do.’
‘Well, can you then tell me a short way to get there?’ Viviane asked. ‘I’ve tried before but kept going in circles . . .’
‘Yes, I know the way . . .’ Father David muttered. ‘I could show you . . . I could take you there,’ he added eagerly.
Viviane realized it would be better to take him with her than to leave him behind in the state he was now in. He was a good man, and had always tried to be a good priest, but was perhaps out of his depth in the religion he tried so hard to serve.
Gerin interrupted to say he should go and wake the king as he had been instructed, otherwise suspicions would be aroused.
‘When he sees that I am not there, tell him I am visiting Cai and Father David,’ Viviane suggested. ‘We’ll prepare to leave as soon as the warriors have set out. And Gerin . . .’ she stopped him just as he was about to leave. ‘Try to prevent the worst happening . . . but take care of yourself. This being has no warmth in his heart, no mercy in his soul . . .’
‘The Lord preserve us,’ whispered the priest.
‘The Lord preserve us indeed,’ she said with feeling.
Gerin gave her one last long look and was gone. She was glad he knew, and she wondered fleetingly what role he had played in that ancient drama, for he too seemed deeply involved.
* * * *
The warriors at last clattered off with Caradawc at their head, Gerin riding a few paces behind on his right side.
Then Father David fetched Olwen, who was rigorously instructed on how to look after Cai. It was explained to her that her mistress was riding with the family priest to visit a sick cottager, and she took her place beside Cai’s bed at once.
This explanation for their leaving seemed to satisfy the few people they encountered. The groom gladly saddled Hunydd and another horse for Father David, and as they passed through the castle gate they were hardly noticed. Viviane wore a doeskin cap over her red hair and, clad like a boy, might as well have been invisible.
Father David did indeed know a better way to cross the river, somewhere much nearer home and avoiding Huandaw’s lands. Huge slabs of stone lay across the river, resting on fortuitous outcrops of rock. This had served as a bridge, he explained, since the very ancient times. ‘It was mentioned in Roman writings, and was already old when they came to Britain.’
However old, it was still very strong, and they led the two horses across with no trouble. Viviane wondered what Father David would say if she told him she herself knew of her life in those very ancient times, and she had probably crossed that bridge before.
They had gone a considerable distance when Father David suddenly stopped speaking and looked around himself uneasily. Viviane reined in Hunydd at once, for she too had felt a chill against her cheek, though there was no breeze to stir the leaves.
‘I would rather not go this way,’ she said quickly, realizing that they were near the hill of the dark tower. Father David muttered a prayer and crossed himself, but the words of the prayer had been learnt by rote and had no resonance in the spirit-realms.
Both felt as though they were surrounded, yet they could see nothing. Viviane thought of the amethyst she had with her. She felt sure it would give her clear-sight – the capacity to see what was normally invisible. But she was afraid to use it: afraid of what she might see. ‘But that is stupid,’ she told herself severely. ‘To know one’s enemy is half the battle.’
So she slipped her hand into the bag at her hip and felt around for the purple crystal, at the same time urging Father David to wheel his horse around, so that they could leave this place as quickly as possible.
But Father David’s horse began turning round and round in circles, whinnying in terror. Hunydd too was trembling and, try as she might, Viviane could not find the crystal among all the things she had pressed into the bag.
‘Come!’ she called to the frightened monk. ‘We must leave here.’
Whether it was because Father David was not much accustomed to riding or whether his horse was too terrified to obey his commands it was difficult to tell, but it was clear he had completely lost control of his steed. Viviane tried to bring Hunydd alongside to grasp his bridle, but her approach seemed to spook the horse even more and he suddenly bolted, the hapless monk banging about on his back like a sack of sand, plunging deeper and deeper into the thick woods at the base of the dread hill. For a moment Viviane hesitated, and then she turned Hunydd about and rode after him.
Even in the ancient days she had not approached the tower from this side and so nothing looked familiar to her. The priest was already out of sight, though she could hear him crashing noisily through the unde
rgrowth ahead of her. Hunydd was moving fast, yet somehow making very little progress. Viviane began to feel increasingly uneasy.
Suddenly the sounds ahead of her stopped. She called out as loudly as she could, but there was no reply. She reined in Hunydd, deciding that panic was making her waste energy to no avail. She began to feel as though she were being physically pulled upwards towards the summit of the hill where the dark tower stood. She remembered what she had seen of the tower from the preaching cross on that distant hill. Everything bright and light and beautiful seemed to be drawn towards it and leave only when it had been transformed into something ugly and dark. She tried to resist, but Hunydd seemed to be feeling its influence too and was straining away from her.
When she and Father David had left Castle Goreu she had tied the Green Lady’s cord around her waist. She remembered it now and with a trembling hand took hold of it. Almost immediately she found the strength and courage to resist the sinister attraction of the tower. She would like to have put a great deal of distance between herself and the tower but she could not abandon Father David. She called out again, but not even a birdsong broke the ominous silence.
Viviane ventured forward cautiously, penetrating deeper into the wood where she had last heard the crashing sound of the monk and his horse. She called his name continually, but her voice had a strange flatness as though it were not really carrying. She could just see where Hunydd was treading, but there was no sunlight shining between the trees; rather there was a dim visibility that seemed to have no connection with normal daylight at all.
Suddenly Hunydd reared up and refused to go further.
Directly in front of her she saw the body of Father David – decapitated.
She turned away, shuddering and gagging.
What had she done? Oh God, what had she done in releasing Idoc!
But she must not run away again. Indeed – there was nowhere to hide. She and her fellow priests – if Caradawc and his friends were in fact those same ancient priests who had worked the binding spell with her – had now been given a second chance to solve the problem of Idoc’s evil in another way. Pray God this time they would not fail!
Somehow she knew she had to destroy the tower before she could rescue Caradawc – and before Idoc could begin to change.
She led Hunydd back some paces and tethered her. Then Viviane took a deep breath, clutched her green girdle for reassurance, and strode forward . . .
Darkness roared in her ears . . . She felt that she was being pulled apart . . . yet still she clung to the earth-girdle, remembering the green renewing things of spring . . . In her bag she carried two crystals – two gifts of power: the amethyst that gave clear-sight – and the quartz crystal she had thrown at the black knight’s horse. With these talismans surely she could not fail!
‘Oh God of all the realms . . . who was before all things existed, and will be after all have ceased . . . send me strength . . . guide me . . . protect me . . .’ She screamed the words so loud that the trees in the forest seemed to bend as though before a huge wind . . . The black shapes flying outwards from the gate were buffeted hither and thither, like so many dead leaves . . .
Ahead of her was the tower.
* * * *
She found the door that she remembered from that former life. She found the narrow spiral staircase winding up into the darkness. It took more courage than she knew she had to set foot upon the first step – but once having done so, she knew that there was no way back now until she had completed what she had come to do, or was killed attempting it.
She paused outside the first door, remembering – sorely tempted to peep in to see if the bed was still there, the tree still visible at the window. But she forced herself to pass it by, knowing that it was in the top room she would find what she had to do. As she passed the second and the third doors she flattened herself against the opposite wall, dreading that she would be intercepted.
Sick with fear, at last she stood at the top of the stairs in complete darkness, only touch telling her that she was now before the final door.
She pushed. The locks clicked one by one as though the very touch of her hand had set them in motion – as though her hand was somehow the key for which they had been waiting. And the door swung inwards. The dreadful inevitability of her presence on that threshold frightened her more than anything so far.
She forced herself to step inside. She was in Idoc’s octagonal room. She saw his scrolls, his lamps, his table. She saw his black mirror on the wall. She felt strange, as though she were stepping out of Time, in a place not marked on any map.
She walked across the room towards the mirror.
At first she could see nothing, not even her own reflection, and then gradually, as though emerging through mist, she began to discern figures. She peered more closely. There were four figures . . . becoming more and more distinct . . . and they were indoors . . . close together . . . Rheged was standing beside Cai’s bed, firmly clasping the arm of Elined . . . Olwen stood behind them. It was as though she were in the room with them. Wonderingly she put out her hand to touch them, but all she could feel was the hard, ice-cold surface of the mirror.
‘Look at him,’ Rheged seemed to be saying angrily. ‘Are you pleased with your work?’
Elined was struggling to break from his grip, turning her head from side to side, trying to avoid looking at Cai. Cai himself was sitting up in bed, his face still deathly pale, but no longer comatose. He gazed at Elined with such despair in his eyes that Viviane longed to lean forward and comfort him.
‘If only she would touch him,’ Viviane thought, ‘her heart might come out from behind its fear and start to feel again.’
As though Olwen had picked up her thought, she moved forward and, taking Cai’s hand, she placed it on Elined’s.
Viviane was startled. Was it possible that she could manipulate events as well as see them through this mirror?
Elined drew back as though she had just touched a snake, and Cai fell back on the pillows with a groan, turning his face to the wall as though this time he would succeed in giving up his life.
Furiously Rheged slapped Elined across the face, and she staggered and almost fell. But Olwen caught her in her arms and held her, as she started to weep uncontrollably. Rheged strode out of the room and slammed the door behind him, as if knowing that if he stayed longer he would kill the wretched girl.
The scene began to fade and Viviane pressed forward to see more . . . but another scene was forming across the first one and for a moment it was difficult to tell the two apart. But then there was no doubt. Viviane watched at first with horror a scene in which men were killing each other without mercy: Caradawc’s warriors and Neol’s locked in deadly combat. She tried to look away but could not . . . And then she found that she was fascinated: watching the death and torment of others without a tear. How could this be, she asked herself . . . and then she knew the answer. The tower was affecting her as it affected everything that came under its baleful influence.
Another face emerged on the mirror before her eyes.
Idoc’s face – coldly smiling – watching her.
She screamed and the shock jolted her out of the hypnotic state she had been slipping into. She found herself gripping the double-ended quartz crystal that had sent the black knight’s horse stampeding, and, without thinking, she flung it with all her strength at the mirror. It hit the surface with a tremendous crack that shook the tower from foundations to battlements. Her hands over her ears, Viviane reeled back. The air was full of flying splinters as the mirror and the crystal shattered together. She flung herself from the room and down the stairs. Her hands and cheeks were cut, but she could feel no pain there yet – only in her ears as the building boomed and roared and thundered all around her.
The tower rocked, but did not fall.
* * * *
Idoc, still in the form of Caradawc, might have succeeded in his murderous scheme of destroying Huandaw’s people, had Neol not already
been on his way with all his warriors, enraged at the abduction of his sister Elined. When the two forces met, the battle was long, savage and bloody. Caradawc’s men soon discovered that far from having the advantage they were fighting frantically to defend themselves against Neol’s furious onslaught.
Idoc was almost insane with frustration. The human body he had taken over was cumbersome and inefficient compared to the powerful etheric forms he had been recently assuming. He felt mortal pain as Neol’s sword pierced his flesh. He even felt fear. For a moment he reeled back and in that moment Neol pressed forward. He would have killed him then if Idoc had not somehow found the strength to summon from the dark depths of his own soul a fearsome curse that made Neol pause in terror, his sword arm frozen. Then would the advantage have swung to Idoc had the curse not spread outwards like the greasy rings on a stagnant pool when a stone is dropped at the centre. Farm lads and kindly fathers on both sides were inspired to deeds of monstrous cruelty against other farm lads and other kindly fathers, while bloodless shapes, gross and grotesque, formed by aberration of soul more horrible than any physical deformity could be, fought side by side with them, urging them on against former neighbours who had now become their enemies.
The river lay wide between Caradawc’s men and their home territory. There was no time to seek a safe crossing. Back and back they were driven to the water’s edge. Behind them the long grey river stretched, with flexed and liquid muscles, waiting to seize and pull and twist and drown them. Deep beneath the surface among the slime and water weeds the fiendish river horses stirred, sensing prey . . .
The water was cold as Caradawc’s men and horses plunged in to escape their enemies. As though unable to stop the slaughter now that he had started it, Neol drove his men after them. The bank collapsed under the trampling hooves, and earth and grass and blood mingled with the slate-grey water . . .
The Tower and the Emerald Page 12
