‘Well,’ said Caradawc doubtfully as he watched them go, ‘I hope we can manage without them.’
‘We’ll have to,’ said Viviane.
He looked at her suddenly. Her voice was strained and strange, and he was just in time to catch her in his arms as she fell fainting to the ground. As he touched her, he felt how hot her skin was. ‘Viviane!’ he gasped.
Idoc moved forward instantly. ‘What’s the matter?’ But he could see at once what the matter was.
Caradawc was now fumbling to wrap his cloak around her, his hands trembling. ‘Go and fetch Olwen back,’ he cried.
‘I’ll not leave her,’ Idoc replied sharply.
Caradawc gave him a startled look. ‘We need Olwen.’
‘You fetch her,’ Idoc said firmly. ‘I’ll not leave Viviane’s side.’
Caradawc stood up, his face distorted with rage. ‘Damn you! Not only will you leave her now, but you’ll leave her side for ever!’ he shouted. ‘You are destroying her!’
But Idoc took no notice, he was crouching beside her, his face lined with suffering. He knew the signs. He knew what ailed her. Had he not himself given this dread disease to countless men and women whom he considered enemies? Her eyes were glazed. She was conscious and yet not conscious. She stared at them both with her fever-bright eyes and did not see them. They could see that she was in agony.
Furiously Caradawc seized Idoc’s shoulders. ‘What have you done to her, you fiend?’
‘Nothing. I’ve done nothing,’ muttered Idoc. ‘Once I wanted her to suffer . . . but not now . . . not now . . .’
Caradawc flung him impatiently to the ground and started to run down the hill, calling desperately for Olwen. But Gerin and she were already too far away to hear, and he soon came storming back, out of breath and sweating, furious with himself for leaving Idoc alone with Viviane even for such a short while.
He found Idoc squatting beside her, chanting strange and outlandish words, his face as frantic and despairing as Caradawc’s own.
‘What if she should die?’ Caradawc thought in despair.
Since she had come into his life, he had no thought nor purpose, no dream, no waking moment not intimately bound up with her. His life had not seemed empty before he met her, yet now he realized that it had been. He could barely remember what his thoughts had been then, what his ambitions. It was as though he had passed his life in a kind of daze, and she had awakened him.
A sudden horrifying thought struck him. Idoc was not physically alive in the sense that he and Viviane were alive. What if Idoc was trying to bring about Viviane’s death so that she could join him in that other realm?
He rushed suddenly at Idoc and knocked him away from Viviane’s side. ‘You monster!’ he shouted. ‘You damned, vicious monster! Leave her alone!’
Idoc reeled for a moment and then bitterly hit out at Caradawc.
Viviane tossed her head from side to side, the shadows closing in, her life ebbing away while the two men who loved her fought each other, filled with hate.
It was Caradawc who first gained the advantage, but it was Idoc who struck the blow that finished the fight. Caradawc staggered back, lost his footing and fell crashing against the rocks, rallied briefly, lost his balance again, and continued to fall down the hill, helplessly grabbing at bushes and boulders until a blow on the side of the head rendered him unconscious.
Idoc watched him go with satisfaction.
Above him Ny-ak stood in the shadows, watching also with satisfaction.
‘Go to him. Use his body,’ the dark angel whispered. ‘For the last time, in the flesh, hold Fiann, hold Viviane . . . then let her die and join us.’
His whisper was like the sound of wind through dry grass.
Idoc shook his head dazedly and hurried back to Viviane. Her hair was almost black with sweat, her breath rasping.
He crouched beside her, suffering as he did not remember ever having suffered before. He loved her and she was being punished for what he had become. He looked up at the giant shadow of Ny-ak and there was hate in his eyes.
‘Let her be!’ he hissed. ‘Release her!’
‘If she dies, Caradawc will not have her.’
Idoc howled like an animal in pain.
‘But if she dies now, like this, with nothing resolved between us . . .’
‘Hurry,’ whispered Ny-ak. ‘Both are at your mercy.’
On every rock the voyeurs perched, breathless and watching. The sun was going down, the darkness growing. Ny-ak’s shadow stretched a great distance across the landscape. If he lifted his cloak and swirled it, all would be enveloped, and a darkness darker than the night would lie over the land.
Idoc was aware of his own utter loneliness. Viviane was no longer there to sustain him with her strength or lead him where he should go. Everything was now up to him.
He took her in his arms, her damp cheek again his own. He yearned to feel her, but he felt nothing – only the agony of indecision . . . the agony of regret.
Ny-ak moved nearer, smiling, confident that all would be as it had been.
But Idoc wanted to give Viviane a gift, and he knew what she wanted more than anything in the world.
He stood up and faced Ny-ak. ‘No!’ he said resolutely.
The air crackled around him. Lightning flickered like the tongue of a serpent across the sky. Thunder rumbled among the rocks.
But Idoc stood his ground.
* * * *
Groaning, Caradawc regained consciousness, struggled to his feet and began to climb, pausing from time to time to hold his head as though it gave him considerable pain.
Idoc stood and watched him approach.
Ny-ak had disappeared, but Idoc knew that he would not be far away. Heavy raindrops were beginning to fall like hammer blows on Viviane’s head.
‘Hurry!’ Idoc urged Caradawc silently, watching his slow progress with impatience. Soon it would be pouring a deluge, and there was no shelter for Viviane. He knew that if he leaned over her the rain would pass right through him. But Caradawc was solid. Caradawc would be able to protect her from the rain . . .
* * * *
Olwen had soon caught up with Gerin. He nodded briefly to acknowledge her presence, and then ignored her. She could tell even by the way he sat his horse that he was still resenting Viviane’s words. She followed him in silence, keeping well back, out of his way.
She began wondering what kind of reception they would receive from the farmer. He had made it clear that he was not pleased with her interference before, and would no doubt be even more displeased at any interference now. Perhaps Gerin had been right: they should leave well alone, and keep together on the emerald quest. But then she heard that strange mournful sobbing again. And this time there was no wind.
She rode up close to Gerin and asked if he could hear it too. He shook his head.
‘There it is. There!’ It seemed to her very distinct now – the wailing of children in fear or pain. The sound was not coming from the direction of the farm, but from a wooded valley in the east. To her it was very real. To Gerin it did not exist.
‘Please wait,’ she cried. ‘Gerin, I think we should find out what is happening there.’
He reined in and sat for a moment with his back to her. His irritation showed in every line of his body. And then he seemed to pull himself together and turned in the saddle.
‘Forgive me, Olwen. I’ve no right to treat you this way.’
She shrugged, smiling awkwardly, not knowing what to reply.
He turned his horse around. ‘I’ll follow. You lead,’ he said, and his voice was much gentler.
They reached the wood at last and rode in under the shadow of its trees. It was not deep, merely a fringe of trees on either side of a river. As soon as they entered it they could hear water lilting musically over rocks. The sound of crying had ceased.
When they emerged from the trees they were astonished to find themselves surrounded by a host of dancing figures. Some had flutes a
nd some had tambourines, but the dominant sound was the rippling of the harp. All were clad in wisps of trailing silk in river-colours – different shades of blue, bound with silver ribbons. The flowers in their hair were predominantly silver-grey and white – and even their skins had a bluish-silver sheen.
Without a word Gerin and Olwen slipped down from their horses and stood entranced.
The lines of dancers dipped and rose, and turned and flowed as a river flows.
‘Look,’ Olwen whispered, touching Gerin’s arm. ‘Leading the dance – those three young women. I think they’re the ones I saw . . .’
Suddenly they were surrounded by a flow of dancers who garlanded them with flowers and took their hands. Gently but firmly they were pulled away, at first stumbling awkwardly, and then without effort, moving with the dance as though they had always been a part of it. They were passed from hand to hand, dipping and turning and flowing, until they found themselves near the head of the line. Olwen noticed that the touch of the river nymphs was cool and light and sent a bubbling, tingling feeling through her limbs.
At last they were close enough to Olwen’s three mysterious ladies to see them clearly. Were they river nymphs too? Their skin was as silvery, their hair as long . . . but there was something about them that was different. Olwen could not decide exactly what . . . They smiled at her and beckoned her on. She followed unquestioningly, with Gerin, now intrigued, close by her side.
After a while the river flowed under an overhang of rock and into the hillside. Without pausing, the dancers flowed in with it – and Olwen and Gerin with them. At the entrance they noticed that those around them were removing their coronets of flowers and throwing them into the water. Olwen and Gerin found themselves doing the same. The flowers floated along, swirling in spirals and circles as the water carried them into the darkness.
At first Olwen and Gerin found themselves half blind as the dimness of the cavern contrasted with the brilliance of the sunlight outside. But soon lights appeared, bobbing about on the water, and the whole place became gently illuminated. Each flower was now a lamp. Some were carried strongly forward by the current; while others, caught in side eddies, accumulated in little pools around the edges, their light reflected off the low rock ceiling in a thousand shimmering ways.
As they progressed deeper into the hillside, the river fell down in a series of steps. The flower lamps, swirling wildly on the brink of each, fell down at last with the water, momentarily disappearing and then re-emerging undimmed in the pool beneath.
It became increasingly difficult for them to dance as the rock floor at the side of the river became more and more uneven. At last they were no longer dancing at all, but picking their way carefully behind the three young women. The music had ceased without their noticing it, and the other dancers had fallen back and disappeared. The cavern was now very silent apart from the swish of the water, and Gerin and Olwen found that they were treading carefully, trying to make no sound themselves, occasionally whispering to each other to avoid this hazard or that.
At length they came to a place where the path narrowed to a tunnel and they had to pass through it on their hands and knees. On the other side they were almost blinded by daylight. They had emerged on the other side of the hill and beside them the river leapt joyously off a ledge of rock and fell, singing and shining, to a small lake far below.
In the centre of the lake was a forested island and the towers of a castle, apparently built entirely of transparent crystal, were showing above the trees. The three young women led them down a rough set of steps covered in fern and moss, to the water’s edge, where a boat was drawn up waiting for them. Gerin took Olwen’s arm to help her into the boat and sat with his arm around her as they were rowed to the island. Her heart was beating very fast now, but she questioned nothing. The young women did not speak.
The lake on the lee of the island was very still, and very deep. The boat glided in among the images and shadows of a water forest, hardly disturbing the fishes that swam among the reflections of the trees . . .
As they stepped on to the island they looked up and saw a vaulted roof of dazzling leaves carried high above them on ribs and arches of living wood. Their feet sank into the soft, deep pile of leaves that had fallen and lain undisturbed for centuries. They followed in silence, and were led through the forest to the castle. There it seemed to them that they were at the heart of a crystal looking outwards, the forest’s intricate splendour of green and gold light glimmering through the walls and passing through the bodies both of the young women and of themselves. Olwen stood close against Gerin, her back to his chest, his arms around her from behind. It seemed to her, now that she was so close to them, that the three were more human than the river nymphs, and yet not as human as she was. She had heard legends of mortals marrying faeries, and had wondered how this could be . . .
They were led into a crystal chamber as richly furnished with plants as the forest outside the walls, and were shown a couch of polished hazelwood, strewn with silken cushions. Above it vines, reaching to the sunlight, hung in leafy strands to form a canopy.
Then she heard whispering . . .
It seemed to come from all around her . . . three voices whispering together . . .
‘We are of no world and of two . . .
lost between worlds . . .
Ai . . . ai . . . i . . .
Waiting for a birth that will bind us
to one or to the other . . .
Ai . . . ai . . . i . . .
Three from the ancient times . . .
Three daughters of the Green Lady . . .
The Lady of the Emerald . . .’
Olwen started, and Gerin’s arms tightened around her.
‘Your father . . .?’ breathed Olwen – for the first time too curious to remain silent.
She couldn’t understand the answer at first. The light had dimmed as though a cloud had crossed the sun.
Gerin asked the same question, more boldly.
This time they heard the answer . . . sharply . . . clearly . . . bitterly.
‘Idoc!’ they heard, and the word was almost spat out.
‘Idoc, the vehicle of Ny-ak . . . presumed . . . dared . . . to touch the Faer Lady, the Lady of Leaves . . . Ny-ak and he together . . . took by force . . . ai . . . ai . . . ai . . . held and ravaged . . . held and ravaged . . .’
The lament faded away . . . the echoes very faint yet taking a long time to die.
Olwen held her breath. How closely they were all linked! How complex the drama that they were playing out.
‘Long . . . long . . . long ago,’breathed the air around them. ‘Long ago . . .’
There was so much pain in the sound – so much regret. Was it the Green Lady herself who moved through the island forest, listening to her daughters? They thought they saw a figure shimmering with green light stepping from behind a tree . . . but it disappeared again almost at once.
Within the chamber the crystal light returned and the three young women stood close beside Gerin and Olwen.
‘Why me?’ Olwen asked. ‘What do you want of me?’
‘We have tried many births and they have failed . . .
in one coffin now lie three small bodies . . .
man rejoicing . . .
woman weeping . . .
But you were sent to us and you will understand us . . .
You will give us life in your world . . .’
Olwen was silent, remembering Kicva’s curse. She was to bear no children. What did they mean?
‘Perhaps,’ she thought, ‘perhaps because they would not be children quite like other children.’ She stood very still, becoming increasingly aware of the physical presence of the man she loved. Had the three soul-forms disappeared – or was it that she no longer noticed them? Gerin was kissing her hair. Gerin was kissing the nape of her neck. She turned in his arms and he touched her lips with his. She reached up to him and he lowered her on to the couch . . . Close and closer . . . within
and without . . . deeply loving . . .
She had not thought even in her dreams that there could be a feeling as potent and as precious as this. She was poised on a breaking wave, yet for that moment it felt like eternity . . .
* * * *
When at last Olwen opened her eyes, Gerin was up on his elbow looking down wonderingly at her. They were back on the grass of the riverbank where they had first climbed down from their horses. There was no sign of the crystal chamber, the forested island; nor of the three young women.
‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ There was a touch of bewilderment in his expression. It had been good with Olwen – as good as if he loved her.
‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘We were sent for.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t you remember anything? The dance . . . the river running into the hill . . . the lake and the island on the other side?’
He shook his head, puzzled, but she could tell that he remembered something. He looked down at her in a way that he had never looked at her before. Her hair, blue-black, was spread out around her head, small twigs and leaves of grass caught up in it. He had never noticed before how deeply tranquil her eyes were. He leant down and kissed her very tenderly but very lightly on her forehead.
With no more words said, they stood up. Gerin paused a moment before he mounted his horse, looking back over the saddle at Olwen, long and soberly. She had pinned up her hair again and was as quiet and calm a figure as she usually was. Never as magically beautiful as Viviane, but as she had lain under him on the grass, she had blossomed into a beauty that he would not easily forget.
She knew that he was looking at her and she flushed, fiddling nervously with the stirrup strap on her own steed. Would he resent her for having received what he would rather have given Viviane? Would he return to his old indifference now that there was no supernatural influence drawing him to her? She used to think that if he would only make love to her once, she could live the rest of her life on the memory of it – but she knew now that making love once was not enough. She would never cease to long for him – and abstinence now would be far more painful than it had ever been before.
The Tower and the Emerald Page 24
