by Sarah Rayne
Almost as if the pitiful, mad creature who lived in the clifftop house had called to something immeasurably ancient and incalculably evil. And as if that something, once summoned, had stayed.
Flynn shook off the clustering thoughts, and went on again. The light was perceptibly stronger and the breathing-out sounds were all around him, but he had gone a fair way through the tunnel before it suddenly dawned on him what the sounds were.
It’s the ocean! he thought, half relieved, half fearful of a different danger altogether. The well tunnel goes down beneath the ocean – Roscius said it did – and that’s what I’m hearing. I’m probably under the ocean now, or at least I’m very near to it. I don’t know that I much like the idea of being several fathoms beneath the Atlantic, he thought, sending an uneasy glance at the tunnel roof and seeing that it gleamed faintly in the uncertain light. I hope that’s just phosphorescence, thought Flynn. I hope it isn’t the ocean oozing through.
And now he could see that the dull light was in fact waterlight that rippled and played on the rock walls. There were carvings in the rock as well: pictures of strange sea-beasts with horned heads or round, seal-like heads and sinuous bodies, with tiny wizened-faced creatures crouching at their feet. The leanan-sidhe with their servants? Or the leanan-sidhe themselves, in their stages of metamorphosis into humanish shape?
I’m not at all sure I’m really seeing this, thought Flynn, staring in repulsion at the carvings. And where did I get the word ‘humanish’ from? It’s got a distinctly unpleasant sound to it, that word. I’m not at all sure I didn’t die inside that revolting well, or that I haven’t toppled over into real madness. Because I think I’m crossing over into Cauldron’s world, and although it isn’t quite the world I designed in London, there’re some alarming similarities.
I’m very likely approaching my own particular hell or at the very least purgatory, he thought. I’m very likely going towards hell’s fire-drenched caverns, and I’ll be torn to pieces by the red-eyed demons who hold gobbling malevolent court there . . . Or at best, I’ll find that I’m flung into the iron-hued dungeons where pieces of time are frozen inside the molten furnaces . . .
And those are quite interesting images, he thought with sudden wry humour. If I ever get out of here, I’ll use them for a stage-set some time.
Fael had been so immersed in the legend of the Self-Bored Stone, and in the strange bargains that had been struck at its base, that she had not noticed the hours slipping away. She had left the lights burning through the day because of the winter darkness that enclosed Maise, and day had slid down to twilight and then to full night almost without her noticing.
Once, somewhere in the middle of the evening, she thought there was the sound of something massive and heavy being slammed below her in the house – a door? – and she lifted her head to listen. But there were no more sounds, and Fael plunged back into the ancient myth-worlds which were peopled with heroes and giants and princesses, and laced with heady, heavy enchantments. There were upwards of half a dozen plots here, and any of them would make a terrific follow-up to Cauldron. And this time I’m spinning the magic all by myself, thought Fael, in sudden delight.
She was vaguely aware of the old house settling into silence all about her, but she was absorbed in the unravelling strands of myth and in any case she had started to know the house’s sounds now; she was in fact beginning to find the little night creakings and rustlings familiar and rather friendly.
It was only when she heard the turret door being unlocked, and turned to see her captor in the doorway, that she realised it was almost midnight. He had discarded the wide-brimmed hat he so often wore, and droplets of moisture clung to his dark hair. His eyes behind the mask shone, and there was a crackle of energy from him, as if his whole body was alive with electricity. Fael felt a hammer of panic begin to beat against her mind. Something’s happening. Something’s changed.
He crossed the room and caught her wrists in one of his hands, and she felt the remembered magnetism again and was suddenly and angrily aware that it would not take much, it would barely take the crooking of a finger to lure her to bed. If he beckons, I’ll go, thought Fael, staring up at him in mingled horror and stirring fascination. If he really set the magic spinning again, I believe I would. Does he know it, I wonder? But it isn’t bed he’s got in mind tonight: it’s something far darker and far more sinister. Oh God, is this the reckoning – the real reckoning?
He lifted her in his arms then, and Fael at once struggled and said, ‘What are you doing? Put me down, damn you! What is all this?’
‘It’s another phase of your captivity, Fael,’ he said, carrying her down the steps. ‘Probably it’s the last phase.’
‘Well, whatever it is, you needn’t think you’ll have it all your own way!’ said Fael, and was pleased to hear quite a respectable note of defiance in her tone. ‘Don’t think I won’t fight you, because I will!’ she added, for good measure, and as he carried her down the narrow turret stair she twisted around in his arms as much as possible, and glared at the covered face. ‘Listen, if you don’t tell me where we’re going and what you’re going to do, I’ll claw your eyes out. I really will, you know.’
‘Without eyes I can still shoot you, my dear.’
There was a very nasty echo of all the better to murder you, my dear, about his tone. Fael heard it and flinched. ‘You’ve still got the gun,’ she said, after a moment.
‘I have. And it’s interesting to contemplate where a bullet could go, isn’t it?’ He paused on the curve of the stair, the narrow eyes studying her. Fael felt a breath of cold air, and saw the curtains on the half-landing stir slightly. She repressed a shiver. ‘Straight into the spine, perhaps,’ he said. ‘A bullet in the top of the spine might be the best place – below the brain but above all the nerve centres. Yes, I believe I could be fairly accurate about that. And you’d suffer irreversible paralysis this time, Fael. But there’d be complete mental awareness. You’d be dependent on other people for absolutely everything. How would that feel? You came close to it after the car crash, didn’t you, but the damage was repairable. How would you cope if it wasn’t?’
He paused, and then said, very coldly and very deliberately, ‘And you’d be alone this time, Fael. Tod’s dead, you know. Or didn’t you know?’
Fael said, ‘Oh get on with whatever you’re going to do and stop being so bloody melodramatic!’ But she thought: Yes, of course Tod’s dead, and of course I guessed it. Only I can’t think about that now – because I daren’t think of anything other than what’s happening now.
They reached the ground floor and Scathach threw open the door and stepped out into the night. The wind snatched at Fael’s hair and took her breath away.
He moved with the swift, cold efficiency she remembered, depositing her in the back of the car, and tying her wrists behind her back. Fael said, ‘You don’t use much variation, do you? We’ve done all this once already,’ and as he drove off, struggled fruitlessly to loosen the ropes.
She thought they drove only a very short distance – perhaps a quarter of a mile – before stopping, but it was very dark and the wind was driving little flurries of icy rain against the car’s windows. Fael shivered and glanced at the dashboard clock. Just coming up to midnight.
He parked on a narrow grass verge on the roadside and lifted her out. The rain had stopped, but the wind was driving the clouds across the night sky and there was a full moon, a pale globe that rode high in the sky, and cast a cold radiance that Fael found unspeakably sinister. She looked about her, trying to identify landmarks, trying to see if there were any nearby houses with occupants who might hear or see what was happening, or hear if she yelled for help. Nothing. He picks his spots, she thought wryly.
It was not until Scathach carried her down a roughish track that wound down from the road and she saw the black outline of the Self-Bored Stone that she understood where they were. He knows this path very well, thought Fael, and he’s approaching the stone wit
h familiarity. But behind the familiarity was something else. Respect? Something even stronger? Submission? It was absurd to think of the word in connection with him, but Fael did think it.
And there’s something else out here with us, she thought suddenly, feeling the fear rev up again. It’s something I can’t quite see but it’s something that shrieks inside the wind and that screeches with laughter. He was holding her firmly, but she managed to twist her head to look back. The path was sparsely covered with scrubby patches of grass, and the wind was whipping miniature dust-storms across it. Ridiculous to think that dozens of little footprints were appearing on the wind-tossed ground, as if invisible creatures danced along in Scathach’s wake. Absurd in the extreme to imagine figures half-forming in the darkness and to think they were forming a circle around Scathach. The leanan-sidhe with their chill, seductive music . . .? I’m hearing things and I’m definitely seeing things, thought Fael.
But as they approached the huge silhouette of the stone, she thought the shapes came a little more clearly into focus. As if they’re shedding their outer skins, thought Fael, in sudden panic. I daresay I’m going mad, but I can hear their music! cried her mind. And I can see them, I truly can! They’re linking hands and prancing in a wild devils’ dance, and although they wear gloves of human skin, under it their fingers are fleshless and horny-nailed . . . All the better to dig out your heart, my lady, and all the better to steal your new-born babe, my lady . . .
Is that why he’s brought me here? thought Fael. Because of the night we spent together, because there might be a child? But it’s the most outside chance in the world – he must know that. And it won’t be a first-born – he knows that as well.
Even so, a different, more primeval fear started to uncoil, and for the first time she thought of the tiny speck, that might or might not exist inside her, as a living thing: a child with dark eyes and hair and with feelings and emotions – perhaps with a slightly other-world perception and an intuitive ability to spin marvellous music and twist it around people’s emotions . . . His son. But I don’t want it! cried Fael silently. I don’t want to feel like this! Oh God, I’m not believing any of this at all! I must be in a nightmare or somebody’s drug-induced hallucination!
But I can see shapes forming in the darkness, and I can make out huge, ragged wings that they sometimes fold around them like cloaks, but that sometimes beat frighteningly on the night when they’re hunting the humans . . . Their faces are hidden, but if they weren’t they’d be gnarled and sly: cats’ faces and rats’ faces with evil wizened features— The leanan-sidhe, the water-demons who can bestow genius but who steal human children. And it’s a fearsome, grisly process watching them form – he told me that and I didn’t believe him, but tonight I do.
Scathach stopped in the lee of the stone, and only then did Fael see that lying at its foot, gagged and bound, was a girl with dishevelled red hair and frightened eyes and vaguely familiar features.
Mab. Mab from Cauldron who was caught in thrall by the soulless sidh prince and who fought against yielding to him lest she become his, body and soul and blood and bone.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Gilly had fought like a wildcat when the Shadow carried her out of his car and down the narrow track to the massive black stone. Her hands were still tied, but her feet were free and she had kicked and bit, and twice she heard his quick indrawn gasp of pain. Good! thought Gilly viciously. And if I get the chance I’ll do it again! I’ll yell for help and run like a bat escaping hell!
But then he tied her feet and twisted a gag over her mouth and she was helpless. He left her at the foot of the huge, menacing black stone and, over the sounds of the wind and the lashing ocean below the cliffs, she heard the car start up and growl away into the night.
It was somehow important not to look up at the great black stone. Gilly thought if she once did that she would start being frightened in a totally different way. And I’ve got quite enough fear to be going on with already! she thought. I’ve got a chance to get free, because if I can get these bloody bonds loosened even a bit I can be away! She dragged furiously at the ropes, swearing and sobbing, but the bonds around her wrists and her ankles were strong and the knots were secure. Gilly tore her skin in several places before she faced this. But what about trying to get back up the cliff path to the road? Could she drag herself along the ground? Worth a go. But she found that to move along in a half drag, half crawl was excruciatingly difficult; it would take what was left of the night to reach the main road. And the trouble is that I don’t know if I’ve got the rest of the night, thought Gilly in anguish. I don’t know how long he’ll be gone. I don’t know what else might be out here either— She glanced uneasily up at the stone again. No, I won’t think that. I’ll keep going because when he does come back I might be far enough away to hide.
But she had only covered a few feet when car headlights sliced through the darkness and swung off the road. The Shadow returning? With a feeling of despair she recognised the car. Damn and bloody blast. There was the sound of the doors opening and closing, and then he was coming back down the cliff path. Gilly could see that he was still wearing the black silk mask, but he was hatless and for the first time she saw that he had thick, glossy dark hair. In his arms he carried a girl with wide-apart eyes and short hair so pale it looked silver when the moon came out. He set her down, near to Gilly but not so near that either of them could reach the other. Fael Miller, thought Gilly, incredulously. And he’s bringing her down here. Is this some kind of sacrifice, then? He’s tied her hands as well, thought Gilly. I don’t think either of us can get free. If I could cut through these wretched ropes I might make a run for it. And leave Fael? No, of course not. But I could make a fight for it at least. She began to surreptitiously feel around on the ground under her hands for a sharp stone that might saw through the rope.
With his eerie way of echoing a thought, the Shadow said, ‘You are both going to be a libation to the creatures of the leanan-sidhe. Fael has cheated me, and so have you,’ he looked down at Gilly, ‘and so you will both die tonight.’
Fael looked across at Gilly. ‘I don’t know how well you know him, but he’s quite mad,’ she said, and Gilly looked at her gratefully, because however helpless they both might be, it was heartening to have Fael with her.
‘He thinks,’ went on Fael, still in the same half-dispassionate, half-contemptuous tone, ‘that he’s entered into some kind of bond with creatures who don’t exist. He thinks that if he gives them a first-born child they’ll – make him whole,’ she said. ‘I failed him, and so, it appears, did you.’
Christian said, ‘The leanan-sidhe do exist. They are my people—’ He was standing near to the edge of the cliff, and he turned to look out to the black wastes of the Atlantic; his hands were outstretched, the palms uppermost, in the age-old gesture that was both supplication and pledge.
‘They exist, and they enjoy full-grown humans just as much as they enjoy new-born babies,’ said Christian, and both girls heard, with helpless terror, the slurred madness in his voice. Fael thought: He really has crossed the line now, and I can’t see anything that either of us can do to stop him. But we’ve got to think of something! He’s bound Mab hand and foot and he’s gagged her – no, her name isn’t Mab but she’s Mab to me. She’s Mab tonight, because she’s half-caught in his spell already. He’s tied my hands as well, but not my feet. He doesn’t need to tie them though, she thought, bitterly. I could walk a little way; I could probably get to the base of that malevolent stone without too much difficulty. But by the time I’d managed it he’d be onto me.
‘You shouldn’t have cheated me of that pawn, Fael,’ said Christian, turning back. ‘You should have given me a first-born child – it was what I wanted you for.’
What I wanted you for . . . Fael beat down a sudden wrench of pain, and said, sharply, ‘What about Cauldron? Have you forgotten that? You wanted me for Cauldron as well.’
‘Cauldron was yours,’ he said, at o
nce. ‘I wanted you for the child; you wanted me for Cauldron. Quid pro quo.’
For a moment neither of them spoke, and then, ‘My God,’ said Fael, softly. ‘Is that really all it was?’
‘That’s all it was, Fael. I made a bargain with the leanan-sidhe and tonight I’m making assurance doubly sure.’
Fael stared at him, because with the almost unconscious quotation – and it’s Macbeth and how appropriate – the final piece of the jigsaw that she had been seeking fell into place. I know who you are, she thought. Oh God, I really do know, and I see now what I should have seen before. The pieces whirled around in her mind, and then fell neatly into place, each one in its appointed slot to make up the picture.
The secret house in Ireland . . . The familiarity with James Roscius’s methods . . . The haunting sense of having met Scathach before in another place or another time or another world . . .
And now the remembered quotation from Macbeth, the quotation that the professor himself had so often used. ‘Let’s make assurance doubly sure, Fael,’ he used to say. ‘Let’s make doubly sure you pass the next music exam. Let’s make assurance doubly sure that we’re doing justice to Mozart, to Scott Joplin, to Aaron Copland . . .’
She heard her voice saying, ‘I know who you are.’
There was a moment when everything – wind, storm, the lashing waves of the ocean – seemed to pause and to freeze into absolute silence. Hell and the devil, thought Fael, now I’ve done it.
After several lifetimes, he said, ‘Do you indeed?’
‘You’re James Roscius’s son,’ said Fael. ‘It’s the only answer that fits all the facts.’ She paused, and then said, ‘That’s who you are, isn’t it?’
Again the silence. Then he said, very softly, ‘It is. And isn’t it a pity you realised it, Fael.’
‘He had a son,’ said Fael, still staring at him. ‘I never knew that. I thought I knew him quite well, but there were parts of his life that he kept closed from the world. We all respected it, even though we speculated a bit. I don’t think anyone knew he had a son.’
