Nocturne

by Louise Cooper

  And a guttural voice spoke out of the darkness.

  “No. The gate w … ill not open. You cannot enter the garden.”

  Every muscle in Indigo’s body locked rigid with shock, and her consciousness seemed to slow to a crawl.

  “N …” she said, and struggled with herself, forcing the word to come. “No …”

  Shadows flowed from the bushes, from the rocks, and she saw the lean, lithe shapes of the wolves as they padded, slinking, towards her. They were blacker than pitch, their coats glowing with a ghostly nacre; their eyes and their open mouths were red, like sullen embers. They were phantoms, she knew, hungry yet mindless … but in their midst was one pair of eyes that glowed not crimson but amber, and in those eyes was terrible, twisted intelligence.

  The creature moved. Indigo scented musk; saw the brindled fur ripple. And then, white-fanged and growling softly deep in its throat, it stepped into full view on the path before her, and Indigo’s voice broke from her lips in a stark wail of horror and despair.

  “Grimya!”

  •CHAPTER•XII•

  They stared at each other, the human and the wolf, and Indigo felt as though her stomach had dropped away into a void as she realized that Grimya did not know her.

  “Grimya …” Her voice was thin, shaking as she tried to formulate the plea and the helpless question. “Grimya, it’s me. It’s Indigo. Indigo!”

  She could hear the she-wolf breathing; a steady, purposeful sound. Then Grimya said,

  “I know no Grimya. I know no In-digo. We are wolf.”

  The final word was a savage snarl, and a chorus of panting swelled briefly then died away, as if Grimya’s eldritch companions had voiced their agreement.

  “Grimya …” Forth, stunned beyond speech, was trying to restrain her but Indigo fought him and moved a cautious pace forward before dropping to a crouch. “Grimya, you do know me. I am your oldest friend. Indigo, Grimya. Indigo. Oh, my dear one—something terrible has happened to you! Try to remember me. Try, please.” She extended a hand-then jerked back with a cry of shock as Grimya lunged at her, teeth snapping together an inch from her fingertips.

  The she-wolf advanced another pace. Her body trembled now with eagerness; her tail twitched, and her lambent eyes were mad.

  “We are wolf,” she said, and Forth had never heard such menace in a voice before. “And we are hungry. And we shall eat.”

  “No …” Tears streamed down Indigo’s face, grief mingling with terror. “No, Grimya, listen to me! You must—”

  Grimya raised her muzzle to the sky and howled, shattering Indigo’s plea. Taking their cue from her, the entire ghostly wolf-pack lifted their heads in a dreadful banshee chorus, flinging the challenge of their bloodlust to the night—and then, as the dreadful sounds died away, they began to close in.

  For one appalling moment Forth was mesmerized; then sanity came back and he spun round, flinging himself at the gate—before freezing again as he realized that Indigo wasn’t about to move.

  “Indigo!” Panic gave his voice a razor edge. “Indigo, get up!”

  “She doesn’t know me …” Indigo only continued to stare into Grimya’s feral eyes. The ghost-wolves took another step forward, tightening the net. Forth could hear them panting, slavering.

  “Indigo!” Wildly, he looked about him for a weapon. The knife was all but useless; he couldn’t hope to survive with it for more than a few moments if the pack attacked. But there was nothing else.

  “Indigo!” He shouted her name again, trying frantically to break through the thrall that held her, and in desperation snatched up the lantern and waved it at the encroaching nightmares.

  Light flared across the jet-black muzzles and rabid eyes, and a cluster of wolves shrank back, snarling. Indigo too flinched from the light, and with his free hand Forth grabbed her arm and jerked her back, so that she sprawled hard up against the gate. He didn’t wait to help her as, dazed and shaking her head in confusion, she started to struggle up, but flailed his arms, feinting with the lantern as he writhed out of his jacket. Fire—phantoms they might be, but these horrors feared fire like any real animal. Fire—he finally shook the jacket off and fumbled with the lantern-glass, thrusting one of the garment’s sleeves into the cage and over the candle stump. Fire—

  “Catch, you whore’s whelp! Catch!”

  It shouldn’t have been possible; the candle flame was too small, the jacket’s fabric too heavy; but suddenly a tongue of bright orange fire licked at the sleeve—and as Forth jerked it clear of the lantern, the garment burst into flames.

  Forth yelled exultantly, and swung the burning coat around his head like a bolas. A spectacular wheel of sparks scattered from it, singeing his arm and hair, and the flames blazed up as, yelping, the wolves fell back under the onslaught of brilliance and heat.

  “Forth!” It was Indigo’s voice; Forth snatched a moment to look over his shoulder and saw her frantically priming the crossbow. “To your right!”

  There was no time to give thanks for her return to reason; he swung about, and saw four of the wolves, bellies low to the ground and about to spring. He yelled, and brought the burning jacket down in a twisting figure-of-eight that sent them snarling and tumbling back; then Indigo shouted again. Two more, from the left. The crossbow sang fiercely; Forth saw the bolt flash in the flamelight, saw it hit its target—

  And pass straight through the black wolf, to crash harmlessly into the scrub.

  “Indigo, the gate!” He chanced another swift glance back, saw her face a wide-eyed mask of shock and chagrin. “You’ve got to open the gate somehow—it’s our only hope!”

  Flaming pieces of fabric were whirling from the jacket now as it threatened to disintegrate; he couldn’t hold on to it for more than a few more seconds, and there was no time to tear off his shirt and ignite that too. Just one chance, Forth told himself grimly; just one—

  He dropped to a crouch and swung the burning coat in an arc before him, across the tops of the bushes, willing them with all his strength to catch the light. Sparks danced madly; a leaf smouldered, a tongue of flame licked—and three ragged patches of fire burst into life.

  The wolf-pack was hurled into confusion as panic broke out in their ranks. Howling, scrabbling, they fought each other to get out of the way of the flames, and Forth whirled the disintegrating coat one last time before flinging it from him. It arced up and over in a brilliant fireball, lighting feral faces and snarling jaws, and Forth added his own yelling voice to the wolves’ clamor, cursing them, screaming at them, mocking their fear—until the crazed, triumphant spell was shattered by hands that dragged him backwards, spinning him around and pulling him pell-mell from his victory. He ran without knowing what he was doing, zigzagging like a drunkard: dark walls loomed, unyielding iron smacked painfully against his shoulder as he staggered and almost lost his balance; then he was toppling, still propeled forward by his own momentum, and sprawled full-length on a soft sward.

  Indigo, who had only just saved herself from falling with him, swung round and ran back to the gate. How she had done it, she didn’t know; terror and the blind instinct to survive had somehow combined into a variation on Forth’s momentary madness, and she had turned on the gate in a fury, to see it all but burst from its hinges as it smashed open. The pack, the harp, the lantern, and the crossbow had all gone through as she flung them, and lastly she had bodily hauled Forth to sanctuary in her wake. Now the gate had slammed shut again—she knew it, she had willed it—and it wouldn’t open again, for she had willed that too.

  But Grimya—

  Her hands clamped round the iron bars, and she stared out on to utter darkness and silence.

  There were no wolves. No evil eyes in the dark, and no burning bushes. The pack had vanished like blown smoke, and the whole crazed encounter might have been nothing more than another illusion.

  But somehow, Indigo knew it was not. And as she turned away, shaking suddenly with the delayed reaction of shock, she heard a voice that
seemed to speak in her mind. A painfully familiar voice, though now it spoke in blind hunger rather than in love. Grimya’s voice.

  We shall follow. We shall find you again.

  Forth was sitting up when she returned to him. His eyes were dazed, and reaction had drained all feeling from his face; though he was staring at his surroundings, little seemed to register. But at Indigo’s approach he looked up, and when he saw her expression the life began to return to his look and he reached out as though to catch her hand.

  She veered aside, avoiding him, and crossed to where their belongings lay in a tumbled heap on the grass. She didn’t speak, but began to sort systematically and thoroughly through the pile. The harp, set carefully upright; beside it the waterskins, then the lantern, the bow, her remaining bolts; all ranged in a rigidly neat line one beside another. Forth watched her for a while, then, determined not to be intimidated although he was aware that he might make matters worse rather than better, said quietly:

  “You’ll have to talk about it sometime. You can’t keep it to yourself for ever, or it’ll fester like a wound.”

  Indigo’s hands paused in mid-movement. For a few moments she remained motionless, then she raised her head and looked at him.

  She wasn’t crying, as he’d half expected. Instead, she looked calm, and utterly wise—and old. “Yes,” she said levelly. “I’m aware of that. But at this moment, I’m more concerned with deeds than with words.”

  Forth was chagrined by her reaction; and, irrationally, disappointed. He’d expected her to need him, to need his strength as any of his sisters would have done, and he’d been more than ready to give it. The adrenaline of the encounter with the phantom wolves was still running high in his veins, and he wanted to embrace Indigo within his triumph and lend her comfort and reassurance. But she didn’t want them. She needed nothing from him, and under her steady gaze he felt reduced from a hero to a superfluous child.

  Fury surged; then Forth bit it back as he looked at Indigo’s eyes again and realized that his anger was a poor candle compared to the smouldering furnace of rage within her. It shamed him, and he got to his feet, crossing the short, smooth grass to where she crouched over her careful inventory. She didn’t look at him again, but only said, “Everything’s here.”

  “Indigo, what do you mean to do?”

  Now she did glance up once more. “What do you think?” Her voice was sharp, then she turned to stare at the dark garden. “I’m going to find it. And I’m going to destroy it.”

  “The demon?”

  “What else?” She stood up; then abruptly the rigid anger crystallized and she put both hands to her face, pushing back her disheveled hair with a violent gesture. “Forth, you saw her! She wasn’t Grimya any more—she was a thing possessed! She didn’t even recognize me. And those monsters with her—”

  “They were phantoms,” Forth said. “I saw what happened when you tried to shoot one of them. Indigo, could it be that Grimya is—”

  She interrupted him, knowing what he was about to say; she’d asked herself the same question, but fleetingly, for she was aware of the truth.

  “No. Grimya isn’t one of them, not in that way. She’s alive, and she’s real. But something’s been done to her; her mind’s been twisted.” She drew in a long, harsh breath. “We talked, do you remember, about images being drawn from our memories and used against us? That’s what it’s done. It knows what Grimya is to me, and it’s captured her and warped her, and now she’s become a weapon in its hands.” Another breath, and her head jerked up, hair flicking back and almost catching Forth across the eyes. “I’ll release her. Somehow—because I’m stronger than any illusion this world can conjure.”

  Forth put out a hand and laid it on her arm. “We’re stronger.”

  She looked at him, then gave a short, humorless laugh and nodded once. “Yes; of course. We’re stronger.”

  He risked a grin, though it was forced. “We don’t know the half yet of what we might be capable of achieving, do we? First music, then fire, then the gate. Like I said before, we’re learning fast.”

  It was true; but as the last of her fury dissipated Indigo acknowledged that they had more lessons yet to come. Sobered, she looked back on her outburst and realised how hollow it had been. She and Forth might indeed be stronger than anything this phantom world could set against them, but the key that would unlock the full measure of that strength was as yet beyond their reach. Esty still eluded them. They were no nearer to finding any trace of Stead and Chari. And she hadn’t the power to release Grimya from the spell that had trapped her in madness.

  A soft, sly rustling impinged on her thoughts. She looked up and, for the first time since their headlong rush through the gate, took in their new surroundings. The garden. Dark trees, smooth black grass starred with flowers, bushes that shifted in the breeze. So alluring, so tranquil. And she felt as though the leaves, moving as the air stirred them, were laughing at her.

  She bent to where she’d laid out the stark little line of their belongings, and when she spoke her voice was waspish. “We’re wasting time. I don’t want to stay here. I want to get away from this place.”

  Forth put his hands on his hips and stared into the gloom. “Away to where? It looks to me as though there’s nothing but the garden.”

  “Yes. And that’s precisely what the demon wants us to believe.” Indigo swung sharply about, digging a heel into the turf beneath her, wanting to scar and ruin its immaculate surface. From the gate the garden stretched away between two high stone walls. She could see more of the graceful trees, and the walls were clad with climbing plants, roses in full bloom glimmering pale and limpid through the twilight. The far end was invisible; there was only a gradual blurring and merging into the dark. Another endless vista, like the moor? Or would they find themselves faced with more stone walls, this time with no gate that they could pass through?

  She looked at the trees again. The breeze had died, and the stillness gave an unpleasant impression that the garden was holding its breath, waiting. Indigo picked up the hide bag that contained her harp, and stroked its surface gently. The instrument inside gave off a discord, muffled by the covering, and her ebbing spirits rose a little.

  “I think,” she said, “that we should walk on and see what awaits us at the end of the sward. And I think that as we walk, we should consider what it is that we want to find there.”

  Forth glanced keenly at her. “Esty,” he said immediately and with emphasis. “That’s what I want to find. Esty, unharmed and waiting for us.” He started to gather up the pack, then paused, “The lantern’s out. Should we relight it, do you think?”

  Indigo shook her head. “The candle won’t last forever. Best save it.‘’

  “But the wolves—”

  “They can’t get in. They can’t follow us; not even Grimya can.” She shivered. “I must keep believing that. I mustn’t think of her. Just of Esty.‘’

  They packed their belongings and began to walk down the long lawn. The atmosphere felt more eerie than ever; the breeze hadn’t sprung up again and the silence was claustrophobic. Their feet left no prints on the spotless sward, and when she trod on one of the tiny flowers, Indigo noticed, it bore no sign of crushing. She tried to concentrate on thoughts of Esty, but it wasn’t easy; her banked-down anger had begun to re-assert itself, and the memory of Grimya’s glaring, ensorcelled eyes hovered dangerously close to the edge of her inner vision. Suddenly a bush rustled for no apparent reason, and something close to panic shot through her.

  “Forth.” She stopped walking. “Forth, it’s no use. I can’t clear my mind. The Mother alone knows what might be conjured if I don’t get a hold on my thoughts.”

  Forth peered ahead into the gloom for a moment, then looked back. The gate was invisible now, but the sward still stretched on before them with no sign of ending. He licked his lips.

  “Talk to Esty,” he said, and pointed into the darkness. “Talk to her, as though she was here and we were h
ailing her and walking towards her.”

  “Yes …” It was worth trying; it might focus awareness and crush down unconscious thoughts. Feeling a little foolish, Indigo raised her voice.

  “Esty.” Picture her coming towards you. She’s unharmed, unenchanted: just Esty as you know her. “Esty!”

  “Esty!” Forth’s voice echoed hers. “Where in the name of the Mother have you been? We’ve been frantic—why did you run off?”

  He was smiling broadly, calling on all his acting skills, throwing himself into the role. Spurred by his example, Indigo thought of the Brabazon Fairplayers and told herself determinedly that this was simply another show, on a rickety wooden stage, under the flare of flamboys and before a crowd waiting to be entertained.

  “Don’t be angry with her, Forth,” she said, entering into the game and dredging up new confidence. “No harm’s been done, and we’re all together again.”

  “True. But Esty, if you ever give us another fright like that, I’ll—” And the words jammed in his throat.

  It happened so quickly that Indigo had walked several steps ahead of Forth before shock halted her with a jolt. In one moment there had been nothing but the unending lawn rolling on ahead of them: the next instant, the lawn had vanished and a stone wall barred the way. An arch had been cut into the wall, and under the keystone stood a red-haired woman.

  Shock gave way to relief, and Indigo cried delightedly, “Esty!”

  But Forth didn’t call a greeting. Instead he dropped the pack he was carrying and stood arrested, as though some massive force had suddenly and violently paralyzed him. Only his eyes remained animated, and they were filled with horror.

  Not comprehending, Indigo looked at the woman again. And then she saw that, though her hair was the same exuberant color as Esty’s, and her nose had the same coquettish tilt, she was many years older, her face seamed with the character lines that told of both age and long experience.

  Understanding hit her like a physical blow. She turned to Forth, saw the confirmation in his stricken eyes, and heard him say in a weak, strangled voice, “Mam … ?”