This arrangement was far more than Thorkell had bargained for when seeking out the oracle, but if the spirit was telling the truth, what he stood to gain was far greater than any man could dream of. ‘You have my permission to demonstrate.’
‘You invite me, Vasudahara, into your body?’ The spirit urged him to say the words.
It was against Thorkell’s nature to be led or pressured. ‘I thought you said your name was Dasa?’
‘Dasa means slave, my Isa, but my name is Vasudahara.’
Thorkell had so few good years left in him he had to wonder what he really had to lose. ‘I invite you, Vasudahara, into my body.’
The warrior braced himself for the experience.
The spirit form dissolved from view.
The oracle closed her eyes, the room plunged back into darkness, and Thorkell heard the thud of the oracle’s body slumping onto the floor.
A hellish chill came over Thorkell, and shockwaves, cold as ice, shot through him, as his spirit felt like it was being squashed against the outer rim of his own form. ‘NO!’ He protested. ‘Get out!’
Wait. Dasa’s voice was in his head now, and the pressure eased and was replaced by a sudden euphoria.
All Thorkell’s old aches and pains melted away, along with a good deal of body fat, and he felt lighter and more energised than he had in decades. He ran his hands over his form, amazed to feel smooth skin where there had once been scars and wrinkles. But perhaps the transformation was a hallucination? ‘I have to see a reflection.’ He opened the door to escape the oracle’s tiny, dark room and carried his spirit passenger across the threshold, back into the causal world.
* * *
The darkness was chilling. Why was she lying on a cold stone floor? Rosalind made a move to rectify her situation. ‘Ah!’ Her old bones were stiffer than usual and ached with a vengeance when called upon to function — she felt utterly decrepit. It took a moment to realise where she was, but more chilling than her current circumstance was the recollection of how she came to be in the room that she’d sworn she’d never utilise again. There wasn’t much light in the basement, but enough daylight seeped through the barred doors at the far end of the room beyond the one she occupied to determine that the door to her sacred space was open and Jarl Thorkell was nowhere to be seen.
‘What have I done?’ Her psychic sessions were always draining, but she had never completely passed out before. She had no idea if she had dismissed the spirit, or whether or not the jarl was satisfied with his consultation. What if he had taken the chairs back?
The thought got her to her feet and she hobbled through the basement and upstairs to the kitchen of the main house.
‘Madam, where have you been?’ Her maid servant jumped from her seat as she spotted Rosalind staggering through the kitchen. ‘What has happened?’ she asked, once she was close enough to view her mistress clearly, and the surprise on the younger woman’s face was alarming to Rosalind.
‘Nothing to be concerned about,’ she assured all the servants present, as her maid aided her to a seat. ‘I’m just a little tired.’
‘But . . . your face, madam?’
‘What about my face?’ Rosalind demanded, indignant, as her maid poured water in a shiny bowl so that her ladyship could view her reflection.
The session had aged her, more so than usual. ‘No wonder I feel so wretched.’ Rosalind sat back in her chair. ‘Did you see the jarl leave?’
‘Yes, madam, I saw him out myself.’
‘How was his mood?’
‘He seemed in very good spirits—’
‘Did he leave the chairs?’
‘Yes, madam, they’re in the great hall.’
Rosalind immediately rose to go and admire her payment.
‘Madam, you need rest.’ Her maid assisted her as far as the door that led through to the great hall.
‘Then leave me in peace,’ she grouched and entered the hall alone.
The loss of a few years and the advent of a few extra wrinkles were a small price to pay to be this close to one of her fondest memories of her dearly departed Leonardo. The stones in the headrest of each chair were as captivating now as they had been when they’d been presented to her, and she was astounded they had not been gouged out of their settings and sold on to the highest bidder.
Giddy from her exertions, Rosalind sat herself down in one of the chairs and removed her shoes; she rested both her legs over the armrests and placed her feet on the seat of the second chair that stood directly alongside the first. Her left cheek and brow rested against the velvet cushioning on the high back of her chair and she closed her eyes to revel in the bliss of the moment. The chairs still had the scent of the East upon them, spices, oils and herbs that took her mind back to happier times.
You broke your promise.
In her mind, Rosalind heard her husband lecture. ‘Please don’t be angry,’ she uttered. ‘I miss you so.’
But I am not these things.
The appeal was so clearly Leonardo, that her heart skipped a beat. She opened her eyes to see her deceased husband sitting on his chair, opposite her, his legs over hers, and his feet upon her seat alongside her. ‘Leo?’ She would have jumped up and hugged him, had she not been exhausted beyond movement. As she reached out to touch his leg her hand passed straight through.
He was shaking his head slowly and appearing most upset. These chairs were the death of me. You may as well be cuddling up to my murderer, for I’m afraid the karma stones carry a heavy curse.
‘What?’ Rosalind leaned away from the velvet cushioning, discomforted by the claim, and yet elated. ‘How can this be a curse, when I see you here before me?’
It is our greatest desires that always prove our downfall, he said. Had I not insisted on taking our treasures home with us, I would still be alive. I was fortunate that the cursed items were stolen from me before I met my death, whereupon the burden of the curse passed onto the thieves. I never imagined that you would now be in this terrible situation.
‘What terrible situation?’
You should not have returned to your psychic pursuits; they have finally extracted the ultimate toll from you. By this time tomorrow your life will be spent.
Rosalind found the news comforting in a way. ‘I am more than ready to join you, my love.’
I’m afraid that will not be possible, if you die under this curse. Leonardo appeared heartbroken. And worse still, Tianna will inherit the curse and the demon you have unleashed upon her.
Rosalind gasped. ‘Demon? What demon?’
* * *
‘Madam?’
Leonardo vanished as Rosalind was gently shaken awake, and grasping for answers, she was furious to have been pulled away from her dream encounter. ‘I asked to be left alone!’
‘But your dreams were troubled—’
‘Get out!’ she stressed repeatedly in a tantrum until the maid left the room, but Rosalind was so agitated by then there was no chance of returning to slumber.
The information the dream had disclosed to her played over in her mind as she stood apart from the chairs, eyeing them over. Could she dismiss the experience as a dream? Did she dare? In her current wretched state, contending with a curse and a demon in less than a day seemed an insurmountable task. She adored her niece and couldn’t bear the thought of bringing misfortunate upon her and her betrothed — whom she also loved as a son these days. But a far greater sorrow was the notion that even in death, she would not see her Leonardo again.
As much as she wished to reassure herself by discounting the experience as a fantasy inspired by an exhausting day, the knots in her gut compelled her to believe that the danger was real and most pressing. Fear and guilt welled within her, inspiring panic as tears rolled down her face. She was exhausted beyond rational thought, her heart was thumping in her chest and she began to hyperventilate. The struggle to regain control over her surging emotions and erratic breathing threatened to suck dry the last of her strength and Rosalind falt
ered in her stance. Stop thinking and breathe. She closed her eyes and proceeded to do just that, until she felt calm and at peace with the prospect that had been put before her.
‘Whether the information proves true or false, it can only help to take precautions.’ She looked to the table to see that her maid had set out her dinner. ‘Start with what you can do.’ Rosalind took up the small cheese knife and proceeded to remove the karma stones from their settings.
* * *
Hours later, Rosalind sat eating her dinner. A locked box containing the stones sat before her on the table. It was her intention to bury the stones where no one would find them; if they were not among her possessions when she died, then Tianna could not inherit them and their curse — nor would any other living soul. Whether this would absolve Rosalind from the curse remained to be seen, for she knew nothing about it. The Shar who had honoured her with this gift died shortly afterwards, and whether this was due to a curse or just coincidence, he either hadn’t known of the curse or had withheld the information in the hope of saving his own skin by passing the cursed items on.
Why, if Rosalind died with a curse upon her, would she not be reunited with her beloved? Was there a special place where cursed souls were sent? Stop thinking about your own selfish ends and focus on protecting your loved ones, she scolded to keep herself focused.
Once she had buried the stones, she intended to beseech the spirit world for a guardian to protect her niece from whatever Thorkell had walked away with after their session today.
‘Madam?’ Her maid dared to enter. She was dressed for bed and obviously intended to retire for the evening.
‘Go to bed, there is nothing more I will require of you this day.’
‘Master Edwin is demanding to see you.’
This was odd. Edwin was living at the dock house and it was very late in the day to be paying a visit — perhaps he had accompanied Tianna home?
‘Out of the way, girl.’ Edwin pushed open the door and stormed inside to confront Rosalind. ‘What did you do today?’ he demanded.
‘You may leave.’ Rosalind directed her maid to the door and when it had closed, she looked back to Edwin.
‘You exposed your heretical ways to the hand of the king?’
Edwin raged.
A deep foreboding crept over her old body — pangs of shock pounded out from her heart in ever-increasing bursts of heat, yet she had chills. Edwin obviously knew the truth of the matter, but it was the way he’d phrased his accusation that was most unnerving.
‘Where is Tianna?’
‘Gone!’ Edwin stressed. ‘With Thorkell. She agreed to marry him in order to protect you, the Marchards’ good name and her parents’ legacy. If you are found guilty of heresy the king will seize everything!’
The news struck at the old woman’s heart and winded her. ‘No, please no.’ She could not accept what she’d done for the sake of two accursed chairs.
‘Floating, changing form, speaking in tongues, to the detriment of your own health, by the look of it! Did you really think Thorkell would not feel compelled to report such powers to the king? But with Tianna as his wife, he has insurance that you will not use your power against them.’
‘I am an old fool.’ She was angry at herself, which twisted the knot in her gut even tighter.
‘The jarl said I could still run the trading business for them.’
Edwin scowled at the notion. ‘But I would rather rot in hell.’
The pressure in her chest felt suddenly enormous, it was hard to breathe and she felt giddy. ‘You are leaving?’ She gripped her chest and head to endure the pain.
‘I must!’ Edwin was passionate and distraught. ‘If I see him wed my lady . . .’ His jaw clenched tightly. ‘I shall be committed for murder, or die in the attempt.’
There were no words to console him, no excuse for her stupidity and no time for her to make amends for the wrong she’d done here.
‘Goodbye, Lady Marchard.’ Edwin obviously took her silence as an acceptance of his resignation. ‘I wish you all the best with the new master of this house.’
As he strode from the room, Rosalind wanted to cry out for his aid, but she could not breathe. For a moment she was sure that her final moment had come, and she took hold of the locked box on the table, pulling it into her lap. Give me the grace to fix this, Rosalind quietly appealed to the powers that be. To her great relief, the pain in her chest eased a little and by the time her maid reached her, she was breathing a little easier.
‘Go, gather all the servants and flee to the dock house,’ she instructed.
‘Why madam, is something amiss?’
‘Something is very amiss,’ Rosalind told her, as she regarded her kindly.
‘But you are not well.’ Tears of frustration rolled down the maid’s cheeks.
‘That is no matter,’ Rosalind could not deny it. ‘Take the box of jewellery from my room and flee for your lives.’
‘You scare me, madam,’ her maid was now openly weeping.
‘Do as I tell you, and don’t look back for any reason.’ Rosalind was stern with her, whereupon the maid ran crying from the room to do her bidding.
One more hour is all I need. Rosalind stole a moment’s reprieve to steel her nerves for the ordeal ahead. If she died in this chair she could leave a request to have this box buried with her. But if anyone opened the box, they would be bewitched by the jewels, and she couldn’t risk it. The only way to ensure this curse was entombed with her was to bury them both herself.
* * *
Liquid fire was a pine resin and sulphur mixture, perfected by the Greeks for warfare. It was the most flammable mixture known to man — just a few drops would ignite even the wettest wood and burn up any surface. For this reason Rosalind had always stored it well away from the storeroom in the basement, for fear of the very disaster she was about to orchestrate.
The basement at the Marchard Manor was well protected from a fire from above, but a fire from within would ravage the wooden supports that upheld the stone floor of the main house, and fed by the goods stored therein, would reduce the manor to a pile of rubble within hours. Rosalind’s little oracle chamber was an addition to the house. It had been dug out from the basement to one side of the manor and was completely undetectable from the outside as a large statue of Leonardo’s father, the founder of the family business, sat atop a platform next to the house to disguise the groundwork. Once the house came down, the chamber would be completely buried.
As Rosalind doused the central beam of the house with the liquid fire, her chest began to tighten once more. She lost her grip on the bottle and it smashed on the hard stone floor.
‘Agh!’ She gripped tight the inner side of her left breast and staggered backwards to her would-be tomb where a candle and a gas lantern were burning. Upon reaching the table where she’d left the items, she grabbed hold of the lantern.
This is it. My final act. In this moment she didn’t mourn losing the sum total of her worldly possessions; Leonardo had been right, it was all just stuff, useless to her now. None of her exotic treasures could reverse the damage she’d done this day and that was all Rosalind could think about at this point.
‘If someone must carry this curse,’ she muttered through tears of regret, ‘then let it be me.’ Rosalind tossed the lantern into the basement proper, where the flaming oil ignited the combustible liquid and exploded into a fire ball.
Rosalind slammed the door to her secret room closed, latched it shut from the inside and leaned against it for support. It felt like her heart and her lungs were being squeezed tight, but she lunged towards the table, and bounced off it to collapse into a chair.
Would it be her body giving out, the fire, or a slow suffocation that would finally seal her fate? She didn’t care, if she could spare Tianna and Edwin from the ramifications of her selfish act this day. Please God protect them, for they are innocent of any crime.
As smoke began to seep under the door, the invisible band o
f pressure around her chest tightened. Her head began throbbing as the candle petered out. Rosalind fought off death’s summons to feel about for the box containing the cursed jewels and, having located it, she held it close. Outwardly coughing and gasping for air, inwardly screaming in agony to be released from the pain, Rosalind’s entire being felt fit to burst under the pressure.
God forgive me. She stopped resisting her suffering and accepted it, breathing deep the poisoned air that was as stifling to her as breathing water. It burned like wildfire through her lungs. With one last panicked gasp, the pain abruptly departed and a deep sense of peace prevailed in the darkness.
* * *
Aware of an upward ascent, the dark shroud lifted from Rosalind’s perception and her consciousness soared into the sky for a bird’s eye view of the blazing manor. The sun rose and rushed across the sky, as the stone walls crumbled into a pile of smoking debris. The moon arced across the sky, followed by day several times over, before a dawn saw Tianna’s arrival at the site with Jarl Thorkell and a company of his men, whereupon the rush of time slowed and Rosalind’s spirit was drawn downward, closer to her niece.
‘Oh dear God.’ Tianna’s eyes welled with tears as she observed the devastation of the house that had been her home since the death of her parents. ‘We must find my aunt’s body and give her a Christian burial.’
‘Madam Marchard was no devout Christian,’ the jarl responded, appearing much more hardy and youthful than last time she’d seen him. Was this the handy work of the demon she had supposedly unleashed? What kind of entity had such power?
‘We can’t just leave her,’ Tianna challenged.
‘Your aunt has died a violent death,’ he said heartlessly. ‘The Church will not allow her to be buried on consecrated ground for fear her blood will pollute it.’
Tianna appeared shocked and hurt by his words — so inconsiderate of her current distress.
The Immortal Bind Page 7
