by Prue Batten
He smiled and she tapped him on the arm as Primaflora had. ‘That’s better. Just a bit too grim before. Life’s too short, dear handsome man.’
‘Possibly,’ he agreed. ‘What are you called?’
‘Botanica.’
‘And like your cousin, a perfect label for a paragon of a lady.’
‘Ah Finnian, settle my dear. I am wed.’ She nosed the air with a delicate sniff. ‘Jasper has us all swathed in gauze these days. It does well enough, for they say Isolde swears and schemes and is angrier than a mad snake and more death-dealing by the hour. But,’ she looked up at him. ‘I tell you nothing you don’t know. Where do you go?’
‘I thought to find a lake, the old man calls it the Lake of Mists.’
‘Well,’ said the Siofra, sweeping her bow in front of her as they pushed through shrubbery of yew and wild rosemary. ‘There you are. You have found it.’
The lake stretched in front of him as far the mists would allow. A mass of water with the intimation of banks in the distance, weaving and wavering in the haze that rose from the pearled surface.
‘What is it you seek?’ Botanica stood beside Finnian as he stared intently at the waters.
‘I don’t know.’ But it resonates. He lapsed into quiet, trying to grasp a feeling drifting around him, as if a hand stretched out across the waters but couldn’t quite reach. Such a bittersweet sensation.
‘Do you think this is where the reckoning shall be?’
Finnian didn’t answer, wondering if she meant the destruction of the paperweights or the reckoning with Isolde. The lake and its surrounds were so beautiful he could barely imagine them burned lifeless after a battle with his grandmother. A shiver undulated across his neck and Botanica must have noticed his discomfort because she spoke again, quite kindly.
‘Would you like to spend the day with me, Færan?’ She shifted her bow.
‘I think I would, Botanica, yes. Tell me about your woods.’
The day passed with Botanica telling him of wights and wonders, both good and bad and they laughed together, Finnian not unaware the pretty woman did her best to push the darkness away. Not unlike Ibn either, almost as if Fate once again took pity on him and sent the occasional lightness to leaven the load. He didn’t mind.
Chapter Twenty One
Lalita had walked around Jasper’s beautiful walled garden, casting glances at the strange mists at its farthest reaches.
‘Just a protection, Lalita. Not to worry. Go about your day and forget about it,’ Jasper had said. But it was claustrophobic, pressing at the outer edges of her fear. She tried to push it back along with the panic, out of reach, hidden. But the grey mist remained, a reminder of what Finnian had told her of a mad old woman. Such thoughts ushered in others. Of Kurdeesh. The Ganconer. The Strigoi. She found she was holding her breath and she let it go with a gush and walked to a bench in a tranquil part of the garden. The maple shielded her and the leaves danced in the tiniest breeze as she curled her legs underneath. But her feet shifted restlessly so she jumped up and walked with haste to the potager where she found Margriet and asked to be shown to the library.
The smell of vellum and parchment filled her nostrils and her body relaxed. As the tension eased in her limbs, so did her thoughts and she could look around. The room stretched along the front of one wing and had tall windows with square, regimented panes in each. The fenestrations stood open and the burble of Jasper’s paunch-bellied doves drifted in to make a symphony of sound together with the quietly base tick of a casement clock and the whirring of one of Jasper’s celestial machines. Books climbed to the ceiling, a ladder reposing against one of the many shelves. A thick volume of florilegia lay on a table, opened to a finely detailed botanical illustration. Lalita gazed at the tooled book spines, turning her head sideways to read the gilded titles, eventually settling on a slim volume of Færan poetry that was heavily illuminated. She found some blank paper, a quill and some ink and sketched ideas to add to those of her own designs catalogued in her mind, scattering sand across the surface to dry it. Then she began to scan the text in more detail.
Purity laced the words and it struck her as such an anomaly. Excluding Jasper, her experience of the Færan mind was utterly the opposite. She recalled the lean blackness of Finnian. A liar, a thief, a murderer. But then a tiny part of her conscience reared up, sitting on her shoulder like a voracious imp. She almost wondered if it were the afrit as the voice spoke to her. But then, Desert Flower, are you not also a liar, a thief… a murderer? Yes, but… But nothing, it is yes or no. Unequivocal. She slammed the book shut and walked along the shelves until she found a copy of A Thousand and One Nights. Opening it she was moderately impressed with the illuminations and text, but did it compare? No, of course not. Her own was a collector’s piece and she settled back to read.
Finnian had absented himself from dinner that evening and she was glad as his presence rubbed her raw. She had been unwilling to relay her potential plans to Jasper at breakfast that morning purely because she hadn’t wanted Finnian to know. It was none of his business and she suspected he would manipulate it to his own purpose. But now Jasper would not be put off so easily. ‘Your plans, muirnin, now that we seem to be alone – what shall you do?’
A blush spread over her face, its warmth a response to the knowing look the old man gave her. Well, I despise Finnian. So what? ‘That I am well is obvious and I am grateful,’ she played with the platter at her place. ‘I am of a mind to leave, Jasper, and soon. I am desperate to see Kholi’s child. It is all I can think about, what motivated me to do what I did, as foolish as it no doubt sounds.’
‘Not at all, my dear. It was courageous, indeed you are courageous in the extreme.’ Jasper patted her hand. ‘It is an excellent plan, child, to go to Maria Island to see Isabella. But I must advise that you delay for the moment. It is dangerous to leave at this time.’
‘But surely I am in no danger. Not now that the paperweights are out of my care.’
Jasper moved in his seat. ‘You know why the mists are present. Outside my dear, beyond our little protective fog, there is a neverending night of Isolde’s making. She does it to shield her approach.’
‘Then I see no problem. If Finnian goes away, so shall she.’
‘Maybe, maybe not. She is unreadable and reactionary. Even if Finnian took the charms with him, you should know that even then, we shall never be safe from the crone.’
Lalita thought back on the charms that she had been bringing to Jasper. Damn it. She turned her mind with deliberate effort. She had to. Sometimes thoughts snapped at her heels as if she were quarry and they were the hunting pack meant to bring her down. ‘Have you seen Isabella, Jasper?’ It was a desperate query, born of need and intent. ‘What is she like?’
‘A little bundle of such beauty she could almost be an Other princess.’ He laughed. ‘She’s not unlike you. You shall see.’
Lalita bent her head, the warmth in her cheeks an acknowledgement of the compliment. ‘Shall I like Adelina?’
‘How could one not like her? She is as glorious as an autumn forest, all gold and umber. And her manner? She can be as sharp or as soft as the occasion demands and she is an excellent mother whose friends love her. She has a Hob who is glued to hers and the infant’s sides and I think you will like him as well. Let me see, what else?’ He ran a veined hand up over his forehead to his hair. ‘Well, Phelim’s mother is Ebba the Carlin and she and Adelina are like mother and daughter. She took the young woman under her wing as she had been sorely treated before reaching Maria Island. As for Phelim, Adelina is his shining light.’
‘I am intimidated already. Has she any weak points?’
‘Beyond foolhardiness and stubborness like yourself you mean?’ But he admonished with a smile. ‘None that I can think of. You are of a kind. She is creative and headstrong – I think all of that should resonate with you. Have you heard of the robe she embroidered?’
‘Rajeeb the Djinn told me a little. You know Rajeeb
, don’t you? He told me about the night of Carnivale and about Severine di Accia.’ She shook her head and venom spiked her tongue. ‘How I hate that foul woman! She deserved her death, payment for my brother’s own, let alone for the paperweights.’ But then she sighed as if she were infinitely tired. Infinite, infinity, illimitability. ‘But you ask if I know of the robe? It is displayed in the Venichese Museo, isn’t it?’
‘It is. Ah my dear, I am sure you and Adelina shall have so much to talk of and even more in common than you can imagine.’
‘Then it almost makes my experiences with Finnian worthwhile.’ She recognized the distaste in her voice and under other circumstances, would have despised herself.
Jasper put down his goblet at this last and an impatient frown etched deeper lines across his forehead.
‘I must defend him, Lalita,’ he said shortly, ‘as he isn’t here to defend himself. He had reasons for doing what he did and he saved you from the Strigoi. That you live is due to him.’
‘That I was wounded at all was due to the necessity to chase him when he stole from me.’
‘Immaterial, my dear. You wanted the other paperweights so you would have gone to Killymoon with or without him. Whether you like it or not, his action in killing that Strigoi saved you.’
‘He killed the Strigoi?’ She frowned, sifting through her recall. ‘I don’t remember. I remember a smell and pain… and then nothing.’
‘You were ill near to death my child, it is one of the vagaries of such things. You may remember in time. I thought he would have told you.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘But you must.’
‘I think not. It is for him to impart such a thing. But you should keep it in mind when next you think badly of him. Now,’ he stood up and stretched. ‘I’m off to my chamber. There are charms and paperweights that require my diligence. Good night, muirnin.’
‘Good night, Jasper. And I thank you for your hospitality.’
Lalita met Finnian and Jasper in the hallway the next morning, having tossed and turned all night in a fit of guilt and indecision. The old man bid her good day but she avoided Finnian’s eye, knowing full well she must confront him at some point. Back down perhaps? Apologise? Be grateful for a life that was saved? She sensed him behind her – his impressive height and breadth of shoulder.
‘Margriet has set breakfast in the walled garden, shall we go?’
Under heavy bracts of wistaria, they sat quietly. Finnian kept to himself, speaking only when spoken to and Lalita felt chastened, less strident. Birds twittered quietly, as though the ever-present mists required peace and Jasper sat back, surveying his surroundings. But then a cry filled the air, lifting the hairs on Lalita’s neck, making even the dour Finnian sit up.
‘The Caointeach.’ Lalita grabbed at her throat.
‘Indeed. It has been a while. It’s a sign of doom for some poor soul.’ Jasper’s brow creased as the mournful sound reverberated through the orchard.
‘You mean someone out there will die, don’t you? An Other?’
The cry echoed and re-echoed and in response the garden had fallen silent, allowing the ghastly resonance to fill every space.
‘The Caointeach only ever cries for a mortal. It is well-known in Trevallyn.’ Finnian spoke sourly.
‘A mortal shall die and you sit here as if you are passing the time of day? Aine help you.’ Lalita jumped up and faced the two men.
‘We can do nothing,’ Finnian snapped at her. ‘Once the Caointeach cries, the deed is almost done.’
‘What deed? Do you mean a mortal is to be murdered?’
‘The mortal could die in any number of ways. Not necessarily murder.’ Jasper stood and walked to her side, gazing out over his garden walls to the mists beyond, his arm sliding around her shaking shoulder.
‘Then Jasper, did the Caointeach cry out for my brother when he died?’ She turned to him, her voice begging as she asked. ‘When he was murdered?’
‘Most probably, my dear. It’s the way of it. Please come and sit down, there is nothing to be done.’
She eased herself into her seat, wrapping her arms about her body. ‘There must be something. Shouldn’t we look? No one deserves to be alone when they die.’
‘The connected family will know. It’s why the Caointeach cries. As I said, it is the way of it.’
She sighed and turned her head away, trying to banish the cruel memory of her brother’s demise. How much more bitterness and grief shall there be in my life?
As she struggled with the morbid moment, a voice cut through the brooding atmosphere, chattering with vivacity.
‘Sink me,’ it said. ‘Did you hear that cry? It put the wind up me, I can tell you. Aine knows what it will do to the babe.’
‘Gallivant.’ Jasper jumped up, a teacup wobbling precariously as he grabbed the shorter fellow in a fierce hug.
‘Jasper, how good it is to see you.’ Hazel and gold eyes sparkled as Jasper scrubbed the interloper’s tousled hair with gnarled hands.
‘Hob, what are you doing here?’
‘The Threadlady opened your packet to Phelim as he was away on business for the Squire and as soon as he returned we took passage for the mainland. But we’ve had hell’s own time getting here. Storms at sea, rain and all manner of miseries have dogged our footsteps.’ He looked beyond the table. ‘And this infernal fog, it goes for leagues all around. You’d think the malingerers were having fun at our expense. Finally Adelina sent me on ahead to let you know they’re coming. Oh, is that apricot preserve? Can I have some on that delectable toast?’ He reached in front of Finnian for the food. ‘Excuse me. Hallo, I’m Gallivant the Hob. Your Phelim’s brother, aren’t you? And let me guess. This vision is the babe’s aunt. Adelina won’t believe the likeness between you and Isabella, which means she’ll be reminded of dear Kholi. Aine but I hope she doesn’t let it upset her, she has been settled for so long.’
‘Gallivant, Gallivant, stop.’ Jasper turned to his guests. ‘He’s a busy person, our friend here, a worrywart too but we love him dearly, don’t we, Hob? Now tell me, how far behind are they?’
‘Oh,’ the Hob chewed the toast and the answer was delivered sweetly coated with jam and Lalita warmed to him, ‘about half a day. They can’t make pace with Isabella, but Bottom and I were like greased lightning.’
‘Don’t tell me you brought that bad-tempered ass with you?’ As Jasper spoke, a wail as loud and unfortunate as the Caointeach bellowed forth. ‘Need I ask,’ he goraned. Did you give him to Folko?’
‘Yes. His head’s in a bucket of sweet oats. That’s pleasure you can hear I’m sure.’
‘If that’s pleasure,’ Finnian’s voice startled Lalita who was amused by this bolt of vivacity that had dropped out of the blue, ‘then I’d hate to hear pain.’
Enigmatic eyes scrutinized the Færan. ‘So, Finnian. I didn’t know your other brother, but sink me I can see a look of Phelim about you. I think Adelina is in for more than one shock, Jasper. Better have some rescuing tincture ready.’
‘She will cope I am sure. As she has done a dozen times before. Tell me, how many of you are there?’
‘All of us, five,’ the Hob replied.
‘Good, good. Sit, my boy, sit. I must go and tell Margriet we are to have a house full.’
Lalita watched Jasper leave, his light step betraying his delight at the impending visit. She wondered if there was a measure of relief as well, that those he held dear were under his protection. For herself she hated that her brother’s child was in Isolde’s ambit. She sat back in her chair gazing at the Other who buttered another piece of toast and poured a cup of tea. He was shortish, perhaps her own height, and he had a smooth face as though manhood was almost but not quite at his fingertips. Similar and yet so unlike the hateful Salah in another life. When she looked into Gallivant’s eyes, she saw the aeons of time that had coloured his personality. He sparked with such a positive energy it seeped into her and she could feel a slight diminution in her anger and f
ear, the tide ebbing.
‘Isabella, my brother’s child – does she take kindly to strangers?’
‘She is a sweetheart and takes to everyone. Sometimes I think she is just a little pup who wants to lick everyone and be petted in turn.’ His eyes grew serious. ‘It’s a good thing because she’ll learn soon enough of the sadnesses in her family history. Better that she has such foundations of happiness now to help her deal with the hardness later.’
Lalita nodded her head, remembering her own childhood. Apart from Kurdeesh. And then a thought arose. Unlike Finnian’s life. She cursed the moment, her eyes flying to his face. She read envy pure and simple – neither vicious nor cruel, merely heart-breaking envy and she found a little bit more of her disgust crumbled away.
Gallivant finished eating and wiped his hands on one of the damask napkins before bringing it delicately to his mouth and patting his lips. ‘They say that you have found the Cantrips.’
‘Who says?’ Finnian butted in, all fire and ice.
Gallivant’s face stilled, less of the hapless buffoon. ‘Jasper. It’s what he intimated you would do when he wrote. That being so, you did the world a favour.’
‘So everyone says. But at great cost.’ Bitterness tightened Finnian’s mouth. ‘And for what purpose? Yes the charms have been found but they can’t be destroyed. I think the word pointless comes to mind.’
‘Rubbish. Fate has a way of turning things on its head.’
‘Fate,’ Finnian snorted. ‘Do you know how many times we have heard that word?’
‘Probably as many as Phelim and certainly as much as Adelina.’
Lalita held her breath, waiting for the explosion she was sure would come. Silence stretched as if someone had grabbed it and pulled and then Finnian laughed. The sound of it, the unexpected mellowness of it, shocked her to the core.
