by Prue Batten
‘Finnian.’ A familiar voice spoke and he wanted to keep walking for he knew whatever she said would cut him in two. ‘Finnian, you have the answer.’
The Moonlady’s silver hair fluffed and flirted in the welkin wind and her midnight garments blew around her in rustling folds, the galaxies of stars flickering in a cascade of glitters. ‘Come sit, just for a moment.’ She held out a pale hand.
He went unwillingly, as if she represented all that was unnerving and displeasing in his life. ‘Let me go, Moonlady,’ he pleaded with her. ‘There is nothing to be said.’
‘But there is, Finnian.’
He sighed. ‘She and I…’
‘I know. Which makes your choices all the harder, I imagine.’
He sat by her on the log. ‘I would do this to protect her, to protect my brother and all that I have found to respect of late.’
She took his hands in her own, her palms cool and smooth, running her fingers down the bones as if she played some ivory instrument. ‘It is a wise decision, my dear.’
‘Are you telling me I could only ever have made the choice in one way?’
‘It is not for me to tell you anything of the kind. Celestial spirits are only ever mentors and sounding boards. In the end you make your own decision, I have told you this before.’
‘Then I choose what I must. And will leave a path of destruction and it sits in my craw.’ He lapsed into a momentary silence and then, ‘But tell me of Lalita. What of her?’
‘It is her Fate to have bittersweet joy in her life.’
Finnian threw back his head and looked up to the cloud-filled sky. ‘But she has lost everyone that loved her, everyone. You say bittersweet. Then I am sure you know what a deadly plant the Bittersweet is. I wonder how much more loss she can take.’
‘She will only bear as much as she can, Finnian, no more.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Hers is a path only she can tread.’
‘You sound as if you care little, Moonlady. How do you dare? This is a life we talk about.’ He went to stand but her hand grasped his and he shivered as she kissed his palm gently, as a mother kisses a child.
‘I do care, Finnian. Have no doubt. But there is more than just her life at stake. It is why you have made your choice. And you know also that there is no going back, the choice you are making is final.’
He looked down at her and the willows and the birches wept at the sadness in his eyes.
‘Go with grace, my dear sweet Finnian.’ She kissed his palm again and the ache in his heart eased only slightly.
All who could sleep were in bed and the house sighed with the somnolent rhythm. The casement clock on the stair ticked, faithfully marking the hours and the half and quarter hours as the painted moonface slid around a garden of lush, folky roses. Jasper’s orreries whirred in their infinite passing of planets and galaxies and Tito twitched in his basket.
Finnian clicked the door of Jasper’s workroom soundlessly as he again cloaked himself in glamour. The room filled with a vague moonlight from the windows and he swiftly moved from desk to worktable, swearing as the objects of his search failed to reveal themselves. He moved to the bookshelves and felt along the edge, pushing books back against the wall in case the wily old man had concealed them behind words and knowledge. And sure enough, a codex labeled on the spine as ‘The Divine Art of the Sphere’ refused to push back further, its front two inches overhanging the shelves.
He eased the book out, a tilt to his mouth indicating a certain irony at Jasper’s little joke – The Divine Art of the Sphere indeed. Two glass globes filled with flowers lay behind and he scooped them up and thrust them into his coat pocket. But there were no paper strips and he swore, running anxious hands back and forth along the shelves, looking high and then low. He lit a small lamp and searched again, pulling each of the books in the shelves out and then shoving them back. Always quiet, at pains not to wake a household. ‘Damn it,’ he whispered.
‘What is it you look for, Finnian?’
He spun around, the lamp teetering. She stood in the shadows on the far side of the room.
‘Careful,’ she admonished. ‘You will knock the flame to the floor.’
He righted the lamp and set it on the table.
‘Answer me. What is it you search for?’
‘Lalita, don’t be obtuse. You know full well.’
She moved out of the shadows. ‘I do, you are right. And it worries me.’
He stepped toward her, but she eased away and he sighed. ‘Trust is a thin thing, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Even now. After today. But rest assured, I don’t seek them to misuse them. On the contrary.’
‘Then why do you creep around the house like a shade?’
‘Because I have the answer.’
She sucked in her breath. ‘You say? How?’
The rope that had tightened around Finnian’s throat all day pulled up another knotch and he could barely speak. So much could have been avoided by secrecy. ‘But why would you leave her alone to learn the truth later? Now or when you are gone, it will still hurt her that you go. You owe her truth and better when you can hold her. It is how you place value on the feelings you have for her and she for you.’ So Ibn would have said.
‘I haven’t long – it must be done before Dawn.’ He knew she tired of prevarication, that she was nervous and afraid, her hands clenched by her sides. ‘There is a lake not far from here, the Lake of Mists and there’s sometimes an island. An island when it is needed.’
‘This is ridiculous…’
‘No. It’s the Isle of the Dead. Once there, none can return. Nothing taken there can return. Do you understand? Nothing.’
In the fluttering light of the near-exhausted lamp, her eyes were black holes in a pale face, like some ghastly death mask. She moved closer and he could pick out the detail he never wanted to forget. ‘Do you believe me?’ Please.
‘You mean to take them to this place and never return.’ Her eyes glittered.
He nodded his head once, knowing the time had come.
Her face crumpled and she turned it to the side, her reserve breaking, her remove dissolving. She held out her hand. ‘Then you will need these.’ The two strips of paper with their ruinous messages lay in the light of the lamp. He reached to pluck them, desperate to touch her, to sweep her into his clasp, to swear that she need not worry, that all would be well. Her hand trembled and the paper strips shivered in tandem and as his fingers touched them, they flattened. He took hold of her hand to pull the papers off but as he eased them away, the words etched themselves into her palm. He tried to mesmer the stain but it remained, an indelible code of curse and condemnation. She pushed at the messages, scrubbing frenetically. ‘They won’t go, Finnian. They won’t move.’ Her voice began to lift.
‘Ssh,’ he said, touching her arm, calming her. Inside his own heart, a horrified concern curled on the edges like burning paper.
Wiping the tears away, she whispered, ‘I told Jasper that you and I would do this together and it seems the way of it. I’m a carrier, Finnian, and you must take me.’
No, she will kill you. The burning paper turned to ashes and he hated life, hated the Moonlady and Fate, but hated Isolde especially. Because Lalita was right. The words were engraved on her palm, the papers now blank, and he watched a future empty with it. ‘Forgive me, Lalita. I would not willingly draw you into this. There is no way back.’
‘As Fate always intended.’ Unbelievably her mouth curved at the corners as she moved against him and looked up.
Oh Lady scribe, I love you. ‘We must go. We have an hour at best.’ He grabbed the unmarked hand, kissing the palm.
They stepped into the hall, walking toward the kitchen but Jasper moved out of the shadows. ‘You go then.’
‘Yes. You know?’ Finnian chafed at the unnecessary stalling.
‘I do. I discovered it in my mirror this night. Both of you together and I am sorry.’ Jasper clasped them both and then pushed them
. ‘Go now, quickly. The house sleeps under an enchantment. It will serve for a minute. But the mists, Finnian, they are dissolving. You have little time. I will protect this house as long as I am able but beyond that… Now go.’
They hurried into the vast kitchen and it was a matter of moment to reach for the bronze door latch. They hastened out the door, the latch closing with a muffled click.
***
Nothing of the Dawn showed beyond blackness. The pearly grey fog that had shrouded Jasper’s demesnes had peeled back almost as far as the house and Lalita looked up at Finnian, her heart beating at such a pace she thought she would fall at his feet. But they moved on, tracing the path to the coppice almost by feel. They slipped through, his hand holding hers as if they were melded together and she was glad. Her courage fluttered in pieces knowing she was to leave her little niece, leave this world. Knowing that she carried his child and that she and the child could die. If they lived and made haven on the Isle of the Dead, her own child would never know the kind of life she would want for it. Cowardice pulled at her and yet she knew she must drag herself after Finnian because it had to be done.
Their boots made no sound on the thick covering of fallen leaves and in a moment they stood by the water. Miniature wavelets tickled the shoreline and a cruel wind lifted across the tops of the trees and flowed inland. The mists had vanished and Lalita realized that Jasper had lost his battle against this awful woman, apart from the dense little fog that surrounded the house. Anger of immeasurable proportions filled him. He wanted to roar into the darkness. ‘Where are you, old lady?’ The sky in front of them rolled and boiled with insidious storm clouds, thunder rumbling, lightning snapping at the edges of the horizon.
Lalita gasped as a thunderclap shook the shore at her feet; almost as if it was a drum roll announcing the approach of an apocalypse.
Finnian whispered and she turned. ‘What did you say?’
‘I said she comes, she sends the weather before her. She has always had a way with the grand gesture. Lalita,’ he placed taut hands on each of her arms. ‘You know what I must do. I must kill her before we destroy the charms and I have no other way…’
‘No.’ She backed away from him. ‘No. You said you must deal with the paperweights, not with her. That is not what you said we would do. You can’t. You will cause innocent death for miles hence.’
‘There is no other way. Please.’ Finnian reached for her but she stepped back further.
‘There is,’ she argued. ‘If we go to the Isle she will follow. She can never return and we can still destroy the charms.’
Finnian’s anger began to build, his face hardening. ‘You think that will stop her? On her way after us she will be so filled with ire that she will kill anything she sees. Even those in Jasper’s care. He might have the house under an enchantment right now, but Isolde is the stronger.’
‘No…’
‘Yes,’ he shouted. ‘Don’t you see? I don’t know what her bane is. I had thought it was yew but it wasn’t. With a Cantrip, I can accomplish it. Bane or no, it will kill her.’ The wind built around them, whipping waves on the lake, lifting twigs and leaves that struck their faces.
Lalita’s hair snaked all around her and she shook it from her eyes. ‘I can’t let you do this!’ She turned and began to run but he sprinted after her and caught her, dragging her round to face him.
‘Listen,’ he shook her. ‘Jasper’s house is safe for the minute. He said so, until I have done this. He wants her dead and gone as much as I do. So if I have to imprison your hand to call the charm, I shall. It must be done.’
‘You did not say you would use the charms so close to the house! You did not! You lied and deceived Jasper and me.’ She thanked the stars that she had not told him she carried his child because she doubted she could care for a man who could sacrifice hundreds for the sake of revenge against one.
The wind howled like the Caointeach and Lalita put her hands to her ears. Wailing for someone about to die.
‘Listen,’ he spat. ‘If I don’t destroy Isolde before she lays her hands on the Cantrips, she will decimate the YmpTree Orchard and everything in it. Isabella as well. This is the chance I must take, that Jasper protects the house and that I can kill my grandmother.’ His eyes were colder than ice sheets and Lalita’s skin tightened on her face as she fought against fear, Finnian’s hand reaching for her wrist again and gripping hard.
Around them, the wind began to drop.
Chapter Twenty Four
In the chilling silence that came after the gale, not a thing moved. It seemed as if the world held its breath. Lalita’s eyes opened wide and seeing her expression, Finnian spun round. A figure walked toward them, limping and leaning heavily on a staff. The woman’s ice-white hair had been pulled into a severe knot at the nape of the neck and apart from her face, every inch of Isolde’s body was covered in dark drifting folds.
She smiled thinly, her voice cutting into Finnian’s sensibilities as if she stove a sword into his soul. ‘Well my boy, I have found you at last. And with a Raji whore. But then is it really any surprise that you still tup whores?’
‘Keep your insults, Isolde, I have no time for them.’ Finnian’s voice cracked, his heart cold, terror clouding his thoughts.
His grandmother came closer and moved around Lalita, examining every inch of her. She lifted a veined hand and ran a long nail down Lalita’s cheek, raising spots of blood and Finnian could see her flinch, but she stood with her chin held high and her eyes clear and full of nothing but bravery. Oh Lalita, I am so sorry.
‘Leave her!’ He grabbed his grandmother’s hand and pulled it away from Lalita’s cheek, an unguarded action that as he did it, made him wonder why he had pushed her to the edge so quickly.
But she ignored his anger, wrapping her hand around the staff and leaning on it, a calcalting look in her eye. Finnian cursed that he had revealed his feelings. Idiot, fool. Beware.
‘You have been gone long, Finnian. What were you thinking? I was concerned. And on my sick bed too.’
‘Concerned?’ He snorted. ‘You would have as much concern for me as I have for you. Let’s not pretend with each other.’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘But you should be concerned about me, I am your grandmother, lately ill. Don’t you care at all?’ She pinioned him to the ground with her eyes. ‘But then perhaps you’ve been too busy to give me a thought.’ She walked around him to stare again at Lalita but then snapped her attention back to her grandson. ‘You have them boy, don’t you? Give them to me.’
‘Be disappointed, Isolde. I don’t have them.’
‘You lie.’ She spoke with icy equanimity. ‘A good try but a lie nevertheless.’ She tapped her nose with a swollen, twisted finger. ‘Spies, Finnian, spies. Everywhere. I have always watched you. Always, even as a child. And thanks to my spies, I hear that the antiquarian in Fahsi has a collection of Venichese paperweights that were stolen from the Palazzo Di Accia. I hear one is sold to a paper-merchant for his niece who is in the royal harem. Then I hear the woman has supposedly jumped to her death from the seraglio tower. Soon I hear a woman like her has stolen a paperweight from the same antiquarian and later that you and the little hourie here have gone to the Gate between Fahsi and Trevallyn. And I think to myself, these paperweights have become important, why should that be? Then I learn the antiquarian is wandering around in a disheveled state claiming some strange noblewoman from a place called Killymoon purchased other paperweights. And then, Finnian,’ she poked him in the chest, ‘I hear that you and the whore here were seen fleeing Killymoon. Now – what – do – you – think – I – should – make – of – that?’
She emphasized each of the words, pushing him with the staff, but he said nothing, just stared Isolde down, feeling a muscle in his cheek flicking away, conscious of Lalita by his side, hearing her breath coming in anxious spurts.
Isolde smiled, a movement of muscles that barely stretched her mouth and fell a long way short of her eyes. ‘Well
, shall we conduct a business arrangement then? My sort of business?’ In a second she had flashed round behind Lalita and her staff was held across the delicate throat and pulled back hard. Lalita coughed and choked, gasping for air. Finnian lunged forward but as his hand closed over the piece of wood Isolde threw down a mesmer and he pulled back quickly, a white burn etched across the other scars on his palm.
‘Business, Finnian. We shall play for them.’ Isolde let the staff drop away and Lalita fell to her knees, retching on the grass.
‘Finnian,’ she gasped. ‘Don’t.’
Isolde looked at the girl on the ground and back at Finnian and he knew he could hide nothing from her. She knew they were lovers, that they were joined by something great and powerful. Her eyes displayed such malicious confidence it took his breath away. She stared at her grandson and Finnian felt the power of the black gaze, even in the dark shadow of night that she had spawned. ‘We shall play shatranj and the whore here shall be one of my pieces and the paperweights… let me see, how many do you have?’
He said nothing but she read his face.
‘You clever boy, you have the four. Well then, shall we say two your end and two mine? I shall make the whore my shah and my two paperweights shall be vazir and alfil. Give them to me.’
He dragged the glass pieces out of his pocket, pulling at courage. ‘We shall play Grandmother, as you say, but I shall have Lalita as my shah.’ He was astonished when she didn’t argue and a quick glance at Lalita on her knees and rubbing at the livid mark across her neck made him glad he had the woman he cherished by his side. I can protect you if you are close.
As the giant shatranj board appeared, he knew he must play the game of his life to keep her on the board until his chance came. He gave Lalita his hand and helped her up, placing her on a square in front of him. She trembled under his touch and he whispered. ‘Think, what do the strips say? I did not see. One will be enough.’
