Betrayal

by Fiona McIntosh

  There were no purple sashes to be seen, in fact, and Alyssa danced twice more, not without fear but safely. Escaping back to the gates and into the shadows, she almost screamed when someone grabbed her waist. Spinning in alarm she saw the face of a pig.

  ‘Well, how about once around the bonfires for me?’ Tor asked.

  Relief turned to laughter but the arrival of the Virtuous Maiden brought back all of the tension.

  ‘You two seem to be hogging one another today, don’t you?’ Xantia’s voice was laced with hatred, or so it sounded to Alyssa who knew her well. She wondered again at how their friendship had come to this and in such a short time.

  ‘Hello, Xantia. Having a good time?’ Tor was all politeness.

  ‘You promised me a dance, Mr Pig.’ She emphasised her last word so it sounded as an insult.

  ‘You two go ahead. I’m exhausted anyway and in search of cool water,’ Alyssa offered.

  She was surprised that Tor made no protest.

  ‘Well, if you’ll excuse us, Alyssa, this young maiden cannot be refused,’ he said, turning on his charm.

  Alyssa watched Xantia’s eyes widen behind the mask; it was as though she could hardly believe what she was hearing. Suddenly she was girlish and coy. Alyssa turned away so as not to say anything she may regret.

  ‘Why, Tor,’ Xantia cooed, ‘I’d be delighted.’

  ‘The pleasure is truly mine. Meet me by that bonfire,’ he said sweetly and pointed towards the largest fire outside the gates. ‘I must fetch my trusted guide a cup of water and I’ll be with you in a moment. Be quick, don’t miss our position. I love to be at the front of the Cleffyngo, don’t you?’

  Xantia’s mask gave away nothing but her eyes narrowed behind it. ‘I do. You will come straightaway then?’

  ‘I promise. Chivalry calls, though. My King would be disappointed if I showed anything less towards Alyssa.’

  There was nothing Xantia could do but head towards the gates. The second she turned her tall, slim shoulders in their direction Tor gripped Alyssa’s elbow and forced her to sit on an old tree stump, conveniently in the shadows.

  ‘Wait here,’ he said urgently and ran off towards the long tables where pitchers of water were regularly replenished from the Academie’s well.

  He returned swiftly and handed Alyssa a cup. Before she realised what he was doing, he had pulled off her mask and touched her forehead. Immediately a familiar, almost unbearable rush of colours, sounds and smells came to her. He had removed the archalyt disc and dropped her mask back down before she could say anything. No one had noticed, he had been so deft and had deliberately blocked anyone’s view with his broad body.

  Alyssa felt the welcome, gentle slice of Tor’s link.

  Now, isn’t that better? he said walking away without looking back at her. No one will suspect anything as your mask covers the truth. Behave normally and keep the link open. I need to be able to speak to you from now on.

  Hurry up and get that dance done, she replied. And remember who you’re promised to.

  Her lightness of heart was short-lived; she caught her first sight of purple silk. It was not Goth but it meant he was not far away.

  I see it, Tor said, hoping to calm her. Goth is not here. You must remain steady, my love. You will draw more attention if you do not act normally.

  Alyssa watched as he took Xantia in his arms and said something to her which obviously made her laugh for the maiden’s head flipped back coquettishly. Then the thunderous beat of the Cleffyngo began. Alyssa rejoiced that it was too loud for conversation between dancers and within a moment Tor’s voice was back in her mind.

  Whilst I keep Xantia happy, make any excuse you have to go to the crypt. Go fast. Beneath the stone where you found the books is a new mask. No one knows about it. Do it now.

  She wasted not a moment but Elder Iris caught her hurrying into the Academie. Alyssa’s expression turned to one of terror beneath the safety of her fox guise.

  ‘Is that you, Alyssa my dear? It is. What are you hurrying for, child? Our ceremony begins in a few minutes.’

  Alyssa thought fast and steadied her voice. ‘I know, Elder Iris. That’s why I’m hurrying. This fox mask has something sharp inside which is hurting me. I thought I might see if I could adjust it a little but I know we mustn’t take them off during the Festival so I thought I’d better do it in my room.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Be quick then.’ The Chief Elder could not think anything bad about Alyssa and it would never occur to her to question the acolyte’s integrity. She moved on and Alyssa ran for her life.

  In the crypt she was amazed to find the mask of a ghoul with a wig cunningly attached. She was impressed that Tor had not selected raven hair which would be the obvious disguise for her bright, fair hair. Instead the wig was crafted from the dullest of light browns; completely unspectacular and cropped without any regard for vanity. His note told her to tie up her own hair and fasten it tightly to the back of her head with the clips he had supplied. She found a new crimson robe which he told her to ensure she wore. It swamped her petite frame but this was deliberate on Tor’s part and he insisted she tie the garter very loosely. To complete the hideous ensemble he had provided boots with an amazingly tall heel. She had never seen boots like this before and when she pulled them on, apart from finding them uncomfortably tight, she was sure she would be unable to take more than two steps in them.

  Are you ready? he boomed into her head. I’m feeling dizzy from twirling Xantia around this wretched fire!

  What are you thinking about, Tor, with all of this?

  Your beautiful head still attached to your slim neck and resting against my shoulder, at which time I shall kiss it and be glad that you are safe.

  I can’t walk in these things.

  You will walk in them and you must promise me to do it confidently. Remember, Goth is looking for a small, slim, golden-haired woman. You will be a saggy, overly tall ghoul with dun-coloured hair, which is real, by the way. I paid a fortune for it!

  His humour helped but only a little. Her palms, no longer just moist, felt permanently damp. She stuffed all the unwanted things back into the hole and managed to cover them with the stone. Where she found the strength she would never know but put it down to extreme anxiety. As she teetered off towards the crypt stairs, she wondered how in Light’s name she was going to carry off this bizarre disguise.

  Tor had just finished telling Xantia what an extraordinarily fine dancer of the Cleffyngo she was when Cloot sliced open a link.

  Goth is about to arrive.

  Tor could tell Cloot was nervous. His plan was simple but audacious and even his loyal falcon was questioning his sanity.

  He went through the checklist in his mind. Is Saxon ready?

  As ready as he’s ever going to be. Sorrel is with him. So is a donkey.

  Tor was making polite sounds about fetching Xantia a cup of wine. He stopped when he heard the last part of Cloot’s message.

  A donkey?

  Yes, you know—long ears, strange beast, not quite a horse, makes an odd braying sound.

  Tor bristled. This was not a good time for Cloot’s sarcasm.

  ‘Xantia, allow me to fetch you a glass.’ Without waiting for her reply, he stalked off. I know what a donkey is, he snarled across the link. What is he doing with a donkey? It will slow us up.

  Search me. I’m not sure you’ve noticed this, Tor, but Saxon’s a strange fellow. Perhaps the donkey’s important to him and at this stage of your precarious, dangerously underplanned plan, I think it’s the very least of our worries, don’t you? Cloot snapped closed the link.

  Tor saw the falcon lift from the cover of the trees and circle high above them. From the corner of his eye he also saw the ghoul appear but he refused to look at Alyssa squarely.

  You look lovely, he whispered across the link. The Spinsters of Minstead would be proud of you.

  She did not give him the satisfaction of a verbal response but he felt a spike in his ri
bs such as he had not felt in years. It was classic Alyssa trickery and he had to cover up his ‘oof!’ by pretending to drink some of Xantia’s wine and then coughing theatrically.

  Getting slow in your old age, Tor? You should’ve felt that coming.

  He agreed. He winced and walked to where Xantia patiently waited and handed her the wine.

  ‘Won’t you share a cup with me, Tor?’

  ‘Of course. But I just have to speak with Elder Iris who is looking for me. If you’ll excuse me briefly, Xantia, I’ll be right back.’

  She nodded and he made his escape with barely a moment to spare before Goth and his main party of riders arrived at the gates.

  Tallinese horses from the King’s stable were well disciplined and rarely needed to be tethered. The Inquisitors let the reins fall as they dismounted, knowing their horses would content themselves with nibbling at the grasses at the roadside and remain where they left them.

  A distinct hush spread itself amongst the happy mob at Goth’s arrival. Many had witnessed his despatch of the young gypsy girl earlier that day and almost all the townsfolk had heard about the despicable deed.

  Goth smiled behind his demon mask. He did so love to ruin the fun. As the music struck up again and people forced themselves to return to their dancing, drinking and conversations, Elder Iris met Goth at the gates. She wore a stern mask of a bull. Her mood at seeing him matched the bull’s expression.

  ‘Inquisitor Goth. I can’t stop you joining us, though I wish I could.’ She paused.

  Fucking witch, the demon thought as it bowed courteously.

  The bull continued, just as sternly. ‘Though I can prevent you and your men entering these gates. The last time you visited the Academie you left it strewn with bodies. I heard about the gypsy girl. It grieves my soul that I look into your cold eyes and see no remorse.’

  As well you might, you old whore, he thought.

  ‘Elder,’ he said, ‘my men and I come simply to enjoy the festivities. We will be gone directly after the main ceremony, I assure you.’

  ‘Good,’ Elder Iris replied. ‘Then please remain outside these gates.’

  ‘Actually, there is something you can help me with right now,’ Goth said, unperturbed by her attitude.

  ‘And that is?’ she said curtly.

  ‘I have a friend here at present. Physic Gynt is representing the Palace, as I understand it. Perhaps you might ask him to step outside. But please, Elder Iris, don’t tell him I’m here…let me surprise him.’

  A woman in crimson stepped forward. She wore the mask of the Virtuous Maiden. ‘He wears the pig head, Inquisitor,’ Xantia said, delighted that this man of such legendary cruelty, and strange connection to Alyssa, was here. ‘I’ll find him if you wish.’

  Elder Iris turned on her. If Xantia could have seen her expression beneath the bull’s head, she would have shrivelled. But there was no going back now. This was a chance to hurt Alyssa.

  ‘Oh, and Inquisitor Goth,’ she said sweetly, ‘Alyssa is wearing a fox mask if you’re looking for her too.’

  ‘Xantia!’ Elder Iris admonished loudly. ‘Hold your wicked tongue, girl.’

  ‘Alyssa…’ Goth turned the name over his rubbery lips.

  If Xantia had not been standing in front of the raging bull, she would have hugged herself. Alyssa’s secret early years were shaping themselves in her head now and she was sure that before the night was ended she would have the full story. She revelled in the thought of her former friend’s downfall. She would peel away the layers of lies which she was now convinced Alyssa lived beneath and reveal her closely guarded past to the Elders. She would see to it that Alyssa never became an Elder. She came out of her reverie to hear Elder Iris addressing her.

  ‘Be gone, Xantia. Prepare yourself for the ceremony, after which you will return immediately to your rooms and await my summons.’ She turned to Goth. ‘Excuse us, sir.’

  ‘Oh, by all means,’ Goth said, bowing again. The moment the women left he ordered his men to go in search of pigs and foxes. He could already see there were many but his prey were distinctive; they could not conceal themselves with masks alone. He would have them both before dawn.

  Whilst Elder Iris was admonishing Xantia, Tor had slipped away. He returned now for the ceremony. He could see Alyssa lurking at the back of a big crowd of people; she was well hidden for the time being. He followed suit, slinking deep into the shadows away from Xantia’s prying eyes. The girl’s freedom was limited, however. Elder Iris had given firm instructions that she remain at the side of another Elder, who had no intention of allowing the acolyte to disobey orders. Tor could almost smell Xantia’s frustration and allowed himself a brief smile of satisfaction. They had won a small battle there but the war was still to be fought.

  Now the Elders and the key masked figures were preparing for the formal part of the festivity. Many hundreds of people had gathered, spilling into and out of the famous Caremboche gates. So many people milling around would aid Tor and Alyssa’s chances of disappearing amongst them.

  So far Goth’s men had been kept at bay; they mingled amongst the crowd, pulling at the masks of the countless pigs and foxes they encountered. Tor had chosen well. They were easily the most common headwear.

  Goth did not participate in this humiliating exercise. He left that lowly task to his men. Behind his demon mask, his sharp eyes never stopped moving, briefly resting from time to time on tall, dark-haired men or young women with golden hair. He would know his prey immediately. He had already guessed that Alyssa may hide her hair so he also carefully checked every dark-haired woman who passed across his line of sight. And Alyssa could not disguise her slight build. He knew it all too well, having touched it so intimately. After seeing her only today he knew she had not put on much height, just become slightly curvier perhaps.

  The acolytes were being summoned to form the lines which represented some event from legend centuries earlier when the sentient Masters of Goldstone had been murdered. Goth cared nothing for legend and even less for any empowered people, myth or not. He thought about Alyssa instead. He would have only moments to talk to her. He briefly wondered if he could snatch her away, but the Untouchable status she now possessed cowed even his devil-may-care attitude.

  He would make do with forcing her to engage in the Death Dance with him. It meant he could hold her against him. She could not refuse, of course; even the old witch could not refuse it for this was high tradition. He wished he was still whole and could push that part of his body against her which would frighten her. He desperately wanted to see the fear in her eyes again.

  Goth shook himself free of these thoughts. He had almost forgotten the physic. He must find him and deal with him. He gave orders to Rhus to step up the search. He needed Gynt found and taken.

  A cart edged its way to the fringe of the mob, stopping as close to the Academie gates as possible. It was small, drawn by two nags. Beside it was tethered a donkey. The driver was a tall, broad man with longish dark hair and the mask of a pig. Despite the poor light and deep shadows, he looked familiar to Rhus who began fighting his way back through the crowd towards Goth. He knew this would make his chief very happy.

  The solemn chimes of a bell sounded as the ten characters of the Czabba legend began to make their slow way, chanting words none of them understood. Behind them walked the figure of the handsome young man in his prime; the one responsible for all the devastation.

  Women’s voices were raised in beautiful harmony as all the members of the Academie erupted into song. Xantia felt Elder Li pinch her, forcing her to sing the song they had practised for months; nevertheless, she studied all the girls around her, searching for Alyssa. It infuriated her that she could not see her. Not a fox head in sight; not even her giveaway small frame and light hair.

  Custom dictated that the acolytes must be registered on the night of Czabba by answering to their name when called. The Elders took this part of the ceremony very seriously and the group was counted and ch
ecked to ensure all were present. Both Goth and Xantia clearly heard Alyssa answer to her name. Goth smiled but Xantia, knowing it was Alyssa’s voice but not being able to see where she spoke from, became more frustrated.

  She found her chance when the acolytes were required to walk out of the main gates through the crowd which parted for them. There they would meet with the eleven characters, their songs intermingling to a crescendo of voices. The finale would be the Dance of Death, which began slowly but gradually increased in intensity. Everyone would join in. Xantia was sure Goth would take the opportunity to reunite himself with Alyssa.

  In the move towards the gates, Xantia was able to slip gradually further behind until she could see all her companions. Alyssa was there but not there. Where amongst this group had she hidden herself? Somebody tripped ahead and caused several of the girls to stumble. In that moment of confusion Xantia caught sight of a boot with a heel she had never seen the like of before. It was gone in a second, covered by crimson.

  She stopped her singing and wildly searched the figures. She locked onto a person wearing very loosely fitting robes. The lifeless hair was unfamiliar and the figure wore the head of a ghoul, a mask she had not seen on any of the acolytes earlier in the evening.

  ‘Alyssa,’ she whispered and then she yelled as loudly as her voice would allow, ‘Alyssa!’

  The ghoul turned then broke from the group of women. Pandemonium ensued.

  At the same moment Xantia spotted Alyssa’s boot, Rhus finally reached his chief.

  ‘I have Gynt, sir. Over there.’

  Goth looked over and saw the physic standing on a cart just ahead of him. The pig mask swivelled, as if on cue, and then Gynt whipped the startled horses who wasted no time in galloping off. As Goth watched with disbelief, he heard someone yell ‘Alyssa!’ Emerging from behind some bales of hay at the back of a cart, he saw a figure throwing off a blanket to reveal the head of a fox and golden hair cascading behind.