by Prue Batten
Nicholas closed his eyes.
She has no option. None of us do.
He raised his hand, swinging his horse in a wild circle. As Kitsune and the wolf launched at each other with a fierce snarl, the rest of the pack fell to their knees one by one, then collapsed to the ground.
‘Sleep.’ Nicholas mesmered. ‘Long sleep,’ as he remembered Poli’s death-like state in the Vale of Kush. ‘Hold tight, Chi!’
The horses needed no urging, fleeing down the track, leaving a silver grey wolf and a white fox, tumbling and turning, teeth gnashing, clumps of fur flying.
There would only be one winner.
They fled through the grim shadows of night along a track lit at intervals by sympathetic moonbeams that dropped between boughs. They galloped with hearts pumping, even Nicholas who knew the pack would never give chase.
No, Nicholas’s heart jumped for Belle, wondering how she held on.
Stronger, better.
He glanced at Chi Nü who pounded alongside him.
‘Tell me when we are ready to slow up,’ she called. ‘I do not want to fly out of the saddle.’
And he laughed – because a white fox had saved them and he’d mesmered a pack of wolves; and also because their track was moonlit.
The truth revealed itself in a blaze of luminous beauty…
Others were on their side.
*
The horses slowed from exhaustion, their perilous flight leaving rings of sweat on necks, flecks of foam on chests and haunches. Dampness wrapped around the companions as the forest began to change from resinous pine to marshland tree and where the ground sank mossy and dense under hooves.
Night-light was fading, the moon now far to the west pointing the way and Nicholas wondered at the coincidence. They halted the horses, the animals snorting to get their breath, shaking themselves and rattling bits, buckles and stirrups and Nico turned to Chi in the pre-dawn light, raising his eyebrows. She nodded, indicating she was fine, leaning forward onto the pommel, throwing her leg over and sliding down, leaning against her horse. Ahead he heard Poli.
‘Belle? Belle? Isabella!’
Nico leaped from his horse, running forward.
No…
‘She’s fainted, Nico. Here, take her! Lay her down, pull open her robe.’
Poli passed her over and Nico was stunned by her awful pallor, by the sweat on her brow, by her loose arms as they hung down.
She seemed better…
Chi pushed in beside them, on Ming Xao’s arm.
‘She has used her reserves in that gallop. Let her rest, Nicholas. She will wake when she can, you must not panic.’
But Nicholas looked around and was convinced the expressions on everyone’s faces mirrored his own. Mouths grim, lines of exhausted emotion stretching from nose to chin.
‘Poli,’ Chi Nü said. ‘She needs to rest. How much longer before we reach the laguna?’
Above them birds began to sing, at first one, replied to in the distance by another until the trees around them reverberated with harmony. Marsh moss hung from the boughs and wafted in a tiny welkin wind like broken cobwebs in a haunted peel tower.
‘We are here,’ Poli said, sounding at once relieved and distressed, stretching his arm to indicate their watery surrounds.
‘Then,’ Chi replied quite plainly. ‘Find a boat, we have little time. Nicholas, go with him, Ming Xao and I shall tend our friend.’
‘But…’
‘But…’
‘Please. Time is precious!’
The lovely Celestial stood, the force of her order made more eloquent by a slight groan from Isabella.
*
Nico, anguished and heartsore, remounted and he and Poli began to trot away to the laguna which glimmered through the trees. A rill flowed by their sides, emptying sluggishly into the broad sheet of water that spread into the misty distance of early morning.
‘Aine, Nicholas. I hadn’t realised your cousin was so courageous. She is remarkable.’
Nico could say nothing and Poli was unable to mindspeak so the words floated upward to the drifting skeins of moss and were caught there as if by a dream net. Nico remembered his own, woven by Ebba to catch the good dreams and keep them close.
Good dreams…
‘We need a small skiff, something to seat us all. You and I will have to row for I know Ming Xao has never been in a boat.’
Just find the damned thing, Poli, and shut up. I don’t want your chatter. It offends me.
‘Your face is like a thunderstorm, Nico. Just like when I met you.’
Nico shook his head and gritted his teeth.
‘Listen my friend – we can do this, we can save her, I am positive. You can’t give up and I won’t.’
Nicholas heard a note in Poli’s voice, something more than a mere willingness to help, and if he’d had time he would have tried to work out the nuance. Instead they trotted in and out of trees along the shoreline of the laguna, longing for signs of settlement.
It seemed to Nicholas that the waterside was bare of anything but fallen boughs, swathes of reeds and waterbirds piping as the sun lifted itself a little higher. Mists rose from the water and perversely, Nicholas thought, it would be a beautiful day.
‘Look! Look there!’ Poli’s voice lifted and he reached over and punched Nico’s arm.
There it sat. Possibly their salvation.
A worn timber boat that could as easily sink as float.
‘It’s up to you, Nico. Do what you must,’ said Poli. ‘It’s not exactly seaworthy.’
An understatement – half an oar, a hole in the bottom, the gunwales cracked.
He dismounted, slopping through the shallows to the wreck that was pulled into the freshwater sags. He wished Poli wasn’t watching. He hated failing at the best of times but under a sharp eye it was unnerving. He tried to be surreptitious, to move his hand carefully but he heard the slap of Poli’s boots through the water behind.
‘I want to see how you do it.’
Damn you, Poli. This isn’t a game. My cousin’s life is at stake.
‘I know what’s at stake, Nico, and I am in awe of you.’
He turned to Poli in shock.
‘By the stars, you clever bastard. Look at that!’
Nicholas turned back to the craft. It sat proud, an almost new boat, no holes, no missing timbers, rowlocks and oars complete as Poli dragged out his little compass.
‘Quickly, let’s get them. Veniche is that way,’ he pointed across the laguna. ‘We need to cross whilst it’s calm.’
Chapter Twenty Four
She lay still in the moving boat, her heart pounding, knowing each beat took her further and further from all she held dear and for the first time in her life she knew fear like she had never felt before…
She struggled against the blackness that smothered her, crying out.
‘Nico, help me! Don’t let them take me away. Nicholas!’
And a voice – a woman.
‘Isabella, calm yourself. You dream. Nicholas is here. We are all here.’
She pulled herself into the light of consciousness, hand over agonising hand. Every movement screamed pain and she longed to lie still. But still was forever, and forever was death and she would not give in.
She realised she lay in the stern of a boat, the smooth planks of the hull beneath her fingers, Chi’s lap providing a pillow. Nicholas and Poli sat one each on the port and starboard oars, pulling together, the rowlocks squeaking, white seabirds wheeling above.
Far from shore?
‘Where?’ she croaked.
‘Veniche. We have left the Marshlands behind and the city is but an hour away. Here, drink, Ibo.’
Belle sucked greedily on the flask – in truth fire eddied through her in vicious waves.
So this is what it is like to die.
‘Ibo, listen,’ Chi said and her face filled with compassion as soft as summer clouds. ‘We have time yet to mitigate this, you must believe me. Float if
you can, don’t fight. Fighting uses valuable energy.’
‘How long, Chi? Don’t prevaricate.’
‘To Veniche an hour, as I said. To…the other? Ah Ibo, you deserve honesty. Maybe four, perhaps five hours and if you practice calm, one or two hours longer.’
Isabella looked away, met Nicholas’s gaze which was full of more pain than she could bear and so instead she fixed her eyes on Poli, the man she had misjudged. She liked his face, and his hands grasping the oar were strong and capable. He returned her look with honesty. Give up and you are gone, Isabella. All good warriors continue in the face of dire odds. That is what he seemed to impart with his stern expression. She had no doubt if he could he would have dressed her down roundly and she would have flown back at him, even though she liked his no-nonsense manner.
She closed her eyes, only to snap them open again as the boat began to rock and Chi reached to grab the gunwale.
‘Ming Xao!’ Poli yelled.
Ming had leaped from the bow, oblivious to the ensuing unsteadiness of a boat on water, pushing between Nico and Poli, crashing onto his knees by Belle on the planked deck.
With three in the stern, the boat dipped precariously and Poli took Chi’s hand, ordering Ming to sit and be damned, guiding the Celestial to the bow-seat where she settled. He then returned to his oar, picking up the rhythm with Nico and moving their craft onward.
‘Do that again, Ming, and you’re fishbait!’ he growled.
Belle pulled a face and Ming Xao’s faced stretch into a wan excuse for a smile.
‘Ibo,’ he took her hands in his scholar’s fingers. ‘Please hold on. We are so very close.’
‘I try, Ming Xao, but I wonder to what end. What happens when we reach the Orchard. There is no Gandong Lotus nor magick powder. It is all too late.’
‘I do not believe that the Mother whom you call Aine would let you come this far and then allow you to die. That would be beyond specious. I believe in Her goodness.’
‘And so you may,’ whispered Belle, so that he had to bend to hear her. ‘But the Fates might play other games.’
‘Nonsense, Ibo. You and I have business to complete. You need to direct me to sources of Eirie’s knowledge else my absence from the Han is for nothing. You wouldn’t want that, I think. I dreamed of this day and you dreamed of going home. The two are intrinsically linked. There is a Han proverb, Ibo, and I believe it has its place in our struggle here today. It says:
To see, one must look.
To hear, one must listen.
To speak, one must think.
To love, one must cherish.
These are the words of the Way…’
‘Meaning?’
‘That we shall think and look until we find an answer, because the one we cherish requires it and I would add one more line to the proverb if I could. To live, one must believe. And that is your job. Oh!’
He looked toward the bow.
‘What? What do you see?’ Belle struggled to sit up further and he supported her.
‘Oh my!’
Her breath caught in wonder.
*
In the not far distance, she could see bronze and gold reflection dancing on the water.
‘It’s the rooves and cupolas,’ said Ming. ‘I have read about them.’
‘They say the roof of Veniche looks like molten bronze in some lights, that it defies the Heavens. Veniche light is like none other I have heard, luminescence dancing off the water to the sky and back.’
For a moment she could forget her pain as with each squeaking stroke of the oars, the boat drew closer and closer to Veniche.
‘Incredible,’ Ming said. ‘A whole city on the water, a powerful maritime province. How do they stop the buildings from sinking? Where do they grow their food? What if there is a flood tide? I want to know these things. I want to ask, to see. It feels like emerging into the light.’ He turned an excited face toward her. ‘One can have dreams, Ibo. But sometimes one needs encouragement on the way forward. You gave me that and I will pay the debt a hundredfold if I can.’ He grasped her arms and surprised her with his animation. ‘You must not give up.’
She leaned back against him and watched the city draw closer.
‘I won’t,’ she said tiredly. ‘I promise.’
But against the odds and maybe even despite them, she did mean it.
She did not want this ignominious poison to snuff out her candle, damn it! She hadn’t spent a year in confinement for nothing.
No, she’d survive, alright.
Even if it kills me trying.
*
Poli and Nicholas increased the rate of their stroke – Veniche was close enough to see the elegant detail – windows traced with stone and leadlight, balconies that hung almost magically off walls over the water, river craft of all shapes gracefully proceeding across the waterways, and regimented lines of channel markers with mooring poles leaning like drunken sailors. Above it all, hung the steamy fug of a city with water at its foundations.
Belle could define colour: watermelon, deep umber, ochre, and apricot – blended and softened by the pearlescent Venichese light. Men shouted across the water to each other and somewhere a clock struck, the carillon of bells drifting across the canals accompanied by a flock of grey pigeons with blush pink chests.
Perhaps it’s the famous Orologio.
Belle had heard of the automaton that enacted a sweet scene of lovers kissing, then sailing away in a gondola as the clock chimed.
So much to see in my lifetime…
Poli and Nico guided the boat more carefully as the laguna traffic thickened. Gondolas, lighters, galliots and more, the water creating a lapping thoroughfare over which arched bridges straddled. People waved to them as they passed and drapes twitched over windows, for Belle knew strangers attracted attention.
She allowed herself to float as Chi had advised, staring up at the apricot wall beside her, letting her hand scuff the worn render.
‘Well, Nico,’ muttered Poli. ‘This is the rough end of town. How much time do we spend rowing up and down? Why not just go straight to the Ca’ Specchio, to the mirrors?’
‘He says it may not be necessary,’ Chi broke in.
‘And you are his mouthpiece?’ Poli grumbled sourly. ‘Since when? Besides, that’s where the Gate is. In case he has forgotten.’
‘Poli! You’re a disgrace,’ snapped Belle. ‘In case you’ve forgotten, Chi Nü is a Celestial and can read Nico’s thoughts. She also has more knowledge and awareness in her little toe than you have in your entire mind and I imagine she has far more of an idea than you of the machinations of the Gate.’
Through this terse exchange, Nicholas’ knuckles had whitened as he gripped the oar and Belle knew from past experience he was knotted with tension. She guessed Poli was as well.
All because of me.
Fox Lady, she prayed. Cease this nightmare. Please.
*
The boat had reached the end of the canal where a patch of light bled into the darker shadows but the men pulled as if they had minutes of their life left. Belle wondered if that moment might forever remind her of bursting onto a magnificent stage set because the broad sweep of the canal was edged with largesse – palazzos of noble elegant bearing, marker poles guiding them down the centre of the waterway.
Poli swore.
‘We are followed.’
They glanced to the stern where two black gondolas poled swiftly after them, like hawks swooping on prey.
‘Some little Færan cousins in the real world for some fun?’ sniped Poli. ‘Like last time?’
Nicholas nodded, a tic flicking away in his cheek as if he ground his teeth to stubs.
The frisson from the two gondolas was as strong as the current of a thousand eels from the Pymm waters and it rolled over the boat like a tidal wave. For Belle, for Ming, maybe even for Poli, its after-effect was one of terror because as Belle remembered, does the word Færan not translate in the world of Eirie to mean fear?
Isabella looked at the faces within the gondolas as the upswept bows touched the stern of the boat. Handsome, chiselled, outrageous in their beauty, hair pulled back in knots at the nape, damask tailcoats, shirts opened at the neck with louche abandon. Not a word spoken, eyes with intent.
They stared at her, gazes passing as if they knew she was worth little of their time. To Ming Xao, open curiosity. A whisper like an ill wind moving on to Nicholas. Excitement. Poli. Exhilaration. The Lady Chi – the whispers died as she stood for all the world as sighted as anyone.
Her hand lifted and she halted the gondolas in their progression.
‘Magick…’
‘Not at all, Mr. Poli. Have you never raised your hand in such a way to halt someone? Please, keep rowing. Time passes.’
The gondolas dropped back, leaving them to continue up the canal unmolested.
‘But how did you know? You can’t see. Why did…’
‘The frisson. We all felt it. And they recognised me as a Celestial and stronger than they.’
Her expression warned Poli to desist and Belle was surprised when he lapsed into silence. She was glad as the tension lessened just a little.
Ming Xao cried out, words of the Han that perhaps only the Lady Chi recognised. Isabella thought it could mean ‘I don’t believe it,’ but without Lucia to translate, it was a mere guess. She followed his be-spectacled gaze.
‘Aine…’
*
The walls of the surroundings began to melt and merge – umber, terracotta, pink blending to shadow from which perfect verdancy began to emerge. Leafy elms and beeches became distinct where once had been filigree balcony and painted stone.
The canal had metamorphosed to a rivulet, smooth and clear and approaching a bend over which crack willows bent. Even their boat had changed, now a weathered grey punt, wide and serviceable and with low sides and a flat bottom.
They reached the bend, the river flowing quietly and suddenly Belle shouted.
