Worlds Unseen

by Rachel Starr Thomson

  “No,” Maggie said. “Of course not.”

  “Did you all bring weapons with you?” Pat asked.

  “Most of us,” Maggie told her.

  Pat sat down in her sewing chair and picked up a half-embroidered cloth with a sigh. “You realize that all of this is complete insanity,” she said. “And I still haven’t figured out why I’m on the rebels’ side and not keeping the peace.”

  Maggie sat down gingerly, careful to keep the sword in place. “You’ve been on the rebels’ side for a long time, haven’t you?” she asked.

  Pat looked up, but her eyes did not meet Maggie’s. “Pravik is not the only place where revolution is stirring, in some form or another,” she said quietly. “There are movements like the Ploughman’s in Cryneth, and Londren and Cranburgh as well. But none are so foolhardy or so desperate as to try something like this.”

  Pat looked up from her stitching suddenly. She met Maggie’s eyes this time. “Do you think we’re actually going to win?” she asked.

  Maggie thought of the Huntsman. “Yes.”

  “All I know is that all my life I’ve been chafing against the Empire,” Pat said, “and now for the first time I may be able to hit it where it hurts.”

  She stood up and moved to a window overlooking the street. “On the other hand,” her voice came, “this might be my chance to die.”

  She turned around and smiled wryly. “I don’t think I’ll bother telling the boss I won’t be coming in tomorrow.”

  She sat down with a thump and picked up her sewing again, stitching furiously. “Forgive me if I ignore you for a while,” Pat said. “The old battleaxe’ll kill me if I don’t finish this today, and it’d be a shame for me to die before the battle. Where’s Mrs. Cook?”

  “Back on the farm,” Maggie said. “She and Mrs. Korak have vowed to protect the old homestead with their lives.”

  “Good, good,” Pat said. “I pity the soldier who will brave their rolling pins and frying pans, don’t you?” She grinned and then suddenly became serious. “I’m really glad she’s not going to be here for the battle. If it comes to a battle.”

  “So am I,” Maggie said, and her eyes wandered to the window. Rising above the rooftops of the city, the towering height of Pravik Castle was plainly in sight. Her pulse quickened. Jerome was in there, and Huss. For the two of them, hundreds of men would risk their lives and their dreams. “So am I.”

  * * *

  Lord Robert walked with his head bowed. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers. He felt as though a fire was burning behind his eyes, low and hot and threatening. Evelyn stepped closer to his side, and she put her hand through his arm and walked with her fingers resting in the crook of his elbow. Her touch made the fire cool, and he lifted his head higher.

  The inn was just ahead, its high roof silhouetted against the darkening sky. The moon was shining and stars were just beginning to come out, but from the silence in the streets, it might have been midnight. It was a deep, foreboding silence; portent of approaching evil. Lord Robert thought of all Evelyn had revealed to him, and he shivered—and felt his heart become colder, steeled, ready to do what he had agreed to do.

  With his next step the silence was shattered by a blood-chilling cry. A dark form hurtled out of the sky toward Lord Robert and Evelyn. Evelyn cried out, and Lord Robert threw up his hands to protect her. The hawk sunk its claws into his arm, drawing blood, and knocked the laird to the ground with its great weight. He struggled against it, desperate to keep the bird’s beak and claws away from his face. Evelyn came up behind the bird with a knife in her hands, and he heard the hawk’s cry as the knife plunged down. With a scream, the bird lifted high into the air again.

  “Get up!” Evelyn commanded. Lord Robert scrambled to his feet. He crouched defensively, watching the black sky for a sign of attack. For a long moment there was nothing. He saw the movement of black shadow against black sky—the bird was diving toward them again. Lord Robert had pulled out a knife, and he slashed at the hawk as it bore down on him. Once again man and bird fell, but the hawk was twice wounded now. It flopped to the ground and began to dance, lashing out with its beak, its wings spread low over the cobblestones.

  The hawk slashed at Lord Robert’s legs, tearing the tall man’s trousers and drawing blood. A movement from behind caused the hawk to swing around, but not fast enough. Evelyn brought a heavy stick down on the creature’s head, and with a piteous cry the bird lay still.

  “Let’s go,” Evelyn said, her voice ragged. Despite her command, she stood for a moment watching the dead hawk. Moonlight glinted off the bird’s beautiful red-gold feathers, and for an instant Lord Robert thought he saw fear in Evelyn’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, drawing close to her.

  “It is nothing,” she said. “Only—what makes a hawk dive out of the sky in the night, when it cannot see? The enemy is at work. Where is the girl?”

  Lord Robert led Evelyn into the inn and through the half-lit dining room where a few stragglers were still picking at their suppers. Lord Robert’s bloody arms and legs drew looks and whispered comments, but Evelyn waved her hand and the room fell silent. The people turned back to their dinners, disinterested in the intruders.

  Up the stairs they went, and down the hall until they had reached Virginia’s room. Lord Robert opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Evelyn in the door frame with his back to her, where he could not see the smile that disfigured her face.

  The blind girl was standing at the open window, her hands in front of her. At the sound of the opening door her back grew rigid, but she said nothing.

  “Virginia,” the laird said, approaching her slowly. “I’ve come for you.”

  Slowly Virginia turned. Lord Robert saw a long feather in her hands, red and gold like the hawk whose life was bleeding away on the street below. Her unseeing eyes seemed to look through him, to the figure in the doorway. Something like recognition passed over Virginia’s face.

  Before the laird could move or say anything else, Virginia took a step toward him and reached up with one hand. Her fingers touched Lord Robert’s face gently and fell back to her side.

  “Is it too late for you?” she asked softly. Lord Robert felt a pang in his heart. Evelyn stepped closer to him. His coldness returned. Cold strength. He could not let his emotions get in the way.

  “Take me if you can,” Virginia said, but Lord Robert could not tell if she was speaking to him or to Evelyn. “But I will not go willingly.”

  Lord Robert felt Evelyn’s hand on his shoulder and heard her rasp, “Do it!”

  He reached inside his coat and pulled the needle out slowly, almost reluctantly. He lifted it slowly and then jabbed it into Virginia’s neck. She gasped and fell against him, momentarily struggling to stay on her feet. Then he felt her grip on his arms loosen, and she slipped to the floor with a long exhalation.

  Evelyn made a sound a little like laughter, and said, “Get her up! We’re running out of time.”

  Lord Robert knelt and gently lifted Virginia in his arms. It seemed like only yesterday that he had carried her just this way, away from Angslie to Londren, and then to the continent. Evelyn was already rushing out of the room, and he hastened to follow her.

  In the dining room not one person looked up to see what was happening. A spell seemed to have settled over the room, enclosing every person in his own private cares and thoughts. They left the inn without molestation and walked hurriedly through the streets toward the outskirts of the city, stepping around the body of the hawk on their way out.

  Just outside the city, three men in black masks waited for them. They had two extra horses with them, and Evelyn mounted one with graceful ease. One of the men silently took Virginia from Lord Robert and threw her across his saddle, mounting behind her. Lord Robert started to protest that he would keep her with him, but a word from Evelyn silenced him. The laird mounted the last horse, and the silent company rode away.

  They quickly left the road
, heading into deep forest. Their path angled up sharply. The horses picked their way through the foliage, almost fearful in their steps. At last the company stopped and dismounted. Tethering the horses, they continued on foot. The man whose horse had borne Virginia now carried her as they pushed deeper and deeper through the trees.

  At last they stepped out onto a bare hilltop. The ground sloped fiercely down on the other side, covered with trees. Down the slope and over the trees, the city of Pravik gleamed.

  But it was the hilltop that called all of Lord Robert’s attention now. In the center of the clearing burned a great bonfire, but its flames were an eerie blue, and the smoke that rose from the fire moved like a living thing. A figure in black stood with his back to the fire. His robes fell over his hands and feet and shadowed his face. At the edge of the clearing, armed men stood in silence.

  The black-robed man stepped away from the fire and came toward the new arrivals. Their escort had slipped away, leaving Lord Robert, Evelyn, and the man who still held Virginia. The man stepped closer and made a sign in the air. Lord Robert could see the tip of a white beard and two piercing grey eyes beneath the black hood.

  The man came close and held out his hand, the sleeve falling back to reveal a white, bony hand with purple veins that stood out like cords. Evelyn gracefully bowed on one knee and kissed the extended hand. The man nodded and Evelyn rose.

  “My Lord Skraetock,” she said, “I have brought you a new ally. Lord Robert Sinclair.”

  Lord Robert bowed. The sight of the man both repulsed him and drew him. There was power in him. It made the air around him vibrate like a thousand insects’ wings.

  “Welcome, Lord of Angslie,” Skraetock said in a voice that was low and rich.

  Lord Skraetock lifted a hand and motioned to the guards who waited around the edge of the clearing. Two men stepped forward and began to bind Lord Robert’s hands behind his back before he could move to stop them. He opened his mouth to protest, but the rich voice interrupted him.

  “I am sorry, Lord Robert,” he said. “I trust that in the future we will have no need of such manners. But for now your bonds are necessary. You are not ready to stand in the presence of the Covenant Fire unprotected. Without restraint you might find yourself acting against your own best interest.”

  When Lord Robert’s hands had been securely bound, the men led him to a place at the edge of the clearing where he could see the bonfire. Guards stood on either side of him.

  “Now, faithful one,” said Lord Skraetock to Evelyn, his voice deepening, “what else have you brought me?”

  “The seer,” Evelyn said with a cruel smile. She jerked her head to motion the man forward, and he stepped forward so that the light of the bonfire fell on Virginia’s face.

  “Stand her on her feet,” Lord Skraetock commanded, and the man obeyed, holding Virginia up.

  The pale, bony hand reached out and a cruel light blazed in the grey eyes. “Awake, Gifted One,” said the deep, rich voice.

  Virginia drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and Lord Robert saw her stand on her own. Evelyn stepped closer.

  “Bow down before your master,” Evelyn commanded.

  Virginia lifted her face and said, “I serve only one master: I serve the King.”

  Lord Skraetock drew back his hand as though he would strike Virginia, but instead he brought his hand down lightly and ran his fingers along the side of her face. She shrank back from his touch, and he laughed, a low, rippling, mocking laugh.

  “You kneel within the protection of the Covenant Flame,” he said. “Your exiled king has no power here. Here is only the power of fire and darkness, my power! I am the lord here, and no other.”

  “The King will return from exile,” Virginia said. She seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “I have seen him, and I have seen the awakening of his army.” Quietly, terribly quietly, she whispered, “I remember.”

  “You have seen lies and foolishness!” Skraetock hissed. “What good has trust in the king done you? Only a blind woman could fail to see that we have won.”

  He stepped closer and cocked his head. “But you are not so blind, are you? If I wish to see I must sacrifice for the power. A power you were born with. Yes, you have seen many things. Tonight you will see for me.”

  “I cannot control what I see,” Virginia said.

  “I can,” Skraetock said. His eyes drank in the sight of the girl. “You have no idea what you are, do you? But I know. I know the power in you.”

  “I will not help you,” Virginia said, pulling one arm away from the man who held her.

  Skraetock’s voice grew thin. “We shall see,” he said. “Evelyn?”

  Evelyn motioned the guard away and stood behind Virginia herself. She began to trace patterns in the air, and Virginia gasped for air. Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground, her breath trembling with pain.

  “Evelyn brought you here to make atonement,” Skraetock said, speaking to the blind girl who lifted her face in defiance. Her unseeing eyes shone with the effort.

  “You see, a few months back she misplaced something important to me,” Skraetock said. “I want to find it. You will find it for me.”

  Virginia opened her mouth to speak and cried out in pain instead. She had raised herself to her knees, and now she fell again. Evelyn continued to trace patterns in the air behind her.

  “More,” Skraetock said. “Zarras the Incompetent has been whining for my help. He thinks he is losing control of his lands. He is. So you will help us find the rebels and destroy them. Do you understand?”

  He raised his hands swiftly, palms up, and iron bars formed of the dust of the ground and surrounded Virginia. In moments a cage surrounded her, and it rose until it hung above the fire.

  Skraetock and Evelyn turned and faced the fire. As the heat beat on their upraised hands, the dark stain of a tattoo appeared on the palm of each one’s hand: a spider.

  * * *

  Maggie had brought the scroll with her. She sat with it spread out before her in the little room Pat had rented. Candlelight illuminated the ink scratchings in such a way as to make the writing seem alive, dancing with the motion of the flickering flame.

  A movement in the shadows made Maggie jump. She laughed a little with embarrassment when Pat sat down beside her.

  “I thought you were going to give that thing to the Ploughman,” Pat said.

  “I meant to,” Maggie said. “It just… never was the right time.”

  Pat reached out as if to touch the parchment, and drew her hand back just before she did. “The light makes those signatures on the bottom look new, somehow,” she said. “Still wet. As though it has just been signed.”

  “It has never looked quite so evil before,” Maggie said. The signatures shone red-black and seemed to run on the parchment, spreading their stain.

  “It’s not the parchment at all,” Pat said suddenly. “It’s the light… look!”

  Maggie turned to see what Pat was talking about.

  The candle flame had turned blue.

  * * *

  The Ploughman sat by the fire, his eyes scanning the heavens. The stars were shining brightly across the sky, ornamented by the sickle moon.

  Who am I? he asked.

  A man, his voice replied.

  More than a man, a deeper voice inside him said. He felt a warmth brush past his face and heard the faintest echo of clanking armour. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to rid himself of the delusions. Childhood delusions. Something with me, he had said as a child. There is something with me. I am never alone.

  He opened his eyes again and searched the stars more intently. A gold mist passed before him and disappeared.

  “What are you looking for?” Libuse asked. She was dressed like a soldier, in tunic and trousers, with leather armour and a sword hanging from her hip. On her back was slung a spear.

  “A sign,” the Ploughman said, turning to look on his love. Her hair was shimmering in the moonlight, an
d her eyes glowed as warmly as any star. She had braided a silver thread into her hair, and it seemed to shine in the darkness.

  “Tell me,” he said. “Do you believe that the stars hear us, as some say they do? Is there help for us out there?”

  Libuse looked to the sky. Her fingers played with the glowing thread in her hair. “I think there must be, my love. Surely the power that has given us courage for the fight will not abandon us in the middle of it.”

  “We need more than courage now,” the Ploughman said. “We need victory.”

  “And we shall have it,” Libuse said. “I do not think it is the stars themselves that help us,” she said. A smile began to play at her mouth. “Not the stars, but the One the stars themselves serve.”

  “If there is such a One,” the Ploughman said, “I would give anything to have him riding beside me now.”

  “Perhaps he is,” Libuse said.

  The Ploughman reached out and took his lady’s hand. In the moonlight he kissed it gently. “If not,” he said, “it is enough for me that you are here. You are my courage, my heart.”

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  The End Begins

  The smoke rising around Virginia drugged her senses. She heard cries as though they were very far away—men’s cries, death cries. The guards? She smelled blood and heard the hiss of liquid and fire, and beneath it chanting.

  She heard rippling laughter inside her head. He was inside her head.

  “Find the scroll!” Skraetock commanded, his voice ringing through her mind like the painful sound of a bell in a closed space. She clenched her fists and thought back.

  No.

  Pain washed through her, and she cried out. In a moment it was gone. It left her panting for breath. Still fighting.

  “Find the scroll,” commanded the voice again.

  I will not.

  Once again pain coursed through her, wave after wave, unceasing. She curled up on the floor of the cage, trying to shut it out, to stop the agony. The pain sharpened in her eyes and she covered them with the heels of her hands, skin wet with tears of agony. She fought for control: the control to speak—to call out for help. She could not. Skraetock would not leave her alone long enough. The pain ceased suddenly and left her trembling. She tried again to form a word, but still she could not.