Later, long after dark, when Lauren had finished her packing ready for the early morning departure, she heard hoofbeats. She turned off the lights, peering into the black night through a finger-width gap in the curtains. The stars were bright, enough to show up a big grey horse, but there were no hoofmarks in the driveway and no footprints over the frosty lawn. Only shadows.
She went downstairs. A small, cream-coloured envelope, sealed with red wax, had been dropped through the letterbox. She broke the seal. Caz had answered her question in sepia-toned ink on a gold-edged card:
You asked why?
You are betrayed, but not by me,
you are outdone, outworn, outmatched,
where you aimed so high;
breathless and bright-winged,
you’ve tumbled iron-shod,
in this shadowed world;
fine, those gauzy limbs, heart-fettered,
and mind-shackled,
will never fly.
The coppery taste of heartbreak soured her mouth. Dry-eyed, she walked into the lounge, crushing the card over and over into a tiny, angular lump that dug into her palm. She took the plate off the wood burner and held her poem over the glowing embers. It was a long time before she let it go.
While the card smouldered at the bottom of the stove, she looked up at her reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. Her eyes were surprisingly blue and bright. Her skin glowed. She pushed back her hair. It was silky-soft and shining. Her poem finally vanished in a tiny spurt of flame, and she smiled.
‘It’s not good-bye, Ghost Rider,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not through with you yet.’
She turned and left the room, shutting off the lights as she went out. The reflection in the mirror remained long enough to shape-shift before it faded… the hair lengthening and darkening… the full red lips parting over gleaming white teeth… the eyes flashing star-blue to black.
A draft moved the curtains at the window. A shadow moved under the trees at the end of the garden. A swan spread its great wings and rose up, flying east, following the line of the river towards the hills.
CHAPTER 83
The brief spell of mild, bright weather was over by Winter Solstice Eve, as Jemima decided December 20th should be called. The day dawned cold and still. The sky was heavily overcast when she begged the afternoon off from the kitchen to go and help the boys cut the holly and ivy in the forest. It was a good excuse to go out on Nanna and get some space from Daisy, who had become predictably impossible to please. But this time Jemima knew with absolute certainty that it was nothing to do with her being worried about the party preparations.
She wrote in the new diary: Whatever happens on winter solstice night scares Daisy half to death, and I want to know why!
She was not happy with the new Sir Jonas either. He took all his meals in the study and muttered to himself continually when he thought he was alone.
Sara wrote: Sir Jonas very quiet, doesn’t take any interest in the work in the library and seems to have a lot on his mind.
Jasper reported: John and Al much quieter than usual. Haven’t seen Al in the woods all week.
The door to the servants’ quarters stayed locked, but Jemima had kept an eye on the chimney above the little kitchen in the housekeeper’s flat. The fire was often lit by mid-afternoon, which would have made no sense at all if she hadn’t known about Caz. He was tough to keep tabs on, but the others lacked the advantages of youth. They were slower on their feet and much easier to spy on. Even so, there were times when they seemed to disappear into thin air, going into the study or down to the cellars and reappearing from an entirely different direction. She decided not write anything about that in the diary.
Nanna was tacked up and Jemima was changing her boots when she heard a step in the yard. Sir Jonas was taking his afternoon walk. He was bundled up in his best winter coat, with his sword on a broad leather belt at his waist and the shotgun over his shoulder. He had a notebook in his hand. As usual he was muttering to himself, but this time he was repeating what sounded like the lines from a verse: ‘The son of a king shall be silent and wise, and bold in battle as well; bravely and gladly a man shall go, till the day of his death is come.’
He stumbled and almost fell, dropping the notebook face down on the cobbles. Jemima grabbed her skullcap and gloves and went out to confront him just as he was bending down to pick it up.
‘Hello, sir,’ she said brightly.
The notebook was hastily retrieved and stuffed out of sight. The old man stammered, ‘Ah-ah, good afternoon, my dear Lady Sibylla. Are you riding?’
‘Yes. The boys are bringing in the green. I thought I’d go up and see what’s going on, just in case they forget something.’
‘Very good, very good,’ he said heartily. ‘I’m just about to patrol the southern boundary, but an extra pair of eyes in the forest can never go amiss. Do you have your telephone with you? Is it in good working order?’
‘Yes. I charged the battery before I came out.’
‘Excellent! Do take care. No more tumbling off.’ He peered at her lip. ‘Although I must say you appear to have recovered extraordinarily well, which is quite remarkable considering the severity of the injury.’
‘Caz bought me spring water from Thunderslea and I bathed it every day.’
‘Indeed! May I assume that you are convinced of its therapeutic properties?’
‘Oh yes. Daisy drinks it every morning and she uses it in all her herb teas. I’m sure she’s getting better much faster.’
‘Well, Madame Marguerite’s recovery cannot come soon enough.’ He lifted his hat. ‘I must get on. There’s much to be done and too few of us to achieve it. Good afternoon, Lady Sibylla.’
Trotting Nanna along the tracks towards the far northeast corner of the land where Jemima knew the boys were working, she found herself thinking about Brynhilde’s Spring and how the sun on the water made the blue light appear around her fingers when she dipped them in to drink. She ran her tongue over what was left of the scar on her lip.
What a shame Bryn hadn’t found it before Caz cut his hand, she thought. What had he done to get a scar as bad as that? He lost a huge amount of blood, but was it really an accident like he said? She remembered the look in his eyes when he made her tell about the cloak and her ceremony: ‘Gods and goddesses drive a hard bargain. We all have to pay, even the horses.’
Simply, effortlessly, her mind completed the connection. He was sacrificing! Is that why he won’t let me ride Freyja ever again? The insight made the implication of the words Sir Jonas had been repeating seem even more ominous. What son of what king? she wondered. Does he mean Caz? Does he think he’s going to die tomorrow night?
She turned the mare back towards Thunderslea. ‘We’re going to pray for Caz, Nanna. There’s no time for a ceremony but the Goddess will hear us. I won’t weep my way out of my responsibilities any more. I know about the blood and I’m part of this now, whatever Caz says. If our family is cursed, then I’m cursed too and we’ll sort it out together, whether he likes it or not.’
CHAPTER 84
Alan sensed a profound change in the weather as night fell and the temperature dropped sharply to just above freezing. The cloud cover remained low and deep, and black. The instructions had been unequivocal: ‘Tonight. Bring the phone.’
He had been dreading the coming confrontation, but his mind was made up. He strapped on his sword, left Blue in the kitchen at the house and walked the Medustig alone, knowing where his loyalty lay. Nothing he would do or say would compromise the oath he had made before the God, but it was obvious that the Fate-Spinners had decided for Caz. Who was he to dispute that?
We’re brothers-in-arms and sworn to win the runes. I’ll do whatever it takes to clear the air between us.
Hoofbeats pounded the labyrinth and echoed in the tunnel. He stood up. The horses came galloping across the clearing to drink at the spring. Rúna called out and would have gone to him, but the warrior on the pale mare ordered her back. He wa
s fully armed. The helm and hood concealed his face. The red shield shone in the firelight. The voice was cold. ‘Give me the phone.’
Alan handed it over without a word, watching him flick through the call list. There were only two: John Flint, Charles Fordham-Marshall. The telephone went into the fire. The great, black head of the spear was thrust against his throat.
‘Talk!’
‘What do you want me to say?’ he asked.
‘I want no traitor at my back.’
‘I’m not a traitor.’
‘The Bank can’t get anything out of me, so he uses you. What do I tell you that you don’t sneak off and report straight back to him?’
‘I don’t sneak anywhere.’
‘Liar! Your loyalty to the old man’s madness is greater than any friendship you’ve ever had for me! Don’t deny it!’
Alan staggered. The razor tip had drawn burning, acid blood. He gasped, ‘I’ve defied the Master for you, more times than I can ever count!’
The eyes measuring his pain were cold. ‘Then what did you talk about when you were having those cosy little chats with the Bank outside the Selerest?’
‘If you were near enough to hear what was being said, you would have realised that it was always him doing the talking and the ordering. It doesn’t mean that the orders were carried out.’
‘Where’s the proof of that?’
‘There is no proof, other than what I’ve already told you.’
‘That’s not good enough.’
‘Then what must I do to make you believe me?’
The spear jabbed into his chest. The smoking weapon glowed a dull red. He could feel the heat from it burning through the thickness of his cloak and jacket. The voice was grating and cruel. ‘You are sworn to uphold your oath, Guardian. So how will you serve it? Your hands are white. You are unblooded, unshriven. What will you sacrifice to prove your word?’
Alan bowed his head. ‘I’ll give my life.’ With a great cry he fell onto the head of the weapon. The blinding intensity of the pain ground into his breastbone, compressing his heart and lungs as he pushed himself onto the blade. His eyes bulged. Blood poured from his mouth. Still the voice demanded, ‘Where is your loyalty, soldier?’
Burning in the complete agony of body, mind and spirit, Alan answered. ‘Let the God be my witness! I will fulfil my oath! I will live and die by the spear and by the will of he who wields it, Heartbiter, Spear Bearer, Rune Winner. By my blood, I forswear all other service save this.’
The spear was drawn back. Bright blood burst from the wound. Alan’s heart faltered. He dropped to his knees and fell forward onto his face. Valkyrjan stood over him, soothing him with the soft perfume of her breath. Freyja followed Caz to the spring, while Rúna nuzzled his hair and neck.
His heart resumed its regular beating at the first touch of the cold, clear water on his damaged flesh. He cried out and opened his eyes. The wound was already sealed. Caz helped him to his feet and led him to the fire. Neither of them spoke until Alan had drunk the rest of the water from the jug.
In those few moments of sacrifice, he had glimpsed the horror of visitation and claimed it for his own. He knew it was only a matter of time before he would be tested by the reality. Acutely aware of his heart pumping the precious blood through his veins, he fingered the wound on his chest. The black bruising was fading, but the skin still felt thick and unresponsive to touch.
‘The numbness will soon pass,’ Caz said quietly. ‘There will be no more pain, only the memory of pain if you decide to give it mind-space.’
Alan swallowed, almost gagging. His voice grated the raw flesh in his throat. ‘Is it always like that for you?’
Caz nodded. ‘Always. Does this make you a heretic now?’ he asked sadly.
‘No. It proves why I swore the oath and justifies all the reasons why my father and grandfather did not. You must take me with you tomorrow night.’
‘You know I can’t.’
He cried out. ‘But I am destined! I have felt the Gaze of the God upon me.’
‘Not yet. You are needed here. I need you here.’
Alan hunched forward, his head in his hands. Tears trickled through his fingers. ‘I’ll gladly give up my life for you,’ he wept.
Caz unwrapped the length of rope he had tied around his waist and knotted it round Rúna’s neck. Once more he thrust the spear to within an inch of Alan’s chest, saying, ‘The choice is simple – ride or burn?’
Alan made his choice. ‘I’ll ride. I’ll follow wherever you lead me.’
‘Then prove your courage and come with us.’
Hoofbeats pounded and faded, night-riding wild to the hills. The fire burned low between the hearthstones in Thunderslea. The old tree bent its boughs, waiting. The first flakes of snow began to fall.
CHAPTER 85
The camp bed creaking as he turned over woke Caz up from a dreamless sleep that slipped gently away, leaving him with a profound sense of peace. He felt the blanket laid over him and the heat of the fire against his cheek.
It is finished, he thought. I’m back. I survived.
He opened his eyes, looking up at the circular pattern in the panelled ceiling. He glanced around the room, at the incongruous chandelier and the curtained bed that Daisy had so lovingly refurbished and he could never bring himself to sleep in. The mail coat shone on the stand in the corner by the mirror. The shield was propped up beside it. The helmet was on the desk, its metal bright, the leather cleaned and oiled. The spear and the seaxe lay where he had left them on the floor in front of the fire.
He threw off the blanket and got out of bed. He picked up the spear, turning the great black head of the weapon in front of the flames, examining each of the three sides. Two were blank. Only one was faintly glowing, lit by the rune. He switched on the lights and examined the mail closely. There was no sign of wear or damage. The paint was pristine on the shield. He sat down at the desk and turned on the computer. The picture of Bryn came up on the screen, and the date and the time: December 21: 07:15. Winter solstice night had not yet begun.
He pulled back the heavy blue curtains and opened the shutters, where countless microscopic ice crystals had rushed a preternatural dawn into the shrouded world. The ledge of the big bay window at the corner of the west wing of the manor house was heaped with snow. He lifted the latch. The icy air was sharply invigorating. He leaned out to catch a cluster of the white flakes, examining the crystals formed from water vapour in the atmosphere and falling thick and white from the clouds to melt in his hand. He licked the fresh, cold liquid from his palm.
He left the window wide open and turned on the coffee maker. In the other, larger room, the black embers were still smoking in the fireplace. He made up the fire and stripped down to his shorts, adding more weight to the bar before he lay down beneath it on the mat. They are coming!
Down at the lodge, Jemima looked out of her bedroom window and squealed with delight, coming to an entirely different conclusion. She pulled the cats out from under the quilt and held them with their noses pressed against the cold glass to watch the snow tumbling out of the sky. The huge flakes were colliding and sticking together as they fell.
‘Look! The Goddess is looking after us!’ she cried. ‘Nothing horrible can possibly happen now. We’ll decorate the house today and I’ll wear my amazing dress to the party tomorrow night. Then we’ll take Jas and Sara to the airport, and Ma and I can do all the shops. There’ll be snow everywhere, and I’ll ride out with Caz every afternoon. We’re going to have the best Christmas ever!’
Headlights gleamed. The big tractor was labouring up the service track from the wood yard and turning into the drive. She dropped the cats back on the bed. ‘Oh no! Everyone’s ready for work and I’m not even dressed!’
She threw on her clothes. The cats scratched at the door, mewing for their meat. Kush leapt up, trying to balance on the handle and clawing the paint as he fell.
‘Oh, you are pests and nuisances!’ Jemima exclaim
ed, throwing them out onto the landing. ‘I’m coming!’
She ran downstairs. Jasper was singing in the bathroom, beating time with a toothbrush on the water pipe while he shaved. Maddie and Sara were getting the breakfast ready, giggling when they bumped into each other. The cats crouched side by side over their dish.
‘Have you ever seen such delicious snow?’ cried Jemima. ‘Let’s sledge this afternoon!’
‘So who’s going to decorate the house and do the table?’ asked her mother.
‘And put up the tree?’ said Sara.
Jemima groaned. ‘Oh, I forgot! Why do all the good things always happen at once?’
Sara buttered toast, ski-wise with many winter holidays in the Swiss Alps. Her hair was newly tinted purple with a mass of copper-coloured streaks.
‘The snow will be too soft today,’ she said. ‘Wait until tomorrow when it’s had a chance to pack down.’
‘But it might melt! It always melts here!’
‘It won’t, not this time. This looks as though it’s here to stay, at least for the next few days.’
‘We have to pray that it does then!’
‘Not at the airport,’ said Jasper, in mid-conversation, with his phone stuck to his ear. He sat down at the table, waving to Sara for the toast.
‘No, Tris, ’ he sighed. ‘We’re not doing the airport today. Put your brain in. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get your arse in gear and get up here. We’re meeting Al down the wood yard to bring the green stuff up to the house. Loz and Milky are already on the road.’ He tore a bite out of a large chunk of toast, mumbling with his mouth full, ‘No, Tristan, you can’t pick them up. They’re walking.’
He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. ‘What do you mean, what‘re they doing that for? Look out of the window, will you, mate? There’s a load of white stuff out there called snow, which means that until someone figures out how they can clear the roads, no one’s going anywhere in this neck of the woods except us. And we’re short on practice for the gig. If we get everything sorted this morning, we can get in another couple of hours before the boss throws us out for the night.’ He groaned. ‘Yes, Tris, it’s very pretty. Now get up!’
Second Night Page 38
