Winter’s Light

by M. J. Hearle

The uneasy silence of the hall was disrupted by the tolling of bells elsewhere in the castle. Distracted, Winter broke her connection to the mirror. The bells continued to ring, growing louder. More urgent. Thunder rumbled ominously below the tolling, adding to the din. The storm was about to break.

  Jasmine! Winter had time to think triumphantly before her arm was gripped by sharp, bony fingers. Magdalene held her, features livid with rage.

  ‘What have you done!’ she snarled over the bells. Now she looked like her brother – a wild, mad thing, intent on murder.

  What had she done? The room below the platform was in disarray, Bonnaires running to and fro, those higher in command barking orders to those lower. But there were no Demori. No Skivers.

  The two red-robed Bonnaires came to Magdalene’s side, hoods pushed back from their nervous bearded faces.

  ‘Madame, we must get you somewhere safe,’ said one of them, almost forcibly dragging Magdalene away from Winter. The old woman’s blazing eyes fixed on Winter as she retreated, cursing her where she stood. Winter tried to compose herself. She saw with relief that the Black Mirror had gone dark, the Malfaerie vanished. It revealed nothing now save for Winter’s vaguely stunned expression, the hall behind her bustling with frightened men and women, and a lone figure lying on the platform.

  Sam.

  The guards had left, presumably joining the other Bonnaires in preparing the defences. There was no sign of Yuri anywhere. Quickly, Winter began to cross towards Sam.

  And then the lights went out.

  Chapter 56

  The sudden blanket of darkness thrown over the hall brought with it a few seconds of fearful, hushed silence. Eventually, this silence was broken by scattered exclamations and the sound of people moving about again. Lightning flashed through the windows offering Winter a snapshot of dozens of pale faces. Everyone, including Winter, seemed to be waiting to see what would happen next. They didn’t have long to wait.

  She gasped as there was another flash, this time from within the room towards the back wall. A flash of deep emerald that left spots dancing before her eyes. A man’s agonised scream rang out and then it was chillingly cut short. Frightened shouts filled the air. One of the Bonnaires ignited a magnesium flare and the hall was suffused with a malevolent crimson glow.

  Crazy lurching shadows moved across the walls as people clustered together into protective groups, crossbows shaking in their grips. The atmosphere thickened from the smoke of the hissing flare. A trickle of cold sweat ran down her back as Winter watched for the nightmare she’d called down on these people to appear.

  It happened all at once. The room exploded into green light, each flash accompanied by peals of thunder, one after the other, the sound of doorways being ripped open. Black figures came hurtling out of these explosions. The Bonnaires fired wildly in terror, sending crossbow bolts humming through the dark.

  Keeping her head down, Winter crawled towards Sam. Twice she heard the whine of a crossbow bolt fly past her head. Any moment she expected to be shot or attacked by a Demori. Sam remained unconscious.

  Winter brushed his sweaty hair back from his forehead, gently trying to rouse him. He was covered in blood, but Yuri’s bolt looked like it had gone straight through his shoulder. Her knowledge of human anatomy was sketchy at best, but she didn’t think there were any major organs or arteries located there. Sam would live. He had to.

  ‘We have to go, Sam! Wake up! Please wake up!’

  His eyes fluttered open as he reacted to the sound of her voice. ‘The western tower,’ he grunted, grimacing as he spoke. ‘Go to the western tower.’

  Winter frowned, the sounds of people dying around her making it difficult for her to comprehend. ‘What? The western tower? I don’t understand.’

  ‘The prisoner,’ Sam muttered, his eyelids drooping. ‘Set him free.’ He managed one final word before slipping back into unconsciousness.

  ‘Blake.’

  ‘Sam?’ Winter cradled his face in her hands. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly – had he said Blake? What prisoner in the western tower? Tapping Sam lightly on the cheeks, she tried to rouse him.

  Somebody kicked her just below the rib cage. Winter went sprawling onto the hard stones next to Sam, scraping her hands. Winded, she gasped for air and rolled onto her back, bracing herself for another kick.

  Yuri stood over her, a crossbow in his hands. His sweaty, harried features lit by the fading red luminescence of the flare looked exaggerated and monstrous.

  ‘You bitch!’ he growled. ‘This is all your fault!’

  Even if Winter had the air in her lungs to speak, she wouldn’t have bothered defending herself.

  ‘You hear those screams? Those people dying? You brought this on us!’

  Nursing her bruised ribs, Winter struggled to sit up. ‘You brought this on yourself.’

  Their eyes locked through the smoky darkness. He was looking for fear and found none. This seemed to provoke an even greater rage. With a guttural sound Yuri raised the crossbow, aiming at the centre of Winter’s forehead. She tensed, ready for the bolt to tear through her.

  A shape loomed out of the smoke behind Yuri, striking him on the side of the head. Yuri crumpled to the ground, unconscious, revealing Elena holding a splintered chair leg.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked Winter once she was able to tear her shocked gaze from her fallen husband. She seemed just as astonished by her actions as Winter was.

  Winter shook her head. ‘No.’

  Elena dropped the chair leg and reached into her jacket, withdrawing a small leather pouch. Winter had seen its like before in Morningside Cemetery. Warding Dust. Elena quickly loosened the pouch’s strap and began tracing a circle, muttering something – a prayer? A spell? – under her breath. The circle encompassed Yuri, Sam and Winter.

  ‘Stay in the circle. Stay alive,’ Elena said, rolling her unconscious husband closer to the centre.

  Winter was already getting to her feet.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Jasmine,’ Winter replied helplessly by way of an excuse. Elena looked far from convinced this was a sensible course of action, but Winter didn’t have time to explain herself. Heart drumming a frenzied beat, she stepped out of the circle and jumped off the platform into the sea of shadows.

  Chapter 57

  As she sprinted towards the door, leaping over collapsed bodies, she glimpsed enough carnage in her periphery for a lifetime’s worth of sleepless nights. Screams rang in her ears, and warm liquid splattered her face. She wiped it off with her sleeve, keeping her gaze fixed on the door ahead.

  Don’t look back, don’t look back . . .

  There was a demented giggle and a figure snatched at her as she passed. Winter ducked beneath the arm without breaking stride, running faster. She felt someone chasing her, hot breath on the back of her neck – No! Leave me alone!

  A hand grabbed her shoulder, taloned fingers digging into her flesh, drawing blood. Crying out, she was yanked backwards and spun around.

  The female Demori released Winter and licked the blood from her fingers with a wicked grin. Her thick black hair was tousled, her exquisite features terrible in their beauty. ‘Now, where do you think you’re going?’ Her emerald eyes widened as she stared into Winter, seeing her secret.

  ‘A Key . . .’ she whispered, her grin fading, replaced with a look of surprised awe. Before she could act on this discovery, there was a thudding sound and the sharp edge of a crossbow bolt poked through her midsection. A low keening came from deep within the Demori’s throat and she fell to the ground. Shocked by the creature’s death, Winter almost didn’t see Marcel, sweaty-faced and wide-eyed standing behind the Demori, a crossbow shaking in his hands.

  ‘Go!’ he urged Winter. ‘Run!’ Twin shadows loomed behind him, and he whirled around to fire.

  Winter didn’t see whether or not he hit his targets. She was already running for the door. Elbowing it open, she stumbled out into the rain and kept running.<
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  There were more bodies lying scattered across the stone steps leading down to the courtyard. Twisted, broken bodies – skin shrivelled like mummies. Victims of the Demori’s kisses. Winter didn’t look at them – couldn’t look at them – just put her head down and ran into the stormy night. Fumbling for her phone, she frantically dialled Jasmine’s number.

  ‘Pick up, pick up, pick up!’ Winter murmured, her panic intensifying with every unanswered ring. There was a muffled click and relief flooded through her.

  ‘Winter?’

  ‘Jas? Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ her tone was high-pitched, borderline hysterical, words coming out in a rush. ‘I did what you said. I found the chapel and a vase and I poured water over that thing. The machine. Radermire was there, Win. He scared me and I threw the vase at his head. I . . . think I killed him!’

  Winter moved into the shadows of a small gardening shed, somewhere between the keep and the great hall. Men were scurrying between the buildings, their blue torches cutting erratic swathes of light through the wet gloom.

  ‘Slow down, Jas,’ she whispered, not wanting to draw the men’s attention. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘I don’t know! Didn’t you hear what I said? I think I killed him! He was coming at me, and I was so scared. He’s just an old man.’ She was crying now, the tears making it difficult for Winter to understand her.

  ‘You had no choice, right?’

  A small sob. ‘Right.’

  ‘So then you can’t be blamed. Besides, I’m sure he’s not dead. You probably just knocked him out. You saved my life. Sam’s life. You’re a hero.’

  The rain beat against her jacket, soaking her to the skin, while she allowed Jasmine the time it took to calm down and accept this undeniable fact.

  ‘So, you’re okay?’ Jasmine asked tentatively, that needling note of panic gone from her voice.

  ‘I’m fine,’ Winter replied, keeping her tone gentle and soothing. Her shoulder stung from where the Demori had clawed her but other than that she was unharmed. ‘Now, where are you?’

  ‘I have no idea. It’s too dark to see. The lights went out. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m . . .’ Winter held a hand up to her eyes, shielding them as she searched the area, trying to get her bearings. To her immediate left, a cylindrical stone shape jutted up into the darkness. The western tower. The doorway leading into the tower stood ajar, a yawning black mouth.

  ‘In the western tower. At the very top. Can you get here?’ The words were out of her mouth before she had a moment to question their sense.

  ‘Yeah. I think so. I saw it from one of the windows. Is it safe?’ A tremulous pause. ‘I keep hearing people screaming.’

  Winter hesitated before answering. ‘Just be quick, okay? And try to keep out of sight!’

  ‘Okay. Stay safe, Win.’

  Winter hung up, aware that there was absolutely nothing safe about what she was doing. What the hell was she doing? She should have told Jas to meet her at the front gate. Would have done were it not for Sam’s mysterious, semi-coherent words reverberating through her thoughts, gathering an almost prophetic power.

  Go to the western tower.

  The prisoner.

  Set him free.

  Blake.

  It was that last, barely spoken name that started her feet towards the tower. She remembered Radermire’s warning about venturing there because of the renovations and brushed it aside. The tower might be unsafe but it had nothing to do with ‘renovations’. She was sure of that. Magdalene was keeping something in the tower. Something she didn’t want Winter to discover.

  The prisoner.

  Winter paused at the threshold, indulging one last moment of doubt. She could call Jasmine back and tell her to meet somewhere else. Somewhere safe. A strangled scream rose above the howling winds. There was nowhere safe in Castle Vled tonight. In fact, the tower, separate from the keep and the great hall, might just offer the safest spot to hide out until morning.

  It was black as a grave inside, the weak light of her phone offering feeble illumination. She might have turned around then and there were it not for the three kerosene lamps she found hanging on the wall near the door. Blackouts were evidently a common occurrence. Taking one, Winter saw by its burnished glow a staircase winding its way up through the core of the tower. There were no sounds coming from above. The guards, if there were guards here to begin with, must have left their posts when the lights went out, drawn by the sounds of battle. Steeling her nerves, Winter began to climb.

  Water dripped from the ceiling, forming slippery puddles. One misplaced step and she could go pin-wheeling back down into the darkness so she trod carefully.

  By the time she reached the top of the staircase her thighs were burning and she felt a little light-headed. Pausing to catch her breath, she swung her lamp around to form a picture of the landing. She was in a crescent-shaped hallway stretching around the stairwell. There was a bench, and beyond that a thick wooden door with a strange symbol painted across it.

  Frowning, Winter walked forward, her suspicion that she’d seen such a sigil before strengthening as it became clearer in the light of the lamp. Of course! The Velasco Place. The room that had served as Claudette’s prison had been marked with a similar crude design.

  Was there another Demori sealed behind this door?

  Blake.

  The lamp wavered in her hands. No. It was impossible. Blake was gone from this world, his mortal remains reduced to ashes. The idea that he was in a room on the other side of the door was ridiculous. She thought back to her vision, to Blake’s wasted form reflected in the brackish pool of water and the figure torturing him. A hooded figure in red robes. Robes like the ones Magdalene had been wearing.

  Winter shook her head, refusing to follow this train of thought. What made her reach for the door handle wasn’t some foolish hope, but her trust in Sam. He’d earned that trust when he put his life on the line for her. If he wanted her to open this door, then she would. On faith.

  The door was locked. Winter tried the handle again, willing it to open and nothing happened. For the past twenty-four hours she’d heard over and over again about this supposed great gift of hers, the ability to cross dimensions, yet it now seemed she couldn’t even get past a simple door. Frustrated, her eyes went to the sigil smeared across the wood. It thrummed with a silent power, making the skin on her arms break out in goosebumps.

  There was magic in the sigil, some arcane quality stopping her talent from manifesting – she was sure of it! But now what was she supposed to do? She’d potentially risked her own and Jasmine’s life coming here and for what? To be stopped by a couple of inches of oak and a magic squiggle.

  Set him free, Winter heard the voice say in her head, only it wasn’t Sam’s voice. It was the girl speaking from the dream she’d had on the plane. The wild-looking girl with hair the same colour as her own.

  Open the door, sister . . . you have the power . . .

  Winter stared at the sigil with renewed purpose. It seemed smaller than it had before, less magical. Just paint on wood. Closing her eyes, she placed her palms against the coarse grain and called to mind Pilgrim’s Lament. The ancient entrance materialised in vivid detail: shadows from the crowding trees swayed restlessly across the bleached wood, the crooked handles, the rusted padlock.

  Holding this image in her mind, she was aware of a curious tingling in the depths of her being. This tingling intensified, spreading outwards, threading through her veins before gathering in her fingertips. Pressing harder against the wood, Winter ordered Pilgrim’s Lament to ‘open’, picturing the old lock falling away and the arched doors parting. Her heartbeat surging with excitement, she felt the door swing inwards, creaking noisily on ill-oiled hinges. It had worked!

  Her hands still trembling from whatever power she’d summoned, Winter stepped into the room.

  It wasn’t quite pitch black inside, but murky enough that Winter’s eyes took a moment to adjust.
She was standing in a cell. Around the perimeter were dozens of candle stubs, melted and deformed. There was a single small rectangular window in the sloping ceiling. Smoky amber light slanted in between the bars. Part of the castle had caught fire.

  Lying in the reddish glow was a figure, naked from the waist up. A thick loop of chain ran from a manacle around his neck to a bolt in the wall. Winter had seen this room before – the candles, the stone floor, the shallow pools of water collected in the hollows of the uneven floor. She’d seen this place through another’s eyes. Through Blake’s. This was the room of the lodestone’s vision.

  Chapter 58

  ‘Blake!’ Winter gasped, stumbling forward. Any moment now she expected the figure to fly apart like burning paper, prove itself to be an illusion. She crouched on the stones, almost too scared to touch him in case her hands discovered what her mind screamed to be true – this tortured form was Blake.

  Tenderly, Winter took hold of one bony shoulder and rolled the prisoner onto his back. The face beneath the matted, dirty hair was emaciated; the cheekbones disturbingly pronounced; the eyes seemed to have receded back into the skull, they were closed, hidden in the dark cavities; the skin had a pale, greyish quality and was almost translucent in places. Though starved of most of its aesthetic beauty, Winter recognised the face – would have recognised it anywhere, and her tentative hope blossomed into a joy, pure and bright.

  He was alive!

  It was impossible, improbable, but her Blake was here – had been for God knows how long. Locked away in this tower like a character in a grim fairytale.

  Like a blind person, Winter traced the contours of his features, pushing back the limp strands of hair, all the time murmuring, ‘I found you . . . I found you . . .’

  He was here lying in her arms, just as she’d lain in his in the clearing outside Pilgrim’s Lament. That was all that mattered in this golden moment.

  But Blake was so cold to touch, so still . . .