He had been in the torture chamber with her all afternoon, yet he was getting nowhere. "You do not know where the witch Maríana has gone," he muttered. She had admitted to making a love charm to capture Henri. He had wrenched the tale of her jealousy of Maríana from her. But that was all. Oh, she had finally said that she wanted to kill Ibrahim. Yet she would not tell him why. He tapped the side of the rack a moment. This was the key, he was sure of it. "Why did you kill Ibrahim?" His hand moved to pull the lever again.
"No!" she screamed. "I will tell you."
"I am waiting."
Ysabel shuddered. Her mouth opened, then a string of sounds poured out. La il'aha il'allah.
Jean slumped down staring at her sweating, pleading face. This was as far as he could get. Whenever he asked this question, she spouted nonsense. It was almost as if she were being silenced. A shiver traveled from his chest to his feet. He leaned close to her face. How curious. He caught a whiff of honey. And roses. "A demon has stilled your tongue." A flash of desperate comprehension twisted her features, a quick nod turned into a shudder of pain. He must have pulled her shoulder out again.
"Then we will do this..." He grasped the lever, played with it. There was a slight stirring in his groin at the sight of her agony, her fear. Nothing more. Well, he had already soaked the front of his robe with his seed. It would take more than this to arouse him now.
He needed incriminating information to tell Durand. He had disobeyed des Arcis by putting the two women on the rack. Utarilla had lasted only a few moments, dying before he could ease the throbbing heat in his loins, but Ysabel had given him several stunning bursts of rapture. Perhaps he should be kinder. "I will give you the answers," he said. "All you must do is nod if what I say is right."
A mixture of grief and gratitude flowed from her eyes. Her lips trembled. He leaned forward again. "You wanted to kill Ibrahim because he was Maríana's friend." A swift shake of her head. "You wanted to kill Ibrahim because, because," his words broke off. She was struggling. He put his ear close to her lips.
"Lover." It sounded like a sigh, but he caught the word within it.
"Ibrahim was your lover?" No wonder her husband had never asked to see her in all this time. First her infatuation with his Henri, now the gardener?
He almost missed that rapid shake of her head. "Husband." The whispered word was clear, but was torn off as her teeth clicked in the air next to his ear. He jumped back. His hand moved to the lever, pulled it all the way. The bitch had nearly bitten him! He released it just before her eyes rolled up into their sockets.
Could she have been trying to tell him that Ibrahim was her husband? That she wanted to kill him so Louis-Philippe would never know? He frowned. This did not make any sense. From what he heard, this Ibrahim had been here long before she ever came to Reuilles-le-château. As he stared at her limp body, an unbidden image leaped before his eyes, that of Louis-Philippe, leaning toward Henri. Something in his face.
A roaring sounded in his ears. No, this could not be. He looked down at her again. But she had said it, hadn't she? Not her lover; her husband's lover. Jean shivered. "Louis-Philippe de Reuilles, the sodomite," he said, his lips stretching into a smile. "Perfect!"
Jean took the stairs two at a time and rapped loudly on the door. When his man lifted it he said, "I am through with this one at present. Put her back in her cell." He pushed past the man and climbed to his chamber, his chest trembling. He would send a man to the bishop today. If his man rode fast, Jean could have the bishop's approval to take the baron before anyone here knew his plan.
He would have all of them. Every last one. Henri would return from his flight to Durand, his desperate petition, to find the de Reuilles family beyond his reach. Beyond the reach of everyone. The rack, the iron boot and the Catherine Wheel would give Jean the answers he needed to secure a permanent place in the Inquisition against witches.
He entered his chamber, reached for his quill. Yes, he would find Maríana de Reuilles, deliver her to Durand himself. But perhaps, before he did, he would use her as barter. He had not missed the anguish in Henri's eyes whenever the girl's name was mentioned. Henri would do anything to save her, anything. Jean dipped his quill into the ink pot and scratched out his message to Durand.
MARÍANA patted loose clumps of earth over the shallow grave she had dug. Her great-grandmother's bones lay underneath her hands, under the blanket of dirt she had spread across the yellowed skull, the knobby spine. There was no flesh at all, just wisps of cloth that billowed out from the bones as Maríana lifted them from the stone. Teeth marks showed where rats had gnawed on the ribs.
She wiped her hands on her skirt. It had been thirty years, after all. She looked at the mouth of the cave. Iranzu had not told her she would find the bones of his mother here. When she found the cave, she had trudged inside, weary from her climb up the mountain. She'd dropped her pack to the floor, then suppressed her scream of fright when she saw the ghostly figure draped over the stone.
Why hadn't he told her? What other surprises waited? Maríana gave one last glance to the raw gash in the earth. "Good-bye Great-Grandmother," she murmured. She turned toward the cave. It was getting dark. She needed to light her lamp, to eat what Adelie had made for her. To ready herself for her task.
Her lamp filled the chamber with a soothing glow. A simple straw mattress, covered by a dusty blanket embroidered with a four-petaled flower pattern, rested in the far end of the cave. The colors of the blanket must have once been deep burgundy and royal blue, now faded into rose and pewter. The cave formed a large central chamber with the mattress and a small chest, and an alcove where the large, rough, dark gray stone brooded. It was waist-high and shaped like a table, with sharp edges.
She ran her fingers over its dirty surface, then sighed and looked around the chamber. In the alcove, she could see faint traces of paintings on the walls. The flickering lamp brought the dim paintings to life, the shapes and lines seemed to dance and sway. But staring at the stone did not set it in motion. There was nothing she could do until it awakened.
She lifted her pack and drew out the bread Adelie had sent, her fingers brushing the chalice that lay beside it. Pulling the cup out, she set it next to her. What was it? When she touched it, her hands burned. The chalice stood before her, glowing softly in the lamp light. So this was what Henri had sought. But why did the church want it? Some power lived within it, that much she knew. Was it a relic? She brushed crumbs off her hands and gown, took the chalice over to the stone, placed it on the floor and looked up at the walls.
Animals. It looked like someone had painted animals here. She traced the lines and her hands came away covered with black dirt. Johanna would never have let filth like this lay thick upon the walls.
The stone. It had a sullen presence, but was silent for now. She drew the blanket off the mattress, jumped when hundreds of bugs scampered out from the tightly-woven straw underneath. Taking the cleanest edge of the blanket, she scrubbed the wall.
A horse. Someone had captured it in flight, its legs raised and extended in a gallop. She hummed a weaving song as she rubbed at the dirt. Now a bull appeared. She ran the blanket along the lines of the horns and uncovered the powerful body. And a bird. She brushed enough of the dirt away to reveal a feathered creature that was drawn as large as the bull. The bird's wings were spread in a span that stretched across the east end of the alcove.
Now for the stone. She swiped at the powdery dust that covered it, then stepped back in amazement. The stone was black, not gray. Something on its top surface sparkled. She rubbed harder along the entire top, down across the sides. It was pitch black and shiny as mica, but its top surface was not even. The stone was pitted, as if thousands of hammers had struck it, chipping small indentations. The pebbled surface caught the lamp light, threw it in glittering strands across the cave. But the sides were smooth, silken. When she ran her hands along its surface, a thrilling shiver gripped her body, starting in her belly and spreading outward. At th
e same time, a dull green-gold light pulsed within the depths of the stone. She had the sensation of immense distances, as if she were gazing into a fathomless well instead of a large black stone. The light pulsed again and she felt another surge race through her body.
"Ah, God!" She trembled, her breath caught, and stilled. It had begun. She held her hands together, felt the sweat stand out in beads on her skin. Her heart raced, hands shook. Without thinking, she picked up the chalice and held it to her chest. Her heartbeat steadied, breathing deepened. She knelt before the stone, placed the chalice beside her, stretched her left arm out to rest across the top. The surface was warm now, and she could see the golden shapes that Iranzu had told her would appear.
"You must touch these shapes in this exact order," Iranzu had said, showing her the boat, the two upraised hands, the feather and the eye. "My mother told me that these are the signs of the Guardian and of the millions of years."
Maríana had frowned. "Millions of years?"
Iranzu had waved his hand. "You must not question what you are doing, there is no time. You must follow my directions."
Maríana saw them now-the boat, the upraised hands, the feather and the eye. She touched each in sequence, ignoring the other glowing forms that floated across the stone's surface. Then other symbols followed, curved lines and slashes, circles and six-sided boxes. She touched each of these in the sequence Iranzu had given her.
The stone hummed, as if some vast creature within had awakened angry. She held onto it with both arms, leaned her body against the side as she sank down next to it. The light within grew brighter with every pulse it made, going from deep green-gold to honey to bright sun-light. For a moment, she was poised on the edge of an abyss of swirling light. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for what would come next. She drew in a deep, ragged breath and the sounds she had practiced for the past five days tumbled from her lips.
Light within the stone flashed outward in the blue-white brilliance of ten thousand suns. The air shivered, congealed. Her head sank onto the stone.
HENRI GRITTED his teeth. He had been kept waiting outside of the Bishop Durand's chamber the entire morning. His stomach was complaining, hollow gurgles that sent sour froth into his mouth. The door to the Bishop's chamber opened and Hughes des Arcis emerged. Henri rose from his seat and started toward the door, but stopped when Hughes shook his head and motioned for Henri to follow him out.
Once they were outside, Hughes said, "It is no good, my friend. He will not see you."
Henri grabbed his arm. "Why?" He looked in surprise at the whiteness of his own knuckles.
Hughes shook his head again and stared at Henri's hand. Henri forced his fingers to release his grasp. "Follow me," Hughes whispered.
They walked together, up and down the narrow alleys of Carcasonne, talking of small things.
Henri's hands itched. Intrigue had used to amuse him with its double meanings and careful shading of words. He had also used to have more patience. Now all he wanted to do was wrap his hands around des Arcis' neck, throttle the truth out of him.
Finally, Hughes glanced around and indicated that Henri should stop. Hughes drew a rolled parchment out of his robes and handed it over.
"You are to return to Reuilles-le-château with this."
Henri unrolled the scroll and read it, then stared at Hughes in disbelief. "Do you know what this says?"
"It is a lesson in obedience, my friend. I could not save the Baroness." Hughes's voice dropped. "I did the best I could."
"This document says that Jean can go after anyone he wants from the baron down. The only person safe from him is Johanna!"
"Obedience," Hughes repeated. His words were mild but his eyes carried a different message. "Your obedience has been questioned since Montsegur. I recommend that you do what we have asked of you: take this back to Reuilles-le-château."
He made a show of adjusting his robe, then spoke very softly. "Take men from Bauçais or Touraine with you, men you can trust. Decide for yourself how much you will tell them of what the contents of this document mean." Then Hughes backed away, inclining his head, and strolled in the direction of the cathedral.
Henri read the scroll again. He examined the seal and the ink and rolled it back up, tapping it against his hands. Then he placed it in his belt and strode off to locate his men. They would need to leave soon if they were to reach the château within a week.
In the late afternoon light, outside the walls of Carcassone, Henri stood before his men. "We will start our journey to Reuilles-le-château in the morning," he told them. "I have orders." He unrolled a scroll, holding his thumb over the seal to make sure it would still stick to the parchment. "Orders from the bishop," he continued, "to relieve Jean Becier of his position as Inquisitor in this investigation."
He looked up at his men. Blank faces, mostly, though three looked relieved. Not one of them seemed surprised or disturbed by such orders. Good. The scroll wound back into a tight cylinder. He had taken the bishop's seal off the scroll Hughes had given him and carefully fixed it to this one, after he'd written his own orders.
Henri knew the consequences if he were caught. His men were protected; none of them knew the original orders. He was fully prepared to take the blame, but he hoped he to find Maríana first and take her to Paris before the bishop discovered his duplicity. A petition to the king might save his skin and Maríana's. If Maríana did have this thing the church sought, it would be a valuable tool.
He looked out across the hills that surrounded Carcasonne. The green of the trees here was faded, tired. Not like the brooding black hills of Navarre. But the swell of earth that marched into the distance was touched with the gold and peach rays of the sun. He inhaled the fragrance of early blooming lilacs, surprised by how he enjoyed the simple pleasure. He had just thrown his entire life away, yet it felt good to breathe.
His men were waiting. Henri released the breath he had been holding. "We ride out at dawn tomorrow."
MARÍANA steadied herself, looking around in bewilderment. She appeared to be in a small room. White walls rose around her and blue-black tiles with tiny lights sparkling within them formed the floor. When she looked down, she saw the night sky spread out beneath her feet. All the constellations and worlds Ibrahim had spoken of were there in this floor.
A dusky voice spoke. "Oh, are you back, then?"
Maríana looked up. A woman with sun-bronzed skin sat at a table next to a window. The brilliant blue of a large body of water glimmered far below the window, and houses of a white so bright she could hardly do more than glance at them marched down to its shore. Maríana raised her hand to shield her eyes from the glare and studied the woman. It was odd. She was sure she had seen this woman before, but she could not remember where.
The woman stared at table's surface. Midnight hair fell in a straight line to her shoulders. Her eyes were outlined in black paint and her brows made perfect arches. Light played across the planes of her face, light that must have somehow come from within the table. "How could..." Maríana stopped.
The woman swept her hand across the surface of the table; the light disappeared. She stood and approached Maríana, hands held out in front of her. A violet gown with tiny pleats hung from a golden clasp on her right shoulder, straight to her ankles. Her left shoulder was bare.
"We do not have much time," the woman said as she took Maríana's hands. "If I am to get you back before the link is broken we must start now."
"May I ask your name?" There was strength in this woman's hands, great strength. "Is it allowed to ask?"
"You call me the Guardian, I believe."
"The statues!" This woman was the breathing likeness of the statue at the entrance to the hidden valley. "But where is the Beacon?"
The Guardian's lips lifted. It was not exactly a smile, but her impassive features warmed. "He will never stay here very long; he always goes back to your world." She pulled Maríana over to the table. "He is somewhere called `Konya' now. It will
not be too much longer before he returns, though."
The Guardian bent her head over the surface of the table again. "I want you to look down here," she said, passing her hand across the table. "What do you see?"
"A valley nestled within mountains." Maríana leaned forward. "This is our valley as a bird would see it! How... ?" And it moved. Clouds were tumbling across the peaks.
"No time." The Guardian put her arm around Maríana's shoulders. "Do you remember when you first saw the Door?"
"Yes. It was in the circle. I was flying."
"So must we."
The room disappeared. Maríana was suspended far above the floor of the valley, in a night sky among the clouds. She grabbed for the Guardian's hand, found that the woman's arm was still around her shoulders. "But, there was daylight where we were standing on the room."
"I am sorry. None of you are ever truly prepared for this," the Guardian said. "It is night time in your valley. I realize that this is your first time, but don't worry," there was that lifting of her lips again, "Jakintzas never forget how to do this." The Guardian pulled Maríana up until they were both the height of a hundred men above the valley. "Come, now!" she shouted, "Shape shifter!"
Something dark, with bones and stretched skin erupted above and below Maríana's shoulder blades. Gigantic wings unfolded, spreading out away from their imprisonment within her body. Wind passed over and under her wings, lifting her in dizzying waves. Iridescent feathers, still moist from captivity within her body, fanned out against the sky. How she could move them? But with that thought, muscles that were ready to obey her brought the wings first down, and then up in a graceful arc.
"What did I tell you?" A real smile brightened the Guardian's face. "You Jakintzas!" She had dropped her arm from Maríana's shoulders when the wings started emerging. Now, she pointed to the mountain peaks, where faint, pulsing lights very much like the lights within the stone flickered. "We must re-draw the markers first," the Guardian said as Maríana's wings beat against the air. She guided Maríana toward a feeble yellow light. "I will act as the weaver, but you must draw the energy through from the physical world in order to make this work." They had reached the first marker.
Door in the Sky Page 43
