Thomas nodded. “I see. Do you require spiritual guidance, Lord Montkeith?”
Eldren placed the cloth wrapped book on the table in front of his friend. “Historical guidance, in fact. Particularly related to the translation of a text recorded in Old English that may have rather damning information about my family. It would be better, Thomas, if we did not have to entrust this task to those who might not be inclined to discretion.”
Eldren knew he’d uttered the magic words when Thomas’ eyes lit up and he began to carefully unwrap the book and open the cover. He gasped. He oohed and ahhed. Then he became very, very quiet. Eldren watched him and saw the moment that his friend became frightened.
“What is it?” Eldren asked.
“You’ve no notion what this book is?” Thomas asked.
“None at all,” Eldren said. “I glanced at some of the pages but couldn’t really make any sense of it.”
“Eldren, it is a grimoire,” the vicar said in a scandalized whisper.
“A grimoire?” Adelaide repeated. “You can’t be serious!”
“I am very serious, my lady,” Father Thomas said. “This is a book of spells and incantations… and unless I miss my guess, they were recorded by Igrida herself. And I fear history may have been far kinder to her than she deserves. These are not simple love charms and remedies. This is dark, dark magic… evil and unspeakable things. I cannot translate this for you my friend. It would be a violation of my honor and my obligations to the church.”
“We need the translation, Father Thomas,” Adelaide said. “But not because we wish to replicate her actions. We are looking for some indication of what spells she might have used to bind her to the house the way that she has… You see, I don’t think it’s Alwen, despite what the previous history indicated. I think it has been Igrida all along.”
Eldren heard the certainty in her voice, the confidence in her tone. He worried about the influence Madame Leola was having on her, but he also had to admit that thus far she appeared to be having a rather alarming rate of accuracy. That she had been led by some unseen force he could not deny. There was no other logical reason for her to have even discovered the book.
Thomas looked at the book once before closing it firmly. “I cannot do this. But there is a man who may be able to help who lived in the next village. He is a retired professor from the University and is quite gifted with languages.”
Eldren nodded. “I must ask you, Thomas, will you keep the book here until he can come to aid us? It isn’t safe at Cysgod Lys.”
“I cannot keep it in the church, but I will take it to the rectory and put it away for safekeeping. If you would allow it, my friend, I would do a blessing for you and your dear wife today. I fear what may be happening in your home and what dangers you may face.”
Eldren nodded his agreement. He had little faith in the religion that Thomas had devoted his life to, but a little extra luck or prayer for them would not be amiss.
When it was done, Thomas escorted them outside. Eldren helped Adelaide into the carriage. When she was safely settled inside, he turned to his friend.
“Thank you, my friend, for your assistance.”
“No, Eldren,thank you,” Thomas said, grasping him in a tight embrace. “I know you have little use for all this, but God is good and merciful. He will see you through this if you put your trust in him.”
Eldren shook his head. “I have no trust to place in your God, Thomas. With all that I have seen, how can I?”
“There is balance in all things, Eldren. If such evil exists, can you not believe that goodness exists as well? Look at your young bride, my friend. She is what you needed when you did not even know you needed her. God put her in your path. That happened for a reason. Do you believe that?”
Eldren considered that for a moment. “Yes, I suppose I do believe that. Perhaps you will make a convert of me, after all.”
“I’ll be satisfied with knowing that you are safe. You and all of those at Cysgod Lys. I have said prayers for your mother daily. How does she fare?”
She had not spoken since being taken to the asylum. The last report he had received fro her doctor’s had stated that she was having to be force fed, but that she was still failing. Eldren knew the truth. Following the horrible night where she had robbed Mrs. Alberson of her life, the house and its spirits were done with her. They no longer had any use for his mother and now she was failing. But he did not want to relay that to Thomas, not when they had already burdened him so much.
“Things are as well as can be expected,” Eldren lied.
“I will continue my prayers for her… and for you both.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Leola walked along the edge of the moor toward the small opening in the stone fence. She had not crossed that boundary yet, but she’d found herself drawn to the spot since they’d first arrived. John was still avoiding her, and in truth, she was pleased to have him continue doing so. Her heartfelt confession had left her pride very vulnerable and she wasn’t entirely certain she was ready to face him yet. Better to take her chances with the many spirits that wandered aimlessly at Cysgod Lys.
Stepping beyond the stone fence and onto the moor for the first time, Leola felt the surge instantly. Power, dark and seductive, called to her. It pulsed beneath her feet, coursing up through her flesh and bone, as it invaded every fiber of her being.
Leola’s head fell back as it simply overwhelmed her. She trembled and shook from the onslaught of it. It seemed as if a thousand voices were whispering inside her mind. They buzzed like angry bees, swarming and retreating in waves that left her disoriented and dizzy. Sinking to her knees, Leola pressed her hands over her ears. But the sounds were inside her head. That only intensified the sounds. They grew louder and more insistent. Voices tumbled one over another creating a cacophony inside her mind. Like a thousand daggers stabbing into her skull, she collapsed further until she could do nothing but writhe on the ground in agony.
Gasping for breath, struggling to fight against the pain of so many voices penetrating the armor she’d built around herself for so many years.
Stay here with us. Stay here with us. Stay here with us.
Over and over again, the words reverberated with an intensity.
When she thought she could stand it no more, some last unknown reserve of strength seemed to unfold inside her. “Enough!” The word erupted from her on a scream. It sounded primal and animalistic, half growl and half shriek. But in the wake of it, silence.
“Enough,” she repeated. “I have not granted you the power to speak to me or through me.”
It was bravado as much as anything else. Any notion that she had authority there was ridiculous. But for the moment, at least, they were respecting it.
“Only one of you may speak to me, so choose wisely—and quietly—amongst yourselves,” she uttered.
After a moment a whisper came. Low, faint, but not weak. No. Distant. “You must remain here with us. If she has your power we will never be free.”
“Who? Who would have my power and use it against you?” Leola demanded.
“Igrida the Betrayer,” the voice whispered again. “She has trapped us here… pinned like a fly in a web. We grow weaker, fading more and more, as she grows stronger by siphoning the strength of people like you.”
“She cannot have my strength. I have ways of protecting myself against her,” Leola protested.
“As you protected yourself against us?”
Leola arched one eyebrow at that superior tone as she managed to struggle to a sitting position. “You concealed yourselves and your powers until I was too close to shield myself from them. You lured me here under false pretenses.”
“As Igrida has lured every bride to Cysgod Lys. She feeds on them as she will the newest one… and that will be a disaster for us all. As will the child growing in the belly of the vile one.”
“If you are aware of so much, why are your warnings just vague rantings to stay here. If you tell us
what we need to know to defeat her—.”
“You cannot defeat her. The best you can hope for is to be far, far from here when her plan comes to fruition. If she is born again—.”
Leola struggled to her feet. “Born again? Is that Mrs. Llewellyn’s role in this? Is she to sacrifice her child so that Igrida might once again be part of the mortal world?”
“It is not a sacrifice! That child was created to be a vessel for evil!”
It all became clear. In that moment, with that single piece of information, Leola understood something that she had not known. “The child isn’t of Llewellyn blood. It can’t be. They have been the last line of defense between her and this scheme for centuries, haven’t they?”
“If Igrida is reborn, she will not be mortal. If that devil has flesh once more, all of hell will take a fleshly form with her and this world shall become a dark, dark place… Flee from here. Take the young woman with you and put a stake through the heart of the witch who would help her.”
Leola was alone. Instantly. She’d felt the presence of what had seemed thousands surrounding her. But they had respected her wishes and spoken with only one voice, and in doing so, had managed to show her the truth.
Still shaking, her knees trembling and her head pounding from the sheer amount of power that had coursed through her for the last few moments, Leola fled the moor to return to the house. She had neared the house, just passing the last stand of trees that flanked the lane, but before she had reach the relative safety of Cysgod Lys she found herself facing Mrs. Llewellyn. Frances. Her blonde beauty was icy cold and in her blue eyes Leola saw only death.
“You appear to have taken quite a tumble, Madame Leola,” Frances said coolly. “It would be a shame for you to injure yourself.”
“I did take a tumble, but I am quite well, Mrs. Llewellyn. I do need to tidy up, however. If you’d excuse me?” Leola asked, attempting to brazen it out.
“I think not. You see, I know with whom you’ve been speaking.”
Leola’s blood froze. “And who is that?”
“The first,” Frances replied. “The very first of her many sacrifices… the ones that have fueled her on this journey to claim power like no mere mortal could hold.”
“And the child in your belly? Will its small, fragile body be able to contain such a thing?”
“Not all of it,” Frances said with a smile. “And that is why part of it will be given into my care. You are a threat to our plan, Madame Leola, and that cannot be permitted.”
Before Leola could react, Frances raised her hand high. The silver blade of an elaborate dagger winked once in the pale sunlight and then came swiping down in one vicious arc. It caught Leola’s shoulder, slashing through the layers of fabric and into her flesh. Leola stumbled backward. But she didn’t flee toward the trees. She went to the place where she knew Frances would not follow. The moor. It might be her final resting place, but she would die there on her own terms, at least, and deny Frances the power she might claim along with her own life.
As Leola breached the stone fence, Frances stopped short in pursuit.
“You cannot hide there forever.”
“I’ll die right here. Here on this land where you cannot cross because the dead here have managed to retain their own will,” Leola said. She was weakening. She could feel the blood seeping through her clothing, dripping from her fingertips onto the ground that had already seen so much bloodshed already.
Frances moved forward, but as she reached the threshold to the moor, the wind picked up. It blew fiercely buffeting the other woman so much that she could not take that last step forward. The force of it sent her sprawling backward, even as Leola sank to her knees, dizzy and weak.
Frances picked herself up and smiled coldly. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll die and rot where you lay.”
Leola watched the other woman turn and walk away, even as darkness claimed her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Adelaide’s gaze was focused on the window, but the passing scenery outside was all but invisible to her. A terrible sense of foreboding had settled over her almost since they left the church. Her initial relief at having the book in possession of someone who could be trusted not to use the dark power it contained had fled in the face of her certainty that something awful had occurred.
“You’ve been fidgeting since we left the church,” Eldren commented. “What is it?”
“Something is terribly wrong.”
“Do you want to go back for the book? I’m not keen to have it in our possession, but if you are concerned—.”
“It isn’t the book.” Adelaide shook her head as a frisson of fear snaked up her spine.
Suddenly a terrible pain speared through her shoulder and down her arm. She felt cold. Shivering and trembling, her voice quavered as she urged, “Tell the driver to hurry, Eldren.”
He tapped on the roof. “Is it Frances?”
Adelaide wrapped her arms around herself. “No. It’s Madame Leola. Oh, Eldren. It’s terrible!”
“When we get to the house—.”
“Not the house. The moor. We must hurry. If we do not reach her soon, it will be too late.”
It felt as if her lungs would not expand to let her draw breath. Pain and fear mingled inside her, her muscles seizing with it and a sick feeling settling deep inside her. One thought kept spiraling through her mind, over and over again. What if they were too late?
The vision swimming in her mind, of Madame Leola collapsed on the ground, bleeding and pale, hammered at her senses. Her mind whirled with it even as her heart raced and the blood rushed in her veins. The rumbling sound of the carriage wheels seemed to grow louder inside her mind. The sensation of breathlessness increased. Her lungs burned and she could feel her vision dimming around the edge. Feeling smothered and confined, Adelaide reached for the closure of her jacket, tugging at the buttons and trying to free them.
Eldren moved across the expanse of the carriage and settled onto the seat beside her. His hands closed over hers, pushing them aside. He then gently freed the buttons for her. “Adelaide, my darling, you must breathe.”
“I can’t,” she gasped.
“You must,” he said. “I cannot find Madame Leola without you.”
That penetrated the haze. She looked up and met his gaze. Staring into his eyes for a moment helped to ease her panic. It allowed her to focus, to breathe in and out until her lungs no longer burned with it. “It’s the entrance closest to the house,” she said. “We have to get to her, Eldren. I fear she will die if we do not. She’s hurt and bleeding.”
“What happened to her, Adelaide?”
Adelaide shook her head. “I don’t know… But it wasn’t an accident. Someone harmed her intentionally. I can feel the violence of it. Anger and rage! It’s all there, flooding through me, along with Madame Leola’s pain and fear.”
His expression revealed his concern for her, but also his doubt. “Adelaide how has this talent manifested in you so suddenly?”
He thought she was mad. She could see it in his eyes. It stung, but at the same time, she understood. After all, she was questioning her own sanity as well. “I’m not delusional, Eldren. And this isn’t my talent. I think… I think what I’m feeling here is what Madame Leola is sending to me. It’s almost like a telegraph or a telephone.”
He stared at her for a moment before letting out a weary sigh. He rapped once more on the roof of the coach. “Stop at the northern gate to the moor!”
The driver offered up an ‘aye’ in response and nothing more was said.
Adelaide hugged her arms about herself, trying to stave off the chill that had settled over her. When at last the wheels of the coach began to slow and it was gently eased to the side of the lane, she didn’t even wait for Eldren. She simply opened the door and clambered down on her own. He followed suit.
Under normal circumstances, she would have hesitated before stepping onto the cursed land of the moor. But in the short time since her arrival,
Madame Leola had become her mentor, but she’d also become a friend. Those were in short supply for Adelaide.
No sooner had she crossed the boundary than she heard the infernal whispering. But she ignored it. As terrible as it was, the sight that greeted her was far worse. Madame Leola lay on her side, her body curled into an almost fetal position. The bright crimson of her gown concealed the blood she had shed, but Adelaide could smell it. Even over the damp, peaty earth, the scent assailed her.
* * *
Eldren crossed the stone boundary of the moor for the first time in a decade. He despised the land. What it stood for, what he felt whenever he was near it—it was cursed. But as he passed Adelaide, he saw the frail figure of Madame Leola curled on her side. She looked like a broken doll, he thought.
“Christ almighty,” he mumbled as he surged forward and dropped to his knees next to her. With trepidation, he placed one hand against the pale skin of her throat. The thrum of her pulse was present, but far too weak. Carefully, he lifted her into his arms and climbed to his feet.
“It’s quicker to cut across than to climb back in the carriage and follow the lane,” Adelaide said.
Eldren eyed the expanse of the moor. It was maybe a hundred yards to the east gate. Exiting the north gate, climbing back into the coach and following the road, would be half a mile. A simple glance at Madame Leola’s pale face told the truth of it. They had no time to waste.
“Run ahead,” he instructed. “I’ll be slower carrying her. Have footmen ready to take her up the stairs and send one for the doctor. Tromley will take care of everything else.”
Adelaide nodded and then took off. She ran as hard and fast as she could, hampered by the damp ground and her skirts.
Holding the other woman to his chest, Eldren set out for the line of fence that faced Cysgod Lys. And he braced himself for the onslaught. Every step he took, he was hammered at. Voices, whispers, fleeting shadows. The moor was as haunted a place as had ever existed. Even his incredible powers of denial could not withstand the battering.
The Victorian Gothic Collection: Volumes 1-3 Page 24
