‘It’s only a poem,’ Iris said, dismissing it.
‘It’s only a story,’ said Thomas, nodding at the book. ‘Why should that be true and the poem false? If Merlin did go, if anyone did, they did not return. So how will we ever know what stands on the other side? The myths you are looking at cannot be based on any real knowledge. They are made up stories for children.’
‘Well, we shall see, shan’t we? The Banished Ones left marks in the Dark Forest for exiles to follow. Help me look. If we can’t find them, I will accept there is no path, no safe passage, no border, no lands south of the Dark Forest,’ she said.
Thomas looked concerned. He leant forward in his chair and grasped her hands. ‘Iris, this is your home. If the Dark Forest is the only way to get to where you want to go, you won’t ever make it.’
But Iris believed she would. She had one year, time enough to find the passage. And, when she found it, she would follow it to The Misty Veil, she would cross the border, she would find the Banished Ones and be reborn into a world without Lucian. She smiled to herself at the thought.
‘I’m going to bed,’ Thomas said, looking solemn as he rose from his chair and walked away.
‘Goodnight,’ said Iris.
When he had disappeared through the doorway, she shook her head, pitying him.
‘You’ll see,’ she whispered.
The castle was crawling with people the following day, as final preparations were made for the Vandemere visit. The Vandemere house colours were on display in every room and every corridor. Flowers, banners and tapestries were turned silver and black to welcome the family.
The dressmaker had created a purple gown for Iris and sewn a patch of silver and black cloth to the inside so that it rested over her heart. Iris resented it far less than she might have, now that she knew there wouldn’t be a wedding. She would be far away from the realm before her sixteenth birthday. She had already begun to think about the note she would leave behind for her father and where she would hide it. The underside of the Witchwood chair seemed a good place. By the time he found it, she would probably have passed through The Misty Veil.
She descended the staircase to the entrance hall and went outside to wait in the courtyard. Thomas was already out there. She walked over to him, letting her new dress trail through the brown puddles. When she reached him, she smiled secretively. He blanched and leaned in towards her.
‘What are you going to do?’ he said.
‘Nothing,’ she said, still smiling.
‘Iris!’ called their father from the castle steps. ‘Come and stand here,’ he said, pointing to the space next to him. He, too, was wearing new garments. A rich purple cloak hung over his shoulders and pooled around his black boots. A Silver Tree had been stitched into the dark fabric of his tunic; the silver threads glinted as he turned to her. He looked very formal, and rather uncomfortable. She scowled and walked towards him.
As she climbed the steps, her mother emerged from the castle with Lucian, who sniggered when he saw her. He looked her up and down, slowly and deliberately, before moving to stand on the other side of their father. Iris gritted her teeth, reminding herself that she wouldn’t have to endure any of them for much longer.
When the Vandemeres arrived, it was without spectacle. They rode in on horseback, Eric and his wife, Cecilly, at the front, followed by Gregory Vandemere and his younger brother, Edward, and their little sister, Angelina. They brought two servants with them, who rode alongside Angelina to keep her from falling off her horse.
Gregory was a serious-looking boy of Lucian’s age, perhaps older. He dismounted quickly and approached them with his father, eyes fixed on Iris, who felt her cheeks burning and looked at the ground.
Eric Vandemere was short and stout, his hairline fast receding. He climbed the steps with the laboured breathing of a man who had spent too many years drinking and feasting. Gregory looked nothing like him; he was tall and dark-haired, like his mother and siblings. He strode up the stairs beside his father and they bowed and clasped Matthew’s outstretched arm in turn. Then, while Eric exchanged pleasantries with Josephine, Gregory came to stand before Iris. He smelled of wood smoke, a result of many days on the road. She glanced up at him as he took her hand and kissed it firmly. His eyes stayed on hers.
‘It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Iris,’ he said.
Iris did not like her name on his lips. Something about Gregory and the way he looked at her made her feel ill-at-ease.
They dined in the Great Hall that evening. Iris was seated between Gregory and his brother Edward, whose tireless attempts to make her laugh with boyish humour left her irritated and exhausted. Edward was a buffoon. Gregory was only marginally more tolerable because he hardly spoke. But he stared. Longing, sideways stares that made her want to shrink into her own skin.
Lucian, Matthew and Eric Vandemere leaned in together to talk at the adjacent table. Lucian looked over at Iris and Gregory frequently throughout their conversation. This put Iris off her food. Something was brewing. Matthew was nodding. Eric and Lucian were smiling. Then Matthew clapped a hand on each of their backs and rose to his feet.
‘I have an announcement!’ he declared. The room fell silent. The knots in Iris’s stomach began to twist. She caught Thomas’s eye across the room; he looked troubled. ‘My beautiful Iris and young Gregory here are due to marry next year in the spring. But, having met this fine, wise young man and seeing with my own eyes the connection he shares with my daughter, I have decided to bring the wedding forward. So, friends, guests, there will be a summer wedding. This year!’ He picked up his goblet and raised it above his head. The room erupted with cheers. The musicians chimed in with their instruments, playing jolly songs and flitting about the room like dancing fairies.
Iris was deathly still. Toasts were made in her honour and men and women approached her table to offer their congratulations. Gregory shook their hands and clanged his goblet against theirs. But Iris made not a sound, moved not a muscle. And no one noticed.
She escaped the hall before the dancing commenced and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her father was waiting for her behind a pillar at the top of the steps. She turned away as soon as she saw him but he rushed towards her and turned her back to face him.
‘Iris! Iris, I have my reasons. I didn’t want to do that back there. When you’re old enough to understand, I’ll explain why,’ he said. He looked as though he had aged ten years in a day.
‘If I’m not old enough to understand, I’m not old enough to marry,’ she said, her eyes glistening with tears.
‘Oh, Iris,’ he said, pulling her close and resting his chin on her head. ‘I’m sorry. It is a curse to rule.’
In the morning, as Iris made her way across the entrance hall towards the castle doors, she jumped with fright as Gregory came out of the shadows, where he had been lurking. He took her hand.
‘I missed you last night. I had hoped we might dance. But perhaps it is best to save it for our wedding day,’ he said, standing rather too close.
She noticed how slimy his bottom lip looked, and that there were stray, dark hairs between his eyebrows. And she thought suddenly of Alexander. He was more handsome than Gregory. He didn’t repulse her. Her heart began to flutter as she thought of him.
‘May I escort you to breakfast?’ asked Gregory.
‘Uh, no, I’m sorry. Would you tell my father I’ve gone back to bed? I’m feeling out of sorts,’ she said, pulling her hand free. Gregory looked concerned. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night.’
‘I will tell him. Rest, my sweet,’ he said.
She listened as he went into the dining hall and announced that she would not be joining them for breakfast.
‘Where is she?’ said Lucian. He sounded suspicious.
Iris left the castle quickly.
*
Alexander set out early that morning with Vrax and Tobias. Fabian had instructed them to walk through the Dark Forest to the Mortenstone border and r
eport back on what they found.
‘When you get close, split up. In case,’ he had said. His parting words made for a tense journey. They were familiar with the forest, up to a point. Beyond that point, they knew not what traps the Mortenstones had laid. Fabian said they were evil and cunning, so the three of them would likely face a number of dangers.
Indeed, Alexander knew just how cunning they could be. Iris Mortenstone had tricked him, made him doubt himself and his family, with just a smile and pretend tears. He would never tell his brothers of his error, and he would not make it again. He tramped through the forest, setting his jaw against his anger. They were close now.
When they came to the Hang Man, a mighty oak with limbs that stretched low across the forest, Vrax held out his arm. They stopped and looked at each other. The Hang Man marked the furthest point any of them had ever ventured. An old, frayed noose dangled ominously from one of its branches. No bodies swung from it today, though several skulls littered the ground at the base of the trunk.
Alexander crouched and scanned the surroundings. Then, he picked up a stick and threw it as far as he could. It whistled through the air and landed with a dull thud. Nothing happened. Silence. Everything still.
Vrax looked at him and gave a small nod before lifting his leg to take a single step. Twigs snapped as his foot crunched down but no trap sprang.
They pushed on.
*
Thomas watched Iris steal away down Stone Lane from the window of his bedchamber. He had been afraid this would happen and hoping all night that it wouldn’t. He didn’t want to get her into trouble, but if it would save her life – for she would surely die in the Dark Forest – he had no choice but to tell their father.
As he prepared to leave, he noticed something in the corner of his vision that made him return to the window. Lucian was skulking off down the lane. Telling on Iris was one thing, but getting Lucian into trouble was a different matter, for he would never forget it, and he would have his revenge. Thomas’s heart sank as he realised he could not go to his father. He would have to face the problem on his own.
He left his chamber for the place he had promised never to go, dreading what he would find there.
*
Iris tried to think like an exile. If she had been stripped of magic and forced into the Dark Forest with nothing but the clothes on her back, how would she leave behind a mark? She walked a little way, keeping the Grassland in sight, and circled every tree she passed several times, inspecting it for clues. She grew frustrated when she couldn’t remember which she had checked and which she hadn’t. But her irritation quickly subsided when she heard footsteps nearby, slow and cautious. She froze, listening. The footsteps stopped.
Suddenly, a hand came down over her mouth. She screamed, but the sound was stifled. Alexander hauled her back against a tree, his hand pressed tight against her lips.
‘I know who you are,’ he whispered into her ear.
She tried to pry his hand away but he was too strong. It took all the effort she could muster to open her mouth wide enough to bite him. He released her instantly, cursing, calling her foul names.
She staggered away, but he came after her again, grabbing her by the waist and swinging her into a tree. She smacked against the trunk with a winded gasp. Alexander pulled her round to face him and held a cold knife to her throat.
‘If you scream…’
‘You wouldn’t!’ she said. Alexander pushed the knife into her throat, but when she began to choke he quickly pulled the blade back.
Iris looked into his eyes. She could see anger in them, hatred even, and something else… And it was that something that made her sure he would not harm her. Heart pounding, knees trembling, she seized his face and kissed him. He tensed up at once. But then he dropped the knife, pulled her into an embrace and kissed her back.
‘Mordark scum!’ came a shrill cry.
Iris drew back. When she saw Lucian running towards them with a dagger in hand, she screamed. His face was puce with fury. His eyes blazed. Alexander spun around and shoved her out of the way as Lucian lunged with the knife. Alexander ducked. Lucian drove the blade deep into the decaying bark of the tree behind him. The knife remained lodged in the bark and, while he struggled to pull it free, Alexander fumbled for his own knife in the dirt. Grasping it, he stood and kicked Lucian hard in the stomach, knocking him to the ground. Then he threw himself down on top of him and prepared to plunge his knife into Lucian’s chest.
‘Gut him! GUT HIM!’ Vrax shouted, rushing out of the shadows.
‘No!’ Iris shrieked, crawling across the ground and grasping Alexander’s shoulder. As he tried to shake her off, Lucian surged up and headbutted him and he fell backwards onto her.
Tobias appeared then, reaching them at the same time as Vrax. Together, they dragged Lucian to his feet and held on to his arms.
‘Mordark scum!’ Lucian shouted, writhing in their grasp as Alexander stumbled towards him with his knife.
‘No! Stop! He’s my brother! He’s my brother! Please!’ Iris screamed.
Suddenly, Thomas came hurtling out of the darkness and collided with Tobias. Both of them went crashing down to the ground.
Lucian punched Vrax in the side of the head, sending him sprawling.
‘Run, Lucian!’ Iris shouted. He took off without looking back.
Thomas scrambled to his feet. Tobias reached out to grab his ankle but Iris stamped on his hand.
‘Iris!’ Thomas cried as he, too, started to run.
She hurried after him, towards the Grassland, while Alexander and his brothers retreated.
7. THE DEAD SPELL
‘MORDARKS! MORDARKS!’ Lucian cried from the end of Stone Lane. ‘Raise the alarm! Mordarks! Mordarks at the border!’ he shouted, waving his arms at the guards in the tower.
The lane began to fill as people emerged from shops and side streets, drawn to the noise. Heads ducked out from under market stall canopies, and out of windows in the houses along the lane. The townsfolk stared at Lucian in bemusement. But when the bells of Mortenstone Castle started to ring, the confusion turned to panic. People began to scream as the name spread through the crowd.
Lucian ran for the castle, shouting as he went. ‘Mordarks! Mordarks!’
Suddenly, he found himself caught up in a wave of frenzied townsfolk, all pressing towards the castle. He fought his way through, kicking, elbowing people aside, grabbing them by the hair to pull himself forwards. As he came to the front of the throng, he saw a troop of armed guards ahead, pouring out from the castle gates. Matthew Mortenstone was with them. When Lucian saw him in the distance, he pointed in the direction of the forest.
‘Mordarks! I told you they’d come! I TOLD YOU!’ he shrieked.
Matthew looked at him, seeming not to recognise him, but then his blue eyes widened. The moment stretched on. Lucian stared back at him, running as fast as he could, hearing only the rumble of feet, seeing only his father’s eyes, growing wider, wider as the bells rang and the people came barrelling towards him. But it could only have lasted half a heartbeat. And then the crowd engulfed Lucian and his father disappeared from view.
*
Matthew and his men battled to create a pathway through the terrified townsfolk. They finally broke free at the end of Stone Lane. And that’s when he saw them, running desperately across the Grassland. Iris and Thomas. He almost fell to his knees. What were they doing here? What had happened? The bells were ringing furiously. He ran towards his children, his panic rising with each toll.
‘Are you hurt?’ he said, grasping them and feverishly checking for any sign of injury.
‘No,’ Iris panted. Her face was as white as death.
The guards ran on towards the Dark Forest, drawing their swords. There was no time to waste, no time to fret.
‘Get back to the castle!’ Matthew said, pushing them both away from him and turning for the forest.
His silver breastplate rattled as he ran. His boots thumped against
the hard ground. Blood thundered in his ears. He could see his men ahead, slowing before the border, lifting their shields. He ran through them with his hand raised, ordering them to stop. Then, he looked back over both shoulders. They were all staring past him, peering over their shields into the shadows, fear in their eyes. Pressing a finger to his lips, he signalled for them to advance. As he took the first step, an icy wind hissed through the trees. He held his nerve and resisted a shudder.
They slipped into silence, beyond the reach of the bells and the sounds of the city, the shouting, the screams, the panic. They moved through the darkness, seventy men as cautious as deer. When a twig snapped, they stopped and surveyed their surroundings, until Matthew waved them on.
The further they ventured, the more ragged their breathing became, the fiercer their hearts began to beat. Moving deeper. Consumed by shadows.
The city was in chaos that afternoon as townspeople demanded answers, exchanged stories and watched the guards moving back and forth between the castle and the border.
Matthew had returned from the forest. He stood on a platform in the middle of the square, trying to calm people with words of reassurance. But his voice was inaudible over the cacophony of questions, wails and prayers to the White Witch. Eventually, he gave up on soothing them.
The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1) Page 6
