‘Silence!’ he shouted. The crowd fell quiet at once. ‘Do your memories fail you? You have no reason to fear. Merlin’s spell protects us. Mordarks cannot cross into our lands, unless they wish to live out their days here slithering in the grass. You are not in danger!’ he said, looking around at them all. ‘The ancient spell of Merlin the Good remains strong!’
‘But why are they at the border?’ murmured an old, blind woman.
‘They are not at the border! We have searched and found nothing but simple thieves, mistaken for Mordarks. You are all safe.’
‘But what if…?’ someone began to say, before abandoning their question.
‘What if?’ Matthew said, searching for the one who had spoken. ‘What if we see a vile snake slipping through the grass?’ he said, stepping down off the platform, his eyes flashing excitedly. ‘Then we will rip out its guts and tear off its head!’
He left the square to an explosion of bloodthirsty cheers, his head held high, his face unflinching. But his façade disintegrated the moment he entered he castle.
‘Where are the children?’ he said angrily. When they materialised before him on the staircase, he flinched. ‘What have I told you about just appearing out of nowhere? It’s the height of bad manners! Don’t do it again! Now, come with me!’
They went with him to the Great Hall, followed by six council members and a dozen guards.
*
Iris was badly shaken. Every time she shut her eyes, she saw them, restraining Lucian while Alexander staggered towards him with the knife. The memory of her helplessness stung her like venom. They would have murdered him. And all because of her. She had very nearly led her brother to his death.
Josephine was waiting for them in the hall. For the first time in her life, Iris saw that her mother was nervous. She wrung her hands over and over again until the doors closed. Then, she rushed to Lucian.
‘Was it them? How many? How can you be sure?’ she said, grasping his arms. ‘What were you doing there?’
Lucian looked at Iris and her stomach dropped. He had seen her with Alexander. But, strangely, he said nothing. His whole body was trembling.
‘It was them,’ Matthew said, pacing over to the round table and sitting down heavily. ‘The Mordark brothers. We caught up to them in the forest, not far from the border. I had an altercation with one, but he got away. There’s no mistaking those eyes, though.’ He looked at his children then. ‘I don’t want to know what the three of you were doing in the Dark Forest, but you will not go there again. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, father,’ they mumbled.
‘Please go. All of you. I want to speak with Saskian alone.’
Iris felt a fresh swell of panic as she left the Great Hall. Which brother had her father fought? Was it Alexander? Had he hurt him? She slipped behind a pillar as the others walked away, crossed her hands over her chest and thought of the hidden passageway, picturing it clearly in her mind. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in darkness. She stumbled forwards, running her hands along the walls of the narrow passage, towards the door at the end. She opened it a sliver, enough to hear.
‘…Is there another spell that can be cast?’ Saskian spoke in a low, hushed tone. His words drifted into the passage, a dying echo. Iris pushed the door open a little further.
‘It was a big spell. Some say it was the spell that killed him. It took all he had. I don’t know if I have enough in me,’ said Matthew.
‘But, Matthew, you are Merlin’s direct descendant. His power flows through you.’
‘Some of it, yes.’ There was a pause. ‘I’m not as powerful as he was.’
‘Then…what will we do?’
‘I’m not sure. I don’t know how much time we have. At the moment, they have no reason to believe the spell is broken. But those Mordark boys were close today, too close.’ Matthew sounded agitated. ‘It’s as if they sense it. They’re circling in, waiting for us to grow weak before they strike. Without that spell, they will come. Without it, we can’t stop them.’
‘And we can’t ignore the disappearances,’ said Saskian. ‘The numbers have been rising steadily for months now. It begs the question, are they interrogating them? Recruiting them?’
‘I don’t know.’ Matthew’s voice was muffled as he covered his face with his hand. ‘But Iris’s marriage to the Vandemere boy couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ll need a large army.’ He sighed and there was a long silence. Finally, he said, ‘Tell Wingworth to recall the guards. I don’t want them stationed at the border—’
‘But, my Lord!’
‘It will look suspicious. We must carry on as normal.’
‘Very well,’ said Saskian. ‘But there is only so much longer we can go on pretending. The forest is dying, Matthew. And, I can assure you, it will fall.’
8. THE PROPHECY
Alexander and his brothers stood before Fabian. None of them dared meet his eye. Tobias’s nose was broken and his face was covered in dirt and dried blood. Vrax was bleeding from his ear and Alexander’s eye was blackened from his clash with Matthew Mortenstone.
Fabian observed them in silence from his chair. The longer the silence went on, the more uncomfortable Alexander became. Fabian tore off a hangnail with his teeth and spat it to the ground. Then, he looked up to the ceiling as if searching for the words he wanted to say. Suddenly, he smiled.
‘Tell me everything,’ he said.
‘We got as far as the border. No traps have been laid,’ said Vrax.
‘No traps? Oh,’ said Fabian, looking surprised. ‘Then how did you come to be so bloody?’ This time, when he smiled, it looked as if it pained him. ‘Do tell,’ he said, nodding eagerly. Too eagerly.
Vrax glanced at Alexander and cleared his throat. ‘We came across the Mortenstones.’
Fabian looked up at the ceiling again. The corners of his mouth quivered.
‘Three of them, in the forest,’ Vrax continued. ‘Two boys and a girl…and then Matthew Mortenstone and his men.’
Fabian curled his fists around the spikes on his chair. ‘Did they know who you were?’ he said, still gazing up.
‘Yes,’ said Vrax.
‘And who did that to your face? The guards? Or the Mortenstone children?’
Vrax didn’t answer.
‘HOW could you let them do this to you?’ Fabian shouted, lurching from his seat, the veins in his neck bulging. ‘You come to me, drenched in your own blood, meek as mice! I raised wolves!’ he bellowed, beating his fist against Vrax’s chest. ‘I sent you to spy, to bring back information.’ He pointed a long, pale finger at Alexander. ‘I did not send you to attack the Mortenstones, to make yourselves known, to bring war to our doorstep when we aren’t ready for it! You’ve exposed our intentions! You’ve exposed our weakness! Get out of my sight, or I’ll throw you all into the Worgrim pit and be done with it!’
From the corridor outside the hall, they heard Fabian shriek with rage.
‘Do you think they’ll come?’ Vrax said.
Alexander shook his head. ‘No.’
Tobias grabbed a tuft of his own hair and pulled it, pacing up and down. ‘We aren’t prepared,’ he said anxiously. ‘If they do come…’
‘It won’t be our fault. Father sent us. He knew the risks,’ Alexander said.
‘It doesn’t matter whose fault it is. If they come, we’re all dead,’ said Vrax.
Alexander didn’t care if they did invade. He didn’t care if they tore down the castle, if they killed his father, even. Whatever happened, whether he died tomorrow or lived for another ten years, one thing was certain - he would never see Iris again. She would never return to the Dark Forest now. It was all over, whatever it had been. And that thought made his heart unbearably heavy.
When he arrived at Agatha’s house that evening, he slumped against the wall, not bothering to knock. Agatha opened the door at once, stepped outside with her hands on her hips and then sighed loudly and went back into the house. She returned with a
wet cloth moments later. William followed, carrying a bowl of water.
‘What happened this time?’ she said, bending to wipe the blood from his chin.
‘Father sent us to the border this morning and we were seen.’
‘Who did this to you?’
‘Matthew Mortenstone.’
Agatha stopped mid-dab and lowered the cloth. ‘Matthew Mortenstone? He came into the forest?’ she said, looking around uneasily. Alexander nodded. Agatha dropped the cloth into the bowl and stared up at the trees. ‘Why would he do that?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Alexander.
‘Hmm.’ She seemed distracted. Alexander watched her closely. ‘Do you feel it?’ she said, turning to look over her shoulder.
‘Feel what?’
‘There’s a change coming, boy. The birds are unsettled. The rabbits stay in their burrows in spring. The forest knows.’ Agatha looked around suspiciously. ‘Mortenstones in the Dark Forest…’ she went on, shaking her head.
‘It won’t happen again. She won’t come here anymore, not after this morning.’
‘But her father might,’ Agatha said. ‘Mortenstone filth.’ She spat at the ground. ‘He’s the one to worry about. He could march through this forest with five thousand men.’
‘He could… But why would he? There’s nothing to gain on the other side.’
‘Maybe so,’ she said. ‘But if it’s revenge he’s after, then there’s everything to gain.’
After a long silence, Agatha sighed and got to her feet, using the doorframe to steady herself.
‘It’s getting dark now, boy.’
‘I’ll stay here a while,’ Alexander said, resting his head against the wall.
‘There’s still a bed for you here if you want it,’ she said, steering William back into the house and closing the door.
Alexander listened to them climb the rickety staircase. He heard the bed creak as William climbed into it, and Agatha’s low, gravelly voice as she told him a bedtime story. When she left William’s room and went to her own, Alexander felt the house grumble with each heavy step across the floorboards.
When all was quiet again, he looked out into the gathering darkness. The Silver Tree on the other side of the path groaned in the wind. Its aged branches looked tired, its bark duller than it had once been. He stared at it for a moment and then closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
*
Iris was woken early in the morning by her father.
‘Put on your cloak. Your lesson is outside today, in the Wild Garden.’ He spoke gruffly and she could tell by the look on his face that he was still furious about what had happened the previous day.
‘Father–’
‘Be quick about it. Master Hagworth is waiting for you in the entrance hall,’ he said, turning and leaving the room.
Iris could hear the commotion in the streets below from her window, as guards marched back and forth between the castle and the Grassland and townspeople grew as agitated as they had done the day before.
Suddenly, her father came striding back into the room. He looked at her sternly and then lowered his gaze.
‘I am very disappointed in you,’ he said. ‘Your brothers almost died trying to save you yesterday. And I almost lost three children. I hope you didn’t do it to punish me. I deserve a lot of things, Iris, but not that.’ He paused, shaking his head. Iris felt too ashamed to look at him. ‘I know you won’t disappoint me again,’ he said, finally. And with that, he quietly walked out of the room, leaving her to wallow in her guilt. The fire crackled and spat in the hearth, but its warmth did not reach her.
Down in the entrance hall, Master Hagworth stood with his hands clasped together behind his back, an impatient look on his face. He was wearing a bulky black cloak and long, mud-spattered travelling boots. Lucian, Eve and Thomas were waiting beside him in their deep-purple hunting cloaks. Lucian looked at Iris sourly as she came down the stairs.
‘At last!’ Master Hagworth said with a hint of annoyance. ‘Hurry, Iris, we’ve a walk yet to the Wild Garden – and this lesson will begin on the hour.’ He stared at her over his hooked nose reproachfully as she came to a standstill in front of him. Iris tried to look apologetic, but with Lucian in her periphery, eyes glistening with hatred, all she could do was grit her teeth and force her lips into a hard line.
The Wild Garden stood on the edge of the castle grounds. To get to it, they walked for a mile through neat lawns filled with flowers and old stone statues, across a curved bridge, which hung over a vast, steaming natural pool, and a through small woodland.
As soon as they passed out of the woodland, Master Hagworth began to root around in the inside pocket of his cloak. There was a jangling sound and then he pulled out a set of ancient keys. He selected the longest, largest key and held onto it firmly. Up ahead, Iris could just make out the entrance to the Wild Garden. The wall seemed like a great, ominous shadow in the fog that enveloped it. She could see the barred gate but nothing beyond, except whiteness.
The Wild Garden was a place over which two winds met; the warm wind from the west and the icy east wind that blew in from the Dark Lands. And so the garden was shrouded in a thick, eternal fog.
Master Hagworth stuck the key into the keyhole and jiggled it until it unlocked with a loud click. Then he planted his feet and pushed the gate open with a huff of exertion.
‘Come on,’ he said, ushering all four of them inside and closing the gate again.
The cold bit through Iris’s heavy cloak and she shivered. It had been years since she had set foot in the Wild Garden; she had forgotten how the cold here chilled even the blood. In the castle, adding logs to the fire could take the edge off a draft. Here, the cold was different. Here, even a thousand furs would not keep the bones from shuddering.
The cloud of fog that hung over the garden was descending slowly, curling around the trees and hugging the uneven ground. Master Hagworth marched forwards, leading them down a bumpy slope, made perilous by the wet grass and stones that came loose from the earth and fell away at the lightest touch. Lucian cursed furiously under his breath every time he slipped or stumbled.
‘Why are we here?’ he protested angrily after he’d fallen for the sixth time. His cloak was filthy, his hands red from clutching sharp rocks every time he lost his footing.
‘Quiet!’ Master Hagworth said. But, not long after, when they had descended the slope, he stopped and turned to face them. ‘We have exactly one hour of good visibility, so let us begin.’ They looked at him as if he had gone mad; the Silver Tree, standing less than ten feet away, was but a shapeless, murky shadow. ‘Today, you are going to learn about the music of trees,’ Master Hagworth continued. ‘And who better to teach you than—’
Eve cried out as a man materialised in front of them. He was tall and slender with short, curly black hair and lively purple eyes. His face twitched slightly when he blinked – and he blinked so frequently, it was all Iris could pay attention to. His ears were large and pointed and his head snapped this way and that as he angled the ears towards the many different noises that came to them in the Wild Garden. Iris found herself imitating the elf. Tilting her head to one side, she listened to the whistling of the wind and the distant caw of a crow. The elf’s bright eyes darted between them all. He smiled a wide smile, bearing small, white teeth, and gave a bow. Master Hagworth looked at him disapprovingly.
‘Bink,’ the elf said, in a voice as soft as his young face. ‘I am Bink.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Master Hagworth said irritably. ‘As I was saying, elves have an ear for music, so, naturally, they make rather good music teachers,’ he said. ‘Your father believes you will take a lot of useful information away from this lesson. Music was, after all, one of Merlin’s great loves and this garden his place of refuge. Soak it in. It is just as much a lesson in history. I shall leave them in your hands, Bink,’ he said, nodding to the elf. ‘If you need me, I shall be over there by the Silver Tree.’
When Master Hagworth
left them, Bink’s eyes narrowed and he regarded each of them carefully.
‘Close your eyes. Tell me what you hear,’ he said. They closed their eyes.
‘Wind?’ Thomas said.
‘Wind. Yes,’ said Bink. ‘What else?’
‘Birds,’ said Iris. Bink concurred and then fell quiet again. Iris opened her eyes. The elf was staring at her expectantly. She glanced at her siblings. Thomas and Eve had their eyes closed still; their faces were scrunched up as they strained to hear. Lucian was looking at Bink sullenly and shrugging, in no mood to continue the task. Then, he frowned, at the same time Iris heard something…else.
Bink looked from one to the other excitedly.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘There’s a…creaking sound,’ Iris said. It was distant, but it was there. A deep groan, like an arrow being stretched taut against a bow, and then silence. She had heard the sound before. Bink nodded slowly, looking pleased.
‘Yes, Iris. That is tree music.’
‘Tree music?’ Lucian said incredulously. ‘That’s not music. It’s nothing but groaning.’
‘Maybe to you. I think it’s beautiful.,’ Bink said. Lucian stared at him with distaste. ‘Every tree has a story, you see. When they sing, they are telling us that story. You have not yet learned to interpret their language. Where you hear creaking, I hear much, much more. Although, I must say, it is a little easier for us elves. We are born with the understanding. But it is possible to learn. Merlin learned. Your grandfather, Rambulus, learned. I taught him, in fact.’
‘You?’ Iris exclaimed. ‘But you’re…’
Bink smiled.
‘Too young?’ he offered. ‘I am ninety-six years old, which is young for an elf, but old to you, I should think.’
Iris gawked at him. Her father’s advisor, Saskian, was an elf, but he looked old and withered. She couldn’t begin to imagine how old he might be.
Bink looked surprised. ‘You did not know this about elves?’ he said.
‘I did,’ Lucian said. ‘Iris never listens. We’ve had countless lessons on elves with Master Hagworth.’
The White Witch (The Serpent and The Sorcerer Trilogy Book 1) Page 7
