Isabella's Heiress

by N. P. Griffiths

  “He is just a simple fool and nothing more, let his words wash over you.”

  Emma had stayed silent all this time, choosing to let Taryn ask the questions she was asking herself. She watched as the man disappeared from view between the overhanging stories of two houses.

  “Come, Emma. Father Eamon tells me that you must work on your telepathy. Put this to the back of your mind.”

  They walked on, crossing into Eastcheap where they found themselves in the shadow of St Pauls, and carried on into Candlewick Street. The cathedral loomed larger on the near horizon, its spires and towers rising over everything around it with the twilight placing it in a near-perfect silhouette. It threatened and becalmed in equal measure and whatever you thought of it, it was impossible to ignore.

  Emma was mesmerised by its size and found it hard to concentrate on anything else. Sister Ignacia stopped and turned to them. She was standing by a large stone in the middle of the street set on a plinth. Emma walked up and took a closer look at it, running her hands along its smooth edges whilst taking in the nicks and cuts in its sides.

  “What is this?”

  “It is the London Stone. It has sat here for hundreds of years and was used by the Romans as the starting point from which to measure all the distances in England.”

  “What use is it to us?”

  Taryn groaned as Emma asked this.

  A familiar glint and smile crept across Sister Ignacia’s face. “You are going to lift it with your mind.”

  Emma looked at Sister Ignacia and Taryn and then looked back at the stone. It must have weighed a ton and, judging from the amount of dust and dirt on it, didn’t look like it had been moved from its plinth in centuries.

  Sister Ignacia looked over to where Taryn was standing, “Taryn, you can go first.”

  “Oh great, lucky me. I get to be the first one of the day to give themselves a migraine.”

  “Come now, Taryn, you nearly did it the other time.”

  “Yeah, I still say that was a sudden gust of wind that rocked it.”

  Emma suppressed a giggle as Taryn started to stare at the large heavy stone. She waited expectantly for something to happen but the only thing that changed was the colour of Taryn face, which went from a light pink to a deep puce.

  “Taryn, it helps if you breathe.”

  Sister Ignacia’s advice came just at the moment that Taryn blurted out what little air she had left and sucked in as much as she could to make up for depriving her lungs for the previous thirty seconds.

  The stone sat there impassively, completely unmoved by Taryn’s attempts.

  “Emma, why don’t you have a go?”

  Father Eamon had taken Emma through the basics of telepathy a few days earlier and she had moved some pebbles a couple of inches but this was something completely different. How am I supposed to move this? She thought.

  She stared at it and tried to regulate her breathing as he had told her but such was the concentration needed that it was impossible to do both. Eventually she stopped, gasping heavily until her breathing went back to normal.

  “That’s good Emma! You were just starting to affect it!”

  Emma was confused; it didn’t look to have moved at all. She looked at Taryn who responded with a shrug.

  “It doesn’t look like I’ve affected it.”

  “Really? Come take a closer look.”

  They walked over to the plinth and gathered around the stone. Where there had been an unbroken layer of dirt covering it when they arrived, it now had a shallow scraping on the plinth where the stone had been moved back. It was only a matter of a few inches but it was definitely there and it hadn’t been before Emma had tried to move it.

  Emma’s heart lifted as she saw the clear space between the dirt and the stone. She turned and headed back to where she had been standing ready for another try. She gathered her strength, determined to push it further.

  Clearing her thoughts, Emma set herself for another attempt at the stone. This time, she worked on her breathing first, trying to regulate it before she switched her attention to the stone.

  “Good, Emma, good. Now imagine the stone floating. Imagine it as a balloon, lighter than air.”

  Emma had a hard time imagining it as anything other than a very heavy stone and she had enough on her plate right now without trying to picture it as anything other than what it was. The old man was still playing on her mind. For everything Sister Ignacia said, he seemed so certain and it wasn’t just him or that first day out with Father Eamon and all the looks she had got since then. They couldn’t all be wrong could they? And what was it that woman had said about not having seen Father Eamon for years. Surely he had taken people like her there before, hadn’t he?

  A knot of frustration slowly started to twist in her stomach. She felt an anger rise at everything that was happening around her and a pulsating throb started above her left eye.

  “That is very impressive, Emma.”

  The words were from Sister Ignacia but seemed hesitant. As Emma looked up, she could see why. The stone was now almost a foot off of the plinth and was spinning rapidly in the air. A couple of guides who had come to train their initiates watched from the cover of a bakers first floor jetty, whilst Taryn was doing a passable impression of a French mime as she stood transfixed with her jaw wide open.

  As Emma looked up, the connection was lost and the stone dropped back onto the plinth with a thud that caused the ground to shake.

  “I, err I, that wasn’t me…was it?”

  “Of course it was! That was amazing for a second try!” Sister Ignacia was nearly bubbling over. “Now see if you can move it around the plinth.”

  “Do you mind if I try?” Taryn was standing just behind Emma and was also looking at the stone but her face betrayed a mixture of uncertainty and what for a moment looked to Emma to be envy.

  “Of course, Taryn, you try it. Forgive me, where are my manners.”

  Taryn followed Emma’s example and worked on her breathing, settling it into a slow rhythm before turning her thoughts to the stone. She tried to imagine it slowly moving back to its original position where it had been before Emma had moved it back with her first attempt. At first the stone seemed to rock slightly from side to side but after a while it was clear that it was going nowhere no matter how hard Taryn tried. To make matters worse, Emma could see the other initiates looking away as they tried to hide their embarrassment at watching Taryn’s increasingly desperate efforts. Eventually she gave up, turning away and letting out a yell of frustration.

  “It’s okay, Taryn, try again.” Emma tried to be supportive but she could sense the growing anger in her friend.

  “What’s the point, it’s only going to sit there like it always does.”

  “It’ll come eventually, it just takes practice.”

  Taryn turned and sent an accusing look Emma’s way. “Oh it just takes practice does it? It didn’t take much practice for you did it? Typical, it all comes so easy to you, even here!”

  Emma was left speechless by the verbal assault. All she could do was look at Taryn, who had stormed off down the street. Sister Ignacia was watching her as well. Her face was a mixture of concern and exasperation.

  “Emma, we should go, Taryn didn’t mean what she said. It is just frustrating for her when things don’t go according to plan.”

  Emma felt like saying that she didn’t have to make excuses for Taryn but decided not to bother.

  Father Eamon walked along the colonnaded marble corridors, towards the anti-chamber where his meeting was to take place. He had got a message saying that his presence was required urgently and given that his current role was that of guide that could only mean one thing.

  The call had come a lot sooner than he had thought and that concerned him. It was too soon for this, too soon to be putting Emma to the test. Never the less the call had come and here he was, about to find out what they had decided.

  “Father Eamon. It is good to see you.” />
  Father Eamon turned to see a woman appear from behind a column to his right. She was well over six foot with a deep tan and dirty-blond hair which dropped past her shoulders. A sleeveless white tunic with matching pleated skirt covered her taut frame as the gold braid that decorated the edges sparkled in the sunlight.

  “It is good to see you to, Odysseia. Tell me has anything changed since I was here last?”

  A knowing smile crept across the woman’s face.

  “I thought so. How goes it with you?”

  “As well as when you saw me last, we pray to the heavens and look to the earth.”

  “Aah.” Father Eamon smiled; it was an old saying that had never seemed to go out of fashion. “And you are guarding the tower today I take it?”

  The woman stepped away from the columns and came out into the corridor. In her right hand was a spear, which reached from the floor to her shoulder and in her left a perfectly circular shield. Both were made of burnished gold and both looked like they were aflame.

  “My company have been given that honour, yes.” She raised the spear up slightly and brought it back down hard. A sharp thud rang out and in response; more women came out of the shadows. All were dressed the same and all held a spear and shield at the ready.

  The closest to Odysseia came up to Father Eamon. Her ebony skin was immaculate and her rich, black hair curled down her back until it settled out in a cascade of ringlets.

  “So you are Father Eamon.”

  The woman’s stare seemed to pass through him, searching for something that he may be hiding. A lesser man would have turned away from the attention of women such as these but Father Eamon was no stranger to this and waited for her to satisfy herself that he came with no ill intentions.

  “I am, and you are?”

  “Forgive me, I am Lisimba. What brings you here today?”

  “I have been summoned for a meeting with Father Unwin.”

  “Yes we had been told that you would be coming. He is waiting for you in the contemplation room in the east wing.”

  Father Eamon thanked Lisimba and turned to Odysseia. “What is the mood of the council?”

  “Restless. They are waiting on your report.”

  This time it was Father Eamon’s turn to respond with a wry smile. “It’s nice to see that the councils business is only known amongst a tight circle.”

  “We guard the council night and day. It is inevitable that some information slips out.”

  “Well as long as it only slips to you.”

  “It would never get any further than that Father Eamon, you know that.” There was indignation in Odysseia’s voice at any implied criticism of her or her fellow guards.

  “Forgive me, I meant no disrespect. Of course I trust in the guard.”

  Odysseia’s posture relaxed a little at Father Eamon’s apology. “How is your initiate?”

  “She is well.”

  “Are the rumours true?”

  “Odysseia you surprise me. You have never been one to listen to unfounded speculation before.”

  “And I’m not now but this time they are…stronger than normal.”

  “Well put no stock in them. I cannot say more than that.”

  “If you say so, Father.”

  She raised her spear and once again hit the floor with a hefty thwack. The other guards stepped back and Father Eamon took this as his sign to pass.

  He reached the end of the passage to find a man waiting for him. He was short and dressed in the same black jumper and trousers but his demeanour was different. He took Father Eamon in, looking him up and down before issuing a cursory welcome.

  “Good of you to join us, Eamon. You do not honour us with your presence enough these days.”

  “My business keeps me away, Unwin, as you know, but I’m sure I will be back here soon enough.”

  The man snorted before guiding Father Eamon to a side door where they entered and sat.

  “The girl’s task has been set.”

  Father Eamon sat quietly for a few seconds watching the priest in front of him before responding.

  “This is unusually quick. She is only now adjusting to her surroundings.”

  “That is as may be but the task is set and she must be told.”

  “You need have no fear on that; I will tell her but tell me, why now?”

  “Why not? The council have met and a decision has been made. That is all you need to now.”

  Father Eamon decided not to push this. He knew that he wouldn’t get any more out of Father Unwin.

  “What is the task?”

  Father Unwin smiled.

  “She must deliver a letter she wrote to her father. It is one that was written some years ago and now resides in a dressing table drawer in her old bedroom.”

  “How long does she have for this.”

  “Six months give or take a few days.”

  Father Eamon was taken aback, but his face remained impassive. He would not allow Father Unwin to have the pleasure of seeing his reaction.

  “This is very little time in which to complete this.”

  “Her father is dying, he has not long to live. He must read or hear the contents of the letter before his last breath is passed for her to complete the test.”

  Father Eamon could feel his anger welling up inside him. This should have been as big a cause of concern for Father Unwin as it was for him, but for as long as he had known him he had been a weak man, bitter that other people were more able and intelligent than him.

  Father Unwin’s face showed a barely concealed pleasure at the situation he had just laid out. It didn’t appear to concern him that the loss of Emma may be a blow from which the Cordoban Council would not recover, just that he could see a chance of somebody failing and that seemed to matter more to him.

  Father Eamon got up to leave. He turned to the door and was opening it as Father Unwin got up behind him.

  “You will keep us informed, won’t you, Eamon?”

  “You will get my usual reports.” Father Eamon wanted nothing more than to get out of this mans presence as soon as possible.

  “I’m afraid you’re usual reports may not be…”

  A look from Father Eamon silenced the other priest. He walked out into the passage and away from the room, heading back out towards the guards.

  “You look troubled.”

  Odysseia was waiting for him at the end of the passage.

  “’Tis nothing. Things have a nasty habit of taking unforeseen turns. I must get back.”

  “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

  Father Eamon smiled, “Of course not. What is on your mind?”

  “These are strange days. For all you say about taking no heed of rumours, people talk.”

  “And what do they say?”

  “They say that one has come who maybe Isabella reborn. That she has returned to lead us.”

  “And you believe this?”

  “It is not the first time it has been said and I have been around long enough to have seen it disproved before but this time something is different. It would seem that we are not the only people interested in this girl.”

  Father Eamon nodded at Odysseia’s words. “There is interest in her from both sides, this much is true, but at the moment, we cannot say for sure whether she is the one or not.”

  They exited the corridor through two large, oak-panelled doors and came onto a platform overlooking a walled city shrouded in mist and clouds. Looking down, Father Eamon could see towers breaking through the soft white cover, their sides glistening as they were met by a combination of dazzling sunshine and clear air.

  “And if she is?”

  Odysseia fixed Father Eamon with her deep brown eyes, searching for his response.

  “Then things will start to become very interesting for all of us.”

  Odysseia smiled. “Yes, interesting indeed. I must go but I look forward to seeing you soon, Father Eamon. Hopefully you will have good news for us.”

&n
bsp; Odysseia stepped to the side of the platform and walked off, dropping down the vertiginous side. Father Eamon watched as she fell through the clouds only to appear moments later soaring gracefully up into the sky, a set of large white wings having grown out of her shoulder blades.

  He turned and walked down the steps that would take him first into the city and then back to Emma, his mind racing through the task ahead.

  Chapter Ten

  Street Lights and Street Trash

  Emma sat next to Father Eamon, all her earlier elation having evaporated on seeing the look on his face. She had arrived back half an hour earlier with an apologetic Taryn in tow who had promptly headed upstairs and left them alone.

  Father Eamon waited for Emma to settle herself before he spoke. “Emma, your task has been set.”

  Emma sat there stunned. She always knew that this moment would come but she thought that there would be some warning, that she would have time to prepare somehow.

  Father Eamon continued. “Do you remember writing a letter to your father? One, which you never gave him?”

  Emma felt the pit of her stomach drop. She knew the letter only too well. She had written it to her father to try to explain the events of that night when it had all gone so terribly wrong. The events had left a rift between them that had never been healed. They hadn’t spoken for years, with only her mother to act as an intermediary on the occasions when Emma had returned from university to make one of her many unsuccessful attempts at reconciliation. Her guilt had forced her to try time and time again even though there had been a building resentment to him over the fact that he had constantly rebuffed her.

  Finally Emma had written a letter that she had intended to pass on to her mother to give to him. At the last minute her courage had failed her so one afternoon when her parents were away on holiday, she had gone to the house and had let herself in. Hiding the letter in the top left drawer of her old dressing table, Emma had hoped that a time would come when she would be able to pass it on to her father but the schism between them just seemed to widen as time went on.