“Margaron.” Dilys was in a panic. “The poor sweet one. She’s strong, but she won’t stand up to it, Malacai. Margaron will have it in for her. She’s a threat, she is. I should have cautioned you.”
Cai took hold of her shoulders. “Stop it! Listen to me. Where is she, Dilys? Where is Margaron? No more games. You tell me and tell me now!”
“Ye canno’ get to her. No’ without the Pearl.”
Cai shook her even harder, losing his control by the moment. She couldn’t do to Jordy what she’d done to—No. He shut that down completely. It would destroy whatever chance he had to save her. “No more talk of Pearls and magic, Dilys. This is life and death. Jordy’s. Do you hear me? If anything happens to her—Goddammit, tell me where Margaron is.”
Cai’s fury seemed to snap Dilys out of her panic. She wrested her arms from his grasp, her expression now every bit as fierce as his own. “She’s in the ruins. Ye’ve been there. Did ye see her? She saw you. Ye tell me how to get to where she is, if not with magic?”
Cai pushed past Dilys and ran down the hallway. If Margaron were anywhere on the godforsaken mountain he would find her.
Dilys shouted, “If ye go off now, she will surely be lost. Margaron wants the Dark Pearl. It is yer bargaining power for getting Jordalyn back.”
Feeling the cold sweat trickle down his neck, he turned back to her. “Where is it? Get it and let’s go. You can give me instructions on the way.”
“It’s no’ that simple.”
“It is now,” Cai stated. “I’ll be in the car.”
Dilys stood in the hallway.
Cai took the stairs to the foyer, grabbed the keys off the table, and went to the door. It didn’t open. He yanked, checked the lock, swore, pulled again, then stormed to the rear of the house through the kitchen. No door. By the time he reached the foyer, his fury was complete.
“Dilys!” The roar echoed up the stairs.
She stood calmly at the top of them. “Ye canno’ leave without the Pearl. And ye canno’ take what ye canno’ see.”
She descended the stairs with a small ornate trunk. About a foot long, half as tall and wide.
Cai was shaking. “Dilys, we can’t waste time.” His voice began to break and he used all his will to marshal it back under his control. “I can’t let her suffer.”
“Then you would be wise to listen to me.”
There was anger in Dilys’ voice.
“I’ll do anything, just let’s get on with it,” Cai begged.
“You told your grandfather you wouldn’t fail him. You canno’ fail him in bringing down Margaron, and you canno’ fail him in rescuing Jordalyn. For it is with her the future of the Keeper lies. Do you understand?”
Cai nodded, panic rising again within him.
“It’s no’ in your eyes. Ye’ll say anything, make any promise, but they are hollow unless ye believe.”
She was right, he was willing to do anything, say anything, to make it okay. But he couldn’t force himself to believe in something just because he was told to. Even when Jordy’s life was at stake.
He took a shaky breath and forced his clenched hands to uncurl. “I want to believe, Dilys. I want to do whatever I must to end this. I don’t know what else I can do.”
“Follow me.” She turned to go back up the stairs.
“Dilys, we can’t stay here.”
She turned. “You wish to believe. Until you do, it matters not where we are, for Margaron will be unattainable. As will Jordalyn.”
Rationality told him to batter down the front door if he had to, to shatter the windowpanes, to escape this sudden asylum, and drive as fast as he could to the ruins. And yet, even if he could break free, would he be searching the ruins in vain? He had been there, and beyond that tumble of rocks, there was nowhere to hide. It was the hardest decision he’d ever had to make.
His thoughts battered, a cold chill crept into in his heart, and he turned to the stairs. He slowly took the first step.
Above him, Dilys smiled and nodded.
Jordy woke up to darkness. It was cold. Damp. She rolled over slowly and instinctively swallowed the moan that came to her lips. She was stiff and sore. Probably from lying on the cold stone. For how long, she didn’t know.
It was too dark to get her bearings, so she lay perfectly still and willed her eyes to adjust to her surroundings. But it was simply too dark.
She focused on recalling what had brought her here and an array of thoughts tumbled through her mind. One image stood out. Margaron.
She shivered and it had little to do with the chill in the air. She very slowly moved to a sitting position. She wasn’t bound or shackled in any way. She seemed to be on the floor, since there didn’t appear to be any end to what she sat upon. She reached out around her, but felt no walls either. She sat still, collecting her wits before making another move.
Margaron. Jordy remembered wondering how a smile that evil, and eyes that cold, could be a part of face so indescribably beautiful. Her features were perfection. Flawless lips, exquisite cheekbones, a high proud forehead, all framed with dark, thick hair that fell well past her shoulders. Stunning. Angelic. Had it not been for those eyes. And that smile.
She had walked toward her and Jordy remembered not being able to move. Margaron had reached out and touched her face. She recalled shuddering in revulsion, then Margaron’s fingers had slid to her neck. She’d said something Jordy hadn’t been able to understand, in Welsh perhaps? Then her world had gone dark.
It was still dark. Only she was awake now. And she had no idea where she was.
As her head cleared, she thought immediately of Cai. Oh God, he was probably panic-stricken. She would never forgive herself for putting him through the torture of this, and so soon after dealing with Alfred’s death. She had to find some way out of here.
Wherever here was.
It was then she heard the moaning.
Even in her muddled state, she thought she knew what—or who—it was. One of Margaron’s victims.
It was only then it fully struck her.
She was now one of those victims.
She ran her hands over her arms and legs, her face. But her aches and pains seemed to be muscle stiffness only. She recalled once again the empty light in Margaron’s eyes and doubted she would suffer only this.
Tamping down the rising panic and blocking the images of those pictures, the tattooed piece of flesh—having only marginal success in either—she rolled to her knees and carefully, slowly, stood.
As long as she kept thinking, planning, doing something toward getting out of here, the terror wouldn’t consume her.
The moan came again.
It sounded close by. She edged one foot forward and put out her hands. The dark was so damn disorienting she almost lost her balance. She closed her eyes and pretended she was in a well-lit room, walking across an uneven floor and trying not to bump into furniture. She clung to that vision and moved forward slowly. The room still seemed to sway beneath her feet, but she held her balance.
Her fingers and toes hit the bars at the same time.
She stilled. With great determination, she slowed her breathing with long deep breaths. Then she reached out her other hand and felt for what she knew was there. Prison bars.
She felt along them, hand to hand, bar to bar. The space between each bar was fairly wide, but not wide enough for her to squeeze through. Again, she felt the room spin and she was forced to stop. She rested her head against one bar and held on to the next. Her foot slid forward between them … and dropped down. Gasping, she pulled it back in, then knelt and reached her hand out, and down.
Nothing but air. She crawled along the bars, trying once again not to panic, and realized two things: there was no flooring beyond the bars, and her prison was round.
“If you lie still, the spinning will stop.”
The roughly whispered words stilled her movements. Once she could hear beyond her own pounding heart, she chanced a response. “What s
pinning?”
A different voice answered. “Why, your bird cage, my finest canary.”
And then it sounded as if a giant match had been struck, and the chamber glowed with the bright yellow light of fire.
She squinted against the sudden brightness, then slowly opened her eyes. She wished she hadn’t.
What she could see now was too surreal to believe.
She was indeed in a cage, suspended by a heavy linked chain from the ceiling somewhere far above. The bars were heavy black iron. Suspended nearby were three others. Two of them inhabited. One form was curled into a small ball on the floor, unmoving. The other was kneeling, clothes torn and filthy, looking out of swollen, hollow eyes at Jordy.
It was the woman from the photos.
Shaking uncontrollably now, Jordy forced herself to look down. Margaron stood at the doorway. Two enormous torches were now lit on either side. The chamber was immense, very much like Alfred’s. But there the similarity ended. Where Alfred’s had looked like the chamber of some medieval chemist, this looked far more like the chamber of a medieval sadist.
And Jordy knew that was exactly what it was.
“You will not escape your pretty cage, my sweet.”
Jordy didn’t know where she found the courage, but she stood straight and looked down on Margaron. “Go to hell.”
Margaron’s smile faded. She didn’t so much as blink, but there was a heavy jolt, then the sound of screeching metal.
Jordy was forced to grab the bars to say upright as her cage began to descend to the floor of the chamber.
“Time to clip your wings, my bold little bird.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
Dilys shoved books aside and sat the trunk on a chest-high table. “Sit.”
Cai didn’t waste precious time arguing.
Dilys nodded. “Open the trunk.”
Cai reached over and shifted the trunk around so the lock faced him. Even for a small trunk, he was surprised by its lightness. “It feels empty.”
Dilys said only, “Open it.”
There was a lock on the front hasp. Only, when he looked at it more closely, he realized it wasn’t an ordinary lock. There was no keyhole, no combination dial. In fact, it looked more like an amulet of some kind.
“How am I supposed to open this?”
“Precisely.”
“I don’t have time for games, Dilys.”
“This is no game, Master Malacai. Most problems in life can be resolved if one knows the right words to say.”
“Abracadabra?”
Dilys’ lips were tight with disapproval. “There is also something to be said for the sincerity with which the words are spoken. Empty vows are never a solution.”
“Teach me what to say.”
Dilys opened the book next to her. It looked almost exactly like the incantations book they’d found the symbol in at home. He remembered what he’d thought about the handwriting in Alfred’s notes. He turned the book around and looked at the words. The pages were yellowed, the edges ragged. The script looked handwritten in rusty brown ink. The words were in Welsh, or something like it. The handwriting was familiar.
“Did Alfred write this?”
For the first time that day, warmth entered Dilys’ dark eyes. “Indeed, this is his work.” She motioned to the shelves that ringed the room. “As are most of these.”
Cai knew his expression was disbelieving. There were hundreds, possibly thousands, of books lining those shelves.
“His achievements in Arthurian lore were a small hobby, but one in which he took great pride,” she went on.
“These are his true life’s work. These and the volumes of notes he left behind for you. For your son.”
Cai couldn’t think that far into the future right now, it was too much. So he simply nodded and said, “Teach me the words to the combination. I don’t know how to pronounce these. You know Alfred gave up trying to teach me Welsh.”
“That would have been helpful, but this is an ancient form that was influential in creating the language.”
Impatience clawed at him. “Teach me to say them.”
Dilys went over the words once, then several more times. Eventually she had him say them, one at a time, after her. He couldn’t get the inflection and the guttural sounds right. He finally slapped the table. “Is this really necessary?”
Dilys slapped the table even harder. “Do ye think I’d put ye through this, let Mistress Jordalyn sit in that spawn’s lair for one second if this weren’t the only way?” She spun the trunk around to him. “Wrap your hand around the lock and speak the words. It matters more that they are from your heart, than that the inflection is just right.”
Cai wrapped his hand around the amulet and read the words that he had now memorized. Nothing happened.
“Ye’re reciting them as a schoolboy would his letters. Speak them and believe. Speak them as if your life depended on opening that box.”
His life did depend on it. His mind went to Jordy, to wherever she was at this moment. He spoke the words again.
The amulet grew warm in his hand. He could see its glow seep out between his clenched fingers. It slid free of the hasp, then went dark and cold. He quickly opened the trunk. There was nothing inside but a thick bed of deep blue velvet.
He looked up at Dilys. “Where is it?”
“It’s right there.”
He blew out a harsh breath and swore. “Fine. Then get it and let’s be going.”
“Yer strong, loving heart was enough to open the box, but it is only yer mind that will let you wield the Pearl.”
“It’s enough that it’s in here.”
Dilys slid the trunk from his grasp, having correctly assumed he was about to take off with it. “One thing a true Keeper learns is that life is long, and patience is not only a virtue, but an intrinsic element of that life. You are not a Keeper. You do not have the luxury of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years to learn the folly of impulse.” She stood and somehow seemed to tower over him. “Sit down and heed my words and those of your grandfather. Do not again defy me, Master Malacai, or you will lose everything you hold dear. Everything.”
The rage of impotence was there inside him, but he had to manage his emotions. She was indeed his only hope. He couldn’t afford to lose her.
“If I could wield the Dark Pearl, I would have done so. I have no Keeper’s blood in me,” she said. “It is not enough to open the trunk. Margaron believes. And she could wield the dark Pearl to the destruction of us all. Were you to carry this to her, how easily she would take from you what you cannot see. And once in her possession, all is lost. Jordalyn’s life would only be the beginning of the suffering. She would consume you as well. And then there would be no future Keeper. Your grandfather, and the L’Baan’s before him, would have spent their centuries on this earth for nothing because of the impatience of one arrogant mortal man.” She stalked off into the shadows of the far side of the chamber.
Cai looked into the box. He thought about all his grandfather’s ravings. It was impossible to grasp it, to wrap his mind around it. Somewhat like being asked to understand all the mysteries of the universe without any proof other than the stars twinkling above. He created fantasy, but believing it to be real was something else all together. He stared as hard as he could into the depths of the dark velvet, willing the Pearl to appear.
Nothing.
He stared harder. He thought of Jordy, let his heart go out, let the pain in, felt the fear, the terror, felt his throat burn and his heart break. Nothing.
He slammed both fists on the table, but he did not take his eyes off the interior of the box.
What do you want of me? he begged silently. His throat was raw from constriction against the tears of frustration that wanted to flow. He held them in check, allowing nothing to blur his single-minded determination to will the Pearl to appear. I’ll do whatever you want. Just end this torture, prove to me you exist. I’m here, I’m willing, what more can I do? Appear dammit!<
br />
You must believe in it, Malacai.
He jerked his head up, but Alfred wasn’t standing there. He’d heard the words as clearly as if Alfred were right there next to him. Anguish ripped through him. He was so exhausted now that his mind was playing cruel games on him as well.
He should leave, find the police. Get helicopters, search dogs, whatever they had at their disposal, and crawl all over that mountain until they found her hiding place.
He looked up, but Dilys was nowhere to be seen. He looked at the trunk, picked it up. He could leave, take this to the ruins. Have the police with him as well. Surely they could take her down.
Do not fail me, Malacai.
He pressed his hands to his head. Surely he was losing his mind. He was crazy from grief, from fear for Jordy.
And yet he knew he was not.
He looked into the trunk. It was still empty.
“Dilys.” He spoke without taking his eyes off the blue velvet.
“Yes?” She spoke from just behind him.
“What do I have to do when I have the Pearl?”
“You cannot wield what you cannot see.”
“Just tell me what to do, dammit!”
She said nothing for a moment, then, “You say nothing. You hold it in your hand and lift it out toward the force of evil. The energy within you, the belief in what is right, will transfer into the Pearl. The Pearl will project that, magnified beyond any mortal power.”
“You said only a Keeper could wield it. I am not one.”
“No, you are not. But you have the Keeper’s blood in your veins. That and your will should be enough.”
“If it stays here. If we do nothing, then what?”
“Then it will be only a matter of time before she comes to you. She knows you possess it now. You are not a Keeper, you cannot protect it. She will simply take it.”
“Then why hasn’t she? Why take Jordy?”
“Because she wants more than the Pearl. She wants you.”
“Why? I am nothing.”
“You may not be the Keeper, but only you can create him. Perhaps she wishes to be the one to carry that child. And the way to get you is through Jordalyn. Margaron, if she is like her grandmother, enjoys confrontation. She enjoys a grand display. And that is what she has set up here. She will wait for you. She knows you will come.”
Legend of the Sorcerer Page 24
