“I want you to have it.” He lifted it from the velvet and tilted it so the glow of the fire would reflect against its face. She couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch it. The instant she did, a bolt thrummed through her veins, from her scalp to her toes, almost bringing her up off the chair. She gasped. The hair on the back of her neck rose; her entire body shivered. At the same moment, the fire sparked; this was reflected on the face of the pendant, blinding her. A hum filled her ears, and she tasted something on her tongue, something like cold, cold earth and rock, and she had a strange sense that starlight, trapped within the silver, had pierced her skin and infiltrated her blood.
“It’s very old,” he said. His voice struggled through the humming in her ears, tinny and echoing.
She lifted her gaze to his. “How old?”
“Very, very old. There’s a story. Would you like to hear it?”
Glancing at the window, she saw that gloaming was fast fading into night. Yet she heard herself say, “Aye.” She placed the necklace carefully on her palm, allowing its silver chain to dangle freely.
“It belonged to a queen in a faraway country, in a time so long ago all memory of it is lost. Her palace is buried now, under leagues of sand and dirt, and those who walk upon it have no idea it’s there. But this palace, filled with gold, obsidian, and lapis, its walls covered in bright paintings, its corridors adorned with marble statues, was once the envy of all other lands.”
Lilith nodded her encouragement as he paused. She had many questions, but she didn’t want to disrupt his thoughts.
“The palace was called Labyrinthos— the labyrinth— for it was a common boast that there were as many rooms as there are stars in the heavens, more underground than above. It was a marvel to behold, and the island where it was located was the only land left in the world ruled by women.”
Lilith’s breath caught as the magic possessed her. How did he do it? How did he tell a story that hearkened straight to her dreams?
“A terrible catastrophe befell the island, and everything was destroyed. Everything. But the queen, who was beautiful and wise, courageous and loyal, led her people back from death and horror. She found food and medicines for the injured. She and her warriors fought off invaders. With time, she rebuilt her palace and her land again became fertile. The gods were appeased.”
Lilith felt as if she were there, inside his fanciful tale. His voice lulled her. At the edge of her vision she saw sunlight reflecting off gold, and enormous crimson pillars. The dreary real things of her world— hunger, shabby clothing, packed earth floors, a home shared with kye and sheep, fell away. She didn’t care that night had fallen, or that she was alone with the boy— a young man, really. She wished to be nowhere else.
“The necklace belonged to this queen,” Aodhàn said. “It was crafted in a legendary pool, a secret place, where the moon came when it disappeared from the skies. Though the queen is long dead, her great civilization lost, the necklace goes on casting her spell, century after century, for within it is forged the amaranthine light of the moon.”
Not starlight then, but moonlight. Lilith ran the tip of her index finger over the face of the pendant. The exhilarating energy had faded. She barely felt a tingle flit through her skin. But when she looked up to Aodhàn, the colors she’d glimpsed when he’d first come to Bishop House had returned. Like a wisp of cloud, like the soft exhalation of a breath, they hovered, swirling, a suggestion of deep red blending into streaks of orange.
She wondered what amaranthine meant.
Gradually, she realized they were staring at each other. He’d stopped talking, yet somehow it felt as though they were still communicating. Pictures rose and fell within her mind, of strange, foreign places and faceless people.
He rose from his chair. Clasping her wrists, he drew her to her feet. He was close, so close she felt the warmth of his flesh and saw each individual eyelash framing his eyes. His right hand slipped from her elbow to her wrist and he gently rubbed the birthmark with his thumb.
“Promise you’ll keep the necklace until I come back,” he said. “Will you?”
“Aye.”
“It’s a secret, just between us. Tell no one else. Show it to no one. Do you promise?”
“Aye.”
She knew what he would do next. She saw it in his eyes. He had to bend down, as he was much taller than she. He kissed her on the mouth.
She’d never been kissed before. Daniel had only kissed her on the cheek, on Christmas morning or her birthday. Her mother never kissed anyone, not even her father, so far as Lilith knew.
Her eyes closed, allowing her to better experience these new sensations.
“I’m going to marry you, Lilith,” he whispered. “Don’t get any ideas about Daniel.”
It was almost exactly what Daniel had said about him. The spell shattered. She sucked in a deep breath and opened her eyes, suddenly lightheaded. The room was dancing— it took a moment to realize it was an illusion caused by the firelight.
He left her then, after brushing back her hair and smiling down into her face.
She dropped onto the chair, too weak and shivery to go on standing. She felt like a pebble in a gushing burn, swept along without any choice in the matter.
But Lilith was not like other girls. She didn’t feel as though she was going to weep, or faint away with “vapors.” She was clear-headed. Her mind registered her excitement. She wanted to give herself to the rushing water, to spin and keel, to become a part of its inexorable power.
She tried to make no sound when she entered the cottage, but Daniel must have been lying awake. He turned when she came in, and stared at her.
She tightened her grip on the necklace in her pocket and went off to the alcove that held her pallet, along with her parents’. Though Stuart was snoring, one glance told her that her mother was awake and watching.
Where Daniel’s gaze had been suspicious and angry, Faith’s, illuminated by the light of a single candle, was speculative.
Lilith blew out the candle and got into her bed. She held the necklace all night.
Aodhàn Comes Home
* * * *
March, 1845
VIII.
Daniel hadn’t formally asked Lilith to marry him yet, though he’d turned twenty-one and Lilith was a fully marriageable seventeen. He was Kenneth Mackinnon’s head groom now, respected, liked, trusted with the man’s beloved horses; still, he didn’t feel he could support a wife, and certainly not a wife, her mother, and future offspring.
Stuart Kelso had died at sea two years back, and Daniel had taken over as man of the house. He often worked two or three fees besides his obligations at Bishop House, when he could get them, as he tried to keep his women in comfort. Lately he’d bandied about the idea of emigrating to Canada, if he could find a way to pay the cost of the voyage for the three of them.
He was so busy he hardly ever thought of Aodhàn Mackinnon. The factor’s son had been gone a long while, six years in England, being educated. Now and then he came back for short visits, but kept himself scarce when he did. Daniel had no reason to be jealous, and indeed believed Aodhàn’s youthful infatuation with Lilith dissolved with the passage of time. No doubt he’d been introduced to many higher-born, sophisticated women made even more enticing by the generous dowries that would accompany them into marriage.
But Daniel never took anything for granted, and kept up with his courting. Every day he brought Lilith a gift, sometimes a bracelet woven from wildflowers he gathered from the machair, or a pretty shell from one of the beaches, or a trinket he dug up at one of the ancient places he and Lilith loved to explore. Awhile back he’d found a ring, half-buried, made of bronze, he thought. He’d taken it to the blacksmith, who used a paste of flour, vinegar and salt to polish away the patina and corrosion. The blacksmith made it smaller, and inscribed it at Daniel’s request with their names and a wee heart. Daniel had it in his pocket now.
“Daniel!”
He turne
d to see Lilith climbing the slope toward him, holding up the hem of her skirts to keep from tripping. He descended to meet her and took her hand, assisting her to the summit of the ridge, where they admired the sea and kissed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against him, wordlessly asking for more as she often did. No matter how many times he tried to explain it, Lilith couldn’t understand the importance of female purity and reticence. She wanted what she wanted, like one of her wild creatures.
“No, love,” he said, though refusing her was growing more and more difficult. “We’ll wait till we’re married, my Lilith, it’s the only way. I would never cheat you of that.”
“Marry me now,” she said. “The sea can be our witness. Or look— there’s a seal. It can act as witness.”
He laughed. “First I must find a way to give you a decent life— you, your mother, and our children.”
“You’re Kenneth Mackinnon’s head groom. You earn coin enough. He likes you. I’ll wager if you told him you wanted to marry, he’d give you a bonus.”
“I don’t want to work for him,” Daniel said. “I’ll find something else— something far from here.”
He brought the ring from his pocket and held it out on his palm.
“Oh, what is it?” she cried.
“It’s for you.”
“It has our names! And a heart.” She held it up to the light.
“Here.” He slipped it on her finger. “A promise, between us, until we can be together forever. I found it over at Allt Easdail. It’s thousands of years old, that’s what I think, like the love between us.”
“Oh, Daniel,” she whispered, and melted against him again, kissing his cheeks, his mouth, his neck. “That’s true. I’ve always known it. I didn’t know you did, though.”
“Stop it,” he said, laughing. “I am not made of stone, you know.” Bringing a leather strap out of his other pocket, he put the ring on it and fastened the thong around her neck. “We’ll keep it a secret for now,” he said. “I don’t want to hear Faith’s opinions. I’ve always known she wants better for you than me.”
“Aye, that’s wise,” she agreed, and tucked it under her blouse.
He held her then, burying his nose in her hair. Lilith’s natural scent was an aphrodisiac, a musky, earthy essence he loved more than anything on earth— except for her. “You make me feel I can achieve anything,” he said, against her skin.
They both noticed the lone figure as they descended the hill and set off on the trail through the machair that would take them home. When the man saw them looking at him, he turned and walked swiftly away.
“Greyson Fullerton,” Daniel said darkly. “Why does he watch us?”
Lilith shrugged, drawing the ring out from under her blouse to admire it. “Poor man is far from his homeland,” she said. “And there’s precious little to do on Barra. I wonder why he stays on? He was tutor to Aodhàn—” she stopped, bit her lip, and sent Daniel an anxious glance, but he smiled and squeezed her hand and she went on, reassured, “Mackinnon, and he’s no longer needed for that.”
“Lilith,” he said, “did he ever… try anything with you?”
“He kissed me,” she said, after a long pause. “Once. Before he went away.”
A lava flow of rage flooded him, before he realized they were speaking of something six years in the past. He ran a hand through his hair and laughed at himself.
“He may come back one day,” he said.
She shrugged. “Why would he? There’s nothing for him here.”
“His father.”
“By the time he finishes at Oxford, he’ll be a full grown man, and I’m sure he’ll want much grander things than the Western Isles can provide.”
“At last, you admit there’s no future here! Can we all go to Canada now?”
IX.
Gossip began circulating soon after Faith’s daughter was born.
The word changeling was bandied about before she was two years old, but the gossip was kept from Faith. She had a renowned temper; it was said her tongue could slice bacon from a sow before it could utter a shriek in protest.
There was nothing about Lilith that was obviously wrong. Yet the crofters and fishwives of Barra sensed the difference. Where other children experienced joy in small things, Lilith frowned, and was unnaturally quiet. Once or twice Faith said the wean was lucky not to starve to death, for she never cried to let her mother know she was hungry, and there had been a few times where Faith simply forgot to feed her and change her hippens.
From the youngest age, Lilith babbled to animals and they to her, but when humans tried to get her to speak, she wouldn’t.
Not until Daniel came.
Seven days after he moved into their blackhouse, the two could be seen running across the dunes and bluffs holding hands. Some claimed they’d heard Lilith speaking, as clearly and unmistakably as could be, to Daniel, but if she realized others were listening, she shut her mouth like a mussel.
Daniel became her voice in the world. It was Daniel’s job to explain her to others. Four years older than she, Daniel was as protective as any natural older brother had ever been— perhaps more so. She was seldom out of his earshot, so no one molested her. In her mother’s schoolroom, she never said a word yet her brain was obviously working, for she could write with the best in the class, and even picked up the English, or so it was rumored, anyway.
She seldom displayed emotion, except when she was confined. In the schoolroom, Faith learned to ignore it if Lilith got up, left, and didn’t return. Trying to force her to follow rules, to sit quietly, to stay inside, even in a snowstorm, could cause unearthly tantrums. Even Daniel couldn’t calm her when she fought being restrained. Once, when a storm blew hard enough that it came close to tearing the stone-weighted ropes from the roof and the family nearly lost their thatch, she wrestled with the door trying to get out. Her father trussed her in his arms by the fire, but she screamed and twisted and hit him until he gave up and let her go. She didn’t return all that night, and her mother fell silent, believing her daughter had frozen to death on the bluffs.
But Daniel didn’t worry, and when she came back the next day, she was no worse for wear.
“Found some rat hole,” Stuart said. “They let her in, no doubt, and fed her too.”
* * * *
“I want him dead.”
Greyson Fullerton straightened, one of Aodhàn’s shirts in his hand. “Pardon?”
“You heard me.”
Greyson turned back to the trunk and pulled out several more shirts. “Lure her away from him, my lord. You’ve done it before.”
“It’s gone on too long this time.” Aodhàn threw himself into the chair by the window and rubbed his forehead. “Why do you think I’m here?”
“My last letter?”
Aodhàn brought the letter out of his breast pocket and tossed it on a table. “You said they’re secretly betrothed.”
“Yes, I suspect it’s a matter of finance that has kept them from announcing it. But, my lord, you’re tired from your long journey. You’ll feel differently when you’ve rested. What you suggest is drastic, and I don’t need to remind you that you’d be prevented, or punished— if not by these people, then by… her.”
Greyson’s words brought back an ancient memory, one that returned to Aodhàn from time to time. He was seeking the bull leaper, Lycus, in the labyrinth on Crete. He had to kill the youth so he could become king. He’d been making his way through darkness, stumbling, cursing, and had heard a voice.
You will follow, it said.
He’d swung his sword blade wildly, thinking someone was there in that darkness with him.
Without any change in inflection, the disembodied voice had added, But when you ask it, you will have my forgiveness.
He’d often wondered if that voice had been no more than delusion, his mind creating things because of the darkness, or the drugs he’d been given, or his own fear. But some part of him knew the goddess he hated had bee
n there, with him. Hidden and watching. The memory still made his flesh shiver.
You will have my forgiveness.
Or I will win! He sent the defiant thought outward even as he said, mildly, to Greyson, “That’s why you’re going to do it for me.”
“Me?” Greyson lifted a pair of riding boots from the trunk and bent to the task of inspecting their condition, but Aodhàn heard the slight tremble in his voice.
“I’ve thought it all out. I’ll make some excuse and take Father to Mingulay— for the air, to force him to rest. I’ll insist that Faith and Lilith go with us. I want it done by the time we return.”
Greyson set the boots in the wardrobe and faced Aodhàn. “No, my lord. Don’t ask me to do this.”
Aodhàn tapped his knee. “You’re refusing?”
“I will always do whatever you require of me. But I feel in my bones we must not. He’s your brother, my lord.”
“He was my brother, a long time ago. Now he’s a thorn in my side, always using her loyalty against me.”
“Remember Crete, and Cape—”
“Damn you, I don’t need your reminders. I’ve lost six years. She’ll slip away from me if I don’t do something.”
“I still don’t understand why you didn’t try harder to win her before now. You haven’t done a thing on your visits— avoided her, even.”
“I know her better than you. If I pushed her it would make things worse. Keeping my distance has lodged me in her mind like a wasp.”
Movement outside the window drew Aodhàn’s attention. Daniel was leading one of his father’s horses from the stable. The stallion was restless, bobbing its head, prancing and jerking against the lead, but Daniel didn’t fight it. He stepped closer and put his hand on the beast’s nose. It responded by quieting, swishing its tail, and nudging Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel released it in the paddock and stood a moment, watching it race in circles, then he turned slightly and glanced up in the direction of Aodhàn’s window, as if he sensed he was being watched.
The Moon Casts a Spell: A Novella (The Child of the Erinyes) Page 3
