Leiyatel's Embrace (Dica Series Book 1)

by Clive S. Johnson

  Falmeard croaked, “I … but … how … how can it be? Yes, yes, I know you now, Aldous, but you’ve grown so old … so very, very old!”

  Leadernac laughed. “We both have. So terribly old, but well preserved eh?”

  Falmeard lifted his hand and looked at his ring, caressed it gingerly as though frightened it might bite back. With an astute look, and very quietly, he asked, “Why did you give me this ring, Aldous? Why divest yourself of such a wonder, as I now know it to be, eh, to what end?”

  Leadernac drew in a long breath and looked down at the ground. “Please forgive me if what I tell you now seems but nothing more than an excuse. It’s not meant to be. I only wish to make it clear how you’ve come to be here, and why I’m so overjoyed at having found you so soon. I thought it would take years to track you down, but I should’ve known better, should’ve guessed Leiyfiantel would deliver you straight into my hands.”

  As he spoke, Falmeard found memories fading in and out. One minute he’d recall Aldous quite clearly, see the house where he lived, see him listening to the wireless, and then the next it would all fragment. Each time Leadernac spoke, though, it would take him back. “Long before you lived here, Francis, you dwelt in your own world, where I was the imposter not you, where I was seemingly trapped forever. And you know what? Forever is a long time, a very long time. Too long to bear in fact, too long even amongst your own folk never mind in an alien land full of alien people with alien minds. You know, I thought I was doomed to an eternal life there until I thought I had reasoned a way out, a way to grow old and die. You, Francis, I’m afraid to say, were that very way out.”

  For the first time, Falmeard sounded sure of himself. “You took me for the fool I am.”

  Leadernac placed his hand on Falmeard’s arm and shook his head. “No, not a fool, Francis. A simple soul, yes, but it was I who were the fool. Foolishly, I reasoned that if you were to pass between the worlds, as I’d done so long before, then you’d take away the one thing that forestalled my natural life, take it to where it could no longer thwart my end.”

  “So,” Falmeard simmered, “you thought to condemn me to that fate in your place, and I took you for a friend. Ha! That’s why I was the fool and not you, a fool to trust you. A friend wouldn’t have done that, not a true friend.”

  “I can’t deny you that, and it’ll be no recompense for you to know that it tore at my conscience, the more so when I soon learned how wrong I’d been, how little I really knew about the ring.”

  “Wrong? Why wrong? Didn’t I take it from you when it delivered me here? What went wrong then, eh, in your treachery?”

  Leadernac winced. “You must have been back home in Morden when you did what I knew you would, when you tried on the ring. I was certainly some way from you by then, still in Richmond, but it wasn’t far enough, not to escape its pull. I’d been its vassal altogether too long you see, and just didn’t realise its strength, how far it would reach out to me.”

  “So,” Falmeard almost gloated, “you were the fool after all.”

  “Aye, for a fool must be easily drawn, Francis, and the ring drew me with you. What was only a few miles in London, though, became hundreds here, and I was thrown north of the Gray Mountains.”

  “So you and I haven’t been that far apart all this time!” and Falmeard stared at the distant mountains to the north.

  He looked at Leadernac and asked, “Why do you want the ring back?”

  “I may have missed Dica by a few hundred miles, but ending up in Nouwelm was a lucky boon. After a long time, I discovered the Repository, and with nothing but accursed time on my hands, I set to teaching myself physics. I learnt from those writings, Francis, learnt all I could about the natural laws underpinning the Certain Power, and learnt much and well. I saw a surer way of putting right all the ills I’d brought this world of mine, and not only that but a way of repaying you.”

  “Repaying me? I don’t understand, repay me how?”

  Leadernac shook his head. “I can’t explain the workings, not simply, not without a lot of time. This is where I have to hope that you can again put your trust in me. You have to believe I finally know what I’m doing. Do you think you could do that, Francis, trust me again, one last time?”

  Falmeard looked troubled and took to pacing about the terrace. Every so often he’d cast a doubtful look at Leadernac, occasionally stop to look out at the castle or stare uncertainly at the ring. Finally, he stood before Leadernac. “I’ve never felt at ease or at peace in all the years I’ve lived here. Do you know that? I never once really felt at home, and now I know why … and who’s to blame! You’ve condemned me to a thankless existence, Aldous, away from what I was born to, and in a land where little’s had much real meaning.” Falmeard went very quiet and stared at Leadernac for some time. At last he said, “If you can undo all that then I’m willing to trust you again.”

  He took his hand from his sleeve, prised the ring off and held it up, where it gleamed dully in the sunlight. They both looked at it, held aloft between finger and thumb, and then Leadernac stepped nearer and said. “You’ve made a wise choice, Francis, one that my treachery hasn’t made easy. I promise you that your trust won’t be misplaced, not this time. On the memory of my uncle, I swear I’ll do right by you, and by Leiyfiantel.”

  He slowly opened his palm to Falmeard.

  There was a long silence, a still and thoughtful one, at the end of which Falmeard’s hand slowly began to lower towards Leadernac’s palm. Very gently, he placed the ring there. His hand hovered tantalisingly above it until Falmeard withdrew his hand and stepped back.

  Leadernac had his infernal charge back after all this time, there, resting on his palm, the physical embodiment of a failed duty. Now he could once more discharge it as he’d promised and sworn to his uncle, even if it would only be for a short while longer.

  He snapped his hand shut and deftly passed the ring to a pocket. A broad grin filled his face. “We must part here, Francis. I never thought this day would come so soon, and so I’m ill prepared, perhaps to the better. Who knows how my resolve would have held out against a long delay.” He stood straighter, more resolute. “Give me your hand,” he said as he offered his own.

  Falmeard looked at it and then at Leadernac for a moment before firmly shaking it.

  “As a true friend at last,” Leadernac said, “I give you my heartfelt thanks, but more importantly, I offer you my sincere good wishes for a happy future, one where your future should lie.” He turned and stepped to the tunnel’s entrance where he paused and said, “Francis? Whilst you can, hold kind memories of me, as I will of you,” and with that, he finally vanished into the tunnel’s darkness, back to the obscuring embrace of the park below.

  46 If at First

  The smear across the setts was already turning black and had by then lost its oily sheen. Its path described a halting arc from the centre of the street, between the gateposts and then on, in a jagged line, to the doorstep of the derelict building. On top of the step a pool lay glistening, still vibrantly red in the afternoon sun, a tell-tale footprint beside it facing the yard.

  Through the doorway, coming from somewhere down below, the sound of falling masonry drifted up, punctuated at intervals by disjointed grunts and curses. Staring hopelessly, Nephril sat hunched against a low wall, mouthing almost inaudible words to himself. Their meaning seemed to amount to little more than a chant of disbelief.

  But for those sounds of subterranean toiling, the place was eerily quiet, as though nature herself had been cruelly insulted and stood apart in a huff, mutely sulking. Nephril’s only consolation and prop for his own sanity was an acute awareness of Leiyatel’s intense gaze, infusing cold strength into his veins. His brow still tingled where her lips had touched, but her face no longer bleached his sight, left his eyes now free to see, to match cardinal stain with ferric fragrance.

  He remembered Pettar calling his name, remembered the cold feel of paving slab against his backside and the dig
of the wall’s rough stones into his tender back as he was carefully propped against them. What he couldn’t remember, however, was actually seeing anything after the slow fall of his rapier, nothing to replace that final sight of its bloody descent to Pettar’s feet.

  There had been Pettar’s own distraught face, appearing faintly through the shrouding white mist, but it had only been a dream, he was sure. There’d been a figure, he now remembered, a phantom maybe, but one that spoke unheard words.

  He certainly recalled Pettar leaving him for what seemed an age before the sound of something heavy being dragged came tenuously to his ears. When he’d seen Pettar’s backside jut into view through the gateway, he’d felt a need to laugh. His churning stomach had certainly put pay to it, had only let him watch, remotely, as Laixac’s limp body was dragged into the yard.

  There were no more remembered sights, only those sounds that his closed eyes couldn’t keep out; the sound of cloth and leather being dragged heavily over dusty and debris strewn stone, and the quiet noises Pettar’s laboured breathing made. Only those filled his recollection, only they gave testament to the unending passage of time until a new narrator spoke impassively of a hasty burial.

  Every time he tried to see that shocking act he only strengthened the memory of Leiyatel’s ghostly kiss, and the blinding glare of her gaze. Somehow, he knew, knew with certainty, that he had indeed delivered the blow, that the hand now encrusted with Laixac’s dried blood - his hand - was indeed guilty of taking a life.

  Perhaps, he wondered, all actions eventually came to those who suffered immortality, that time and chance conspire at some point to conjure up all possible deeds. ‘Oh, what a hideous prospect,’ he thought, and once more cherished the hope of her final passing.

  The distinct sound of approaching footsteps made him open his eyes to see Pettar lowering himself to the ground at his side. Pettar slumped against the same wall and tilted his head back so he could rest it against the same cool stones, then closed his own eyes to rest awhile. Eventually, in answer to Nephril’s silence he asked, “How’re you feeling?”

  He’d spoken without moving his head or opening his eyes, which made it easier for Nephril to answer honestly. “I do not know for certain. Mine sight and hearing are as poor as they ever were. It is just mine mind that hath become slippery and hard to grasp, as though I cannot pin it down for long, not long enough for its use.”

  Pettar rolled his head against the wall and opened the eye nearest Nephril, through which he peered intently. “You’ll be in shock. It’s perfectly natural, although it may feel odd. You’ve had a … a bad ordeal. It’s bound to knock the stuffing out of you.” He continued to keep a close eye on Nephril, but patiently.

  Pettar was eventually disturbed, having begun to nod off, by Nephril’s quiet voice. “Please, Pettar, please tell me what thou didst see of it? What happened, for I cannot for the life of me remember much? It all happened so quickly.”

  “It did indeed, my friend. I’m still amazed how fast you were with your blade for he sprang like a crazed cat. You must’ve sensed something, maybe seen it in his eyes or … or heard him draw his weapon, or something. I mean, I was right by his side but I still failed to grasp him.”

  When Nephril seemed a little more at ease, Pettar mentioned, “I was convinced he’d run you through, you know. Can you imagine that! It made me intent only on revenge until I realised he’d gone limp in your arms. Took me a while to believe you were still alive, which is still hard to believe. What made you draw your weapon when you did?”

  Nephril still looked bewildered. “I do not think I even remembered I was wearing it, never mind having the presence of mind to draw it. How it got into mine hand I will never know.” Pettar believed him, but also saw, between his words, a suspicion of something purposely denied.

  “In truth, I now remember how I was in no real danger!” That made Pettar sit up. “He had not unsheathed his own sword, thou see! Did thee know that, Pettar? The flat of its blade came up close to mine eyes as we pressed together, so its tip must still hath been safe in its scabbard. Just like Laixac, eh? Typical of him. He no doubt chose the most impressive weapon he could find, the one that would look the finest, and never thought to try it. Just think, all that time he never knew his arm was too short until it was too late. The poor fool.” Pettar saw yet another sign of Leiyatel’s complicity but again said nothing.

  They both had need of rest then and the surprisingly warm sun made it compelling. Pettar nodded off again whilst Nephril patiently waited on his returning strength. The castle remained deathly quiet about them, somehow reticent yet expectant.

  Eventually, after some hours, Nephril’s strength did return and he began to feel fidgety. He stole himself, somewhat shakily, to stand up. Averting his eyes from the blackened stain, he turned instead to the view across the heads of the trees below, down the slope of the castle to a seemingly slumbering Uttagate.

  He stretched, pushing his arms towards the dappled sky, and let out a long, low and satisfied moan as his joints cracked. Then, from the corner of his eye, he thought he saw something move amongst the huddle of sagging roofs beyond the orchard. Slowly, he lowered his arms and peered intently.

  He was about to discount it as an aberration of his ancient sight when a figure winked into sight. He hissed at Pettar, “There be somebody down there, walking towards Eastern Street, and making some haste I reckon.”

  Pettar jerked groggily awake, sprang to his feet and followed Nephril’s gaze, searching along a row of cottages hemming in the lane beyond the orchard. There it was again.

  Nephril grabbed Pettar’s arm and pointed. “There, Pettar, look, at the orchard’s gate. Dost thou not see?” but, as quickly as he’d said it, it had vanished. They rushed back into the street and looked down towards the lane’s junction, and there waited impatiently.

  Sure enough, the figure soon came out into the street, peering back and forth. They couldn’t tell who it was at first, for neither recognised its garb, but then Pettar said, “Dark leggings and an ochre jerkin, all wrapped in a long blue cloak! It has to be Falmeard. It just has to be him.”

  Pettar started waving wildly. “Falmeard! Here!” The figure spun about and briefly glanced their way before breaking into a run towards them. Then they were off themselves, running precariously down the hill to meet him. When they came together, they were shocked at his state. He was hot, sweating profusely and panicked.

  His words tumbled out in a disjointed and incoherent babble. Pettar tried to calm and settle him, at first forbidding him to speak. They sat him on the steps of a nearby doorway and crouched down before him. When finally able to speak, all he could manage was, “Thank the Certain Power I’ve found you … and that you’re both safe.” When a little calmer he asked, “Have you met with the king’s army yet?” Pettar told him they had, and gave him a very brief account, carefully omitting Laixac’s death.

  Nephril peered hard into Falmeard’s eyes. “Why hath thee such urgency to find us, Falmeard? What hast happened?”

  Falmeard coughed and spat aside before wiping his mouth with his arm. “A really strange thing’s happened, Nephril, something I still can’t get my mind around. Really baffling, so I need your wit to make sense of it, if you can.”

  With careful coaxing, Nephril managed to extract the bare facts. Most of it was straightforward enough, even from Falmeard’s naïve recollections, but it was the last part they found most difficult.

  Nephril stood and scratched his head, making Falmeard ask, “Have I told it well enough, Nephril? Can you see sense in it for I have to admit I can’t.”

  “He hath the ring then, Falmeard, thou art certain of that?” Falmeard raised his hand to show its empty finger. “And thou gave it to him willingly? He did not have to wrest it from thee?”

  Guilt started to flood Falmeard’s face. “Yes, Nephril, yes, he reasoned it from me, most persuasively, but I can’t quite remember how. It was as though he’d drawn me into a dream … a very
real dream I have to admit … but one that doesn’t make sense now.”

  Nephril looked at Pettar but his thoughts were elsewhere, although he was beginning to look worried. It made Pettar feel uncomfortable, although Nephril seemed not to notice. “He called thee Francis?” Falmeard nodded. “And thou sayeth Leadernac called himself Aldous … and that thou knew him as such?”

  “Well … yes… In the dream he wove I did recognise him as an old friend, a close companion called Cullingham, Aldous Cullingham, and his face was strangely that of Aldous.”

  “And thou gave him thy ring… What made thee give it up so freely, Falmeard, what could hath convinced thee so, nay, convinced Francis of the wisdom of it?”

  Falmeard looked down at his empty finger and tried to remember. It took him a while, but eventually he reluctantly said, in a low and pensive voice, “He promised it would take me home … that … that with it he could restore what my heart had so long mourned the loss of.”

  “And?”

  Falmeard looked up sheepishly. “And … it would put right the ills he’d done Dica.”

  Nephril paced back and forth for some minutes, plainly agitated. He kept muttering to himself, but then asked, “Thou said he had been remiss of his service to it, that Auldus could again service his sworn charge?”

  Falmeard nodded. “He said it would allow him to honour his uncle’s name and the oath he’d made to him, in fact, he swore the truth of it on him.”

  Nephril started and almost shouted, “What name did he give his uncle, Falmeard, what name did he quoth?”

  Falmeard fell back against the doorframe in surprise and blurted out, “He didn’t name his uncle, not that I remember, and I would’ve remembered a name – I always do. You know me, Nephril, I’m always on the lookout for names, you know I’d have remembered had he said!”