by Frewin Jones
She ran along the fourth gallery, the fire licking at her heels. The aisle in which the Soul Books were kept was full of smoke.
“Sancha?” Tania shouted, trying to sweep the smoke aside with her arms as she ran.
She heard weak coughing from somewhere near the floor. The wreaths of smoke parted for a moment and she saw Sancha huddled in the corner. Her head was hanging and she was coughing and retching.
Tania reached down and dragged Sancha to her feet. Her sister’s eyes swam in her pale face. The air crackled around them. Putting her arm around Sancha’s back, Tania half towed her toward the stairs.
“No!” Sancha struggled against her. “The King’s book. We must get the King’s book.”
“It’s too late!” Tania coughed.
“No!” Sancha pushed away from her and ran back into the burning niche.
“Sancha!” Half blinded and with her lungs shredded by heat and smoke, Tania stumbled after her sister. The flames surrounded them now and all the shelves seemed to be ablaze. She found her sister snatching down the heavy Soul Books from the upper shelves. Sancha already had three or four in her arms, and she was reaching for more. Dark smoke rolled into the gap where the books had been.
“Get away from there! You’ll be killed,” Tania shouted.
“Help me,” Sancha said choking. “The Soul Books must be saved.” A flickering tongue of fire leaped from the shelves, curling around the book that Sancha was pulling down. Tania heard a high-pitched scream as the flames took hold. At first she thought Sancha had cried out in pain, but the wailing voice did not belong to her sister. The Soul Books themselves were screaming.
The other books fell from Sancha’s grasp, but one remained in her hands, burning her flesh. Tania flung herself forward, smashing the book out of Sancha’s fingers and slapping at the flames that smoldered on her sleeves. She could see that her sister’s hands were burned—but it was the look of horror in Sancha’s face that terrified her the most.
“Tania!” Edric’s voice sounded through the smoke.
“Here!” she shouted back.
Edric came plunging out of the smoke. Sancha was sagging in Tania’s arms, her face a mask of unbearable misery.
“Help me,” Tania said, gasping. “She’s hurt.”
Edric caught Sancha up in his arms.
“No—the King’s book,” Sancha groaned. “You must bring the King’s book.” Her arm swept down, her hand pointing to the smoldering floor where the books had fallen. The books were all aflame now, their cracked pages withering to black shreds.
Tania could just make out the spine of one of the books, the green and red letters standing out in the gloom: Oberon Aurealis Rex. She snatched at the book, but as her fingers grasped the spine the flames surged. Tania dropped the book again, her fingers seared. It fell open, the pages fluttering in the deadly fire wind.
Edric shouted to her. A wall of fire leaped forward. The heat beat her back, but not before she made one final effort to snatch hold of the book. She felt paper crumpling in her fist and she felt the weight of the book. Then the weight was gone as the pages tore loose and all she had in her fingers were a few crushed scraps.
It was too late to do any more. She fell back, her arms up to protect her face from the fierce heat. “Go!” she shouted to Edric.
He stumbled ahead of her through the smoke, Sancha in his arms. They came to the stairway and Tania took the lead, helping Edric to keep his footing in the darkness, helping him to support her sister.
Zara met them on the second stair. Eden was at her back. A well of clear air surrounded them, a bubble of oxygen in the dark clouds of smoke.
“Quickly!” Eden said, gasping. “I cannot hold the fire back for long.”
As they ran across the Library floor Tania could see the flames hurling themselves at the outer skin of Eden’s ball of pure air. The whole place was alight now. Sancha’s beloved books were all burning. There was the crash of a collapsing gallery and the flames roared with triumphant laughter.
They reached the corridor. The smoke was less dense here.
“Follow me,” Edric ordered. “We can go through the servants’ quarters and the kitchens. I know the way. It’ll take us right away from here.”
They ran. Behind them the Great Library of Faerie burned like a furnace.
VII
Tania stared down through the trees that formed the southern edge of Esgarth Forest. Dark smoke was rising from the broken dome of the Library. Here and there on the long slope of heathland that rolled away into the west, she could make out the shapes of Gray Knights on horseback hunting for them with swords and spears at the ready. And running among the gray horses, she saw the black shapes of the Morrigan hounds.
They had escaped, at least for the time being. Edric had led them through underparts of the palace that she had never seen before—through kitchens and sculleries, washhouses and laundries, larders and storerooms that must once have rung with the cheerful bustle of the palace servants but were now bleak and deserted and disturbingly silent. The food left to rot, the overturned milk churns, the rancid butter, and moldering bread all told their own sad tales, as did a cook’s apron Tania spotted on the floor, stained with blood.
Sancha had been able to walk after a while, although she had clearly been in pain from her burns and weakened by the amount of smoke she had inhaled. She had stumbled along with Zara on one side and Edric on the other, her pale face soot-blackened, her hair tangled and filthy, her eyes hollow with agony at the loss of her beloved Library. Several times they had heard the sound of knights nearby but none found their trail, and they had made their way up through the orchards without encountering any of the murderous brood of Lyonesse.
Tania turned from the appalling sight of the palace and followed the others into the forest. They headed silently through trees withered by an unnatural winter, the dead leaves hanging from the branches like shrouds. There was no birdsong, no sign of life at all. Tania had folded the torn pages she had snatched from Oberon’s Soul Book and slid them into a pocket. As they walked she took them out and opened them.
“Oh, no,” she whispered, staring down at the blank pages.
Zara turned at the sound of her voice. “What is the matter?”
“Look.” She showed the pages to her sister. “There’s nothing on them. It was a total waste of time.”
Zara gave a faint smile. “Nothing that reveals itself to your eyes, perhaps,” she said. “Did you not know? A Soul Book can be read only by the one whose story it tells. These pages could teem with words, and you and I would see nothing. It is part of the mystery of the books.”
“Then what was the point of trying to get Oberon’s book if no one can read it?”
“One of us can,” Zara said. “Sancha has the gift. There is not time for her to peruse these pages now; that can wait until we are deeper into Esgarth. But do not despair; put them away safely now, Tania. You may yet have in your hands all that we would wish.”
Tania had just slipped the pages back into her pocket when Eden’s voice rang out. “Cordelia and the Queen are close at hand.” She pointed to the right. “This way, not three furlongs hence, and they have found water!”
A little while later they came to a place where the ground folded in on itself and they had to walk single file along a narrow valley, almost a trench, filled with the rattling and scratching fronds of dead ferns. But as they moved slowly onward Tania saw that the forest was beginning to change, as if bleak midwinter was giving way to glorious summer in the space of just a few footsteps. One step and all was brown and dead; a second step and the leaves and plants were yellowing and failing; a third step and all was green and growing.
“We have come to the edge of the Sorcerer King’s pestilence,” Eden said, looking back at Tania. “You see? His power is not yet absolute. He cannot kill all.”
The vale met another fold in the land and now they could hear the trickle of water over stones. Below them, in a bowl-shap
ed dingle of lush grass and spread-fingered ferns within a sheltering ring of oak trees, they saw Cordelia and Titania seated on a rock beside a rippling stream. The two women jumped up at the sound of their approach, their eyes filled with relief and delight.
“Mother!” Eden’s voice choked with emotion as she scrambled into the dell and embraced the Queen, bringing to an end five hundred years of separation and heartbreak.
“My beloved child!” Tania could see tears running freely down Titania’s face. This meeting, after such a long and wounding parting, meant as much to the Queen as it did to the daughter who for five centuries had believed she had been the cause of her mother’s death.
Cordelia helped them get Sancha down the slope. “Her poor hands,” she said, staring at the red raw burns that disfigured Sancha’s skin. “What happened?”
“The Gray Knights burned the Library,” Tania said, helping the others ease Sancha down so that she sat with her back to a large stone. “And Drake is here. It’s really bad in the palace. People are still alive in there.” Her voice shook. “They’re torturing them.”
Cordelia’s eyes blazed and her hand reached automatically for her sword hilt.
“They know we’re in Faerie,” Edric said. “The Sorcerer has sent all his knights out to find us.”
“Then let them find us,” Cordelia spat. “They will rue the discovery!”
It was Sancha who spoke next, her voice faint and rasping. “They are hundreds, Cordelia. We are but seven. It would be folly to face them in battle.” She looked up at them. “We must flee.”
“To what place?” Cordelia demanded. “Where shall we be free of them? To the crags of Leiderdale in the uttermost west? Or maybe north to the wastes of Fidach Ren? Would that be far enough, think you?”
“Calm yourself, Cordelia,” Eden said with gentle authority. “We must be prudent, though our hearts would have it otherwise. You know this forest better than any of us; is there a place where we might find shelter for the night?”
“The House of Gaidheal lies only a few leagues hence on the forest’s northern edge,” Zara said. “We will find a warm welcome there, if the lord and lady have not fled.”
Tania bit her lip. “I don’t think they’ll be there,” she said quietly. “I think they were in the palace when…when Rathina freed the Sorcerer King.”
“Gaidheal House would not be a safe place,” Titania said. “We need to find somewhere the knights may not think to look.”
“Listen!” Edric’s voice was like a whip crack. He was standing stiffly on the edge of the dell, his hand raised in warning.
“What is it?” Zara asked.
“Hounds,” came the short reply.
Tania held her breath, straining her ears. The distant sound of baying drifted through the trees, sending a cold shudder up her spine.
“The Morrigan hounds are on our trail,” said Eden. “Our options diminish.”
“I know where we may find shelter,” Cordelia said. “There is an old hunting lodge not far from here. A forester has made it his home now for many a long year. Rafe Hawthorne is his name and he is a good man and true. But it will not shield us from the tracking skills of the Morrigan hounds.”
“Have no fear,” Eden said. “I will protect us once we are there. Sancha, can you walk?”
Sancha pulled herself to her feet. “Yes,” she said through clenched teeth.
“Master Hawthorne will tend your wounds, sister,” Cordelia said. She looked at the others. “Let us pray that he is not fled.”
The eerie baying of the hounds came floating through the trees again, a little louder now, and with a slightly different tone to it.
Cordelia’s eyes widened and she let out a soft hiss. “Can you not hear it? They are merry—they have found our scent.”
“Then let’s get out of here,” Tania said.
“No,” said Cordelia. “Wait a moment.” She turned and went leaping up the side of the dell. She vanished into the trees. For a few moments there was the rustle of movement, then silence.
“Where’s she gone?” Tania asked.
“I know not,” Zara said. “We must trust her.”
They waited in silence, all of them staring up to where Cordelia had disappeared. Tania felt Edric’s hand slip into hers. She looked at him and he gave her a reassuring smile.
“Eden wasn’t able to read the Sorcerer King’s mind,” she told him.
“I guessed not,” he said. “Was it bad?”
Tania swallowed; it was too soon to speak easily of the things she had seen in the Great Hall. “Rathina was there,” she said. “Sitting next to the King.”
All eyes turned to her. “As his consort, do you mean?” Zara whispered. “Pray that it is not so!”
“I’m not sure,” Tania said. “Maybe she’s under a spell or something. Her face was…I don’t know…it was totally blank.”
“Aye,” said Eden. “Until the traitor Drake entered the hall. Then the love-light brightened her eyes swiftly enough.”
“The poor child,” Titania murmured. “Imagine how she must feel, knowing she caused all this.”
Sancha’s eyes flashed. “It is by her actions that they burned my Library,” she said in a low, flint-hard voice. “It were best Rathina came not ever within my reach. I would rejoice to see her writhing in flame!”
Titania reached out a hand and rested it on Sancha’s arm, her face full of sadness. Sancha frowned at her and shook the hand off. Tania also hated everything that Rathina’s wickedness had caused—but deep within her a small voice reminded her that they had once been the very best of friends. She sighed, comforted a little by the feel of Edric’s hand in hers. Had all the wonder and glamour of Faerie come down to this: to be hunted through the forest and murdered by the Sorcerer King’s undead minions?
The terrible music of the approaching hounds sounded out clearly from the south. Death was approaching fast.
There was a rustle in the trees and Cordelia burst out. Tania noticed movement at her feet: a blur of red fur in the long grass. Foxes. Five, six, seven foxes came tumbling down into the dell, their pink tongues lolling, their eyes bright with cunning.
“Come!” Cordelia called, beckoning. “The scent of fox is stronger than the scent of Faerie folk; they will mask our trail and leave the hounds bereft!”
They made their way up quickly to where Cordelia was standing. Tania looked over her shoulder as they went into the trees. The foxes were rolling and cavorting in the grass, erasing all sign that they had been there.
She smiled gratefully down at them. “Brilliant!” she whispered. “Thank you.”
Cordelia led them at a great pace through the trees, pushing on and on as the afternoon waned, not allowing them to stop even for a moment. At first they could still hear the faint baying of the hounds, but after a while the forest became quieter, although Tania still felt the threat of pursuit close behind them.
The forest seemed to go on forever; the ground rising and falling as they made their way northward, the trees thick around them, the branches always stretching over their heads, the afternoon light dappled green through the leaves. As evening approached and the shadows lengthened, birds began to sing, and soon the whole forest seemed to ring with their voices. It was such a joyous, untroubled sound that it lightened Tania’s heart. Even though horrors stalked the land at their backs, at least something of light and beauty remained to hold back the oncoming dark.
But she was tired. So very tired. When had she last slept? Fitfully, two nights ago. But a true, deep, untroubled sleep? She couldn’t remember. Days and days ago, it seemed. She stumbled, her aching legs betraying her for a moment. Edric’s arm circled her waist, saving her from falling.
“Can you manage?” he asked softly.
She stepped gratefully into his arms and they held each other for a moment, her face against his neck. “I’ll be fine,” she said. They kissed and she broke away from him, giving him a rueful smile. “It’s not like I have much
of a choice, is it?”
“I could carry you.”
She touched his face with her fingertips. “You look as tired as I feel,” she murmured. “Perhaps I should carry you?”
Cordelia’s voice came ringing out from up ahead. “Rejoice! We are at journey’s end!” she called. “Behold the Royal Hunting Lodge.”
They emerged into a wide clearing hemmed with chestnut trees. Above them, the dome of the sky was cloudless: a deep, sultry blue to the east, glowing with purple and violet light in the west. The crescent moon sailed high and a few stars were already glittering as the sun went down.
A thatched building was set back toward the rear of the clearing, a large half-timbered house with two floors and many windows. Warm yellow light glowed behind the glass, and even as they stood on the fringe of trees the door of the house opened and the light of a lantern poured out. A heavyset man came striding out, the lantern held in his upraised hand.
“Travelers, ho!” he called in a rich, deep voice. “No weary friend was ever turned from my door, and although I play host to many lost souls, I shall find room for you in my…” As he came closer his voice faded away and a look of astonishment transfixed his face. He stumbled forward and dropped to his knees in front of Titania.
“Your Grace!” he said. “From beyond the veil of death you return to us in our darkest need.” He looked up at the Queen and Tania saw tears welling in his eyes. “Save us, Your Grace. For pity’s sake, save us.”
Titania stooped and drew the man to his feet. “I hope that I shall find the strength for that,” she said. “But meanwhile we are tired and hungry, and one of my daughters is hurt. Show us into your house, Master Hawthorne. Quickly now, Lyonesse hunts us close by.”
Fear showed starkly in the man’s round face and Tania saw him glance into the forest. “Only over my dead body will any of that evil brethren cross my threshold,” he said, but his voice was trembling.
