Darkness Unchained

by Jane Godman

  “Uther Jago,” I said to Nicca. “The first one. The man Rudi drew when we were children.”

  “When this man died by the knife and his body was consumed in flames, the spirit sought the darkness again until another host could be found.” The sangoma drew a breath, a slight frown touching her brow as though she saw something that troubled her. “This time it did not take long. The spirit found a boy whose mind was not strong. As he grew, he tried hard to fight the evil that gripped him. He did not succeed, and it destroyed him. Innocent lives were lost, and your family was almost torn in two.”

  I thought of Eddie Jago and the things I had heard of his decline into darkness. It seemed it was only Cad Jago’s marriage to Bouche that had restored the Jago family to some semblance of normality.

  The sangoma ran her fingers over the watch. Jabu continued to translate her words. “Now this man, the owner of this watch. Also called Uther. He is not a weak man. But gold is his downfall. He owes much money. Only one man stands between him and great wealth and power. An opportunity presents and he takes it. A moment of madness as war wages all around, but he gets away with it. Suddenly he has it all. The spirit of Arwen Jago cannot allow this opportunity to pass by. He sees a way to use this man to get what he wants. The house, the name, the power can be his once more.” The sangoma looked puzzled and Jabu explained to me. “She says she does not understand this…the words are clear, but she does not know what they mean. Something about a ‘line that is true’.”

  “The true line means those who are direct descendants of Arwen Jago,” I explained. “But Uther was not of the true line of Jagos, and when he arrived at Tenebris, nobody knew that there were any direct descendants of Arwen’s left.”

  “But the spirit knew it,” Jabu said, interpreting the singsong chant. “Through Uther he can claim the girl. And what a girl! She has beauty, fire and great strength. All the strength of the Hungarian woman and more. For this one, Arwen can even begin to forget the legacy of…” Her voice drifted away slightly and she shuddered. “Lucia.” The word was little more than a breath. “The spirit ignited a fire between Uther and the girl that burned brighter than the sun. But the man is a fool. Something of chivalry remains within him. He listens to this, puts this above the need to make her his, body and soul. Then, because of mistakes he has made in the past, he turns his back and she slips from his grasp. The spirit is forced to leave the security of the darkness to pursue her. Without her, the man is worthless to the spirit, an empty shell. Unchained, the spirit is unpredictable. Out of control. The girl is strong, she fights him and another has dared to claim her. The unthinkable happens. She reminds Uther of the good that is still inside him, of the man he once was. He refuses to do the spirit’s bidding. He will not kill again. Instead he himself is killed.” She sighed and sagged forward as though exhausted, resting her forearms on her knees. The singsong note was gone. “Did he take his own life? It is not clear to me.”

  Finty hung her head, and Nicca took her hand in his. “No, my cousin here thought he was about to kill her husband, so she shot him.” We had been over this so many times. Finty’s fears about what would happen to Rudi once Uther arrived were well known to us all. Although he had actually been pointing his pistol at his own head, given everything that had happened, she could not really be blamed for assuming it was a trick.

  The sangoma looked at Finty as though seeing her for the first time. Abruptly, she sat up straighter. “We must take refreshments. My sight is blurred. It is as if the ancestors are tired.”

  “I don’t understand why the sangoma spoke of the true line,” I said to Jabu as we drank the traditional light Zulu beer. “If Arwen Jago knew the truth—that Rudi and I are Petroc’s son and daughter—surely he would have chosen Rudi instead of Uther?”

  The sangoma looked up and directly at me for the first time. In perfect Afrikaans, she said clearly, “Nie Rudi. Hy u gekies het, Annie.”

  The world swam slightly out of focus, and I slumped, leaning my forehead against Nicca’s shoulder.

  “What did she just say?” he asked Jabu urgently.

  “She says he did not choose Nkosi Rudi. He has chosen Nkosikazi Annie.”

  “Rudi is not the strong one. It was always you, Annie,” the sangoma said. Her dark eyes held a world of sympathy.

  Still speaking in my own language, she explained more of what she had seen. “The spirit of your ancestor is strong, stronger than any I have known before. And the evil has not diminished with each incarnation. It has grown. In the past it preyed on weaker minds, on men who it could own and manipulate. But in you, Annie, Arwen saw a chance to make the Jago name great again.”

  “My God, did he see in me what he saw in Eddie Jago?” I covered my face with my hands.

  “No, on the contrary, he saw you as the way to rebuild his dynasty. Your mind would not crumble before its greatness as poor, feeble Eddie’s had done or flaunt its power arrogantly as the first Uther did. But you would not accept it in the same way either, because you were not weak or vain as they were. You had no need of the darkness.”

  “I still don’t understand. There were strong Jagos of the true line before me. Arwen never tried to possess Tynan or Cad. Why me?”

  “I cannot see it all, Annie. I know only that he sensed that greatness for the Jago family would come from you.”

  “Tristan told us that Arwen saw himself as the gatekeeper for future generations, remember?” Finty spoke for the first time since we had entered the hut. “He said that Arwen felt very strongly that the Jagos who were to come would be destined for great things and it was his job to protect the line for them. Perhaps there is something about you, Annie, that made his spirit believe the time had come.”

  Nicca took my hand. “Stubbornness, bloody-mindedness, a refusal to let things go…”

  I laughed shakily. “I didn’t need Arwen, so he used Uther as bait? By making me fall in love with him, he gave me a reason to need him.”

  “Ja. You are a Jago. There is some of this legacy in all of you. It is who you are, but it does not always make you evil.” I thought of Tynan, Cad, Eleanor, Tristan, Petroc—the father I had never known—Rory and Rudi. The good Jagos outnumbered the bad. “But it was enough for the spirit to begin with. The attraction you and Uther felt, you knew in your heart it was not natural, ja?” I nodded, my cheeks flaming at the memories that flooded back to me. Nicca drew me closer and I leaned into him, grateful that he understood. “Uther was the means by which it would isolate you, persuade you that the dark ways were the right ones, use the lust that consumed you to overcome your rational thoughts.”

  When I thought about how close he had come to succeeding, I shuddered.

  “Now I must go back to the ancestors to discover how we end this.” The sangoma closed her eyes and repeated her incantation to the ancestors. She became very still, then her monotone chanting in the language of her ancestors resumed.

  “We will not bury this man, Uther,” Jabu said, returning to his role of translator. “He must burn so that there is nothing left of him for the spirit to cling to.”

  “Ask her if once Uther burns, the evil spirit will be completely gone,” I said to Jabu.

  “She says it will, Nkosikazi Annie,” he replied solemnly. “But she says the funeral pyre will be the most dangerous time. The spirit will seek another host when the body it claimed is taken away. When Uther’s mortal body burns, everything that belongs to him must burn with it so that the spirit cannot find a pathway through which to return.”

  “Am I already one of the things that belongs to the spirit? Will I be the pathway it uses to come back?” I took a breath. Nicca made a movement to stop me, but I shook my head. This was too important. “Must I burn, too, in order to send this spirit back to its darkness?”

  The sangoma’s soul-dark eyes burned into me. “Come closer, child,” she said, reverting again to Afrikaans now that she was no longer in a trance. I sat cross-legged on the animal skin beside her, and she took my
face in her hands. Her calloused fingers were firm against my temples. “The evil one has branded you, it is true. But you are stronger than even he knows. He was not prepared for your strength. You love another. A man who is good. That love has given you even greater power. You are a fighter, and you have even more to fight for now. No, the spirit does not own you, child. But it will try to use you and you must be prepared to fight harder than you have ever fought before. When Uther’s body burns, you must sit inside another circle of fire so that the wings of the spirit will be scorched when it tries to touch you. Anyone who bears the curse of the true Jago line must sit within the circle. If you do not, the darkness will seek you out.” Her eyes probed the shadowy corners of the room. For a moment, she appeared fearful, as though something repellent lurked there. “There is nowhere else for it to go. There cannot be.” She seemed to be trying to reassure herself as much as me. “It must be tonight. I will prepare bitter herbs for you to eat so that any part of the spirit that remains inside you will be driven from your body.” She bent close, and I thought for a moment that she was going to kiss my cheek. Instead, she whispered in my ear, “Do not fear, Annie, these herbs will not harm the baby you carry.”

  That night, shooting stars lit up the African midnight sky while on the ground bright-orange flames sent cinders swirling into the darkness. Close by, crickets sounded a shrill alarm. Farther away a lion roared. Vulture wings rustled like paper in the flat-topped acacia trees. The whole village had emerged to witness the ceremony, and the sounds of voices raised in song, dancing feet shuffling on the dusty ground and children’s excited chattering jarred oddly with the occasion.

  “When the night covers our land and the nightmares seize our minds, we see you, our forefathers, by the moon’s eternal light. And we sing our sacred song of thanks for a world made beautiful once more by the rising sun.” The sangoma’s chant rang out to the roof of the heavens and, as if in a dream, I heard Jabu telling Nicca what the words meant. The sangoma stepped into the circle of fire and gestured for me to follow her.

  “I will be here the whole time waiting for you,” Nicca told me, pulling me into his arms and kissing me. I nodded gratefully, drawing strength from his touch. Reaching out, I gripped Rudi’s hand tightly. His face was white and drawn, but I was relieved that, this time, he agreed to accompany me without hesitation.

  “I can’t go with you,” he had said earlier that day with a touch of unaccustomed petulance in his voice. “I’m ill. You’ll have to do it without me.”

  “You must come,” I had insisted. “The sangoma said that those of us in the true Jago line must be protected from the spirit while Uther’s body burns. If you do not join me in the circle, you are in danger of being claimed by Arwen Jago’s spirit.”

  “Annie, you cannot really believe all of this is true.”

  “Yes, I do! Sies tog, Rudi, are you forgetting what Uther tried to do to you? What he did to Rory? Think of the pictures of the castle. This is real, broer, and we have to make sure that it ends now. Do you want to live happily ever after with Finty, or spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder and fearing the shadows?”

  Finty had caught his hand and held it against her cheek. “Don’t be afraid, my darling,” she had said. “Annie is right, you know. Let’s lay this horrid Jago curse to rest once and for all, and then we can go home.”

  He had studied her face and then nodded. “Very well, I still think it’s all nonsense,” he had said with a frowning look at me. “But since it means so much to you both, let’s do it.”

  We sat cross-legged inside the flickering circle and the sangoma grasped our hands. Closing her eyes, she began to chant, rocking to and fro until it was clear that she had entered a trance.

  Flames frayed the night sky and the snapping of burning logs seemed to keep time with my heartbeat. I tried not to think of the other circle of stones and the fire that consumed Uther’s body. Of a life that had ended too soon and so far from where it started. Opposite me, Rudi looked uncomfortable; his palm was damp in mine, his eyes wide and restless. I realised that Finty had been right. He was afraid.

  High above my head, a winged shadow lurked. I forced myself to ignore it. Darkness was not the only part of my legacy. I thought of my grandmothers. Of the one I knew. Of my Ouma, raised by voortrekker parents, widowed in her twenties, carving a life for herself and for us in the harsh shadow of the Dragon Mountains. I was also the granddaughter of another strong woman: Dita Varga was someone I knew only by reputation. Forced to flee her Hungarian home, she had made a life for herself, despite being stalked across Europe by a ruthless murderer. She found love and blossomed into Bouche Jago. I focussed on her, on her determination to keep her family stable despite the awful pull of Tenebris. Her sons had been untainted. My unborn child must be, too. I thought of Nicca and the power of my love for him. A love that was strong and true and pure. There was no darkness clouding my thoughts when they were of Nicca. I needed to let that truth shine out into this night in the same way that Bouche’s devotion to Cad had been the guiding light in her life.

  The dark shape above me shifted slightly, forcing my attention back down to earth and into the circle. All too late I understood. My fears had been concentrated in the wrong place.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I was mesmerised by the sensation of the golden eyes of a centuries-dead man watching me from my brother’s face.

  “Annie.” The word was a caress. Arwen Jago twisted Rudi’s fine lips into something that might almost have been a smile.

  “Let him go,” I whispered through my own lips, which were made stiff and unfamiliar by fear.

  “Why? Rudi wanted me. He welcomed me, accepted me most willingly. Unlike you, Annie.” I thought of the look on Rudi’s face as he held Finty close and stared down at Uther’s dead body. I had been struck then by the curiously triumphant cast of his features. Now I knew why. Arwen had found a way back through the true line after all. That was why Rudi had not wanted to come here tonight. He didn’t want to let go of the sensation of power that Arwen could bestow on the Jagos.

  “You don’t want Rudi.”

  “That’s true. I want you. You are the one I have been waiting for. And it’s been a long time. But you have made it bloody difficult for me. Look what you’ve done to poor Uther.” He jerked his head toward the funeral pyre. “Shot through the head by that bitch and now burned to a crisp. All because he loved you, Annie.”

  “No.” I tilted my chin defiantly. “Those things happened to him because of you.”

  “Let’s not split hairs. It’s the same thing. We are the same, Annie. You and I. The only truly strong Jagos. Accept it.”

  “Never.”

  I was vaguely aware of Nicca standing just outside the circle. I knew he would be watching me. To him it would look like Rudi and I were chatting, whiling away the time, as we held hands across the mound of stones. I felt the matchless depth and passion of Arwen’s gaze on my face as he probed my mind again. Claws of insanity attempted to lock on to my heart. I prised them away and he grimaced.

  If he was right, if we were the same and our strength was equal, did that mean I could play this Jago game, too? The thought was repulsive. Did I want to see what was inside Arwen Jago’s head and heart? Could I survive—and would I get Rudi back—if I did not? I stared defiantly into those haunted, tiger-flecked eyes and knew the answer. Leaning forward, I pressed a kiss to my brother’s lily-pale brow and sat back to await my fate. His eyes closed as he tried to shut me out, his hands convulsed in mine, but the sangoma was right. I was stronger than either of us knew. I was stronger than Arwen Jago.

  The images were faint at first. Veiled figures of ages long departed. Haunted plumes within enchanted mists of mortality. Gradually, beauty and colour began to emerge. This was not what I had expected. No howling goblins or grinning ghosts. No blood dripping like curdled light. Proud Tenebris emerged clearly in my mind. A place of safety, love and family. I saw the riches of yesteryear
and thankful toasts drunk to a returning king. I saw Arwen, young, laughing and heartbreakingly handsome. He was Uther as he should have been. The familiar golden arrogance was there, of course, but it was softened by something I had not thought to see on his face. Tamed by love. Then I saw him older, knelt in prayer, hands covering his face as candles wept white serpent tears that slithered silently onto the altar.

  I heard his voice pleading in my mind. “Halt this descent into darkness from which there can be no return.”

  My vision shifted to Lucia’s Glade, where a graceful figure stood poised for flight. A lone owl hooted a misplaced daylight song, and trees with barbed, outstretched arms worshipped a suddenly druid-dark sky. I sensed a presence so foul it could have only one master.

  “Annie.” Arwen’s voice sighed my name, there in that long-ago forest and echoing again within this strange, still African night. I heard his harsh, indrawn breath and the thud of the crossbow bolt. I saw blood on English clover. I saw it all.

  “I know why you killed Lucia,” I whispered.

  His eyes fluttered open again. “It was always about you, Annie.”

  He was no longer the darkness inside me. I had left that behind me at Tenebris. The only darkness that had possessed me since then was my own fear. But now I had faced and defeated it. I was made of both dark and light, and it was my choice that I allowed to define me. Darkness—wild and savage—had invaded my body, but light had found and filled my heart. Finty’s words came back to me. Does an evil spirit seek out an evil person? The dark wings of my heaven-sent nightmare began to fade. I knew for certain that I would never again dream of that great, birdlike creature. I looked into the bright gold of Arwen Jago’s eyes without fear this time. Something, almost a smile, lit their depths. His hold over me, over the Jagos, was at an end. But we were both glad.