Destiny (Immortal)

by Gillian Shields

  Then he clams up and says it’s time to go and hurries away, and turns into a stranger again.

  I won’t be able to hide this from Sarah and Evie much longer. I have told them that Mr. Brooke has arranged an accompanist for me for the night of the concert. That’s all I’ve said. They are both performing in the choir, and I have been careful to arrange to meet Lynton when they are busy. I can’t let my friends meet him now, because I know that if they saw us together, they would guess the truth of what I feel. I can’t hide it anymore.

  Wanderer, I love Lynton. And my heart tells me that he feels the same, but there is something holding him back. I’m sure Celeste would be quick to point out a hundred reasons for it. “Are you so dumb you can’t see that he’s already got a girlfriend in London? He’s just playing with you. Anyway, why on earth would a good-looking guy like that be into a loser like you?” But she would be wrong. Whatever it is that makes Lynton fear to step over the line of friendship is something secret and hidden, and nothing to do with his feelings for me.

  I dream about him. I dream that we are flying, like he said, over the waterfall and across the moors, into the dawn. And then we land on a far distant shore, and all secrets fall away and there is nothing to keep us apart. That’s when I wake up, aching with longing.

  Love has lodged itself in my heart like an uninvited guest. But I welcome it with open arms; I welcome the pain, the fear, the rushing, giddy madness of it. Just to love Lynton, without receiving anything in return, makes me happy, even in these dark days. Thinking about him pushes away all my anxieties about my mother and Laura and all the rest. It makes me want to embrace the whole world and bring everyone into my circle of love, even Velvet, even my darkest enemy. I want everyone to have a second chance and a hope for redemption. If this can happen to me, what else is possible? If Lynton believes in me, there is nothing I can’t achieve.

  I remember every word he has ever said, turning them over in my mind like treasures. I think you’re amazing, he said. The amazing, wonderful, beautiful Helen Black.

  If only I could really write poetry, something that would be worthy of him. I try—I have tried—but nothing is good enough.

  And there was one who came to me,

  Gentle as rain, bright as the sun,

  Mysterious as the night.

  There was one who came to me and said, “Live,

  Because the light is fading and we are young.”

  There was one who came to me and said, “Sing,

  For the dawn is near and a new life begins.”

  There was one who came to me and said, “Long

  Have I known you in my dreams.”

  He gave me a white rose. The thorns

  Tore my hand, but the petals opened,

  Tender as forgiveness,

  And the day was pierced with beauty.

  My words wither and fade like dead leaves. But I know what I feel. Even if this doesn’t last, even if I die tonight, I know now what it means to be in love.

  Twenty-six

  THE WITNESS OF EVELYN JOHNSON

  Helen was like a white rose blossoming in a late, unexpected summer.

  She sang quietly to herself as we walked over the grounds in our free time, and there was an expression in her eyes that I had never seen before. I had seen her angry, brave, despairing, and even exultant, but I had never seen this aura of hope radiating from her like light. I thought of course that it was the idea of releasing Laura that was inspiring her. Maybe that had something to do with it. But Helen kept her secrets to herself, moving through Wyldcliffe’s gloomy spaces like a Madonna, nursing her hopes and dreams in her own private world. It wasn’t lack of love for Helen that kept us from knowing what she was going through, but her own steel-strong will that clouded our eyes and judgment. Sarah and I had seen no further sign from the Priestess, or the coven, and I began to believe at last that their powers had waned and that Celia Hartle really was imprisoned forever. If only we could do as we had promised and liberate Laura, I told myself that maybe our long struggle with the Dark Sisters would be over, and we would know peace again.

  Helen was even attempting to make peace with Velvet, though not with any great success. “Come and sit with us, Velvet,” Helen tried to persuade her one night at supper. “Let’s talk.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “But I’d really like to spend time with you—”

  “Go to hell,” Velvet snapped back. “Why should you give a damn about being with me? You’ve had your chance and you blew it.”

  “Everyone deserves a second chance, Velvet,” said Helen quietly. “You’ll get your second chance one day, and I think you’ll use it well.”

  Velvet’s expression changed. “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll learn to control the forces that rage inside you now. And then you’ll be able to choose how you use them. Choose wisely and everything you want will come to you. All you have to do is what Agnes said. Open your heart. Learn to love.”

  Velvet’s lip curled into a sneer. “Love makes you weak.”

  “No! Never say that.” Helen looked so fair and delicate next to Velvet’s voluptuous dark beauty, but there was a subtle air of power about her. “You’re worth more than that, so much more. Your time will come.”

  “Like you really care.”

  “I do care,” said Helen in a whisper. “And I would believe in you, Velvet, if you’d let me.”

  Velvet frowned and opened her mouth to speak, then turned abruptly away. Helen sighed. At least she had tried, I thought, though it was like trying to tame a wild panther that was ready to spring….

  By that time Velvet was doing no work; she broke every rule and was openly insolent to the mistresses, and even to Dr. Franzen. Finally, on the night of the new moon that we had been waiting for with such hopes and fears, she had a huge row with him in front of the whole school. He was making one of his long-winded speeches after supper, walking up and down in front of the long row of stony-faced mistresses, exhorting the student body to aim high, be the best, and generally display our superiority to the rest of the world. This time he was talking about his dreary concert, which we’d all had to practice so hard toward.

  “You fortunate Wyldcliffe students are the elite,” he began in that cold, flat voice of his. “And with privilege come responsibilities. Wyldcliffe girls should be above the common crowd. Here we do not value the fleeting, shallow values of the world—the trash of celebrity and popular culture. We value what will last. The beauties of ancient Greek texts. The intellectual striving of science. The challenge of classical music. Music, indeed, is like a microcosm of our world. That is why our Memorial Concert will be such an important feature of the term. Tomorrow night there will be a full rehearsal of the program in the chapel ruins. All the students and staff will be there, to see how far our work has taken us and what remains to be done. On the night of the Memorial Procession itself, everything must be perfect. To play or sing together requires discipline. It requires subduing the individual to the whole. More than any individual personalities, you are Wyldcliffe girls. You wear uniforms, like soldiers, to indicate that all we do here is for the good of the whole: one body, one aim, one identity—our beloved Wyldcliffe.”

  “That’s complete crap,” Velvet said. Every single person in the dining hall gasped in astonishment and stared at her. Dr. Franzen’s face flushed dark purple with fury.

  “Did someone speak?” he said icily.

  “Yeah, I did,” Velvet replied. She got up from her seat with a swagger, looking totally unconcerned. “Sorry, sir,” she drawled sarcastically, “I meant to say that I take an opposing philosophical stand to your own. You see, I believe that people should be individuals, not part of some robotlike machine.”

  “I think we have heard enough of your opinions, Miss Romaine,” Dr. Franzen said. “You, I am afraid, are an example of individualism run riot. That is not what we teach at Wyldcliffe.”

  “Well, you should! Individuals
have genius and imagination and inspiration! Individuals change the world, not groups of obedient clones, following one another about like sheep. You go on about music—what about all the famous composers and artists? Weren’t they individuals, following their own path to create something extraordinary?” There was a faint murmur of approval from the students. At last someone was saying what many of them secretly thought. A few brave ones started clapping.

  “Be quiet!” Dr. Franzen snapped. “Resume your seat.”

  “I won’t shut up and sit down! Why are we even celebrating this Memorial Procession? It’s in honor of Lady Agnes, isn’t it? She wasn’t some plaster saint of meek and mild girlhood, you know. She was an individual. She was a rebel! She did things her own way. She even ran off and had a baby—”

  “SILENCE!”

  I had never seen anyone so angry as Dr. Franzen. His broad shoulders seemed to shake with rage, and his fingers twitched.

  “Detention again, Miss Romaine,” he snarled. “You will have an hour in detention to reflect upon your lack of manners.”

  “No, I won’t,” she said defiantly. “You can’t make me, you stupid, bullying, pompous little man.”

  All the anger immediately drained from Dr. Franzen’s demeanor. He was suddenly cold and quiet and dangerous. The students fell silent, horrified that Velvet had gone too far now. Even she looked less sure of herself as Dr. Franzen slowly contemplated her. “Oh, I can,” he said with a chilling smile, “and I will. In fact, you will spend all night in detention, in isolation. I will not and cannot tolerate such behavior. I am the Master here, and you will soon find out what that means. All of you,” he added, looking around deliberately, “you will see that I mean what I say. The whole is greater than the parts. You will all come round to my way of thinking in the end.”

  No one moved. No one spoke. It was as though he had hypnotized everyone by the force of his will. But one of the mistresses got to her feet uncertainly and said in a low, rapid voice, “Dr. Franzen, excuse me, I must say something—I feel this punishment is too harsh—we have a duty of care—this is not how we deal with our students—”

  “They are my students now, Miss Hetherington. You may leave this with me. Now you will all leave and go quietly to your dormitories. Velvet Romaine, you will stay behind, unless you wish to increase this unpleasantness and create further trouble for your fellow students?” She shrugged and looked away. “Good. Then I will escort you personally to the turret room on the second floor. I hope you will profit from your time there.”

  I had been so caught up in watching this little drama that I hadn’t noticed Helen’s reaction. But now I saw that she was rigid with tension and her face was completely white, like a carving on a marble tomb. She pushed through the lines of sullen students who had begun to file out of the room and reached out for Velvet. I followed her as quickly as I could.

  “Velvet, you mustn’t go,” she was saying in an agitated whisper. “You mustn’t let him hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” Velvet looked incredulous. “Of course he’s not gong to hurt me; I’ve been in detention loads of times before. I don’t give a damn about it, or him. It’s only sitting in one dumb room instead of another. He’s not exactly going to lock me up and throw away the key, is he? Anyway, it suits me fine,” she said with a defiant shrug. “When I write to my parents and tell them I’ve been stuck in the turret room all night long with nothing but bread and water, they’ll have to take me away. Dad will go crazy when he hears about what he’s getting for all the money he’s splashing out on this place.” Then she suddenly seemed to remember that she wasn’t supposed to be friends with us, and snapped, “Why the hell do you care anyway?”

  “Because I hate that man,” Helen said. She spoke quietly, but with burning intensity. “And I won’t let him harm anyone ever again.” She hurried away, leaving Velvet behind, her dark eyes smoldering with wonder.

  Twenty-seven

  FROM THE DIARY OF HELEN BLACK

  OCTOBER 30

  We go to the caverns tonight. In these last few moments I hardly know what to think or write. Finally this moment is here. Sarah has everything prepared. The new moon will be our friend. I wish—I don’t know why—I wish Velvet were coming with us. I hate to leave her here alone, being punished by Dr. Franzen, despite everything she is, and everything she has done. If that man hurts one hair on her head, I will kill him.

  No—that’s not the way of love, is it? Lynton talked about forgiveness. But how can evil be forgiven? How can it be allowed to exist?

  My head aches. Stop asking questions. Think only of Laura. This is her time. This is the time for healing, at last. The new moon rises, a faint silver outline that promises great things, and I cannot give in to distractions now. The Eye of Time is waiting, and the Mystic Way calls its servants to heal the victim and to free the prisoner.

  Great Creator, please guard all the innocents in Wyldcliffe’s valley tonight. Silver light of heaven, shine on us as we perform our holy task. Light our footsteps, even in the darkness of the earth. Let Laura find peace. Let my mother be all that she could have been. And let me finish what I have to do and then come back…to Lynton…to hope…to life…

  The new moon was hanging like a glimmer of a ghost in the vast, black sky. It was time to go. The three of us had arranged to sneak out of the school just before midnight and meet at the school gates. Evie and I crept out of our dorm together, leaving Sophie and Celeste fast asleep, but when we reached the curtained alcove that concealed the door to the servants’ stairs, we found that the door was locked. We looked at each other in alarm. Had Dr. Franzen, in his incessant snooping around the building, come across this forgotten doorway and made sure that it couldn’t be used for any more student wanderings? There was no sign of Sarah. I wasn’t sure what to do. I could take Evie out of the school with me on the secret ways through the air, but what if Sarah was left behind? A noise from the end of the passage made us look up anxiously, hoping it was Sarah. But it was a girl from the year above ours, Janey Watson. As she came out of the bathroom, she looked at us in surprise. “What are you doing?” she whispered. “Do you want the bathroom?”

  “Um…Helen wasn’t feeling too good,” Evie said. “We were going to go downstairs…to…to the nurse’s room.”

  “Oh, okay.” Janey stared at me again, her sharp little eyes lingering on my face. “Hope you feel better.” I thought she would go back to her dorm, but she waited, watching us curiously. We had no choice but to set off down the main marble stairs as if we were really going to the infirmary.

  Evie led the way, and I followed with my heart beating too fast and too loud, praying that no one else would see us. As we got near the second-floor landing, where the mistresses’ common room and sleeping quarters were, we pressed ourselves against the wall, as though we could dissolve into the shadows. There was no one about, thankfully, so we glided down to the ground floor and the black-and-white-tiled entrance hall. We began to cross the hall to the front door, but when we were only halfway across we heard low voices coming from the direction of Dr. Franzen’s study. I froze in horror, but Evie grabbed me and bundled me into the parlor. As we hurried to hide behind the damask drapes at the window, I knocked into a small stool. The sound seemed magnified in the darkness, and I was furious with myself for my clumsiness, but all we could do was stand rigid behind the drapes and wait. We heard footsteps, and the tapping of a stick on the polished tiles. The door opened wider and a lamp was switched on. Through the parting of the curtains I saw Dr. Franzen frown and glance around the room as he leaned on his black cane. The lamp threw ugly shadows across his face. He was getting closer—he would find us—I found myself choking back a scream of panic—

  The lamp was extinguished. He was gone. His heavy footsteps and the noise of his stick receded. “We can’t go back out there,” Evie whispered, and turned to fumble with the lock on the window. Miraculously, it opened smoothly, and we climbed out as silently and swiftly as we could, landing
on the grass that bordered the front of the building. We crept under the shadows of the trees that lined the drive and then ran without looking back all the way to the school gates. Sarah was waiting for us, pacing nervously.

  “Thank goodness you made it,” she exclaimed softly. “Did you see that the door to the old staircase had somehow locked after I went through? It blew shut behind me, and I couldn’t get it open again for you. I’m sorry—that’s never happened before.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “Let’s just go.” I breathed out, trying to relax. We had got past the first hurdle. We had fooled Dr. Franzen, and that gave me a boost of confidence. We could do this…we could do it….

  The next minute we were on the other side of the school gates, hurrying down the lane. This might be the last time the three of us made one of our midnight excursions, I thought. After this, when Laura’s spirit had passed, I would work alone on my last great task to free my mother. I couldn’t involve my friends in that. And if I succeeded, then the danger would be over. Evie’s and Sarah’s nighttime wanderings would only be for love, and my mother would no longer be a burden in my life. She would be at rest. I could even meet Lynton’s family without fear…but I couldn’t think of that now. We hurried on. We could do this….

  Josh and Cal were waiting impatiently at the end of the lane near the turning to the churchyard. They were both so strong and young and full of life. I suddenly hoped they fully realized the risk they were running by coming on our mystic quest. At least we had our powers to protect us; they had only their loyalty to the girls they loved.

  “Are you sure you want to come?” I asked abruptly. “It’s not fair to drag you into this again.”