Inside Wentzl, Cyricus felt blood rage. He knew he must show none of his fury or despair as he watched Darcelle’s body, with Aphra dead no doubt before her host hit the ground, bouncing behind the horse like a rag doll.
The Ciprean guard watched with shock — albeit tinged with a collective and helpless glee — that the woman who had treated them with such disdain had just been seen off in a wholly appropriate manner. One among them, an older man called Fyffe, turned to his neighbour with a frown and whispered: ‘Unless my eyes deceive me, that was the king’s arrow.’
‘What?’ his companion said, startled.
Fyffe shrugged. ‘No-one has striped Pingara fletching like that except King Tamas.’
‘I didn’t notice,’ his neighbour admitted. ‘I was just glad to see the bitch die.’
‘Hush,’ Fyffe warned. All the men in the Ciprean Guard had sensibly drawn their weapons to discourage the Morgravians from retaliating. One of the senior officers was assuring Wentzl and the Morgravian officer that every Ciprean was accounted for. The shot had to have been made by a Morgravian with a grudge, he reasoned.
Nothing was so much as breathed by a Ciprean about the fletching on the arrow.
Far away, well out of sight, Tamas took a long, slow breath. It would have taken another archer of his stature to know which direction the arrow had come from.
‘That’s the end of the demon and his minion,’ he growled. ‘Mount up, Ham. Let’s go find Florentyna before a pack of her soldiers have our hides drying out in the sun. They’ll want blood.’
Ham could only peek over the top of the mound that he had been hiding behind, open-mouthed. It had been an impossible shot, surely, and yet his eyes had told him only the truth. He had watched Tamas stand and take the deepest of breaths, which he then held tightly; he had seen the king close his eyes briefly and focus his thoughts before he’d suddenly snapped them open, pulled back the string of his bow; Ham had heard the soft creak of the kisten, the wheezing strain of the hemp becoming taut; Tamas had raised the bow, the arrow menacing as it had waited to be released into the air. In that heartbeat, as Tamas had paused in that position, becoming so still he looked to be part of the landscape, Ham had imagined the arrow as a living creature, eager to be let loose to fly. It only had one flight in its life, Ham had thought, and it wanted to be the best it could be. It wanted to fly faster than any before it; smoother and straighter than all the arrows that had been shot from this same bow. It wanted to land more accurately and with more force than its predecessors had ever been able to on their targets, so the king and his fletcher could be proud of it. It wanted to be known as the arrow that had killed a Morgravian royal.
Tamas had released the bowstring and the arrow had been catapulted toward the clouds, creating a sinister farewell hiss as it left its still-thrumming bow and began its first and only journey. Ham did his best to follow its flight, but lost the arrow in its ascent because of the glare of the sun. Immediately, he’d dropped his gaze to Princess Darcelle sitting atop her horse, talking to the king’s man — laughing, in fact, her chin lifted in her amusement. Ham had watched in a state beyond amazement as death met Darcelle’s laughing expression in the most daring and impossibly accurate arrow shot that Morgravia had surely ever witnessed.
Her death had been instantaneous and shockingly ugly, even from the distance of five hundred strides. Her corpse had fallen from the horse and was immediately dragged by her startled mount, but Hamelyn had smiled, for Gabe had told them that if the host was destroyed, then the demon and his hideous minion were destroyed also.
‘We’re done here, Ham,’ Tamas urged, pulling his arm. Ham came out of his state of wonder, blinking at the king. Tamas nodded his head toward the valley, back to where men were glaring in their rough direction and pointing. ‘They’ll chase us down if we don’t leave now. But we’ve got the head start we need and I intend for the Morgravian men never to find us, never to know who shot that arrow. Come!’
They jumped onto their horses and fled as fast as their animals could gallop.
THIRTY-ONE
‘Are you all right, my son?’ the kind voice asked.
Gabe stirred awake. He hadn’t realised he had drifted into sleep. He stammered a response.
‘No need to apologise. You’ve been here a while. I just want to know that you are not sick or in trouble? After those terrible deaths in the cistern, I’m worried about everyone.’
Gabe cleared his throat and rubbed the sleep from his face. ‘Forgive me. I am a traveller,’ he said. ‘Very tired. My name is Gabriel.’
‘Welcome, Gabriel. I am Canon Petrus. This beautiful vessel of Shar’s love is my responsibility,’ he said, gesturing to the cathedral’s nave. He smiled warmly in the low light and Gabe realised suddenly that it was night and the oil in the cressets on the pillars had already been lit. ‘First visit to the Pearlis Cathedral?’ the man asked.
‘Yes, it’s overwhelming,’ Gabe admitted. ‘But in a good way.’
Petrus smiled. ‘That gladdens me. You have not eaten?’
‘You’ve been watching me, father.’
‘Indeed. Would you care to share some bread and cheese? It is only a light supper but I’m happy for you to join me. It seems we are the only supplicants this eve.’ He lifted a small bundle from the pew where he sat and watched Gabe. ‘Shar will not mind if we munch in his beautiful nave.’
Gabe grinned. ‘Shar is a modern thinker, then?’
Petrus gave him a quizzical smile in return, and Gabe reminded himself of where he was and the times he was now living through.
‘Help yourself, young man. I eat very little these days but Mistress Lyme, who looks after us clergy of the cathedral, seems to believe we all need endless fattening.’ He tapped his small paunch. ‘I have more than enough.’
Gabe stood gingerly and stretched. His spine gave a satisfying click and he sighed.
‘That should tell you how long you’ve been in that one spot,’ Petrus said, gesturing at the food and for Gabe to help himself. He did, taking a hunk of the bread and a wedge of the cheese. There were two apples, another linen filled with nuts and dried fruit, and he noticed only now the small flagon of wine with two beakers. He didn’t think that Mistress Lyme had set up supper at all. He suspected that Petrus had prepared his own and included Gabe in his calculations, but he sensed no guile.
‘Thank you, that’s kind.’
‘I admit I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Gabriel. You looked a bit lonely. You’re not lost?’
He shook his head and gave a rueful smile. ‘I’ve never felt more at home,’ he admitted.
Petrus regarded him with another frown, more bemused this time. He turned and poured them each a wine. ‘I told you a fib. I did ask Mistress Lyme to include enough for two.’
‘I guessed,’ Gabe said, as he took the proffered beaker and raised it. ‘To spiritual release,’ he said, not really understanding why he said it.
Petrus gave a low chuckle. ‘Yes, I’ll drink to that,’ he agreed and they touched beakers. Gabe watched his new friend take the first sip. Satisfied he was not to be poisoned he began to sip companionably.
‘So which is your beast?’
‘The unicorn,’ Gabe answered quickly, looking away but careful not to appear or sound suspicious. ‘It called to me the moment I set foot inside the cathedral,’ he lied.
Petrus shrugged. ‘That’s the thrill of the first visit,’ he admitted. ‘I remember mine like it was yesterday?’
‘What’s yours?’
‘Canis.’
Gabe tried not to look unsure. He waited, hoping the priest would clue him in.
Petrus sighed. ‘Yes, the humble dog,’ he replied and grinned.
Gabe shrugged, relieved to know to which beast he referred. ‘Everyone loves dogs,’ he said.
‘Nicely said, Gabriel. And you’re right. When I was young, I wished it had been Lupus who had chosen me. A wolf — wild and dangerous — appealed so much more. As a child I tr
ied to convince myself it had been Lupus who’d called my name, but it was Canis who knew me.’
‘Dogs are faithful. Dogs are loyal. Dogs are true because a dog doesn’t lie,’ Gabe said, smiling. ‘Its tail gives it away every time.’
‘I like you, Gabriel,’ Petrus said, lifting his chin with a sense of pride. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s the least I can do for someone who shares his supper.’
They sat in a friendly silence, chewing on their food and listening to the soft splutters of the burning oil.
‘If you’re Unicornia, why were you sitting beneath the king?’
Gabe was ready for this, having guessed the wily canon might ask. ‘I suppose, like you, I was pretending for a moment. I wished the Dragon had chosen me. I wanted to see what it felt like to touch him. I really didn’t mean to fall asleep.’
‘You looked very comfortable in his embrace. And he looked …’ Petrus searched for the right phrase, ‘… very protective of you.’
‘It’s always helpful to have friends in high places, don’t you think?’
At this remark, Petrus laughed and the sound of his amusement echoed around the cathedral.
‘Petrus, would you mind very much if I remained here for a while … I mean, in the church?’
‘Why should I mind, son?’ the man said, his dark eyes twinkling with humour.
‘I don’t see anyone else remaining after dark.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised. This is just a quiet night. You are welcome to stay. Everyone is welcome. No traveller is ever turned away. Where are you headed ultimately?’
‘Salvation,’ he said and immediately wished he hadn’t at the way the canon’s eyes widened.
‘Gabriel, have you a troubled soul? Can I help?’
He shook his head. ‘Not troubled. I have felt trapped. In here, I feel safe but not imprisoned.’
‘You are looking for release?’ the older man asked carefully.
Gabe realised what the man suddenly feared. ‘I am no danger to myself. I simply want quiet time away from others, alone with my thoughts, a time to reflect and be close to my spiritual beast.’
His companion visibly relaxed. ‘Stay as long as you wish. I must leave you now to attend to my duties.’
‘Thank you for the food.’
‘Commune with your beast, Gabriel. Find peace,’ Petrus said, standing and sighing as his hip creaked. ‘I’ll look in on you from time to time.’ He left Gabe with an avuncular smile after gathering the linens, flagon and beakers into the small basket he’d brought in.
Gabe watched him leave, returned his attention to the dragon and remembered how it had welcomed him as his son. He was confused, needed to understand more. If the beast could speak with him, then surely he could in turn speak with it … if he could find the way.
And then it occurred to Gabe that he already knew the way. He left where he was and sat in a pew close to the dragon but not on it as before. When he reached out he could still touch the dragon, which was comforting. He stared at it. And its stone sculpted eyes appeared to stare straight back at him … almost daring him to try.
He dared.
Gabe closed his eyes, as if in prayer, and reached for his mental haven. This was not for an exam. It wasn’t for escape from the darkness of losing his family. It was to learn.
He easily saw it in his mind’s eye. There was the nave of the cathedral from his vision, and it was identical to the architecture of where he sat … down to the pattern of the flagstones his feet were upon. He took a deep breath and privately marvelled. How could he have known this place?
Suddenly he felt as though he were travelling but not moving anywhere. The image in his mind shifted, became skewed and suddenly he was in a place he didn’t recognise.
He wasn’t in it physically. He knew his body was anchored to the pew in Pearlis Cathedral, but his spirit seemed to have found a very strange plane. There was nothing around him … just a neutral space that was neither misty nor clear, neither dark nor light. It was devoid of colour and he could not describe the hues — black, white or grey — that surrounded him. It was nothing. It wasn’t air. It wasn’t water. It had no smell, no taste. It had no sense of distance, but it wasn’t claustrophobic either. It was baffling.
‘Where is this?’ he asked nervously. He didn’t anticipate an answer.
But a voice did answer. ‘You are in the Void, Gabriel, but you are protected. Do not be afraid while you are with me.’
‘Who speaks?’ he demanded, not frightened but not feeling entirely comfortable. ‘Please … show yourself.’
He hadn’t known there were shadows until the man appeared, walking slowly but purposefully, gradually acquiring definition. He wore a grey robe. His hair was silvered, and though Gabe sensed he was old, he had a genial quality about him.
‘Who … who …?’
‘I am Fynch,’ the man said.
‘Should I know you?’
He shook his head. ‘More’s the pity.’
It was an odd response. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Why should you? It’s me speaking in riddles to defend myself against something you will understand soon enough. Suffice to say I am not your enemy, Gabriel. Far from it. May I call you Gabe?’
‘Yes. How do you know me?’
‘I knew your mother.’
Gabe had to repeat Fynch’s words in his mind to fully grasp the enormity of what he’d just said.
‘My mother? She had this skill?’
‘No.’
‘Then how does a mother who lives in the village of Poynings in Britain come to know a man called Fynch from another world … another plane, it seems?’
Fynch chuckled softly, but the sound seemed sad to Gabe’s hearing, as though regretful. ‘The woman who raised you and the woman who birthed you are different, Gabe. I’m sorry, I’m sure this will shock.’
Gabe was certain his heart skipped several beats.
‘How can you say that so heartlessly?’
‘There was nothing but heart in what I’ve just told you, son. You were loved, but you had a role. I had to take the precaution of sending you far away from Morgravia. You were taken to a place we could trust you would never be found.’
It felt like a jigsaw piece slotting into the right spot in his mind. ‘Until the right time,’ Gabe finished, his mind scrambling to catch up with his instinctive response.
Fynch nodded. ‘I knew you would be found.’ He shrugged. ‘Time moves differently here.’
‘I was born here?’ Gabe exclaimed, the shock beginning to sink in. Fynch nodded gravely.
‘Because of how time moves, I had to hold you back in the Wild, where I live — it’s complicated. If I’d let you go immediately, you would have returned too old. The Wild kept you safe and … hibernating, for want of a better word. It has immense magic that I don’t question.’
Gabe felt like he’d been punched in the softest part of his belly. He felt sick.
‘When the time was right, you were still so young. You were given to a lovely family as I understand it, with parents who loved you deeply. Did you not know you were adopted?’
‘No. I bore an uncanny resemblance to my mother. It was never questioned.’
Fynch sighed. ‘You do bear an uncanny likeness to your birth mother too, so your adoptive parents were chosen well. There’s never a good time to tell a child something like that. Maybe they just found it easier to live life with the secret intact.’
‘Who is my mother … my birth mother?’ he demanded.
‘A truly beautiful woman by the name of Jetta. As her name suggests she was dark haired, dark eyed … like you.’
‘Why did she give me up?’
‘Because your father asked her to … no, because he insisted.’
‘Tell me about my father.’
‘Little is known of him. He was a traveller, rarely seen. People thought your mother invented him. She became labelled a whore.’
Gabe blinked as i
f slapped.
‘She was no such thing,’ Fynch continued gently with affection in his gaze. ‘She loved your father fiercely and did not question his motives. She did as he asked.’
‘Did she know where I was taken?’
Fynch shook his head. ‘It was thought best she didn’t.’
‘Who thought this?’ he snapped. ‘My father?’
‘That’s right. It was his choice alone.’
‘So my father knew I would one day return like this, my body stolen, my life threatened, my whole existence turned upside d—’
‘Gabriel, he knew only that you would return and that you would bring strength, power, skills … and goodness to the war against Cyricus.’
‘He knew! How? Tell me how he knew about Cyricus or that any of this would occur?’
‘He didn’t. He suspected the threat existed —’
‘So on a whim … a hunch … a vague feeling that Cyricus may take an interest in Morgravia, my father — a traveller — ripped me away from my family and sent me to a new world?’
Fynch didn’t blink at Gabe’s rising tones or the steps that he’d taken toward him, almost in threat. ‘He was right, though. Cyricus always had a need for revenge against the empire. It was just a matter of time before he directed that revenge. You had to be the innocent party. Your father had to believe that Aphra would find you.’
‘When, in fact, it was the other way around.’
Fynch nodded. ‘The man you knew as Reynard was Chancellor Reynard, who trusted me and knew that you existed. He gave his life to find you and send you back, but he needed Aphra’s magic to make it happen. He was clever and brave and above all, he was a loyal man of Morgravia. Don’t think badly of him.’
It seemed Fynch had the answers he had sought then. ‘The raven?’ Gabe asked, suddenly remembering how unnerved he’d been made to feel by the silent, staring bird.
‘Another friend of our world, loyal and brave. In a way, he gave his life for our cause. He will be irrevocably changed through it, but he will survive because of his magic.’
Gabe felt the weight of years, of never quite feeling he belonged, crushing on his chest. ‘Fynch … who am I?’
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