Susan Spencer Paul - [Enchanter 01]

by Touch of Night

  He laughed. “Aye, there’s always something entertaining taking place among the Families. I never cease to be amused.”

  “I do,” Niclas said from where he sat on Julia’s other side, a cup of whisky in his hand. He looked handsome and relaxed sitting among his own kind, his clothes newly cleaned and dried, his face freshly shaved and his black hair combed, and yet terribly weary all the same.

  “Ah, well, you’ve always had trouble seeing the humor in our singular lives,” Steffan admonished affectionately. “I suppose, then, that we’d best talk about Cadmaran. Tell me everything, cfender, and then we’ll make our plan for getting Miss Linley safely to Castle Tylluan.”

  Steffan’s men gathered around to listen as Niclas and Julia told what they knew of the earl of Llew and his present determination to wed Ceridwen Seymour. They listened intently, and when the telling came to an end Steffan asked, “Do you think he’s coming after you, then? Surely he would give up the idea of using Miss Linley as a hostage if regaining her would be so great a trouble.”

  “One would think so,” Niclas agreed, “but Morcar Cadmaran is both stubborn and determined. Anger will drive him to be foolish and pursue us—I’m quite certain of it. The only thing I don’t know is when he’ll cross the border or what direction he’ll take. I can’t call on Malachi for aid, for he must keep Ceridwen safe. If I can get Miss Linley to Castle Tylluan, however, Kian might be able to keep the earl of Llew at bay.”

  “That’s true enough,” Steffan said thoughtfully. “His powers are stronger than yours and mine, but he’s a far cry from being what either Malachi or Cadmaran are. Still, it might be enough. My men and I will come with you, of course, and lend our simple help.”

  “That would be most welcome, cousin,” Niclas said. “I can ask no more than that.”

  “Can you not?” Steffan said with a laugh. “You needn’t do so, much as you fear it. I shall ask it of myself.”

  Niclas reached out a hand to touch his cousin’s knee, a brief but concerned gesture.

  “No, Steffan. There’s no need for you to do so.”

  “Do what?” Julia asked, looking from one man to the next.

  “The reading of the bowl,” Steffan replied, an easy smile on his lips. “Niclas doesn’t want me wearing myself out, but the effort will be of great help, I vow. I want to do it, cfender.”

  Niclas looked deeply troubled. “I’ll stay with you, Steffan. Will that be all right?”

  “Oh, don’t fuss over me like a nursemaid,” Steffan chided, and Julia thought she heard a hint of nervousness behind his cheerfulness. “Stay if you like, and if it will ease your mind. I’m always glad for a bit of company. My men will remain to guard Miss Linley. She’ll be safe in their care.”

  “But what is it?” Julia asked. “Can I not come, too?”

  “Oh, no,” Steffan said pleasantly. “I’m sure it would bore you terribly. Here, Simon, fill Miss Linley’s cup. Roger, check those rabbits and see if they’re done yet. No more of this dour talk. Let’s feast and have a merry time! We’ve the rare company of a lovely lady to grace our camp, and my dear cousin, as well. Alun, take up your flute and give us a tune. We’ll have a dance and a song and bless the hours before they’re gone.”

  Twelve

  Having been raised in a family like the Seymours, Niclas knew that he should have long since been inured to all manner of supernatural events. And he supposed he was, compared to more normal men. He didn’t take exception, for instance, to those relatives who could move objects or converse with animals, and he had never had any trouble accepting the talents that other relatives possessed in making potions and powders or even in casting spells. But there were some exercises practiced by certain members of his family that always filled him with unease. Malachi’s ability to journey long distances in but moments was one, and Steffan’s gift for sending his spirit into mystical realms was another. Both were evidently quite exciting, at least according to Malachi and Steffan, but they were also dangerous. Steffan had been known to wander in other realms for days, leaving his physical body to lie as still and lifeless as a dead man’s. Malachi had been obliged to go into that other realm twice in the past year alone to draw Steffan’s unwilling spirit back. On one of those occasions it had taken two full days before they had both been restored, for Malachi had encountered great difficulty in finding their cousin, and had had greater difficulty still in convincing him to come home. That was Niclas’s fear now, as he watched Steffan preparing himself for the ceremony. What if he didn’t come back in an hour or two? Niclas didn’t possess the ability to go after him, and he couldn’t call Malachi away from the task of keeping Ceridwen safe. If Steffan went into that other world and didn’t return, what could he do to get him back?

  “Almost ready,” Steffan said, running his hands with care along the length of a deep blue blanket that he’d laid upon an area of ground that had been carefully swept free of rock and debris.

  They were in a small clearing on the banks of the stream, very near the water. With Niclas’s help, Steffan had prepared the site, laying out candles in specific spots and picking smooth stones from the stream to place in a small circle. Before this circle, facing the water, he had laid the blanket.

  “Now,” he said, kneeling in the middle of the rectangular cloth, “bring me the bowl.”

  Rising from the large rock he’d been sitting on, Niclas carefully lifted the elegant velvet sack that Steffan had brought and carried it to the blanket, setting it in his cousin’s outstretched hands.

  Steffan deftly untied the cord at one end of the bag and withdrew the single object contained within. Niclas had seen it several times in his life, but had never yet grown used to the sight. It had been crafted before the time of the Seymour exile, in that long-forgotten place that had once been their home. They called it a bowl, because that was what it resembled, but it was unlike any mere container that a human might make. Its substance was unknown to them, but similar to crystal—only much bluer and filled with far more light. It had a radiance all its own, as if it possessed a bit of starlight, and as Steffan drew it out of the sack the bowl filled the clearing with multicolored rays of brilliant, sparkling light.

  “Ah, my lovely,” Steffan murmured, cradling it in his arms as if it were a delicate, adored child. With exacting care he placed the bowl in the middle of the stone circle. The moment the object touched earth it set forth an astonishing beam of light that went straight up into the darkening sky. Niclas thought that every village within ten miles must see it and wonder.

  “Take this away now, cfender,” Steffan said, tossing the sack aside, “and fill the pitcher with water from the stream. They will have blessed it for us by now.”

  “They” were the faeries who lived in the stream. Steffan had already spent a good half hour conversing with those peculiar water spirits, paying no mind to Niclas, who had patiently waited for their talk to come to an end. Steffan had explained his need of their help, and they had readily agreed to prepare the stream for his use. It was an honor, of course, to participate in such a ceremony, and the blessing of the water was a vitally important part. With the help of the moonlight and that new light from the bowl, Niclas was able to see a few curious, quite exquisite small faces peeking up at him from beneath various rocks within the stream as he knelt to fill the pitcher. They looked like innocent children excited at the prospect of a great treat, though Niclas knew full well that they were the least trustworthy creatures on earth. Water faeries could be sweet and obliging one moment, and drown you the next if they took a sudden dislike. They were exceedingly temperamental, and Niclas did nothing to engage their attention.

  Steffan took the pitcher, which was made of the purest silver, from Niclas’s outstretched hand and, kneeling before the bowl, held it aloft.

  “Be careful, Steffan,” Niclas murmured, backing away toward his rock. “I’ll be here if you need me. Don’t take long.”

  “I shall be careful,” his cousin promised. “Now be qu
iet and let me discover what I may regarding Morcar Cadmaran and his plans. I’ll be back very soon.”

  Niclas sat and waited. Steffan held himself still for a long time, murmuring softly in the ancient tongue, until at last he poured the water into the bowl and set the pitcher aside.

  Untouched, the water began to move, waving gently back and forth, glimmering with the same colorful brilliance as the bowl itself. Bubbles appeared in the swirls, and as each bubble broke it sent little sparks of light into the darkening twilight.

  Silence descended on the clearing, as if every living thing watched and waited; even the stream seemed to soften its noise.

  Slowly, Steffan leaned forward, bringing his face downward, until his nose nearly touched the water and the bubbles misted his face with little droplets. Even from a distance Niclas could see that his cousin’s eyes were open, staring into the depths of the swirling colors as though he could actually see them.

  Sitting forward, Niclas drew in a long breath, recognizing that moment when the change was about to occur. The water in the bowl swirled more violently, the colors became brighter and the bubbles burst more rapidly. Steffan leaned closer, drawn further into the bowl, and closer still as the water began to twirl like a violent whirlwind. Then, abruptly, it all went away, the color and lights and movement, fading to the bottom of the bowl as if it were draining right into the ground, though not a drop of water had spilled over. Just as quickly Steffan fell away, backward and to the side, as if he’d been struck by a mighty blow.

  There he lay, perfectly still, his eyes yet open, staring at nothing. The water and bowl had become dull and gray, no color remaining, and the water’s movement slowly ceased. Stillness and silence dropped over the clearing like a heavy, suffocating weight, and Niclas sat beneath it, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply, knowing that it would pass in but a moment.

  And when that curtain lifted and both sound and movement began to return, he felt the stark aloneness that always accompanied such magic. Steffan had gone away in spirit, and had left behind his limp body for Niclas to look after. He had sat through this small wake before, and steeled himself for the tense hours to come.

  It was dark now, though they’d left the camp while the sun was just setting. They had eaten and drunk and, true to Steffan’s wishes, had danced and sung. Or, rather, Steffan and his men had taken turns dancing Julia into exhaustion, and Niclas, much pressed, had supplied a song. The Seymours had been in Wales a sufficient number of generations to have absorbed the unique gifts and customs of the people there, and most fortunate among these was the love of music and singing. Even Niclas found it possible to make a pleasant and passable noise when he made the effort.

  The evening, like the day, was clear and cool, with no hint of the clouds that had plagued them so greatly the day before, lending even greater pleasure to the meal. By the time their feasting and merriment were done, they were all pleasantly relaxed and a little weary, and Julia bade them good night and retreated to Steffan’s cave. Niclas went in after her briefly to assure her that she could lie down and sleep in safety, without fear of intrusion. He and Steffan would be gone for many hours, probably until morning, and Steffan’s men would keep guard through the night.

  And then Julia had done something that had both thrilled and baffled him: she had come very near, set both her hands upon his chest, and reached up on tiptoe to kiss him. Her lips had been soft and gentle, pressing lightly on his own in a brief, but certainly not hurried, caress. She’d said nothing afterward, but had smiled and wished him a good night. Stunned, Niclas had made a slight bow and then departed, almost too light-headed to consider what had occurred.

  But his mind was clearer now, and he had all the time he needed to contemplate that brief, delightful kiss and what Julia had meant by it.

  It was the third kiss they’d shared, but the first that she had initiated. And she had done it knowing that he would not offer her marriage. It was, he thought, the first time in his memory that a woman had kissed him without wanting something. Considering, however, that the only other women who’d shared such an intimacy with him were former mistresses, that was hardly surprising. They had been paid to kiss him, and had performed the duty with the hope of a generous bonus.

  Julia had simply kissed him, without a word, without any pleading on his part, though God alone knew how much he had wanted it.

  “Julia,” he murmured aloud, and sighed. What was he going to do about her when their journey was done? Unless the curse was lifted, there was no hope of a future for them. And even if it was lifted, would she want to be united to a Seymour, forever tied to such a family and bearing children possessed of magical powers? She appeared to be a sympathetic, but even sympathetics didn’t always desire to be wed to a supernatural mortal. It wasn’t an easy life, by any means.

  They couldn’t go on kissing each other. It could do nothing but lead to pain. Either they would both become even more deeply involved and then face having to part ways, or she would end up bearing his child and be forced into wedlock with a man who was slowly journeying into madness. No matter how it ended, with the exception of a miracle happening and the curse being lifted, it was going to make them both miserable.

  The bowl suddenly began to bubble, and color and light began seeping from the bottom up, swirling in the reverse direction it had taken when it had faded.

  Niclas straightened and watched intently. This was very odd, for Steffan had been gone but a quarter of an hour—if that long. He had never spent so short a time in that realm where so many mysteries were unfolded, and Niclas hadn’t expected this particular expedition to be any different. He had prepared himself to wait for at least two hours, and even throughout the night.

  The bowl regained its color and light in full, and the bubbling grew more furious. Niclas knew what to expect and was on his feet even before Steffan’s body began to twitch.

  “I’m here, cfender,” he said, coming down on his knees and sliding an arm beneath Steffan’s shoulders. Just as he began to cough, Niclas lifted him up to a sitting position and supported his shaking form. He gasped for air and Niclas murmured soothingly, “Breathe slowly. All is well. You’re safe.”

  But Steffan gasped again and flailed wildly, his eyelids fluttering as he fully regained consciousness.

  “Where is she?” he demanded in a panicked tone. “Miss Linley!”

  “Julia?” Niclas gripped his cousin by the shoulders and turned him about to face him. “What do you mean?”

  “Has she come back? Is she here?”

  “She’s in your cave, fast asleep.” Niclas gave him a shake. “Steffan, come to! What are you going on about? What did you see?”

  Steffan drew in a harsh, shuddering breath and shook his head.

  “It’s the Tarian,” he managed unsteadily, reaching up to grasp Niclas’s coat by two fistfuls. “It brought her into the mystical realm. She was in there, Niclas, with me. The Tarian somehow got mixed up with the magic of the bowl and took her in.”

  Niclas’s heart felt as if it had stopped. He stared at his cousin’s fearful countenance for a long, silent moment before saying, “Did she come back out, Steffan? Is she back in her body? Did you manage to get her out?”

  “I tried,” Steffan said, shaking his head again. “But she knows nothing of magic and I didn’t have enough power . . . God help me, Niclas, I couldn’t get her out.”

  “No,” Niclas said, pushing him aside and stumbling to his feet. “She’s not in there. She’s safe in the cave, asleep.”

  “She’s not,” Steffan said miserably. “I don’t know how it happened, or why, but she’s in the other realm.”

  “I don’t believe you.” He couldn’t believe it. “I’m going to wake her up.” He turned toward the caves. “I’ll make her come back.”

  “You can’t!” Steffan called after him. “Niclas!”

  Niclas wasn’t listening. His heart was pounding in his ears as his stride lengthened, and then he began to run th
rough the trees, driven on by a panic that threatened to overwhelm him.

  Steffan’s men rose to their feet from their various spots around the camp as he reached the clearing, and stared at him in silence as he raced to Steffan’s cave and threw the flap aside.

  “Julia!” he shouted, breathing harshly. “Julia!”

  She was lying on the pallet. He could see her clearly with the help of the little white rocks that he’d set out earlier, and with the light of the fire. She lay very still, covered by a single heavy blanket, one hand folded near her cheek, the other lying across her stomach. Beneath the neckline of her dress he could see the gold chain of the Tarian.

  “Julia,” he murmured, fear making his voice tremble a little. “Wake up.”

  He knelt beside her and laid a hand over the one that rested against her stomach. Her skin was chilled and slightly damp.

  “Julia.” He said her name over and over again, pleading with her to open her eyes and respond. When he could no longer speak without risk of giving way to despair, he stood and gathered her small body into his arms, sitting back down on the pallet and cradling her tightly against his chest.

  “Come back,” he whispered, though he knew it would be impossible, even with the help of the Tarian. She would need a guide, someone who could show her how to make the journey from the spirit world back to the physical one.

  The flap opened and Steffan walked in, carrying the sack that bore the bowl. In his other hand he held the silver pitcher, and the blue rug was rolled up beneath his arm. He stood in the entryway, silent, waiting.

  “It was supposed to protect her from magic,” Niclas said helplessly, pressing his cheek against her cold forehead. How small and colorless she was. He had never felt so powerless in his life. “It wasn’t supposed to draw her inside of it.”