The Seventh World Trilogy omnibus

by Rachel Starr Thomson

  “I have seen them,” Maggie said. “I have seen more of the Otherworld than I want to. And all of it has been so black.”

  No, Maggie realized even as she spoke the words, it had not. Huss’s tale of the King—Marja’s words of one who shone like all the heavenly lights together—those things had not been black. They had filled her with the “awe of beauty and wonder and goodness” that Libuse longed for and could not believe in. She thought of the black-robed stranger who had met her in Huss’s burned out house. A fiery thrill coursed through her as she recalled the power of the song that had flowed through her then. Above all, Mary’s song had not been black. Wild and free and powerful, but not black. Suddenly she thought that she could sing again, that she wanted to sing again. She could weave such a song that all of the glory and beauty of the ancient days would wash through the farmyard like a tide, and no one could stand in its wake and not believe.

  Behind them, Pat cleared her throat. They turned to see her pointing to the farmhouse, far over the fields. “Looks like the Ploughman has returned,” she said.

  Libuse gathered her skirts and stood. There was nothing more to say. Together they walked back to the farmhouse.

  * * *

  “You will arrive after dark, but the gates of the city will still be open. The men will take you to an inn where the service is reasonable.” The Ploughman reached into his cloak and drew out a small leather pouch full of coins. “This should keep you till you find work. I’m sorry there isn’t more.”

  Pat took the pouch and thanked him. “I am ready to leave,” she told him.

  “Then say your good-byes,” the Ploughman commanded gently. “You ride in ten minutes.”

  Maggie reached out and put her hand on Pat’s shoulder. Across from her, Mrs. Cook did the same. For a minute they stood in silence. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, say something,” Pat burst out. “I can’t stand to have all this emotion hanging over my head.”

  Mrs. Cook said, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

  “Yes,” Pat said. She hugged Mrs. Cook tightly. Mrs. Cook sniffled and wiped her eyes when Pat let her go.

  “Doesn’t really seem fair, does it?” Maggie said softly. “We’ve only just come together again, and now you’re leaving.”

  “I won’t be away long,” Pat said. “Anyway, I volunteered. I want to do this.”

  The two young women hugged each other tightly. Maggie whispered, “Be careful. And send us back only good news.”

  “Take care of yourself, too,” Pat answered. “No more disappearing. Stay by Mrs. Cook. She’d die of loneliness without you.”

  “Enough of that,” Mrs. Cook interjected. “I can handle myself with or without a couple of scamps like you. My life would certainly be quieter without you.”

  Two men arrived in the courtyard. Pat was swept up in the bustle of preparing to ride. Before either Maggie or Mrs. Cook had a chance to say anything more, Pat was riding across the fields in a flurry of dust.

  Maggie slipped her arm through Mrs. Cook’s. Just before she disappeared into the tree line, Pat turned around and saluted farewell. Maggie and Mrs. Cook returned the salute, and Mrs. Cook smiled.

  “She never could stay in one place for long,” she said.

  “Did you worry about me terribly when I was gone?” Maggie asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Cook said. “Would I have come after you if I hadn’t?”

  “I don’t know,” Maggie said. “I thought perhaps you had some other reason for coming here.”

  “What other reason would I have?” Mrs. Cook said. “Besides the fact that Pat was going, and I couldn’t bear to be alone again.”

  “Well…” Maggie faltered and continued. “You were a member of the council. I can’t help wondering—did seeing Old Dan and Lord Robert again make you miss the old days?”

  Mrs. Cook became suddenly very quiet, and she waited a long while before answering. “I don’t really know. Worlds unseen—well, who wouldn’t be fascinated with such an idea? To tell you the truth, Maggie, maybe I did start to miss the council days. But if I did, it wasn’t on account of Old Dan, or Lord Robert either.”

  “Then what did it?” Maggie asked.

  “The girl,” Mrs. Cook replied. “Virginia Ramsey. The minute I laid eyes on her, with her wrists bound and her face so deathly pale as to drain the blood from your own face, I thought to myself, ‘That girl is hope. And someone is trying to kill hope.’ I suppose that’s a very odd thing to think, but there you are. If you hadn’t been missing still, Maggie, I would have gone after Virginia myself.”

  “Hope,” Maggie repeated. Into her mind flashed a phrase that Jarin Huss had read to her: When they see beyond the sky… take these Gifts of My Outstretched Hand; Weave them together; I shall come.

  “She sees beyond the sky,” Maggie said. It took her a moment to realize that Mrs. Cook was looking at her strangely.

  “What did you say?” Mrs. Cook asked.

  “‘When they see beyond the sky,’” Maggie said. “It’s a line from an old prophecy. Jarin Huss read it to me.”

  “I remember,” Mrs. Cook said abruptly. “Lord Robert thinks like you do. He said Virginia was Gifted.”

  Mrs. Cook stopped and wiped her eyes ferociously, and Maggie waited for her to continue. But the elderly woman was done speaking, and she wandered off to the kitchen saying something about Mrs. Korak needing help with supper. Maggie watched her go with troubled eyes, but she did not go after her. Somehow she knew that she ought not to pry.

  * * *

  Maggie awoke that night to the sound of horse hooves in the yard. A faint blue light was coming in one of the windows—the moon, Maggie thought, and remembered that there was no moon on this night. But no, she must be mistaken. Moonlight was undoubtedly shining through the window.

  She climbed softly out of bed and tip-toed to the window, expecting to see one of the Ploughman’s riders in the yard. It was late, and for a moment she wondered if there was trouble.

  When she reached the window, her eyes opened wide. Her fingers reached up and lightly brushed the window pane as though she would touch the being outside.

  It was a man on a horse, but both rider and animal were larger than any Maggie had ever seen. The horse’s eyes glowed with white fire. Its mane and tail were blue-white against a body the colour of the night sky. The man wore a long, dark blue cloak with stars woven all through it,and the stars were shining—the source of the light that fell on Maggie’s face and lit the farmyard with magic. The man wore a tunic and leggings and knee-high boots. Around his neck was a silver band, and he held a silver horn in his hand. On his back was slung a bow and a quiver full of arrows that shone like the stars in the cloak. The man’s face was unlike any Maggie had ever seen. It was a beautiful face, both fine and rugged, and framed by long black hair. The man’s eyes were white and blazing, much like the horse’s.

  As Maggie watched, the horse reared up on its hind legs. The man raised the silver horn to his lips and sounded a long, deep blast. Before the sound had faded away, the horse and rider had disappeared.

  Maggie’s heart burned inside of her, and a phrase she had never heard before was suddenly playing through her mind.

  Hear the call of the Huntsman’s horn;

  The stars all sing when the chase is on;

  Over the sky fields and cross the moon;

  The darkness meets its downfall soon.

  As the words began to beat a rhythm inside of her, Maggie ran out of the bunkhouse and into the yard. There were no hoofprints, no marks to show that anyone had been here. Only… Maggie crouched down to the hard-packed earth where a faint light was glowing. She picked up the shining thing carefully and found that it was a thread. It must have come from the Huntsman’s cloak, for its slender length shone with the blue-white light of the stars. In her cupped hands it shone all the brighter.

  Maggie stood in the center of the empty farmyard and let the light of the thread dance on the earth and the sides of the buildi
ngs, recalling the mystical moment when the whole yard was as full of the light as if one of the stars had come down to earth.

  With her heart full to the bursting, Maggie sat down cross-legged in the dirt and tilted her head up to the night sky.

  She fell asleep there.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Betrayal

  Maggie awoke, vaguely aware that she was stiff and sore and a little cold. Someone was shaking her gently. Her eyes fluttered open to see Libuse looking down at her with a face full of concern.

  Libuse sat back and let out a relieved breath when Maggie’s eyes opened. “You’re all right,” she said. “I was afraid something had happened.”

  “Something did,” Maggie said, sitting up. Her mind was cloudy and she was not entirely sure why she was sleeping in a farmyard. An image of a horse and rider flashed through her mind.

  “I dreamed…” Maggie began. Her hand tightened around the silver thread. She held it up in front of her face with awe-filled eyes. “No,” she said. “It wasn’t a dream.”

  “What is it, Maggie?” Libuse asked. “What happened?”

  “I saw a man from the Otherworld,” Maggie said. “If I could call him a man, though I feel sure he’s not one. Not really.”

  Libuse looked skeptical, but she was listening.

  “He was a hunter,” Maggie said. “The Huntsman—he blew his horn. It was a signal.” She smiled. The thread felt like a precious secret in her hands, throbbing with hope. “Things aren’t only stirring here. The Otherworld is preparing for battle, too.”

  “Maggie, I—” Libuse started to say. Maggie took her hand and pressed the thread into it.

  “Keep this,” Maggie said. “It’s a sign. We’re not alone.”

  Libuse cupped the thread in her hands. Her eyes widened as she realized that it was shining.

  A minute later, Mrs. Korak ordered them inside for breakfast. There was work to be done, and Libuse and Maggie did not speak again that day.

  * * *

  Virginia and Lord Robert had not yet settled into their rooms at a Pravik inn before the name of Jarin Huss reached their ears: the venerable old professor had been charged with insurrection against the Empire and the murder of an Eastern princess. His trial—and doubtless his execution—was less than a fortnight away.

  Lord Robert paled at the news, but Virginia only sank deeper into silence. She had not spoken once since they had set out for the city.

  The next morning Lord Robert left the inn in search of news—alone. It seemed wise to leave Virginia behind closed doors. The city was swarming with High Police.

  * * *

  Two days later a rebel carrier brought news from Pat. She had a job, not, unfortunately for her tastes, with the theatre. She was working in a dress shop, but enough gossip passed through every day to make the long hours more than worth her while.

  The date for the public trial and sure execution of Jarin Huss and Jerome was still unknown, but old women with uncanny instincts for such things put it at less than two weeks.

  The Ploughman sat in long silence when he read the letter, his fist crumpling around the paper. It was not enough time. Libuse stood behind him and whispered in his ear. He reached up his hand, the one with the ruby ring, to take hers and hold it tightly. Watching them made Maggie’s throat ache. She thought of Jerome, and immediately wished she hadn’t.

  That day, Maggie followed some of the farmers into the barn. They carried heavy sacks, collected from every smithy in the region. They moved aside straw and dirt and pulled up four long floorboards to reveal case after case of swords, spears, bows, and arrows. The contents of the sacks went in along with them.

  The next few days passed in a blur. Hundreds of men arrived at the farm every morning before the sun came up, farmers and peasants, boys as young as thirteen and men as old as sixty. They pulled bows, clashed swords, and marched in rows as the Ploughman gave orders.

  Practice.

  Mrs. Cook, Mrs. Korak, Libuse, and Maggie worked for hours in the kitchen, struggling to keep up with the appetites of the peasant men. Most brought some food with them for the women to prepare. They knew better than to expect the Ploughman to pull food out of thin air.

  Another letter from Pat. The trial would take place in four days.

  The Ploughman clenched his fist again and went back to work.

  “Three days from now the Tax Gathering begins,” Libuse told Maggie in the bunkhouse, over the light of a candle. “Many will come to Pravik from all over the province. Zarras wants this trial public.”

  More weapons arrived. More men came to march and shoot and fence in the fields.

  One evening, the men took their weapons home with them. A few stayed, and they sat with the Ploughman at Mrs. Korak’s long table and argued and pounded the wood and pored over maps, planning and planning well into the night.

  Maggie went out into the yard sometime after four o’clock in the morning. The sky was cloudy, but here and there breaks in the grey allowed stars to shine through. The moon was wreathed by thin, ghostly wisps of cloud.

  The moonbeams shone straight into Maggie’s soul. She opened her mouth and sang softly.

  Hear the call of the Huntsman’s horn…

  * * *

  Lord Robert wandered through the city, listening. He heard nothing new: Huss and his apprentice were imprisoned in Pravik Castle under heavy guard; the apprentice, acting under Jarin Huss’s orders, had murdered the last living heir of the ancient royal family of Sloczka.

  Lord Robert had not seen his old friend in forty years, but it had not felt like such a long time until now. The murderer who awaited trial in Pravik Castle could hardly be the same man who had sat at the council table in Angslie and opened up the ancient writings for his companions. Yet it was the same man. Time had taken its strange toll, and Lord Robert felt utterly alone.

  The worst of it was, he could not shake a feeling of responsibility. Had he somehow brought his old friend to this? The rumours on the streets spoke of Huss as an odd man. There were whispers of a strange and mysterious branch of science and history that had led the old professor into madness. Was it true? Had the study of the Otherworld led to this?

  If it had… what did it matter?

  Lord Robert clenched his jaw as he walked. There was power in the Otherworld. Enough to rescue a friend, to change the course of things. If only he could touch it.

  His head hurt.

  He was walking along a cobbled path beside the dark river. Young trees lined his way. Their yellow leaves crunched beneath his feet, and the breeze from over the river was cold.

  He lifted his eyes and saw her.

  Evelyn.

  She was leaning on the wrought iron fence overlooking the river. A rain of yellow leaves drifted to the ground all around her. She wore a dress of burgundy and gold, and her black hair was shining. She looked unchanged, as young as the day they had met: young and breathtakingly beautiful, and full of power. His heart caught in his throat. She turned, and their eyes met.

  No dream, this.

  She turned away and began to run.

  His heart pounding, tears rushing to his eyes, he ran after her.

  Through the streets they ran, Evelyn always just ahead, running like a deer. There was no one else anywhere; it was only the two of them in the world. Weaving through the alleys and the streets, now by the river and now in the city, Lord Robert did not know how far they went. But suddenly they were standing on the Guardian Bridge and all of the white marble statues were stretching their hands out toward them, and Evelyn stopped, leaning against the side of the bridge. Lord Robert was there, and she was in his arms, and she was kissing him.

  Forty years had not passed; it had only been weeks since he had seen her last. Surely, surely, it had only been weeks. He wanted to ask why she had left him, where she had gone. He had suspected her of so much! But he had been wrong; he knew now that he had been wrong.

  She moved away from him, just a littl
e, so that they could look into each other’s eyes. Her eyes were so black, black like her hair, and beguiling. “You doubted me, my love,” she said.

  He hung his head. “I did not know,” he faltered. “Where—where did you go?”

  “I had to leave,” she whispered. “My enemies were at work. They would have killed me if I had not gone.”

  “I would have gone with you,” he said.

  “I would not put you in danger,” she said.

  “You broke my heart,” he told her.

  “But I am here now,” she replied.

  It did not occur to him to wonder how it was, why it was, that she was here now. She was, and that was enough. He was lost in her presence, a man in love with a mist that blinded his eyes and closed his ears, with a being of power that made his heart ache with longing.

  She began to move away from him, and he held her hands to keep her from running away. “Will you leave me again?” he asked, his voice breaking.

  “No, my love,” she said. “But our enemies are once more at work. I need your help. You have something we need—something that will take us deeper into the worlds unseen.”

  He could not answer before she was in his arms again, kissing him again, and for a long time he could see and hear and feel nothing but her. When she had moved back, her arms around his neck, he said, “I will do anything you ask of me.”

  Her deep red lips curled in a smile. “I know you will, dear one. I know.”