It didn’t matter. He cared. He cared very much, and it was with reluctance that he opened his mouth to tell her that he couldn’t make heads or tails of anything he saw . . .
Only, suddenly he could.
The words remained the same upon the page, but in his mind they shifted. They took on shapes and forms, creating a sense of understanding that was possibly an illusion but just as possibly genuine. He stared unseeing at the page, his mind fixed on the images in his head, and he read those images far more clearly than he had read anything else in his life. In his mind he saw:
To the Cursebreaker,
A three-part branch will prove the key
To set the captives flying free
’Tis more than me, ’tis more than thee,
The spreading branches of this tree.
Search ye for the branch of three.
Hope lies with the branch of three.
The message went on from there in a slightly different tone:
I do apologize for the above, although it is the best help I may offer you. Faerie-kind has a great love for verse and rhyme, even of the cheapest variety. When they can be made to put down anything in writing, it is often only in poetic form. Take whatever help from this you may. It might be nonsense, but I wouldn’t assume as much if I were you.
Let me assure you of two more things. Firstly, they cannot kill you without breaking their Law, nor can they prevent you from attempting to break the curse.
Secondly, you are stronger than you think.
I can say no more without risk of breaking their Law myself. So remember. When you have finished your task, I will come for you. Wait for me, Cursebreaker.
That was it save for the signature, which was a blooming starflower exquisitely rendered. Or rather, exquisitely rendered in Benedict’s mind. On the page it was nothing more than a strange but elegant assortment of lines and squiggles.
Benedict blinked, and the images and sensations were gone from his mind. He turned wide-eyed to Heloise. “Who is Starflower?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” said Heloise. “Why? Does it say something about a starflower?”
“Did you try looking at this yourself?”
“I told you, I can’t read.”
Benedict’s brow formed a tight frown. “I don’t . . . I don’t think it will matter,” he said, and turned the parchment around for Heloise’s inspection. He watched her face and saw exactly when the written characters made themselves as clear to her as they now were to him.
“I’ve heard rumor of this,” Benedict said, though he doubted she was listening to him, caught up as she was in what took place inside her head. “I’ve heard about this sort of writing. It’s cropped up around the world here and there, writing that anyone can read, no matter their language or scholastic abilities. They say it’s written by the hand of Faeries. I used to think the idea foolish, but after recent events . . .”
Heloise gasped and turned away from Benedict. Startled, he glanced at the parchment, but it was quite still now, still and dull, revealing no secrets. Had she seen something he had not?
“Heloise?” he asked, putting out a hand but not quite daring to touch her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, her dirty curls bouncing like a whole hedge caught in a windstorm. He heard her take a quivering breath like a sob. Was she crying?
“Who sent this to you?” Benedict persisted. “Is this from . . . from the mirror world?”
“I don’t know,” Heloise muttered. Then, pulling herself upright and giving her head another shake, she turned and addressed herself to Benedict. Her face was drawn and pale, but full of a fierce determination and no trace of tears. “I don’t know who sent it,” she said. “I don’t know what it means, except . . . except . . .” She swallowed hard, and her eyes were bright. “Except I know I must gather the third branch. I must go on the Night Hunt with Uncle and with Aunt.”
TWENTY-SIX
Heloise could not begin to imagine her mother’s reaction upon discovering the bushel of flax lying strewn on the path between the spinning shed and the retting pond. She only knew she dared not return home that day while waiting for nightfall.
Since they couldn’t very well pull out the mirror just then when anyone could come knocking on Benedict’s door, Benedict suggested Heloise get some sleep. Not on his bed, which would be both improper and rather too conspicuous. Instead he gave her a pillow and blanket, and she made herself reasonably comfortable under his bed, in company with a forgotten stocking and a small warren of dust rabbits.
She was surprised at how quickly she fell asleep and how thoroughly she slept. She half-woke a handful of times: Once when Doctor Dupont wafted through like an ill wind, dosing Benedict before wafting out again. Once more when Benedict’s manservant went round the room, tidying odds and ends and asking Benedict whether or not he felt up to taking his supper in the dining hall that evening.
By that time Benedict was in bed himself. The bed-ropes sagged under his weight, making the cramped space in which Heloise lay more cramped still. She couldn’t hear Benedict’s voice very well through the feather mattress, but she heard his manservant’s grunt of disapproval. The good man left eventually however, shutting the door behind him. A few minutes later, someone else delivered the young lord’s evening meal on a platter.
When the door shut this last time, Heloise heard Benedict shifting up above. His bare foot slid to the floor just in her line of vision. A few creaks and groans of the bed-ropes, then half of Benedict’s face appeared, peering into the darkness where she lay. “I think you can come out now. Are you awake?”
“Yes,” Heloise muttered into the pillow on which her head rested. She’d never slept with a pillow before, and she rather hated to leave it. But she hadn’t come here to luxuriate in the amenities of the gentry. So, rubbing sleep from her eyes with the heel of her hand, she slid and scrambled along the floor, chasing dust rabbits before her, and emerged from under the bed. Benedict, rather to her surprise, sat on the floor cross-legged, clad in his trousers and long undershirt, which covered his knees, but no jacket. Instead a fur-lined robe draped across his shoulders.
He blushed at her startled expression. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ll put on my jacket if it makes you more comfortable.”
“No, no,” said Heloise hastily. She’d seen him at greater disadvantage before, after all. She crossed her own legs, tucking her cold bare feet under her skirt, and noticed that he had brought the platter down on the floor with him.
“Fish broth and healthsome herbs?” Benedict offered.
They ate in near silence. Neither spoke of the mysterious adventure Heloise intended to find and face that evening. Neither speculated on what it might be, what it might mean. They simply ate and sat in mutual ignorance that was as near to sympathy as anything might be. When their eyes chanced to meet, both tried to smile. Both failed miserably.
When the food was gone, Heloise rose and brushed off her skirts then offered a hand to help Benedict to his feet. He gave her an odd look for this but accepted the help. By this time the room was growing dark. Their eyes, however, accustomed to the dimness, felt no particular lack. They stood for a moment, hand in hand, looking at one another and sharing a great unspoken fear.
“I’ll get a light,” Benedict said at last. Leaving the platter and empty bowl on the floor, he fetched a candle, lit it at the hearth, and placed it in a holder. Heloise, meanwhile, pulled the silver and gold branches, intertwined into one, from the depths of her pocket. They did not shine this evening but lay dull and quiet in the palm of her hand. She gave them a half-hearted shake, but it made no difference.
Benedict, turning to her and holding up the candle, saw the expression on her face. “Here now!” he said sharply, crossing the distance between them, and put out a hand to touch her arm. “Remember what the message said. They cannot kill you. According to some law of theirs, you’re safe from them.”
“Yes,” Heloise whisper
ed. “But you know what? Try as I might, I can’t think what they’ll do that could be worse.”
“Nothing,” said Benedict. “Nothing’s worse than death. Right?”
But they both knew this for the falsehood it was.
The sun set, and Centrecœur was quiet. Another hour, and everyone had finished their day’s work and gone to their beds. A half-hour more, and Benedict opened his bedroom door, looked up and down the hall, then stepped out and beckoned Heloise to follow him. She held the mirror tight in both hands, pressing the glass against her breast so that it might not catch and reflect even a trace of candlelight.
They had discussed where to begin the night’s exploration. If Heloise was to find a forest of diamond, she needed to enter the strange mirror world from a different point in the house itself. After some debate, they agreed to begin this evening’s venture in the dining hall, which was located in the west wing of the house, far from where any of the household staff slept. It was as good a spot as any, and they were unlikely to run into anyone.
The dining hall was a long room, long enough to encompass the extensive table. Built on the ground floor, the room boasted two massive staircases, one on each end, leading up to the private family apartments above, none of which were currently occupied. Chairs lined the walls, pulled back from the table when no diners were present. Though the ceiling was low, the room had a cavernous feel, and Heloise shivered and drew nearer to Benedict, and he drew nearer to her as they entered. A fireplace along one wall was like the gaping mouth of some great, deep-throated beast.
“Well,” said Benedict, standing just inside the doorway with his candle held high, “are you ready to try?”
Heloise shook her head. But aloud she said, “Yes,” and lifted the mirror. Turning so that the light of Benedict’s candle would be cast onto her face, she gazed upon her pale reflection.
Then she turned her gaze to look beyond her reflection.
There stood the forest. Dark as a moonless night, so that Heloise could only just discern the black trunks and branches of the trees. But it was the forest all right, not the dining hall reflected in the mirror. She tilted the glass, searching for a glimpse of white, of a starlight gown.
Nothing. Only more forest, and herself standing in that forest.
“Heloise?” Benedict said. His voice sounded as though he was about to make some reasonable protest, urging her to put the glass away. She couldn’t allow it. She couldn’t bear it.
She blinked.
When her eyes opened, she stood in the forest, gazing through a small window at her own face.
Welcome back to the Between, child. Are you ready to take the diamond branch?
The voice passed through her head, weirdly familiar after these several weird days. Heloise refused to acknowledge it. She wasn’t altogether certain the voice was or ever had been helpful.
Turning away from the sight of her own face, Heloise braced herself against the darkness of the forest. Squaring her shoulders, she took a step. Then another. Then, clenching her hands into fists, she strode boldly forward and—
“Ouch!”
—walked into a tree she could not see.
Sitting down hard, Heloise cradled her nose in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. She felt the bizarre swooping sensation that meant her presence in the mirror world was unstable, felt for a moment the warmth of Benedict standing close by. But she shook this away, focusing her mind, and the forest surrounded her.
Her nose throbbed but wasn’t broken, and it only bled a little. The dizziness passed as well. “Dragons eat it,” she muttered, opened her eyes . . .
. . . and nearly choked as her heart leapt painfully up into her throat. For the forest was not dark anymore. Oh no! No, indeed! It was not dark at all.
It was alive with brilliant, refracted light.
Every tree—and there were more trees than she could begin to count—looked as though it had been carved from the most perfect, clear stone. But they weren’t stone. They were leafing, growing, root-plunging, and alive, so very alive that she could feel the life buzzing on the edges of her vision, vibrating her senses. But they were also perfectly still, as though time itself had been frozen in this faultless moment of life.
The light came from their hearts. It shone out from the inside of each tree and bounced off the surfaces of surrounding trees until it was all too bright, too pure, almost too much to be borne. With so much light, there was scarcely any room for shadow.
But the shadows present were far, far darker as a result.
Heloise sat where she had fallen, blinking at the world around her. She had heard tell of diamonds, heard them spoken of as one hears rumor of angels or heaven. She knew they were stones, and Clement, her older brother, had once held up a piece of uncut quartz and told her that a diamond was like it only better. Stronger.
This forest was nothing like quartz. But Heloise did not doubt that she looked upon a forest of pure, living diamond.
For some moments she couldn’t move, even as the voice prodding in the back of her brain reminded her that she would accomplish nothing by sitting there with her mouth open, staring at the beauty surrounding her. She’d never be able to absorb all of that beauty anyway.
You must take the diamond branch. Complete the three-part key.
So, after picking herself up and dusting tiny motes of diamond dust from her skirt and then from her hands, Heloise approached the nearest tree. Its branches were set high on the trunk but so heavy that they bent down close enough for her to reach. She grasped hold and twisted.
It was like trying to twist a block of granite.
Heloise frowned and put up her other hand as well. Bracing herself, one foot on the tree trunk, she pulled harder. But she could have pulled until the bones in her hands and wrists snapped; it made no difference.
Remember, child, said the voice. Remember what the Dame told you. You’re stronger than you think!
“I’m stronger than I think,” Heloise whispered. A third time she took hold of the diamond branch. Every muscle in her body heaved and strained with the effort to break it off, even just a small twig, a single leaf.
But the diamond would not give.
Heloise cried out in frustration and fell back. Her hands were cut and bleeding, shaking with pain. She tucked them under her arms, warm blood staining her dirty gown.
Never mind, said the voice. You’ll have to pursue the Night Hunt after all. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
“Sure you are,” Heloise growled. Because there was nothing else for her to do, she set off through the shining forest. The light cast her shadow dizzyingly around her, first one direction then another, with each step she took. Before she had taken many paces she was squinting, for it was all too bright, too lovely, and too disorienting.
She sensed somehow that it was night here in the mirror world, or whatever version of night this mirror world had. But this could have been a mistaken impression; anything outside of this diamond light was bound to feel as dark as nightfall. Still, she clung to the impression as she walked.
The air felt as though it should have been cold. But it wasn’t. It was as still as a winter’s midnight, but it was a living stillness, not a sleeping stillness. The refracted light leaping from tree to tree built up an intense energy, leaving the air warm. Yet the atmosphere struck Heloise more like winter than summer, for there was not an insect to be seen nor a trace of floating pollen or seed pods.
Something moved.
The motion caught the tail of Heloise’s eye. Her first impulse was to turn and look at it, but this impulse she squelched, and instead held herself perfectly still. She felt her heart throb painfully against her breastbone, and this angered her. “Don’t be foolish. Don’t be frightened,” she whispered to herself. “They can’t kill you, remember?”
Another movement, this time catching the tail of her other eye. There were two of them then, whatever they were. Or perhaps one that moved very fast, hidden by the brilliance of the
diamond light? No, no, it had to be two. Aunt and Uncle.
And there she stood, practically blind, a helpless target to any skull-headed men—
No! She would not think about what the Lion-Prince had said! He had probably lied to her anyway just to scare her. No one, not even the strange, otherworldly beings who lived in this mirror world, could go around with skulls for heads. Masks, certainly. Very good masks even. But not real skulls.
Still . . .
Heloise kept her face pointing forward, her chin level. She didn’t want the shadows, whoever or whatever they were, to think she was looking about for them or, worse still, looking about for some escape. Slowly she slipped her hand into her pocket and took hold of the silver-gold branch hidden inside. It was small, but it was sharp.
She drew it out, clutching it dagger-like in both hands, and dropped into a defensive crouch.
Someone laughed. Right behind her. A heaving, hideous, gulping sort of laugh that made any listener feel simultaneously idiotic and terrified.
Heloise ground her teeth, awkwardly spinning her crouch to face that laugh. Her foot caught in her own skirts, and for a moment she listed to one side, pinned down by her own knee. The laugh sounded again, this time to her left. Heloise lashed out with the silver-gold branch, yelling wordlessly. But there was nothing there, not anymore.
Pulling her skirt free, Heloise scrambled to her feet, one arm still extended, the small branch held like a knife. The curling, glistening leaves brushed her hand and wrist, and they were warm with vitality that was incongruous to metal. But Heloise scarcely noticed this. She turned about, her head always straining to look over her shoulder, her shoulder always moving in an impossible effort to keep anything from being behind her. Her own shadow, cast wildly by the light of the diamond forest, chased her; sweat flowed in streams down her temples and dripped down her forehead into her eyes.
A Branch of Silver, a Branch of Gold Page 23
