‘Your mother,’ he says simply.
‘How?’ My voice sounds odd, like it’s coming from deep inside, or far away.
He sighs. ‘How I wish I didn’t have to go. And you, my sweetheart, must move on with your life. Forget this conversation. It’s the last time we’ll speak of it.’
I grab his arm. ‘Daddy! What is it?’
For a second I stop breathing. Was that my voice? But it was the voice of a child! What’s going on?
Around me the temperature drops. A cold wind whips across my face. ‘Please, Daddy! What’s wrong?’
His hand reaches out to touch my face. He tugs a lock of hair blowing across my eyes, and tucks it behind my ear. ‘When I married your mother she was already pregnant.’ He lays both hands on my shoulders. ‘I love your mother, Isa. I love you all. But this deceit is hard for me. Do you know what a secret is?’
I nod, unable to speak, my mouth is trembling too much.
‘Your mother keeps secrets from me. Secrets I can’t live with any more.’ And then he says, ‘Matt is not my son.’
A gust of wind blows fiercely, pulling at my cloak, distracting me. When I look up my father is gone. I spin around, searching for him, but there’s only darkness behind. A shadow passes overhead and I look up. There’s a wall of ice lowering on top of me! The wind turns into a chilling gale and my torch blows out. I’m plunged in total darkness. The air turns so cold I find it hard to breath.
‘What’s happening!’
I reach up and my hand hits solid ice. The walls are shifting and now I hear voices. People are screaming and they’re very close. I slide down with the pressure of a mountain closing around me. Flat to the floor I find an opening, but it’s disappearing fast! I crawl on my stomach, but my pack gets stuck. I yank it off as fast as I can. The screams grow louder. Blindly, I keep crawling. At last a blast of sleet hits my face and I realise I’m out.
I stagger to my feet and run. Matt is not my father’s son! I keep running until I can hardly breathe. What does this mean? Every step becomes more painful as I suck in huge gulps of freezing air. How could I not know? If my father told me all those years ago, could he have told Matt too? Did Matt bury this knowledge into the pit of his very being as I did?
With nothing but darkness around me I stop. What the hell am I doing?
I turn right around, slowly, making sure I’m now facing the exact direction from which I came. And with one foot carefully placed before the other, I walk until I feel a wall of ice with my own hands.
Depleted, I sit on the ground and wait. It’s not long before I see John’s torch come out of the path, making the whole area light up for me. He looks strained and scared and I go over to him.
He sinks to his knees, his short legs jerking nervously under him; and I wonder what truths – or memories – or demons, confronted him on the path.
‘Are you OK?’ I ask with real concern, burying my own experience for now. There’ll be time to think soon enough.
Looking at John heaving with exhaustion, I can’t help wonder how friendships, made over a brief period of time, can have the potency of one made over many years. And to think at first I couldn’t trust him.
‘The truth is, Isabel, I saw a lot of things. Things that reminded me of another time, another world, a long time ago. And yes, I’m fine … now. I think I’m really fine.’
His words, the relief he obviously feels, make me inquisitive. ‘What did you see, John?’
‘Well, I think that’s private,’ he begins, but goes on to explain anyway. ‘I saw a woman. A beautiful woman. She was my wife.’ He waves a hand briefly in the air. ‘I loved this woman very much. She was my wife you know.’ He looks up at me. ‘Did I tell you this woman was my wife?’
I nod and smile, hoping to encourage him to go on. Obviously his experience has touched him deeply; he’s practically stuttering over every phrase. But when he does continue, his words shock. ‘She was so lovely. Even in death, she was lovely. I wanted her so much, I couldn’t let him have her.’
I moisten my mouth and try to form the question bursting to be asked, ‘How did your wife die?’
While looking straight ahead he says, ‘I murdered her. I killed her. I put a knife in her stomach.’ His arm moves and makes the killing motion several times. ‘I stabbed her seven times. And then I took this knife and I put it here.’ He thumps his chest with a closed fist. Silently, a tear falls.
As I sit shuddering inside my cloak, I wonder what sort of place this is. The last place you want to get trapped in, the thought occurs. Suddenly the urge to get out of here overwhelms me and I feel dizzy. And then Ethan comes staggering out, holding his head with both hands.
I run over to him and he sags in my arms. ‘We can’t go back that way.’ His head rocks from side to side. ‘There has to be another way. OK?’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
He doesn’t answer, so I prod a little, thinking it might help to relieve him of the trauma. ‘Did you see your sister’s murder?’
‘No.’
‘Was it something about your mother?’
His stillness and refusal to explain is unnerving. But it’s his decision, so I rub his arm gently to let him know that he has a friend, right here next to him, just as he does for me all the time. He puts his arm around my shoulders, and over the top of my head his words pass, ‘I saw Rochelle. I saw her face in the wall. Did you see those walls? They were full of people. I think they were dead, but hell, Isabel, they were screaming!’
I stay silent and he goes on in a softer tone, ‘Rochelle was one of those people, screaming for me to save her.’ He looks down at me. ‘What do you think it means?’
Honestly, I have no idea. ‘My experience was a memory, so I really don’t know.’
‘I have to know, Isabel. I have to find out, or how will I ever be able to sleep again? Does it mean Rochelle is in trouble? How can this be a hidden truth? And what was it John said about this challenge? That we’d be facing our inner demons?’
‘Maybe it was a reflection of your concern for her.’
He looks at me strangely, and I elaborate, ‘I think you’re in love with her, Ethan.’
He pulls away. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’
He could be right, and maybe I don’t, but I see the way he looks at her. And he’s the first to jump to her aid, and when needed, even her defence. But Ethan’s not ready to admit it, not ready to accept the truth. Maybe that’s the reason he saw Rochelle in the ice. She loves him. Well, that’s what I think. And without his love in return, she will always be lost to him.
He remains silent. And it’s in this silence I feel an odd sensation, like a part of my arm, or my lung, or something, has gone missing. It dawns on Ethan the second our eyes connect. ‘Oh no! Where’s Matt? He should be out by now. He went through before me. But I didn’t see him. Once the path turned ugly I didn’t think of Matt any more. I didn’t think of any one of you.’
‘We have to go back and look for him. What if he’s been enclosed in that wall?’ And then I recall, ‘My pack’s still in there! What will we do for tools?’
‘We’ll find a way,’ Ethan says. He sees John huddled on the ground nearby and starts to call him, but notices something from the corner of his eye. ‘Look!’
It’s Matt, coming out of the mountain. He’s strolling down the path, whistling, as if he hasn’t a care in the world.
‘Matt?’ I stop just short from giving him a great big hug. Something about him makes me freeze. And it’s not because of what I just learned about him. We may not have the same father, but we’re still brother and sister. I try to put my finger on what’s different. It’s the look he’s wearing. Slightly glazed around the eyes, as if he’s overwhelmed by something, something that’s taken his breath away. ‘Are you OK?’
He looks down at me and smiles. ‘Oh yeah. Wasn’t that the greatest?’
‘Huh?’ Ethan and I exclaim together.
He glance
s over his shoulder. ‘In there. Wasn’t it just so beautiful? And what about those waterfalls? Magnificent. And the flowers. I’ve never seen anything like them before. And those butterflies … weren’t they the most amazing colours?’
Ethan’s head simply shakes. ‘Well I wouldn’t know. I didn’t see any butterflies.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Matt sounds amazed, then opens his palms and releases twenty or more butterflies into the air, all shapes, all sizes, all brilliant colours. They flutter around us briefly, as if reluctant to leave. Finally, after a last circle around Matt’s shoulders and head, as if sharing a secret goodbye, they take off. With their wings flapping they create the most amazing range of colours. Some I can’t put a name to.
Ethan looks at me with questions struggling to form. He’s shocked at Matt’s strange euphoric experience, so unlike his own. Unlike mine or John’s as well.
I have many questions too, but a sudden surge of energy hits me, along with a flash of blinding light. It’s a vision again. Straightaway I know it’s from Sera, but it lacks the clarity of her other contacts. This one is strained and, if I’m not mistaken, fuelled by something powerful – fear or anxiety.
When it’s over I look up at Matt and Ethan, knowing that my questions are going to have to wait. ‘Something’s wrong. We have to hurry.’
‘What did you see?’ Ethan asks, his voice filled with concern.
‘I didn’t see anything really. I only felt.’
Matt’s eyes start focusing clearly again. ‘What did you feel?’
‘Fear mostly. Sera’s. She was shaking with it.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
Arkarian
Lathenia is furious. She comes to the temple, surrounded by seven frolicking Great Danes. She rolls her eyes to the ceiling as if half expecting something to come flying down at her. She takes a few steps and finds herself within the inner octagonal base. A shudder passes through her as if someone is walking on her grave. But this is a ridiculous thought. Lathenia is eternal. The hounds, I notice, remain outside the octagon, several whine for her return, as if she is separated from them by some invisible force.
She has others with her, and they follow. The first is Marduke. He grins at me with his half-mouth. The four wren, who put me in this state, remain cowering by the door. Marduke bellows at them and they move forward, only to retreat again when his back is turned. There is also the boy Bastian, who keeps his eyes averted. And lastly, an old man.
It’s the old man who intrigues me. His long white hair and beard, grey eyes and stooped and frail physique, reveal his age. He stands in the background, and I sense that’s how he likes it. Only once do I catch his eye, but it’s enough to see his aura. He’s a Magician. A very powerful one. With talents different from anyone in the Guard, except possibly for one – Dartemis. The stories of Dartemis are only a legend, but seeing this old man makes me suspect there could be some truth in the ancient tale.
It’s clear now why my powers aren’t working. This Magician has thrown an enchantment over me. A strong magical spell. So why is he here now? Does Lathenia suspect the enchantment needs renewing?
She sweeps her hand in a wide arc. Sparks, in the form of a shower of electric detonations, spray from her fingertips, making me blink. ‘It seems I have underestimated your friends.’
I smile. It’s too hard not to. Not only are they alive, but they’re nearby and close enough to be a threat.
‘Allow me the pleasure of wiping that smile from his face, Mistress,’ Marduke utters by her side, his one blazing red eye staring straight at me.
She produces a whip and tosses it to Bastian. ‘I want Bastian to do it.’
Bastian looks at the whip, flicking a brief glance at me, then back to his mistress. ‘You want me to … to …?’
‘What’s wrong, Bastian?’ she asks in a mocking tone. ‘What weakness has generated inside you of late? What demons are you battling with?’ Her eyes flash brilliant blue as they flare in his direction. ‘I am your mistress! Don’t ever doubt it! I took care of you when nobody else would. Nobody! What is this doubt I see in your eyes?’
‘I don’t doubt you, Highness. I am nothing but your loyal servant.’
She looks at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Perhaps a night in the pit amongst real demons will help chase away the demons in your head.’
Bastian’s eyes flick around the room, colour draining from his face. He holds his hands out and steps backwards. ‘No, Mistress. Oh please no!’ He looks at me and the fear I see in his eyes makes me shiver. ‘I … I’ll do it,’ he hisses. ‘I’ll do anything.’ As if to prove his loyalty, he cracks the whip in my direction. It snakes at my feet, but doesn’t connect.
Lathenia stares at him with her eyes unblinking. She’s searching the boy’s mind, reading his inner thoughts. I find myself urging Bastian to conceal any doubts he might have with every ounce of strength he can find. Suddenly Lathenia inhales sharply, her eyes flashing fire. ‘Into the pit!’
Bastian screams out, ‘No! Don’t do this!’
‘I will release you in one hour. And you will be so grateful for my mercy, you will truly be my humble servant. For your destiny is always in my hands, Bastian. Think about that when you are running in those tunnels.’
With these words she waves both hands towards the pleading boy. He starts to disappear, but for seconds after he is gone his piteous screams reverberate in the room.
Marduke walks over and picks up the whip, keeping his one eye on me. ‘Shall I, Mistress?’
Lathenia pats Marduke’s hand as if she were petting one of her many hounds. ‘You will have your chance to deal with him soon, my pet. But before I have this mortal permanently exterminated, I have one more question for him.’
‘Don’t waste your breath. I won’t tell you anything.’
She comes over to stand before my chair. ‘Get up!’
‘That if I could,’ I mutter, but force myself to do just that, leaning heavily on the branch Bastian earlier gave me.
Her head lifts while she waits for me to regain my breath. ‘Answer me one last question, Arkarian, and I will ensure you live long enough to see your friends arrive.’
‘How generous of you.’
She ignores my sarcasm. ‘It’s a simple question, requiring a simple answer. Do so, and while you will not live long, you will see your colleagues one more time.’
Her offer is tempting. I would love to see Isabel and Ethan again, even for just one brief moment. But she is hardly trustworthy. ‘How do I know you’ll live up to your end of the bargain?’
‘It’s a risk. But ultimately the choice is yours. Death now,’ she pauses, glancing at the cowering wren half in, half out of the doorway, ‘or after you’ve said your final goodbyes.’
‘I’ll decide once I have your question.’
Her pale skin flares luminous as she tries to control her temper. ‘You will tell me the name of the man who fathered you!’
Her question both surprises and confuses me. Why is the knowledge of who fathered me of any significance? At least this time I don’t have to struggle with keeping my thoughts from her. ‘You know this is a question I can’t answer. I don’t know who either of my parents were. My mother—’
She cuts me off. ‘You know your mother. You met her recently.’
For a second she throws me. An image of the child, Charlotte, flashes before my eyes. And in my heart I realise the truth. ‘Why didn’t you kill her when you had the chance?’
‘I wanted to see who your father was.’
‘Of course, through your sphere. That would have been easy for you. You control the opening of the time portals. So why ask me the question? Why not just look for yourself?’
‘Why? Because the act of your conception was shrouded in a blanket of invisibility!’
This news stuns me so much that I find myself falling into the chair for support. To create a shroud of invisibility would have taken the powers of a Magician. So the legend of Dartemis must be tru
e! He does exist, at least on some level, in some place, to have performed this enchantment to conceal the identity of my father. But why was this secrecy necessary? If my father was someone of importance, why was I abandoned after my mother’s death to be raised by peasants and soldiers?
‘Tell me, Arkarian, everything you know.’
I look up at Lathenia, lifting my hands. ‘I know nothing. I was raised by strangers, sent from one house to another.’
‘Surely someone from those houses told you something!’
‘Who would tell me anything? I was a foundling. I had no status.’
Her rage increases with every second she realises I can’t give her the information she wants. Of course the question arises, if I did know who my father was, would I tell her anyway? Even if this information was of no significance to anyone, I would die first.
Hearing my rebellious thoughts, Lathenia lashes out, striking me across the face with the back of her hand. The force of her simple slap sends me careering backwards.
From my position on the floor I catch sight of Sera, huddling beneath the table, head buried deeply in her hands. It’s the sight of this tortured innocence that forces a surge of anger through me, so powerful that for a second I feel it break through the confining bonds of the enchantment. Quickly, glancing up at Lathenia, I raise my hands and force as much energy in her direction that I can, considering my weakened physical state.
The room ignites with a flash of power that hits Lathenia front on, surprising her. She falls sideways, screaming. Staggering quickly to her feet she yells at her Magician. ‘Quickly, Keziah! Your magic has expired.’
I can’t let this opportunity pass. To try to fight them all is pointless; they would destroy me in an instant. But what if I use my wings? I might end up anywhere in this underworld, but surely anywhere would be better than certain death here, except perhaps for that ‘pit’ Lathenia sent Bastian to!
If I use my wings I’ll be leaving Sera, yet, what use am I to her in this state? It would be better to escape now with my powers, and return for her when the danger is passed.
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