Darkwitch Rising

by Sara Douglass

  Then he motioned Jane and Louis to one side and, taking Eaving’s hand so that she stood at his side in the centre of the circle of leaves, addressed those atop The Naked.

  The creatures gathered were now congregated into one mass a little distant from where the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving stood in their circle of leaves.

  “Behold!” the Lord of the Faerie cried. “The Faerie Court convenes!”

  The assemblage roared, and Jane jumped.

  “I bid you welcome, one and all,” the Lord of the Faerie continued, “for you are all beloved to this land.” The Lord of the Faerie paused, and Jane swore that his stature literally grew an inch or two as he studied the throng before him.

  “We convene tonight for one most magical reason—to witness the anointing of he who is to rise as the Stag God.”

  Jane saw Louis frown, then look away, as if irritated.

  “A man most ordinary, and yet extraordinary,” said Eaving.

  At this point she gazed at the Lord of the Faerie with such emotion that Jane was not surprised to see Louis’ expression turn angry. She felt a moment’s sympathy for him; what the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving did here was cruel, to say the least, as they flaunted their love and power before Louis.

  “It matters only,” Eaving said, turning away from the Lord of the Faerie and dropping his hand, “that he accept the responsibility for the Ringwalk, the track of the stag through the forests, and accept the challenge that his rising shall encompass. Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising?”

  Jane looked to Louis, and knew then that she was truly alone in the world. Everyone else moved ever forward into greater power, and a greater understanding with, and connection to, the Faerie.

  Only she, of all, slid ever backwards towards irrelevance and dismissal.

  He thought it was a cruel jest, that somehow this was his punishment for all the hurt he had done to Cornelia and Caela. He thought that this was the true purpose of the Faerie Court, to humiliate and torment him, and that at any moment the expression on Eaving’s face would turn from loving joy to terrifying contempt.

  Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising?

  Louis staggered a little, unable to comprehend that Eaving could have said that in anything but contempt-ridden jest. He stared at her, then looked around, wondering if he dared to run, and if the throng would part for him if he did.

  If they parted, would they laugh as he ran past? Pepper him with malicious jests?

  How could Eaving and the Lord of the Faerie think that he would willingly hand over his powers as Kingman to the Lord of the Faerie after this particular piece of spite?

  “Louis,” Eaving said, very softly. She had walked close to him now, and the expression on her face had changed, as Louis was sure it would—but not into terrifying contempt. Rather, into an even greater depth of compassion.

  “How could you not have known?” she said, so close to him now that her breath played over his face. She leaned against him, her hand warm on his chest. “I tried to tell you so often, but you would never listen.”

  How could you not have known? whispered the assembled throng of faerie creatures. How could you not have known?

  Louis still could not speak, nor raise his hands to Eaving. He looked beyond her to where the Lord of the Faerie stood, an empathetic expression on his face.

  “How could you not have known?” the Lord of the Faerie whispered.

  “I…” Louis began, drifting to a close, not knowing what to say. His mind still could not grasp what had happened, or that Eaving now leaned so close against him.

  “Will you run the forests?” she murmured. “Will you trace the Ringwalk?”

  Will you run the forests? whispered the throng. Will you trace the Ringwalk?

  “Will you be the land?” said the Lord of the Faerie, now also very close.

  Will you be the land? echoed the throng.

  “Come dance with us,” murmured Eaving.

  Dance with us.

  “Come dance with me, into eternity.”

  Dance with us, into eternity.

  “Walk this land with me, run its forests, be my Kingman, be my Stag. Complete the Troy Game with me, and dance with me…dance with me…dance with me…”

  Dance with her, be her lover, dance…dance…dance…

  Louis realised he was trembling, so badly he wondered he did not fall to his knees.

  “I cannot…” he stumbled.

  She withdrew enough so that her magical eyes could look deep into his. “Is it that you do not want to, or that you do not think yourself able?”

  “How can I? Gods, I am not what you want.”

  “You are everything that this land needs.”

  He wanted to believe her. He wanted to shout yes! And yet…why did she not speak words of love? Why did she not promise herself to him? Why was he not everything that she wanted?

  Now she was kissing his brow, his cheek, his ear, and Louis wondered why she would not look at him.

  “The Lord of the Faerie shall show you the way of the Ringwalk,” said Eaving, her fingertips trailing down his naked chest.

  “Oh, aye,” murmured the Lord of the Faerie, now standing almost as close to Louis as was Eaving. “And when you are risen, and the Stag God runs the Ringwalk, then shall you and Eaving be joined together in the Great Marriage, and so shall the land be whole once again.”

  The Great Marriage. Louis could remember Genvissa telling him of it when he’d been Brutus. When the goddess of the waters joined with the god of the forests in the Great Marriage, then, and then only, would the land be whole.

  “Is that what you want?” Louis asked Eaving, and she leaned back, and her eyes glinted and sparkled.

  “What else?” she said.

  Louis relaxed. He had been shocked. His thoughts had tumbled in disarray. She loved him. She wanted him.

  He took Eaving’s face between his hands. “We will dance the final Dance of the Flowers,” he said, “and then we will walk forward, together, into eternity.”

  “Yes,” she whispered, and if there was a shadow in her eyes as she said that, then Louis merely thought it the reflection of the throng gathering close about them.

  “We will all walk with you about the Ringwalk,” whispered the faerie folk now encircled about them. “Into eternity.”

  Eaving leaned back a little again, and put a hand against his cheek. “Brutus,” she said, “will you accept the responsibility? The challenge? Will you face the Ringwalk?”

  Suddenly Louis felt the strangest sensation in his chest, and it took him a moment to realise it was joy.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do so accept.”

  He cradled Eaving in his arms, and kissed her as he should once have kissed her when they’d stood beneath the night sky at the Altar of the Philistines, so long ago, and felt that new-found joy in his heart deepen into a hope that he had not realised until now he had abandoned many years before.

  When she pulled back from him, he did not think it anything other than her desire to share her joy with the assembled faerie folk.

  Six

  The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie

  Jane looked as Louis drew Eaving close, and kissed her. She felt cold and empty. Useless. A nonentity in this congregation where everyone seemed to have a purpose, except her.

  What was I, she thought, but a pawn in all of this? I can no longer delude myself that I began this, with Brutus as willing, lustful confederate. We were all manipulated by something larger, and much darker. I was merely a piece, moved by some other, vaster power.

  “We have all been pawns, in our own way.”

  Jane turned her head. The Lord of the Faerie was standing by her side, his attention all on her rather than on Eaving and Louis.

  “That is so easy for you to mouth,”
she said. “What have you gained from this but joy? I have slid the other way. I am tired, Coel. I don’t want to play any longer. Let me go, I pray you.”

  The Lord of the Faerie’s face crinkled a little, as if in puzzlement. He lifted a hand, and brushed it softly against her cheek.

  “Strange words, indeed, for Genvissa. For Swanne.”

  “They are long dead,” she said, turning her head away from his contact. “I hope they stay that way.”

  “But you still have a role to play,” the Lord of the Faerie said.

  Jane’s face twisted. “Ah, yes. I must hand over my powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth, mustn’t I? And how can I refuse, eh? There stand the delightful couple, god reborn and god apparent, and all I need to do to complete the happy union is to give Eaving what she needs to make herself and her lover the most powerful divinities in creation—gods and players of the Game.”

  “That was not what I meant.”

  Jane looked at him, hating it that all her bitterness and disappointment must be written plain across her face. “Really? Then what is my role? To bake the cake for the Great Marriage? To ensure that the floor is swept and the sideboard dusted? To—”

  “Jane,” he said, “quiet that harsh tongue of yours for just a moment.” Taking her hand, he led her away from the throng. When they stopped, he pulled her close so that he could speak quietly in her ear.

  “Do you remember,” he said, “when you were Swanne and I Harold, how well we suited each other in those first years of our marriage?”

  “You never suited me.”

  He laughed. “You were blind.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Do what’s best, Jane. Do what’s best.”

  Her mouth tightened into a thin line. She knew what that meant. Hand over your powers of Mistress of the Labyrinth. If only he knew how little she would be needed even for that.

  “Jane, I talk of that time when you come to meet me by the scaffold. Then you must do what’s best.”

  “Why, Coel? What could you possibly want of me?”

  His hands moved to her face, turning it so that she faced him squarely, and then the Lord of the Faerie lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her gently.

  “I will watch for you by the scaffold, Jane.”

  She pulled away from him. “Don’t.”

  “Don’t…what?”

  “Don’t toy with me, Coel. Don’t torment me.”

  The skin about his eyes crinkled. “Do what’s best, Jane. Not for you, but for the land. And…” the fingers of one hand trailed down a cheek, then traced about her jawline, “and, do what’s best for me and for you. For the both of us.”

  She was confused. She didn’t know what he meant. “Coel—”

  He drew away from her, looking over her shoulder. “Ah. I must go.”

  He brushed past Jane, his fingers very briefly touching her hand, and walked to where Eaving and Louis stood, where they had been watching the Lord of the Faerie and Jane.

  Jane turned, hesitated, then followed him.

  Louis, his arm about Eaving’s waist, was talking to him.

  “What do I do?” he said. “Gods, Charles—oh, dear gods, that is not what I should call you, is it?—my mind is still so numbed. I can’t think…”

  He broke off, and shook his head as if to express his bewilderment, but Jane could clearly see his happiness, and it made her feel worse. Once, she had so wanted this man, wanted what she and he could achieve together. Now he loved—and was loved by—another woman, and planned his ambitions and his future about her.

  The Lord of the Faerie put his hand on Louis’ shoulder, and spoke in a low tone to him, and as he did so, Eaving pulled herself gently from Louis’ grasp and came to Jane’s side.

  “We should go soon,” she said, her strange, enchanted eyes soft. “We have risked our luck this far. I would not have Weyland come down from his lair and find us gone.”

  “I should go,” Jane said. “You appear to have found your haven.”

  At that Eaving’s face turned aside very slightly. “None of us ever truly know what our haven is,” she said, very softly, “until we fall in through the door one bright day.”

  “Well, I, for one,” said Jane, “am sick of—”

  Before she could finish, she felt the unmistakeable power of Ariadne touch her. The Naked dissolved abruptly about them, all the throng vanished, and she and Eaving were standing once more in Tower Fields.

  Seven

  Tower Fields, London

  “Well, well,” said Ariadne, “wasn’t that a pretty little scene, then?”

  It was deep night, and cold, so Ariadne had set herself a little fire amid a cleared space in the grass. She stood directly behind it, allowing the light of the flames to wash over her. Jane thought it made Ariadne look particularly malevolent, and realised this was a carefully staged scene.

  So, Jane thought, Ariadne has used her powers of Mistress of the Labyrinth and pulled us back to her again. Myself and Noah.

  Jane glanced at Noah, and saw with a little shock that she had indeed returned into Noah—although she still held herself with the pride and honour and power that she commanded as Eaving.

  “You saw?” said Noah, showing no confusion at Ariadne’s precipitous action in pulling Noah and Jane to this place.

  Ariadne’s mouth quirked. “I see most things,” she said. “Come, sit with me—” Ariadne sat herself gracefully on the ground as she said this, patting her hands to either side “—and partake of the wine and fruit I have brought to share.”

  Noah hesitated, then walked about the fire to sit on Ariadne’s right, Jane seating herself on the witch’s other side. Ariadne moved back slightly, so that Noah and Jane could the more easily see her face, and she theirs. With her movement, Ariadne had changed the seating pattern so that the three women and the fire formed a rough circle.

  “So,” said Ariadne, reaching out a hand and very briefly touching Noah’s face, “you’ve finally managed to tell your Brutus about his, um, how shall I say this, anticipated forestal divinity. He seemed shocked.” She shrugged. “I would consider it worrying that it has taken him all this time to realise.”

  She cocked her head to one side, and smiled brilliantly. “But then, that isn’t my problem, is it? My problem is you, Noah. Or Eaving. Whomsoever you happen to be at present. Everyone appears to expect you to become Mistress of the Labyrinth, but Jane seems unwilling to teach you.”

  Jane opened her mouth, but was forestalled from speaking when Ariadne held out a hand palm upwards commanding her to silence.

  “Jane,” Ariadne continued, “is also concerned, Noah, about how I’ve managed to haul you here along with her. The power I use for this particular piece of magic is only supposed to touch trained, or women bred to be, Mistresses of the Labyrinth, after all. So Jane is anxious to know why you’re sharing this space with us. I’d like to hear your explanation for it as well. If you don’t mind.”

  Again, that cocked eyebrow.

  “I have no explanation,” said Noah.

  The eyebrow went even higher. “Oh, come now, Noah. I really want to know why—”

  “You are not surprised to see me here,” said Noah, her voice and manner calm. “If there is a reason for my presence, then you already know it.”

  “Ah,” said Ariadne softly, “you are no fool, are you?”

  Instead of answering Noah’s implied question, Ariadne turned her attention to Jane. “Everyone seems to expect you to hand over your powers, Jane. Noah has wanted it for years. Brutus wants it. He’d like nothing better than to be able to complete the Troy Game with the great love of his life…ahem, lives. This strange enigmatic Lord of the Faerie also seems to expect it, if I read his words to you this evening rightly.”

  “If you can interpret his words, then I’d be glad to hear it,” said Jane.

  Ariadne ignored her. “I’m sure the Troy Game is falling over itself wanting Noah to learn her arts as Mistress of the La
byrinth.”

  At that Jane looked away. So that was why Catling came to Idol Lane! Of course…she should have realised it earlier.

  “So, Jane,” Ariadne continued, “the question is, shall you teach her?”

  Jane now studied Ariadne, unable to read the witch’s face. What did she want to hear?

  “No,” she said eventually.

  “Good answer,” Ariadne said, very softly. Her eyes switched back to Noah. “Jane shall not teach you, Noah. I shall. Jane could teach you, surely, but if I teach you, then I can turn you into the most powerful Mistress of the Labyrinth that has ever been. More powerful even than myself, if you can believe it.” She laughed prettily. “After all, you shall combine both labyrinthine arts with those of Eaving and of the land, shan’t you?”

  Noah’s face was such a confusing mix of emotions that Jane might have laughed if she hadn’t been so angry. Ariadne to teach Noah? Why? Why?

  And why was it Ariadne could spirit Noah here?

  Jane looked back at Ariadne, and was not surprised to find her foremother watching her with an amused look.

  “What is it about Noah, Ariadne? Why is she here? Why take such an interest in her? What is in it for you?”

  Ariadne answered the last of Jane’s questions first. “Revenge,” she said. “Revenge is in it for me. I want to put Asterion away once and for all, and I want to see the Game flowering in all its glory and majesty. Noah is the one to do that.”

  “But surely—” Jane broke off, wondering how to put her question so that it didn’t make her sound spiteful or vindictive.

  “Why not one of my own blood, Jane? After all, it would take one of my own blood to be able to better my own skills, eh?”

  Now Ariadne turned her eyes away from Jane and looked at Noah very, very carefully. “I have no intention of teaching anyone but my own blood, Jane,” she said.

  For a moment there was a silence, Ariadne and Noah staring at each other, Jane looking between the two of them.