The Lord of the Faerie stared at her. “You cannot believe it?”
Noah looked bewildered. Veins of colour stained her pallid cheeks, and she clasped her hands together, wringing them about. “I can’t believe that he would do such a thing. The imps…no. No. He doesn’t control the imps. You said the imps sent the message?”
The Lord of the Faerie nodded, still watching Noah carefully.
“The imps are not in his control any more. If the imps have sent a message, then that message is from the Troy Game, not from Weyland.”
The Lord of the Faerie did not immediately respond. He stood, his eyes on Noah, his chest drawing in deep slow breaths as he thought.
“Noah,” he said eventually, “why would the Troy Game send plague to visit London? The Game is dedicated to protecting the city from evil, not instigating it. Its very purpose is protection. This plague stinks of Weyland, not of the Troy Game.”
Noah had regained her composure. “I no longer believe the Troy Game is dedicated only to protection. I think that it has infinite capacity for harm. It wants completion, and it will allow nothing to stand in its way.”
“Noah,” Jane said very slowly, very deliberately, “what are you saying?”
Noah looked only at the Lord of the Faerie. “I need to see Louis more than ever. Soon. Can you arrange it?”
The Lord of the Faerie nodded, his eyes intense as he gazed at Noah. “I can do it. But, by all the gods, Noah, it will be dangerous. Interrupting his transformation…”
Noah smiled, very sadly. “Danger is all about us.”
The Lord of the Faerie sat on his throne atop The Naked. He was alone. Not Jane, not even the magpie, kept him company.
He thought on Noah, and as he thought, so the fingertips of his right hand thrummed slowly against the armrest.
She was walking a dangerous path. The Lord of the Faerie was not sure if Weyland had corrupted Noah away from her allegiance to the land, or if her closeness to Weyland had enabled her to see the dangers about them far more clearly than he could himself.
There was a bleakness hanging over the land, somehow infecting it. The Lord of the Faerie had felt that on the day of his crowning, the instant the crown had settled on his head. Then he’d thought it was, as always, the presence of Asterion.
But what if it was not? What if the alliance between land and Troy Game was not beneficial, but cancerous?
The Lord of the Faerie sat on his throne, looking out over the rolling infinity of wooded hills, and wondered which might prove to be the more deadly. Noah? Or the Troy Game?
The Lord of the Faerie’s fingers stopped thrumming as he came to a decision within himself.
It might be a highly dangerous path, but in a previous life, when he had been Harold, he had promised to walk that path with her.
All every path needs is a companion with which to share it.
He sighed, and rose from his throne.
Eighteen
Idol Lane, London
NOAH SPEAKS
I was devastated as I absorbed what the Lord of the Faerie told me—that Weyland had sent the plague to further his ambition to acquire the kingship bands.
For an instant I believed him, but then my benumbed brain screamed at me that it was the imps who had delivered the message to Charles, and I knew that Weyland now had little or no control over the imps.
At least, I thought Weyland had no control over them. He rarely saw them. They had sometimes come to the house, and I knew Weyland occasionally sent them out on a mission. But then, he had not known that Catling had control of them until very recently.
Maybe the message had come from him.
I defended Weyland stoutly to Coel, but in my own mind I was no longer so sure.
Would he have done this?
A few short months ago I would not have doubted. The use of plague to force Brutus-reborn’s hand would have stunk of Weyland.
However, Weyland had promised me that he would make no move on the bands until I had attained my full powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth. Then I could retrieve the bands. I had believed Weyland’s promise.
Should I have done that?
When we left The Naked Jane and I did not go directly back to Idol Lane. Instead, we sent our senses scrying through London.
I felt the difference instantly. Death and disease were not unknown to me. As Eaving, goddess of the waters, I felt it constantly as it appeared here and there about the land. That was unwelcome, but always, always part of the natural order of things.
This plague was different. It was black and terrible, but it was also completely unnatural. It had no place within the natural cycle of life and death. If I had not been so absorbed with Weyland and with learning the ways of the labyrinth then I would have realised this long before.
“Dear gods,” I whispered. “This stinks of deceit!”
“Aye,” Jane said. “Weyland’s deceit, surely.”
I did not answer. She had far more reason, far more right, to blame him than myself.
“Do you truly think it is the Game and not Weyland?” said Jane. She was watching me very carefully, now.
“The plague stinks of Catling, Jane. Surely you can smell it?”
“No,” she said. “I can’t. I am curious, Noah, why you are so desperate to blame Catling and not Weyland. What has he done then, to merit such belief?”
We returned to Idol Lane, Jane still waiting for a response to her question.
She did not get it. In truth, I don’t know if I could have answered it. Why feel so wretched that Weyland might have set this plague? Should I not have expected it of Weyland, the great Minotaur?
I hadn’t expected it of the man I had come to know.
Unless that man was a lie.
I felt miserable, and I wondered if my promise to shelter Weyland was the reason I kept insisting that it could not have been him to cause this plague.
Weyland was, as usual, waiting for us in the kitchen. He rose, and, as usual, kissed me. Then he frowned, for he felt no increase in the power of the labyrinth.
“You did not learn today?” he asked.
“No,” I said, and looked significantly at Jane.
She threw me one of her sharp glances, but withdrew into the parlour, and a moment later up the stairs, and I turned back to Weyland.
“I was distracted,” I said, “by the spreading evil that has London in its clutches.”
He shrugged, disinterested.
That made me furious. “I am Mag’s successor, Weyland! I am this land—do not expect me to shrug and turn away!”
“What has caused this temper, Noah? You can hardly blame me for the plague.”
I said nothing, staring at him.
“What? You do want to blame me for the plague?” He gave a short laugh. “Why not lay at my heels the blame for every woman who has died in childbed, or for every cat which has become lethally entangled in the wheels of one of the city’s dung carts, or for every child dead of fever?”
“Have you caused this spreading sickness, Weyland?”
He was studying me very carefully now. “Noah, why fret so over ‘blame’?”
“Have you caused this spreading sickness, Weyland?”
He stared, silent, then spoke. “No. I had thought very little of it until your hysterics this evening.”
He was treating me like a child, and I was furious. “You are being blamed for it.”
Again, that short, humourless laugh. “What care I? No doubt I am blamed for most ills that beset the world.”
“And for that you can hardly blame anyone but yourself.”
He put his hands on my shoulders, his eyes searching mine. “Why are you so upset, Noah?”
“I thought you might have set the plague to gain yourself some advantage.” To gain the kingship bands of Troy, but I could not say that.
“Ah. Having heard of the plague, you immediately leapt to the conclusion that I had caused it. I thought we understood each other bette
r than that, Noah.”
“It is rumoured,” I said, “that you sent a message to Charles via the imps, saying that you would not stop the plague until he handed you the kingship bands.”
“How would you know what had been whispered to Charles, Noah?”
“Because…it was just a rumour, Weyland.”
Oh, he could have forced it out of me. I could see the want simmering along with anger within those intense hazel eyes.
He wanted to. So badly.
And he didn’t. He just gave a single nod, and stepped back. “I have not caused the plague, Noah. You know I haven’t, for did you not tell me how it is that Catling controls the imps?”
“But…but this message was passed to Charles some time ago, before you knew about Catling. I wondered…I knew you still used the imps from time to time, and I thought you may have used them for this message. I had to ask.”
“And do you believe me now that I have given you my answer?”
“I wish…” I said, and watched the disappointment gather in his eyes.
Nineteen
Atop The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie
He became aware of another presence, so very gradually that Louis wondered if the presence had been there for hours, perhaps even days, before he truly took any notice of it.
It was an irritating presence, if only because it was so persistent.
Louis…
Louis…
Louis…
It was the Lord of the Faerie, and because of that Louis slowed on his journey through the Ringwalk, and eventually halted.
What is it?
Noah needs to see you, to talk with you. We can talk enough once I have completed my journey. Why now?
Louis, it is urgent. This should not wait.
What is it?
It is Asterion.
Ah…He nodded. I will see her.
They met atop The Naked. Louis waited in the centre of the summit, a vastly different man than he had been when last at this place. Now there was a wild stillness about him that made any who regarded him deeply uncomfortable.
Not that there were many to observe him. Louis was alone save for the Lord of the Faerie, who sat his throne on the eastern edge of the summit.
Noah appeared in her goddess form, walking up the slope close to the summit. One moment she was not there, the next she had all but arrived.
Louis, watching, realised that she moved like a dancer, which was something new for Noah. He recognised the movement instantly, for it bespoke her training in the arts of the labyrinth. At that he felt great relief. All would be well. She was transforming, as was he. When both were done, and the Great Marriage accomplished, then nothing could stop them in their goal to complete the Troy Game.
“Louis,” Noah said, coming directly to him, “how do you?”
She leaned forward and kissed him, not waiting for an answer. When she pulled her mouth away from his, her eyes shone even brighter. “The Ringwalk has truly become your home.”
“As the labyrinth has become yours,” he said, gathering her once more into his arms for a longer and far deeper kiss. “Noah, what is it?” he said, as she pulled back. “What has Weyland done?”
She rested her hands on his chest. “Louis, leave the matter of Weyland for the moment. First, I must tell you news of our daughter.”
“She is not harmed? Weyland has not—”
“What has happened to Catling is most certainly no doing of Weyland’s,” Noah said. “Louis, Catling is not our daughter.”
“But we conceived her.” He smiled slowly. “Unless I imagined that afternoon we spent in the bedchamber of your father’s palace in Mesopotama.”
“We were tricked.” Noah closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked directly into Louis’ eyes. “Catling is the Troy Game incarnate. It used us, used our bodies, to gain flesh and breath.”
He did not answer her verbally, but his entire being became still, and yet more watchful.
“The Game took the shape and form of our daughter, she who we lost, and pretended to be her, and—”
He stopped the flow of words with a finger to her lips. “Noah, I am so sorry. I had no idea.” He pulled her to him, and cuddled her, knowing she would feel this deception greatly.
Yet, as he held her, Louis frowned, puzzled. His perceptive powers were far stronger and far more finely attuned than they had been when he had merely been Brutus-reborn. Now, as Noah leaned against him, and wept, he felt something from her.
Something that stank of the taint of Weyland.
He pushed her away a little, so he could see her face.
“Louis,” she said, very low, “plague is infecting the land. A terrible pestilence. Deliberately sent.”
“Weyland—”
“I think the Troy Game has caused it.”
Again, Louis wondered what it was that he felt from her. What was this strange taint within her flesh and spirit? “Why would the Game wish to do that?”
“To force me to its will.”
Louis frowned. What did she mean by that? “Weyland has caused this plague. Surely.” Gods, my love, tell me that you also believe this, and stay my fears.
She shook her head. “I fear that the Troy Game has grown into a terrible being, Louis. The land suffers. Listen to me, I beg you.”
He wanted to listen to her, very badly. Here she stood within the circle of his arms, the woman he loved before all others, his true mate, and she wept because her daughter had been torn from her yet once more, and she worried that what they were supposed to protect and nurture, the Troy Game, had turned sour.
But…still…that strange subtle taint…and her refusal to believe that it could be Weyland who had caused the plague.
Worse, he could feel a slight stiffness in her, as if she wanted to withdraw from him.
“Noah, this plague is not the Troy Game’s doing. The plague is Weyland’s handiwork certainly. The land needs the Game.”
“I am no longer sure that the Troy Game is what the land needs.”
That shocked him, but he tried to stay reasonable. She was, after all, upset about her daughter. “The Game is not always pleasant, Noah. Surely you have learned that already from your training within the labyrinth. But it is not evil. It cannot be. It will not harm the city it has been formed to protect. That is not its nature.”
“Louis, please, please listen to me. Consider what I say.”
“Gods, Noah, how can you think the Game more evil than Weyland? I felt your agony the day Charles entered London. Have you forgot it? What spell has Weyland cast over you, that you so willingly believe that this malevolence gripping the land is the Game’s doing, and not his?” He suddenly whipped her about, and pulled away the diaphanous material that clothed her back. He stared, then laid a hand gently against the scars that marred her flesh. “He does this to you, my love, and you think him worthy of belief?”
She twisted around, away from his touch. “I am talking of the Troy Game, Louis. Not Weyland.”
He reached out a hand to her face, trying to reach her with both touch and love. “Noah, think, I beg you. How can you believe Weyland—Asterion—before the Troy Game?”
“Louis, do you believe me before the Game?”
He hesitated, and she drew back from him, her eyes round, terrified, lost.
“Noah…”
But she was gone, and Louis was left standing in the middle of The Naked, his hand outstretched.
The Lord of the Faerie came to him, and stood by his side.
“That was not so well done, Louis. She needed you to believe her.”
“How can I believe her, my friend? She lives within Weyland’s den. She could be his mouthpiece—”
The Lord of the Faerie started to say something, but Louis held up a hand and silenced him. “No. Listen to me. I mourn with her about the child. I know how much she wanted a daughter, and how much she mourned the one who was lost. I can understand how she feels betrayed by the Game, and
its winding ways. But I also feel something else from her. A closeness with Weyland. Gods, I can almost smell it. There is something happening between her and him. I don’t know what, but I do know it. Can I trust the Game, my faerie friend? Perhaps not. But I also wonder about Noah. I love her, I want to love her…but I think Weyland has turned her.”
There was something else, but for the moment that possibility so terrified Louis he could not elucidate it.
He thought he had felt the power of a Darkwitch, his one certain enemy, rising from the very pores of Noah’s skin.
Twenty
London Bridge
NOAH SPEAKS
“Believe me,” Weyland said to me, and I couldn’t. “Believe me,” I pleaded with Louis, and he hadn’t.
All this disbelief, tearing my life apart.
All I wanted was a firm footing somewhere. Someone, or something, in which I could believe.
I wandered for a time, first through the Faerie and then through London, knowing Weyland waited for me, and knowing he was undoubtedly fretting and edging closer to doing something unpleasant with each minute that passed, yet even so I was determined to discover some means by which I could find that elusive firm foothold.
I wandered as Eaving, and thus very few people realised my presence. But some did. A gaggle of wide-eyed children who stopped their ball game as I passed. I smiled at them, and one or two, braver than the others, returned it.
A carter, hunched exhausted over the reins, started and stared as he passed by.
I inclined my head, and smiled for him also, and the exhaustion lifted from his face.
A vicar, who went white, and who reminded me of John Thornton for no other reason than their shared calling.
He passed, stumbling and staring, and I turned aside my head…and, as I did so, thought of something I could do.
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