“So much has changed.”
Ringwalker let her go, standing back a pace. “There is a darkness in you. What is it?”
She slid her eyes away. Ringwalk felt his hollowness turn to true fear. “I am only what I have always been, Ringwalker,” she said. “Do you not remember, at one time, relating to me how Membricus, your ancient lover and adviser, told you that I was Hades’ daughter, that there was a dark shadow within me? That darkness has always been there. Once you hated me for it. Now, if you wish to love me, you must accept it.”
“No. Don’t try to fool me. That darkness is Weyland’s touch. I smelt him on you when you came to me during my transformation. Now I can smell him on you more strongly than ever. What has he done to you?” He paused. “Noah, have you turned to Weyland? Have you betrayed me as Swanne did in our previous lives?”
She tilted her head, her eyes now directly on his, and full of boldness. “I have not done what Swanne did in her previous life. I am not that foolish.”
Ringwalker did not know what to think. He had thought she would fall into his arms. Hadn’t that been what she promised him when she’d told him of his heritage? Dance with me, she’d whispered.
Now, it was all indecision and “maybe”.
And all stink of Weyland.
“Where are my kingship bands, Noah?”
Again that soft, sad smile at his “my”.
“I have sheltered them, Ringwalker. Do you know what that means?”
“Aye. I know what your goddess name implies. You are the shelterer. That is your very nature.”
“Aye.”
“But where are they?”
“They are in the Idyll. Do you know what that is?”
“No.” He shifted, sick of her evasiveness.
She sighed. “It is a beautiful place.”
“Fetch them for me, Noah. I need them.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I cannot give them to you, Ringwalker. It is too dangerous. I fear the Troy Game’s strength once you win control of the bands. I think giving you the bands will be handing the Troy Game way too much power.”
“Damn it, Noah, what is wrong?”
She looked away, and he saw that her eyes had filled with tears. Anxiety now turned to fear.
“Weyland does control you, doesn’t he? You are his, aren’t you? Everything you have said to me here has been designed to protect him!”
Again that chin tilt. “You know what my goddess name means, yes? You know what my goddess name, Eaving, means?”
“Yes. Now answer me, curse you!”
“Very well. Ringwalker, you need to know that Weyland has asked me for shelter. I will not betray him, even if it is you who asks it of me.”
Then, as Ringwalker stared at her, now shocked beyond horror, Noah turned and walked away.
Weyland sat on the edge of the bed, his body tense, a sheen of sweat on his skin. His eyes rested on the baby asleep in her crib as if he expected her to somehow vanish at any moment.
She said she would return.
Weyland tightened his hands about each other. He had a terrible urge to let loose his dark power, to track Noah down, to destroy…
What was he thinking? What had he become to so allow love to distract him?
And was he more afraid of what he had become, or what he might revert to if he lost her?
“Weyland.”
He leapt to his feet, jerking around. Noah had walked back into the chamber. She gave him a small, tired smile, and bent down to their daughter.
“She sleeps,” she said.
“Aye. She has not woken.”
“Weyland…”
He swallowed.
“Weyland…I know you want to control the Game. But have you ever thought about destroying it? Completely?”
He stared.
“It will destroy this land, Weyland,” she said, “and it will destroy us. It cannot be allowed to reach its full potential.”
He could not speak.
“Weyland?”
“You came back,” he whispered.
She gave a half sigh, half sob, and walked over and wrapped her arms about him. “I said I would, and here I am.”
“What did Brutus want?”
“Me.”
“But you came back.”
“Yes.”
His arms slowly lifted themselves and embraced her. They clung to each other for a long moment.
“Weyland? Will you help me destroy the Troy Game?”
He sighed. “It will eat you, Noah.”
“Not if you help me.”
“What will your Brutus have to say about that?”
She gave a small, unconvincing smile. “I hope that he will help, too. I think it will take all three of us to destroy it now.”
Weyland shook his head as if in disbelief.
“Weyland? If the Troy Game is destroyed, then we will be free. Free of this damned dance that has trapped us all.”
Again he sighed. “Yes, I will help you destroy the Game, but I think you are naive in thinking that doing so will free your precious land. I think that if we destroy the Game, we will also destroy the land.” He turned around and looked at Noah. “I think the Troy Game is going to take us all, Noah. The moment it realises that you are prepared to betray it, I think it will take us all.”
Seven
Cheapside and Whitehall Palace, London
Jane fled, almost believing that with every step she took away from Idol Lane she might, might, actually manage to escape.
She had reached Cheapside, a wild-eyed, frantic woman, before she came to her senses. She supposed she’d been heading for Charles at Whitehall, but then she realised her stupid error.
There was only one place Jane wanted to escape to.
Only one person she wanted to be with.
Eaving’s Sisters could have Charles the king. Jane wanted no one but the Lord of the Faerie.
She had to get back to the scaffold in Tower Fields. Surely he would be there, waiting…
“He’s not even thinking of you at the moment, bitch,” said a voice writhing with venom, and Jane’s heart almost stopped in her chest.
She spun about, knowing in the pit of her soul that she was dead.
“You told Noah what I was,” said Catling, emerging out of the shadows, the two imps hanging close behind her shoulders. “You poisoned her against me. If it wasn’t for you, she would be mine.”
“No,” Jane whispered, one hand held out piteously. “Let me—”
“I asked you not to tell,” said Catling, drawing closer. She only took the form of a tiny girl, but somehow her presence loomed about Jane like a great, dark malevolent cloud. “I said you’d be sorry.”
No! Jane screamed in her mind, but before she could put voice to her terror, Catling clicked the fingers of one hand, and the imps scuttled forward.
Charles sat in the ornately carved, gilded and velvet-padded chair in his audience chamber, his face propped in a hand, three fingers thrumming incessantly against his cheek. It was deep night.
Around the king, either seated casually or standing about the chamber, were those people and creatures Charles most trusted, valued and loved. Among them were Marguerite and Kate, his earliest companions; Catharine, his wife; Elizabeth and Frances, somewhat newer companions; Anne Hyde, now married to James, Duke of York, and some five months pregnant; James himself, looking nervous and unsettled; the giants Gog and Magog; and Long Tom and half a dozen Sidlesaghes.
Charles’ fingers tapped back and forth, back and forth, the crown of his head blurring between glossy black hair and the twisted crown of twigs and berries with each breath that he took. The Lord of the Faerie was not far away.
“Where is he?” Marguerite suddenly said, her nerves getting the better of her. “Dear gods, Ringwalker should have returned with Noah by now.”
Charles glanced at her. Ringwalker should indeed have returned with Noah by now, aye, but frankly, Char
les was not greatly surprised that he hadn’t.
He was also worried about Jane. Noah had completed her training. Had Weyland let Jane go? Charles wished he could just rise and go down to Idol Lane, but there was too much else happening. This was a night of power, and for the moment Charles was not sure where he would most be needed.
“There is nothing to keep her with Weyland,” said Catharine. She had been seated in a chair close to Charles; now she rose and paced the chamber, her heavy silken skirts rustling with the sound of a dark wind through the forest. “She is Eaving and she is Mistress of the Labyrinth. With all the power at her command, and with her lover calling her, there is no reason at all why Ringwalker should not have returned with Noah—and with the bands of Troy—by this late hour.”
“The imps…” offered Kate. “Might they…?”
Silence. Elizabeth and Frances looked at each other, remembering all the vilenesses they had seen those imps commit.
“Noah is too strong for the imps,” said Charles, his entire form blurring gently between his mortal appearance and that of the Lord of the Faerie.
“I fear for her,” Long Tom said softly.
“You do well to fear,” said Ringwalker, suddenly appearing from the shadows behind Charles’ chair, “although whether that fear should be for Noah, or of her, I am not certain.”
“Ringwalker!” Charles leapt from his chair.
Ringwalker looked about at those gathered. “She would not come with me,” he said.
“Why not?” cried three or four voices as one.
Ringwalker paused a long moment before answering. “Weyland has asked her for shelter.”
Charles drew in a sharp breath, but it was Marguerite who spoke. “How did he know? How—”
“How do I know this?” Ringwalker said. “All I know is that I asked her to come with me. I begged her, and she would not. She returned to Weyland.”
“She can never move against him now,” said Marguerite. “She must shelter him! Oh, gods.”
“There is more,” Ringwalker said. “I sense a darkness within Noah that cannot be explained merely by her promise to Weyland.”
Charles frowned. “‘Darkness’, Ringwalker?”
“Believe it, if only because I tell you of it, Charles. There is a—”
“Dear gods,” said Charles, suddenly starting as if he’d been jabbed. “It is not Noah we should be fearing for this night, but Jane!”
She struck out at the imps with everything she had—limbs, hands, feet, teeth, and all the power she could muster.
But that power was nothing. Catling was too potent. For every ounce of power that Jane poured forth, Catling damped it with twice as much.
What have I done? thought Jane as the imps began to bite. What did Brutus and I do?
How did we go so terribly wrong?
And then the pain began, and Jane suffered as she had never suffered before.
They’d been so very wrong, she and Brutus. It was not Asterion who was the malignant evil which needed to be contained.
It was the Troy Game.
Charles cried out, screamed out. “Jane!”
“Charles?” Ringwalker said, grabbing him by the arm.
“I can’t go to her!” Charles cried. “I can’t, something is keeping me back! Something—”
“I am keeping you back.”
Charles turned around so quickly Ringwalker almost lost his grip on the man.
Catling stood just inside the door. “Jane’s dead,” she said. “Poor Jane. Those imps do have a terrible appetite.”
No one spoke. Everyone stared at Catling.
“Do not mourn her,” Catling said. “Listen instead to Ringwalker. There is truly a terrible darkness within Noah, and Jane was concealing it from all of you. For that, she had to pay.”
“What in the gods’ names do you mean?” Charles all but shouted.
“Noah is a Darkwitch,” Catling said. “Have you not felt her rise these past months? That is the darkness you felt, Ringwalker.”
There was a stunned silence. Everyone stared at Catling.
“What do you mean,” said Marguerite eventually, enunciating every word very carefully, “a ‘Darkwitch’?”
“Why, Ecub, my dear,” said Catling, moving forward slowly, deliberately, “did you not know that Noah is as much Ariadne’s daughter-heir as Jane was? Jane knew this, and conspired against all of you to keep Noah’s foul little secret!”
“That is not true,” said Ringwalker. His voice was flat.
Catling gave a small smile. “Oh, I was as shocked as you when first I learned it. But hear this. Ariadne had two daughters. An elder one whom she sent as bridal goods to Mesopotama, where she became Cornelia’s foremother; the younger one by Theseus became the foremother of Genvissa, or Jane as she is—was—in this life. Thus the Minoan clothes Cornelia wore, Ringwalker. Did you never once wonder why she wore Minoan fashion in a Greek court?”
Ringwalker did not answer.
“That does not make Noah a Darkwitch,” said Catharine, “even if what you say is true.”
“Oh, what I say is true enough,” said Catling. “But, oh, did I not mention who fathered that girl on Ariadne?”
No one spoke.
“Asterion,” said Catling. “Asterion fathered her.”
“No!” Ringwalker cried.
“Aye!” hissed Catling. “Aye!”
“Could this be true, Ringwalker?” Charles asked. Ringwalker did not answer, keeping his gaze on Catling.
“Could this be true?”
Ringwalker spun about, wanting to deny everything he had just heard. “Gods curse you, Charles! The moon could have been her father, but that does not make it so!”
“Noah is a Darkwitch!” Catling said. “You felt it, Ringwalker. You said she had a darkness within her!” She paused, then continued more moderately. “Noah is the most powerful Darkwitch that has ever been, because it has been bred into her by the greatest wielder of darkcraft, Asterion himself. It was not something learned, or given. Noah’s darkcraft is inherent. Think of this: Noah is goddess, Mistress of the Labyrinth and Darkwitch. More powerful even than Ariadne. Do you still, truly, want to adore her as you have?
“And you,” Catling stared at Charles, “do you truly want to champion Jane? She knew this for months, and yet she said nothing. She conspired to protect Noah, conspired to keep all of you witless and unknowing. Conspired against the Game. Against me.”
“I will not believe this,” said Marguerite, low and angry. She walked forward until she stood with Ringwalker, staring fiercely at Catling. “If Noah was all of this then Jane would never have taught her the ways of the labyrinth. Damn it! I knew Jane through her two previous lives and I cannot believe she has changed so much in this one. Jane would not have wanted to create a being far more powerful than herself. That goes against her very nature.”
A chilling smile played over Catling’s face. “Jane did not teach Noah. You only assumed that she did.”
To one side Charles’ face had gone expressionless.
“Ariadne taught her,” Catling said.
Again, that perfect, still, horrified silence.
“Did you not know?” Catling continued. “Ariadne has been living these past years within the Tower of London. She has been the one teaching Noah.”
“No!” Marguerite cried, her hands over her ears. “No! Curse you, Catling! Why should any of us believe you? Why should we believe you when—”
“Because Noah has given Weyland the four kingship bands she has retrieved. Worse, she has given Weyland a daughter. She has given Weyland everything: child, kingship bands, and her love and allegiance. She is your enemy now. Believe it.”
The silence this time was catastrophic. The faces that stared at Catling reflected, variously, anger, fright, fragile disbelief, and confusion.
Ringwalker was the first to find his voice. “She told me the bands were in a place called the Idyll.”
“The Idyll is Weyland
’s own creation,” said Catling. “If the bands are in the Idyll, then Weyland has them. Be assured of that.”
Long Tom stepped forward. “I will believe none of this,” he said, very softly, “until I hear it from Noah’s own lips.”
“When she can find the time to raise her mouth from that of Weyland,” Catling said, “I am sure she will be more than happy to confirm all I have said.”
Then she looked at Ringwalker. “If you ever want to salvage your part in the Game,” she said, “and in what I have to offer you, then you need to take Noah from Weyland sooner rather than later. On the other hand,” she looked at Long Tom, and at Eaving’s gathered Sisters, “if you want the land to wither under Weyland’s overlordship, then let Noah continue with him, by all means.”
And with that she vanished.
“Jane!” Charles said, and then he, too, vanished.
Eight
On the Path to the Otherworld
The path to the Otherworld was very beautiful, paved with warmth, walled with comfort, lit with hope. For the first time in any of her lives Jane felt totally at peace.
She found this sense of enveloping peace bewildering, for she had not managed her freedom after all. She would never stand behind the throne of the Lord of the Faerie and carol in the dawn and the dusk.
Death had found her first, as she’d always feared.
It was just that the Troy Game had wielded the death, not Weyland.
How odd. The world gone topsy-turvy.
Death gone topsy-turvy.
The path to the Otherworld was strangely unpopulated, because she knew that tens of thousands were dying of plague, and there would surely be the usual elderly morbidities, and those women dead in childbirth, and the children run over by carts…
But perhaps everyone had their own path. Jane didn’t truly care. All she wanted was to walk forward, walk closer to the soft light ahead that radiated succour.
Escape from it all. Finally. Jane drew in a deep breath, and—
“Jane!”
She paused, frowning. The voice came from far behind her, and it aggravated her, for she wanted to maintain this sense of wellbeing, and the voice sounded like it—
Darkwitch Rising Page 58
