Darkwitch Rising

by Sara Douglass

  Especially to Ringwalker. He had slumped to the floor now, and I cursed him for his damned stupidity. What had he hoped to accomplish by coming here?

  Weyland took a half step back and, clasping his hands together into one gigantic fist, raised it above his right shoulder, preparing to drive it down into Ringwalker’s skull.

  They paused momentarily at the apex of their swing, and I saw power glowing from Weyland’s fists.

  “No!” I screamed, and without any care for either myself or, indeed, for Grace, threw myself down over Ringwalker’s form.

  “Damn you!” Weyland cried, but his fists unclenched, and the power drained from them, and he reached down to grab me and pull me out of the way.

  But just then Ringwalker came to his senses and, seizing my shoulders, pulled us away from Weyland’s reach.

  “Did she tell you, fool,” Ringwalker rasped as Weyland started forward, “that it was not Jane who taught her the craft of the labyrinth, but Ariadne?”

  No!

  Weyland stopped dead.

  “What?” he whispered, staring at me.

  “Did she tell you, fool,” Ringwalker continued, “that she is as much of Ariadne’s blood as Jane was, that she is descended from—”

  No! Weyland could not hear this now, not like this.

  I twisted in Ringwalker’s grip, and I swear I hit him as hard as Weyland had been about to but a moment ago. “No!” I hissed.

  “She is a treacherous bitch,” Ringwalker hissed. “Ariadne taught her well.”

  Oh, gods, where had Ringwalker found these words? Nothing could have wounded Weyland more, nor more easily cut away that fragile trust we had built between us.

  Weyland was staring at me, his face an absolute mask of horror. “Is it true?” he whispered. “Did Ariadne teach you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  He gave an incoherent cry of loss and betrayal, and there was so much agony in it that I cried out too.

  Then I felt Ringwalker’s hands tighten about my shoulders, and I knew what was about to happen.

  “I am not Ariadne!” I screamed as Ringwalker’s power enveloped me, and I felt myself being torn away from the Idyll.

  I am not Ariadne!

  Just before Ringwalker pulled me from there entirely, I lifted Grace in my hands, and tossed her towards her father.

  I am not Ariadne!

  The last thing I saw was Weyland, snatching his terrified daughter from midair, his face twisted with hate, or loss, or perhaps both.

  Eleven

  Whitehall Palace, London

  “What was that I saw?” Ringwalker said. “A baby? I cannot believe that—”

  “Enough,” said Noah, her voice tired. “I want none of your judgement.”

  They faced each other in a private chamber of Charles’ palace in Whitehall. To one side the Lord of the Faerie sat on a throne (with a strange incandescence rising behind it), Marguerite, Kate and Catharine standing to each side of him, and Long Tom and several other Sidlesaghes yet further back.

  “I just want to understand,” Ringwalker said, and Noah’s eyes flashed at him.

  “No. You don’t want to understand at all. You want me to justify myself, and I have no intention of doing that.”

  “You are a Darkwitch,” Ringwalker said. “Trained in the ways of the labyrinth by Ariadne. Bred of Ariadne and Asterion himself. Lover of Weyland. Mother of his child. Spiller of secrets into his mouth. Is there anything in that list you wish to deny?”

  Noah’s chin tilted. “Am I on trial?”

  “You are not on trial,” the Lord of the Faerie said, and Noah glanced at him gratefully, her eyes widening very slightly as she saw the incandescence behind his throne.

  “Is that so?” said Ringwalker. “I think that she is—”

  “Noah is not on trial,” the Lord of the Faerie said again.

  Ringwalker stared at him, the muscles in his jaw working with anger, and Noah spoke softly into the silence.

  “I did not know of my heritage, Ringwalker. It is nothing I can help. Ariadne trained me because there was no one else. Jane would not do it. And as for Weyland—I became his lover because Weyland, believe it or not, has wounds that need to be healed as well. I stayed his lover, because…”

  Noah’s voice drifted off, and everyone stared at her.

  She looked about, then shrugged. “I stayed his lover because it felt right to me.”

  “And bred his child?” Ringwalker said.

  “I have given birth to a daughter.” Noah looked to Long Tom. “Do you remember, Long Tom, when you came to me in this life many years ago? You said that I needed to heal wounds. Well, my place in Weyland’s bed, and the daughter I gave him, do just that.”

  “What wounds?” Long Tom asked. “What wounds are these you needed to heal?”

  “Weyland was wounded as much as anyone in pursuit of this terrible Game. He was loved and betrayed, his daughter taken from him. That was what shaped the Minotaur, not natural evil.”

  “And undoubtedly this is why,” Ringwalker said, “filled with this spirit of generosity, you have handed four of the bands of Troy to Weyland.”

  Noah smiled, very sadly. “I have not given them to Weyland. I am sheltering them.”

  Ringwalker took two angry steps forward, jerking his chin up and to one side to show Noah the vicious red marks about his neck. “See these? They were inflicted by Weyland wielding the power of the kingship bands! This was—”

  “If Weyland had been truly wielding the power of the kingship bands,” Noah said, “you would not be here now.”

  “Noah.” The Lord of the Faerie stood up, walking slowly over to her and taking both her hands in his. “Noah, tell us what it is you do, and why.”

  “I do not trust the Troy Game,” Noah said. “I am not dancing to its tune any more.”

  “Fine words,” said Ringwalker, “and doubtless put in your mouth by Weyland.”

  Again that soft, sad smile. “No. Words put in my mouth by knowledge, Ringwalker.”

  “You are for the land,” said the Lord of the Faerie. “And you are the same Noah you have always been.”

  Noah’s eyes flickered towards that strange incandescence behind the throne. “Jane gave you my message?”

  “Aye.”

  “And you trusted it?”

  The Lord of the Faerie smiled, his hands tightening about Noah’s. “Aye.”

  Noah breathed out a long sigh of pure relief. “Thank you, Coel,” she whispered.

  Then she looked to Long Tom. “Long Tom, you have been my friend through two lives. You were the one to show me how the land and the Game had contracted an alliance. Do you still support this alliance?”

  “It no longer tastes so fine to me,” Long Tom said, “but neither does this alliance you have made with Weyland.”

  “There is something I should say about Weyland Orr,” said the Lord of the Faerie, dropping Noah’s hands and looking about the group. “Firstly, he did not cause the plague, and, secondly,” the Lord of the Faerie drew in a deep breath, “he is of the Faerie himself.”

  Several of the group gave disbelieving cries.

  “How do you know this?” said Ringwalker.

  “Noah brought him to the Realm of the Faerie, with my permission. This is when we both discovered that Weyland hadn’t caused the plague, and that he was of the Faerie himself. The Faerie accepted him, although it was an uncomfortable acceptance.”

  “Catling caused the plague,” Noah said. “The Troy Game itself is engaged in murdering as many Londoners as possible.”

  “Why?” cried Ringwalker. “Why?”

  “In an effort to turn me against him,” said Noah. “Who knows what the Game will do now that ploy has failed? Ringwalker, do you truly think the Troy Game wants to be subjected to bit and bridle? I don’t think so. I think much of the evil which has gripped England and London is just as much the Troy Game’s doing as that of Asterion, or any other malevolent entity.”

 
; Now Noah looked back to the Lord of the Faerie. “I will do what is best for the land, but I will not do what is best for the Troy Game. Not any more.” She stepped closer to the Lord of the Faerie, placing her hand softly against his cheek, and once more calling him by the name by which she’d first known him so many lives ago. “Coel, I am this land before anything else. Before my love for you, or for Ringwalker. Before my duties as Mistress of the Labyrinth. Before what I feel for, or owe to Weyland. And very, very definitely before what the Troy Game has planned for me. Once, perhaps, the land and the Game were wedded in harmony, but I no longer think this the case. Please, trust me in this.”

  The Lord of the Faerie lifted his own hand, and pressed hers the tighter against his cheek. “I will trust you, Noah. I do not like this, not at all…gods damn it, my love, be careful in what you do.”

  Ringwalker’s face twisted. “Asterion has a fine champion in you, Noah.” He turned, walked away several paces, then vanished.

  Twelve

  Whitehall Palace, London

  I can understand,” Noah said to Marguerite, Kate and Catharine, “if you do not wish to support me.”

  “You ask us to support a stranger alliance than we could ever have imagined,” said Marguerite.

  “What I do, I do for the land,” Noah said. “Everything is subservient to this.”

  “But Weyland…” Kate said, shivering a little and wrapping her arms about herself like a child.

  “I had always thought him foul,” Noah said, “and there can be no doubt he has done foul things. And yet…” she shook her head as if she could not believe what she was saying.

  “Do you love him?” Marguerite said.

  “Love?” Noah gave a short, humourless laugh. “Oh, aye, whatever love is. I loved Brutus-now-Ringwalker for many lives, over thousands of years. All uselessly, I think. All he has ever wanted is the Troy Game, whatever words of love he has spoken to me.”

  “Noah,” said Catharine, very gently, “Ringwalker is distressed beyond words. All he has wanted, for so very long, is to be one with you. Now you deny him this, and turn instead to the Minotaur. He is angry, and for the time being he will accept nothing of what you say. Do not blame him for his pain.”

  There was a silence, and Noah dropped her eyes and looked away.

  “Noah,” said the Lord of the Faerie, “you say that you are for the land, but the land cannot have the goddess of the waters and the god of the forest at odds each with the other. If the land is to survive, then you need to make the Great Marriage with Ringwalker.”

  “And so I will,” she said, “once he decides to walk with me and not against me.”

  To one side Marguerite gave a great exaggerated sigh. “Why do I have the feeling that this dilemma is going to pursue us through the next twenty-five lives?”

  “Noah,” the Lord of the Faerie said, “please do not turn against Ringwalker.”

  “Before anything else,” she said, “I am for the land. That shall come first, always, before Ringwalker, before the Troy Game, and even before Weyland.” She cast her eyes about the entire group. “Trust me, please.”

  And then, before any could respond, she vanished.

  “Gods…” Marguerite said on a long breath. Then she raised her face to the Lord of the Faerie. “My lord? What should we do?”

  He was still staring at the spot where Noah had vanished. “I swore once that I would be her companion on the road to her destination. I am no longer sure what that destination is…in truth, I think that destination may be the most terrifying objective I could possibly imagine. But…but I said I would be her companion, and so I will be. And you?”

  Marguerite looked at Catharine and at Kate, then spoke for all three. “If she is for the land, then we are for her. Even if, as you say, she takes us on a journey more strange than we could ever have thought.”

  From far, far away, came two simple, whispered words. Thank you.

  Weyland.

  “Go away!” he hissed. He stood in the kitchen of the house in Idol Lane, clothes strewn about, food scraps littering the surface of the table and the floor, windows shuttered against the light.

  Weyland.

  He held Grace in his arms, his touch gentle. “No. You shall not have her!”

  I am not Ariadne.

  Then, suddenly, she was there, giving Weyland a brief smile before reaching out to touch Grace’s short bright curls. Noah’s face relaxed and gentled at that touch, and she drew close, her eyes entirely on the baby.

  “May I hold her?” she asked Weyland.

  He stiffened, then reluctantly handed her to Noah.

  Noah’s eyes flew to his, and she gave him a lovely smile. “Thank you.”

  Weyland very gradually relaxed as he watched Noah murmur to their daughter. “Don’t take her.”

  “I won’t. I came only to see her, and you.”

  “I did not think you would come back.”

  Again she raised her eyes to his. “I am not Ariadne.”

  “I thought Ringwalker—” Emotion choked his throat, and Weyland could not finish the sentence.

  “I am sorry you heard about Ariadne in the manner that you did,” Noah said.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Weyland wanted to rail at her, to scream and kick and punch, but he was too exhausted…and too scared.

  “I was frightened,” Noah said. “Frightened of all I had learned. Frightened of you. Secrets became my survival. If it gives you any pleasure, then know that Ringwalker is as angry as you have a right to be.”

  “What do you mean, ‘All you had learned’?”

  Noah went very still, her eyes now entirely on Grace. “There is more you should know.”

  Weyland felt the pit of his stomach fall away.

  Noah took a deep breath, finally looking at Weyland. “Ariadne sent your daughter away.”

  “Yes.”

  “She sent her to a tiny city in western Greece called Mesopotama.”

  Weyland’s face went very still, but in his chest his heart hammered as if it rang out the dawn of doom.

  “Her daughter, your daughter, was my foremother.”

  His face sagged in stunned disbelief. For long moments his mind could not grasp what she said. Noah was standing before him, their child in her arms, staring at him with a face white with apprehension, telling him that…that she was bred of his daughter?

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Weyland waved a hand at her, silencing whatever she’d been about to say, and sat down on a chair with a thump. He turned away from Noah, resting his elbows on the table and his face in his hands.

  Noah was born of his daughter. Of him, and of Ariadne.

  Weyland began to shake, great tremors that racked his body. Behind him, he heard Noah start to weep, and to babble out words that made no sense.

  He heard a thud, and knew she was on her knees at his side, begging him to look at her.

  There was another sound, a high-pitched screaming, and he knew Grace was wailing.

  Noah was born of his daughter. Of him, and of Ariadne.

  He took several very deep breaths, managing to stop his tremors, but not yet able to look at Noah and their daughter.

  Their daughter, twice bred of him, and of Ariadne.

  He became aware, very slowly, that Noah was crying out his name, over and over, her voice thick with sobbing, and that one of her hands was clenched in the material of his breeches.

  He took another great breath, managed somehow to quiet the racing of his heart, lifted his head, turned about a little in the chair, and looked down on Noah’s grief-ravaged face.

  He felt very calm, and very sure of himself.

  And, for the first time in countless thousands of years, at total peace with who and what he was.

  “No wonder,” he said, “that I love you so greatly.”

  There was a space of time in which nothing was said. Weyland slid down to the floor beside Noah, took her in his arms, and let her cry herself out as he rocke
d her back and forth. He crooned softly to her, and to their daughter, until eventually both lay quiescent and quiet in his embrace.

  When that silence stretched into an infinity, Weyland kissed Noah’s brow, and spoke. “Imagine what the good vicar of St Dunstan’s shall say when he hears that I have been fornicating with my daughter-heir, so close to his house of God.”

  “You are angry,” Noah said.

  “No,” he said, “I am not. I am at peace. I know who you are, and what you are, and I do not think there can be anything more you can tell me that could shock me.”

  She tensed. “Weyland, I have the—”

  “Darkcraft within you. Yes, I understand that. No wonder you kept asking me to use it in our loving. You were exploring it, yes?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry that I didn’t—”

  “I should have felt it. Dear gods, no woman has ever been able to withstand the amount of darkcraft I poured into you. Not even Ariadne.” He paused. “Tell me, does Brutus know this?”

  “Yes.”

  She could not see it, but Weyland smiled, and closed his eyes in contentment. He felt on solid ground with her, for the very first time. “He rejected you.”

  “I turned my back on him.”

  Weyland tilted her face up so he could see it. “Truly?”

  “Aye. Truly.”

  He studied her a moment, then he lifted his arm from about her, took Grace from her, and rose, nesting the baby carefully in a cradle which rested to one side of the hearth.

  He turned back to Noah, who watched him apprehensively, then he undressed until he stood naked before her.

  “I am going to make love to you,” he said, “and in the doing I am going to pour into you all the darkcraft of which I am capable, and, when I do this, you are going to set your darkcraft free, and thus for once we are going to be honest with each other, and we are going to know each other for who and what we truly are.”