Druid's Sword

by Sara Douglass

  He trembled, and she thought he might pull away, but almost immediately he relaxed again. Will it help?

  Yes.

  Then use it.

  She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

  Are you ready? he said.

  Yes.

  Then let us do it, said Jack, and Noah felt his arm tighten about her shoulder, felt his heart begin to race through the layers of material between them, felt his power surge into her, and embrace hers…

  And together they wrapped the bomb about with harmonies.

  George Heall, one of the members of the Watch, was sitting on the west steps of the cathedral enjoying a smoke when he suddenly lifted his head, the cigarette frozen lifted halfway to his mouth.

  Far above he could hear the whistle of a bomb.

  It was strange, because the sound of the planes overhead combined with the ack-ack and the explosions, as well as the sirens and the creak and crackle of distant flames, meant that the whistling of bombs should be all but drowned out.

  But this one was so clear it could almost be directly—

  “Christ!” Heall said, tossing his cigarette to one side as he leapt to his feet. He took one step towards the door into the cathedral when an enormous blast threw him off his feet, and tumbled him down the flight of steps to the pavement.

  He managed to stop himself just before he rolled over the side of a massive crater. Heall lay there, fingers gripping the fractured pavement, his body and hair coated with fine blast debris, coughing in the thick dust, and staring deep into the crater where, so he swore later to his wife, he could see the glowing fins of the German bomb embedded in the earth some twelve feet down.

  He thought the bomb was still alive, and ticking towards a cataclysmic detonation. He thought he had only seconds to get out of there if he wanted to live.

  But still he could not move.

  When, three minutes later, eight other members of the cathedral Watch clattered down the steps towards the crater not fifteen feet away, Heall was still lying there, body heaving as he coughed the dust out of his lungs, staring as if transfixed at the bomb.

  As soon as they felt the bomb impact Jack and Noah vanished, reappearing a moment later under the stand of trees to one side of Copt Hall.

  Both were laughing.

  “Why are we laughing,” Noah said, “when it didn’t go off?”

  “It may not have exploded,” Jack said, “but if Catling had been as strong as she wants us to believe then the bomb shouldn’t have come anywhere near St Paul’s.”

  “Then the Game is weakened?”

  Jack sobered. “Yes. I think so. No, I’m sure so. There’s no other explanation, either for the success of our little enterprise tonight or for that echo of the labyrinth about London. That shadowy presence is a reflection of the power of the Troy Game leaching out. It has to be.”

  What else could it be?

  “Then the Troy Game is vulnerable.”

  “Yes. Yes.”

  “Jack, you need your kingship bands. With those you’ll be infinitely more powerful.”

  He nodded slowly. “The spring equinox will be the best time to hand them over—the equinox is a time of power, and will be a good day to regain the kingship bands. That isn’t far away.” He drew in a deep breath. “The kingship bands. After all these years…”

  She leaned a little closer to him. “I will fetch them from the Faerie for you.”

  He stepped back, his face losing much of its animation. “Of course. Soon. At the equinox.” Jack knew he should tell Noah where the bands were, but right now didn’t seem the best time.

  Later, when Noah had gone, Jack stood under the trees, staring south towards London, smoking one cigarette after another. The sky was slowly lightening towards dawn, but still he could hear the sound of aircraft.

  It had been a busy night for the Luftwaffe, and it seemed as if they would not let up until full light.

  Jack sighed, taking a long draw on his smoke. On one level the night had been a great success. The Game was vulnerable. Why else should he and Noah have been able to direct that bomb in so close?

  On the other hand…

  On the other hand, the night had been greatly unsettling.

  Jack had drawn the greater part of his power from the labyrinth, but he felt as if he’d been spiralling power from somewhere else, as well. But from where? Not the forests or the land—the power Jack had used during the night had been pure Kingman power. But not all of it had derived from the labyrinth.

  Something else had been feeding his abilities, and Jack had the highly uncomfortable feeling that if it hadn’t been for this unknown source of power, then he might not have managed as well as he had.

  Noah, he was sure, had only drawn power from the labyrinth, and she certainly hadn’t been aware that Jack was using power from a different source.

  Jack felt as if something had reached out for him, and he had no idea what it was.

  The shadow itself? No. No…he was certain of that.

  Ah, maybe he’d imagined it.

  But then, just as uncomfortable as the sense that he’d used power from another source, was how he’d felt about working with Noah.

  It had been the first time that he and Noah had worked together as Kingman and Mistress of the Labyrinth. The first time they had merged and used their powers as a team.

  It had gone favourably. They worked together well, their powers were unbelievably complementary, and Noah was powerful beyond anything Jack could have hoped for. They’d enjoyed great success, and had been happy with the result.

  But…

  If it hadn’t been for that night when he’d danced with Grace, then Jack would have been perfectly happy. If it hadn’t been for that night when he’d tested Grace’s powers, Jack would have been a contented man.

  During all his lives, from his time as Brutus to his current incarnation as Jack Skelton, Jack had danced—or merged his powers—with three Mistresses of the Labyrinth.

  Genvissa, Grace and now Noah.

  Genvissa he’d thought wonderful when he was Brutus, but she was only a shadow compared to Grace and Noah.

  Noah was the most powerful of all three, bringing behind her as she did not only the arts of the labyrinth, but those of Eaving and her abilities as a Darkwitch as well.

  But…Grace. Stronger than Genvissa, weaker than Noah, Grace’s abilities had, nonetheless, matched so flawlessly with his that even given Noah’s spectacular power she simply could not compete with her daughter.

  Not when it came to what Jack wanted.

  As a Kingman, Jack longed for Grace. No other Mistress of the Labyrinth would ever do for him. Having tasted Grace, then any other Mistress of the Labyrinth, even Noah, would only ever be a disappointment.

  Yet there was no way Grace could possibly aid him either to destroy the Troy Game, or to complete it. She was so closely tied to the Game through Catling’s hex that its fate was hers…she simply could not, under any circumstance, partner him in its destruction or completion.

  But, oh gods, as a Kingman he wanted her to partner him, so badly…

  And as a man?

  At that point Jack imagined he could hear Silvius’ lightly mocking laughter.

  “Jesus Christ!” he muttered, grinding out the cigarette under the heel of his shoe.

  Then he looked south once more, this time directing his attention towards Kensington, where he sensed the object of his interest.

  Ariadne, breakfast with me, if you please.

  THREE

  Copt Hall

  Thursday, 12th September 1940

  Ariadne was flirting with Malcolm, who was responding in kind quite outrageously, and Jack felt his temper simmering so close to the surface that he thought that if Ariadne simpered one single more time in Malcolm’s direction he would pick one or both of them up and toss them outside.

  “Jack,” Ariadne said from her seat on the sofa, smoothing her dress down over her knees and dragging
her eyes away from Malcolm who hovered close by with a coffee pot in his hands, “I’m annoying you. I do apologise.”

  Jack contented himself with a hard look at Malcolm, who took the hint and retreated into the kitchen.

  “But,” Ariadne continued, her mouth curving in humour, “I find myself so thrilled at the idea of being wanted, of being useful, that I—”

  “Cut it out, Ariadne.” Jack had been standing by the fire. Now he sat down in a chair, setting his empty coffee cup to one side, and looked Ariadne over.

  As ever, she looked both stunningly beautiful and dangerously poisonous, and Jack had to admit a moment’s admiration for his father if he was actually engaged in a romance with this witch. The dress she wore was similar in cut and colour to the scarlet dress she had worn when he’d seen her at Faerie Hill Manor: close-cut, hugging every curve, inviting and threatening all in one.

  “I want to talk to you about Grace,” he said.

  Ariadne inclined her head, her dark eyes showing the faintest touch of wariness. “A delightful girl,” she said. “Noah and Weyland must be so proud of her.”

  “She has been trained as a Mistress of the Labyrinth.”

  “Indeed.” Ariadne paused to light a cigarette. “Stella trained her.”

  “A poor choice, given that either you or Noah could have done far better.”

  Ariadne shrugged. “But she chose Stella.”

  “You did not think to—”

  “I was not asked.”

  Jack lit a cigarette as well, using the action to think. “I have heard that during the Great Fire, when Catling had trapped Noah and Weyland in the heart of the labyrinth, you instructed Grace when she walked through the fire to rescue them.”

  “I may have done.”

  “Did you or did you not?”

  “Yes, I did. For the gods’ sake, Jack, where is this inquisition leading?”

  “How powerful was she, Ariadne? How much potential did Grace have?”

  Ariadne smoked her cigarette, studying Jack through narrowed eyes. Well, well.

  “She had—has—enormous potential,” she eventually said.

  “As much as you?”

  Ariadne thought about it. “More. Grace has a very powerful mother—Noah is Mistress, goddess, and Darkwitch—and Grace was conceived and grew in Noah’s body during the time that Noah trained as a Mistress.” She paused. “Rather, Grace grew in Noah’s womb during the time that Noah opened herself up to the arts of the labyrinth, and Grace was an aware child. What Noah absorbed, so also did Grace. And her father—who is also her forefather—was the monster at the dark heart of the labyrinth; as you well know, she is twice-bred with Darkcraft in her veins. All this means she has the potential to be,” she smiled, the expression that of a striking falcon, “a very dangerous Mistress of the Labyrinth indeed.”

  “As powerful as Noah?” Jack said.

  “Is that what you want, Jack?”

  “Just answer my question, if you please.”

  Temper, temper, thought Ariadne. “Considering Grace’s heritage, her parents, and the influences which shaped her in the womb, she could probably be Noah’s equal, although she would not be able to bring in the powers that Noah controls as Eaving. More than that? I don’t know.”

  “I tested her some time ago. She has potential, yes, but at the moment Grace is very weak.”

  “She has potential,” Ariadne repeated. “That’s not quite what Silvius told me you’d said.”

  Jack froze in the act of lifting his cigarette to his mouth. Silvius had repeated his conversation to Ariadne?

  “No need to be cross, Jack. It was pillow-talk only.” She grinned, and quoted the message emblazoned across countless posters on streets and in the Underground. “Loose lips…never know who’s listening…careless talk costs lives, and all that. Look, calm down. He has told no one else.”

  Jack gave a short, humourless laugh. “No one else, but look who he has told.”

  “And I have told no one. So get to the point, Jack. Whatever power Grace has, and whatever strength it may one day obtain, she is your flawless match. Good for you. So why am I here?”

  “Can you train her?”

  “She has been trained.”

  “Then can you deepen that training, goddamn it! Can you give her experience? Can you take whatever shitty job Stella did and—”

  Ariadne burst into laughter. “I like Grace. She intrigues me, and not many people manage that feat. Yes, I can do that for you, although she’ll have to agree.”

  Jack tipped his head as if he thought that was a foregone conclusion.

  “What do you want her trained for, Jack?”

  Jack took a long draw on his cigarette, then slowly exhaled the smoke. “Can I assume Silvius passed on most of that conversation we had?”

  “Probably, but you never know if he left something out.”

  “Grace carries four of the kingship bands within her flesh.”

  “Yes. He told me that. But I already suspected something of it, anyway.”

  “Of course. Then you should know what I need Grace trained for.”

  “She needs to know how to hand the bands over to you.”

  “And you can be sure that was a piece of her training Stella left out. Damn it, Ariadne, why has neither Noah nor Stella, who took Grace through the Great Founding Labyrinth, not realised she has the bands within her flesh?”

  “Because most people are blind when it comes to Grace. Tell me, Jack, have you told Noah about the bands?”

  Jack shook his head, and put his cigarette out in an ashtray.

  “My goodness,” said Ariadne. “Then she still assumes she’s going to be the one to ‘fetch’ the bands for you? Yes?” Ariadne burst out laughing. “What will Noah do when she finds out, eh?”

  He shrugged. “It won’t be the end of the world for her. Besides, she has no choice.”

  “I always thought you would turn out okay, Jack.”

  “We don’t have long. Can you get Grace ready?”

  “Yes, I like a challenge. But we need to start soon.”

  “Meet me at dusk tonight.” He named a place.

  “I can be there. Jack, you need to tell Grace about the kingship bands, if not Noah. Grace has to know, if she doesn’t already.”

  “I’ll do it tonight,” Jack said. “There’s one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ve been hanging about London creating mischief and having a fine time of it for three hundred years now. You must know the place inside and out. Can you give me the name of a good jeweller?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I have just the man for you.”

  FOUR

  Lambeth

  Thursday, 12th September 1940

  GRACE SPEAKS

  There was a bomb. Outside St Paul’s. A UXB. It fell in the early hours of the morning, blowing a huge crater just outside the west steps of the cathedral and then, happily, failed to detonate.

  It created a nightmare for the authorities. How to get it out without blowing half of St Paul’s to smithereens? Eventually a Lieutenant Davies tied the tail fins of the bomb to the back of a lorry, dragged it fifteen feet out of the crater and into the tray of the lorry, and then drove it to a tip outside of London where it was safely detonated.

  His courage and selflessness so impressed the king that shortly afterwards he announced the creation of the George Cross for acts of extreme bravery.

  If only my worries could have been eased as efficiently as that bomb had eventually been disposed of. I’d spent the night worrying, sure that Jack and my mother were about to bring the shadow bearing down on us all. I kept remembering the feeling of the shadow rushing towards me, as if it were about to eat me, and knew that not only was it not a reflection of Catling’s weakness, it wasn’t the slightest bit a weakness of anything. My relief when we got through the night without the world ending was immeasurable, but I wondered what consequences would flow on from that bomb hurled at Catling’
s throat.

  My mother came back from that night’s excursion eyes agleaming. She told me and my father what had happened, what it felt like, blending her powers with Jack’s, and their excitement as they managed to direct the bomb down to St Paul’s.

  “Of course, it missed, but only barely, and it didn’t explode,” she said, “but we managed it…and we shouldn’t have been able to! Grace, I know that you’re afraid that this strange shadowy labyrinthine puzzle is Catling’s trap, but Jack and I are now convinced it is a reflection of some inherent weakness within the Game.”

  I glanced at my father as she said this, wondering how he was taking all this Jack-inspired enthusiasm.

  He had his face closed over, but this was so much a part of his normal wariness I simply couldn’t read him.

  “Catling hasn’t done anything,” said my mother, still looking at me. “She hasn’t reacted. Surely, sweetheart, this indicates a weakness on her part?”

  I thought back to last night. I’d spent it with Matilda, Ecub and Erith, doling out cups of tea and chocolate and ladles of sympathy for people crammed into shelters in the Southwark area.

  I’d seen Catling. Just once, and that briefly, but enough to send a chill down my spine. We’d pulled into the lee of a building near the entrance to a shelter. Eaving’s Sisters had all hurried to the back of the van to unload their trolleys and trays, but I’d been distracted by a run in one of my stockings, and had paused by the open van door. Standing upright I’d slammed shut the door…and found myself looking directly into Catling’s face as she stood in front of the van.

  I went cold. I wanted to run, but didn’t have either the will or the strength.

  Jack is doing well tonight, she’d whispered in my mind, her face a mixture of excitement and anticipation, although both of you still have a way to go.

  Then she’d vanished.

  What had she meant by that? I spent the rest of the night sorting through various interpretations, and liking none of them. If nothing else, it didn’t sound like a “weak” Catling.

  Now, as my mother explained that she and Jack were certain this shadow was a weakness, I began to doubt myself. Maybe I had been wrong. Maybe I had misread Catling for all these years. Maybe…