The Named

by Marianne Curley

  Arkarian hands us each a small bottle of blue-tinted liquid. ‘It’s time. You must all go back to your beds before any one of you is reported missing. Take the vials I’ve just given you; their contents will put you instantly to sleep. We’ll meet in the Citadel and get outfitted with secure identities before shifting to meet Marduke in the Ardennes in the year 1349. Are we all clear?’

  With Arkarian’s instructions ringing in our heads, the four of us leave. I’m glad of Jimmy’s company as we make our way down the chilly mountain to our respective beds. He keeps my mind occupied right up to my bedroom door, where he gives me a small encouraging smile. ‘Everything will work out, Isabel.’

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘I trust in the Guard.’

  ‘I don’t know them like you do.’

  ‘I understand, but you will.’

  ‘What we’re doing tonight, it’s going to be dangerous, isn’t it?’

  He nods. ‘You know it is.’

  ‘If something happens to us …’ Suddenly a hard lump forms in my throat. ‘I mean, if something happens to Matt, and to me, and to you too, who will Mum have left?’

  He glances down at the small bottle held tightly between my fingers, then closes his hand over mine. ‘Don’t think such thoughts, Isabel. Take the drink, and let’s go rescue Matt.’

  When I get to my room I swallow the sleeping draught in one go. It starts working instantly. It feels as if I’ve only just laid my head on my pillow when a familiar weightless sensation sets in.

  I wake suddenly in a room in the Citadel that simply takes my breath away with its overwhelming pink decor, so much like a page out of one of the many fairy-tale books Mum and Matt kept shoving at me when I was a little girl. Books that I would have nothing to do with. I wanted to read adventure stories with wild animals, danger and heroic rescues. These are the things that would have made him proud of me. This last thought takes me by surprise for I was not thinking of my father. No!

  A feeling of intense sadness sweeps through me, making me want to fall to my knees and sob. Arkarian appears before me, his eyes full of compassion. It snaps me out of my sudden melancholy. ‘Is everyone here yet?’

  Unfolding a finger, Arkarian indicates a point beyond my shoulder. I spin around and see Jimmy, Shaun and Mr Carter already waiting.

  ‘Let’s go then.’

  Arkarian leads us to one of the wardrobe rooms without saying a word, but I know from his lingering gentle expression that he knows my every thought, the inner turmoil I suddenly find myself in. Why am I thinking of a father who has never been a real part of my life? Why now?

  We end up clothed in medieval armour, which protects our chests and backs mostly, our legs remaining free of the stiff metal, but still protected somewhat by soft chain leggings. I glance into one of the many surrounding mirrors and see a reflection of myself and the others. This time I have reddish hair and freckles. The four men have all reached for their swords, testing them for feel and weight. A shiver slithers down my spine: how many of us will return with our lives?

  Arkarian catches my eye through the mirror and stares back at me with a concerned frown. He’s obviously heard my negative thought vibrating – probably pounding – through the air. He shakes his head slightly and asks about the feel of my armour; I sense it is meant to distract me.

  I shrug my shoulders, trying to accustom my small body to the bulk and heaviness. It takes a few minutes to adjust, and I realise it’s moulding itself to my shape. ‘It’s OK,’ I tell him. I feel for my sword but the scabbard hanging at my hip is empty.

  Arkarian comes towards me with a sword in his hand. I reach for it, my fingers wrapping around the hilt with ease. It feels as if it were made for my hand. A warmth penetrates into my palm.

  ‘I’m not very good with a sword,’ I say as I lift it into the air and feign a forward thrust.

  He stands back and looks at me seriously. ‘This sword belonged to Gawain, one of King Arthur’s favourite knights. He was small, like you.’

  ‘I’ve heard of him. History has it that he was very courageous.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I had the pleasure of witnessing him in action a few times. He handed me this sword on his deathbed.’

  I stare at the sword, wondering if Arkarian’s words are going to be an omen. ‘So was he killed fighting with this sword?’

  Arkarian gives a small laugh at my misunderstanding. ‘Hardly! He died aged eighty-two.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He looks down at the sword I hold with comfortable ease. ‘The handle was carved by Merlin himself, dipped in gold at King Arthur’s request.’

  This information floors me. I turn the handle over in my hand, marvelling at how snugly it fits, and how light it feels, for the blade is as long as any other I’ve trained with.

  Arkarian watches as I study the sword as if waiting for me to figure something out. ‘It’s enchanted to fit the hand of one who will do it proud.’

  I almost drop it. ‘Wow! That’s a lot of pressure, Arkarian.’

  ‘Do you think so? The sword obviously doesn’t. It likes your hand, Isabel. Besides, it grew tired of its previous owner.’ He grins and I realise the sword’s previous owner was him. ‘Almost six centuries is a long time for any relationship, even that of a man with his sword,’ he laughs lightly.

  Arkarian is so right, six hundred years is a very long time. He smiles at me and I remember again his ability to know what I’m thinking. I’ll have to make sure Ethan teaches me how to mask my thoughts – if we survive.

  ‘It’s yours now,’ Arkarian says softly.

  I feel honoured and bow my head as tears suddenly fill my eyes. Why is Arkarian doing this – giving me his sword? An enchanted sword that he’s had for so many hundreds of years, given to him by a great and respected knight on his deathbed? Arkarian lifts my face with his hand; our eyes connect and hold – brown with violet. The room spins for a moment, then seems to disappear as if there is nothing else in my vision except Arkarian’s deeply violet eyes.

  Slowly, we become aware that Shaun is standing beside us. ‘Marduke grows restless.’

  Arkarian nods, breaking our connection. ‘Then we must hurry.’

  Following the others, I too go and stand near the open doorway. One after another we leap into a thick, dark forest, five instead of six, to battle an embittered and traitorous warrior who has been living the past twelve years only for this event. And how prepared are we, I wonder? I ask this question of Arkarian the moment we land on firm ground. The plan they’ve been working on has for the most part been kept from me, whether intentionally or not.

  ‘It’s a solid plan, Isabel. You have your part in it.’

  ‘But you’ve only told me the part that concerns me. “Draw the female warrior to the side and deal with her.” I can do more than that.’

  ‘And you will, when you have dealt with the female warrior the way I told you—’

  ‘Unmask her.’

  ‘Yes. She’s Marduke’s central spy. Her eyes – her only identifiable feature – will somehow be concealed, I suspect, by a skin-tight facial mask that conceals the shape and perhaps even the colour of her eyes. Unmask her and she’ll run; and we’ll have one less to contend with. Her position is too valuable for Marduke to risk revealing her identity. Those will be her instructions, I’m sure of it. But it won’t be easy. Her mask will be like skin, and probably stretch in a band from one ear to the other.’

  ‘OK. But what about Marduke? How do we get to him while keeping Matt safe?’

  He hesitates. ‘The plan is not a secret from you, Isabel. We just want you focused on your part.’

  ‘Why do you have such little faith in me?’

  ‘It’s not that.’

  He’s being vague on purpose. ‘I wish I could read your thoughts, Arkarian. Don’t I deserve to be in on this plan too? Matt’s life is at risk. He could be dying right now, his body out of its normal time. He’s an innocent in all of this. And I’ll be fighting too, o
r else why did you give me the sword?’

  He stops mid-stride, turns and looks at me. It’s dark, but the moon, though half, lights the whole escarpment for me. ‘As much as my first instinct is to protect you, Isabel, because you have limited experience, this is not the reason you haven’t been told the plan.’

  ‘Go on.’

  He remains silent as if considering whether I can handle the reality or not. It occurs to me that maybe they don’t really have a plan – but no, I heard them organising one. They’re up to something. Jimmy even disappeared for a while, running out on some urgent errand.

  Finally, I think I guess the truth. It sucks the breath straight out of my lungs, leaving me gasping for air. ‘The success of your plan depends on Ethan, doesn’t it?’

  He remains silent for a moment. His pause sends chills deep into my soul. ‘Not entirely.’

  I laugh a kind of hoarse cackle. ‘You’re relying on someone that may not even show. My brother is lost.’

  Wordlessly, we continue walking through thick woodland, and I tell myself to be more positive. Ethan will turn up. He must! But I can’t stop the negative thoughts from punching through my brain. ‘Ethan doesn’t know the plan, so how can he help even when he does get here?’

  Arkarian sighs softly, ‘Isabel, have faith. It won’t take much on Ethan’s part. He’s very good at what he does.’

  ‘So where did Jimmy go?’

  ‘He had to locate someone – a girl – and plant a visual image of her in his brain, which ultimately he will pass to Ethan.’

  ‘Who is she? What does she have to do with all this?’

  He holds his hand up to silence me as we suddenly find ourselves at a small clearing. I hold on to my question. I have a feeling I will soon find out, if I live long enough to see this battle through. I can’t easily forget Marduke’s threats and torments. For whatever reasons, he wants me dead too.

  I look up and groan, ’cause with the help of my gift of sight, I can see Matt clearly ahead. He’s standing on a makeshift platform, tied to a massive tree, his head hanging in unconsciousness or slumber, the side of his face swollen and streaked red with blood, his skin ashen with an eerie green tinge. Weirder still are the numerous patches of dark circles on his exposed skin, as if blood lies trapped beneath the surface. But worst of all, beneath the small platform, a bed of wood stacked haphazardly, almost a metre high, sits ready for lighting.

  My body shivers at the sight, for beside him stand four of Marduke’s warriors, two on either side, all with one hand resting on the hilt of their swords, knees slightly bent, eyes scouring the landscape. They can’t see us yet, I realise. But there is one who can.

  ‘Ah, at last! What took you so long?’ Marduke appears before us, the masked female warrior at his side. ‘Waiting for someone?’ he teases in his rough, thick voice.

  I ignore him, concentrating on the masked warrior, the one I’m supposed to single out. A sense of familiarity pulses through me as I stare at her, and I know in my heart that this is the woman who tried to murder Abigail Smith, and she is also the servant who tried to poison me at King Richard’s table. Poison must be her specialty.

  The harder I stare, the more she avoids making eye contact. I think this strange, considering she’s wearing a mask meant to conceal her eyes. I get swamped with another strong sense: this woman is nervous, and possibly afraid. But of what? Does she think I’ll recognise her by looking into her masked eyes? It’s not her eyes that will give her away, but more her subtle flowery scent. I smell it already. But I can’t jump to conclusions, for what if I were wrong? A mistake in judgement could cost a life tonight. But if my suspicions are correct, how can this woman stand here ready to defend her master when the one she purports to love stands ready to be executed?

  Marduke suddenly roars, nearly shattering my eardrums; but all I can think is, good, maybe Ethan will hear you and come running. What could be taking him so long? With the roar comes movement from the trees. My eyes flick up and around. The trees have come alive with more warriors, a dozen at least. They jump to the ground, quickly surrounding us, while the four guarding Matt stay put.

  I kick myself; why didn’t I see this coming? With my gift of sight I could easily have spotted Marduke’s army among the trees, if I had only thought to look. But I’d been so concerned for Matt, and so focused on Marduke’s spy, that I allowed Marduke to trick us into walking straight into a trap.

  Marduke grins with his half-mouth, yellow eye sparkling with mirth.

  ‘You never did fight fair,’ Shaun says in an offhand manner, and I have to wonder at his calm.

  It’s obvious that whatever plan we have is now doomed. The warriors draw their swords, forming a kind of Catherine wheel around us, ready for the assault. We don’t stand a chance. We’re all going to die here at the hands of this madman, who’s certainly had time enough to plan – twelve whole years!

  Well, if I’m going to die here, there’s one thing I promise to do first: unmask this traitorous spy before me, even if it’s with my last breath. With this thought fierce in my head, I also draw my sword. The spy swings around, sword in hand, and the fighting begins.

  Marduke gives his spy a lingering look. She backs out of the circle, making sure she has a quick exit if required. We’re now between the attacking warriors from the trees and the four guarding Matt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see he’s starting to stir. ‘No, don’t wake,’ I mumble to myself. It would be far better for Matt to die blissfully unaware than to witness the slaughter of his sister first. But he only groans, and I realise his pain is so intense he feels it even through unconsciousness. He can’t stay out of his own time for much longer or he’ll die anyway.

  ‘What shall I call you, masked one?’ I ask as I force the spy ever backwards.

  Her thrusts are long and skilful, but her words, when she finally answers, are not what I expect. ‘You’re so naive, Isabel.’

  She knows who I am. I try not to sound surprised; at least now I’m certain it’s Rochelle. ‘How do you know me?’

  ‘I saw Ethan use his powers to impress you in the classroom. It didn’t take much to work out your involvement, especially when you started hanging around him in a big way. I heard about it endlessly from Matt.’

  ‘Then it wasn’t Marduke who told you.’

  Her eyes roll. ‘Marduke says little. He keeps to himself most of the time. His sole focus is nothing but revenge – and pleasing the Goddess.’

  ‘Why do you work for Marduke?’

  ‘You make it sound like a job I applied for. Do you think I chose to be Marduke’s spy?’

  My fingers go momentarily lax, loosening my grip on the sword, but magically it stays glued to my palm. She thrusts again, forcing me backwards three steps. I sense she wants me to understand her reasons, or maybe it’s just a technique to keep me from securing total concentration. One lapse and she could run that sword straight through me.

  ‘He tempted me at first, made me think his way was the one I was born for.’

  I try to maintain complete focus while keeping her talking. ‘But you see now that it isn’t?’

  ‘I’m not a fool, Isabel. Look at Matt. D’you think I want this? He’s in agony right now, dying before our eyes.’

  The passion in her voice feels real. ‘Then leave Marduke. Arkarian will protect you.’

  She scoffs at this suggestion. ‘Marduke will kill me.’

  ‘Not if we kill him first.’

  ‘There are others he answers to. I’d never be safe.’

  ‘Arkarian would find a way.’

  She peers narrowly at my face. ‘Are you insane? You speak as if you can win this battle. You can’t, Isabel. Marduke is cunning, his superiors even more so. The Goddess is besotted with him.’

  ‘But he is so—’

  ‘Ugly? What do you think she thrives on? Ugliness, disease, war, horror – they make her stronger, richer, more content. And soon there will be so few of the Guard left to defend the past. Everything
will change. Evil in the form of pestilence, war and hatred will flood the world. The Order will reign supreme. What can one person do?’ She goes on to answer herself. ‘Nothing, Isabel. Nothing.’

  But Rochelle has it wrong. Doesn’t she see that every person makes a difference? That as long she works for the Order, they will be that much stronger?

  ‘You’re the one who’s wrong, Isabel,’ she says simply.

  ‘What? I didn’t speak out loud.’

  ‘No, but I heard you all the same. I’m a Truthseer.’

  ‘Oh, no! Whenever we’ve talked in the past, you’ve heard my inner thoughts?’

  ‘Not only yours.’

  It hits me who she’s talking about. Ethan, of course. This must be how the trouble started between Matt and Ethan, which eventually broke up their friendship.

  ‘Exactly,’ she confirms. ‘Ethan has feelings for me, although now they’re nothing more than hatred and disgust. But back then, even while I was Matt’s girlfriend, every time we met, I knew Ethan wanted me.’

  ‘He would never have purposely hurt Matt.’

  ‘He didn’t. He kept his thoughts completely under control. But he couldn’t stop me from picking them up. How I wanted to—’ She shakes her head, breaking eye contact, which causes a momentary lack of concentration. It’s an opening I can’t allow to pass. I rally hard, forcing her deeper into the woods. Her back hits a tree and with a fierce rallying thrust I disarm her. Her sword flies into the air. I bring mine up to lie horizontal at her throat. ‘It was the plan,’ she hisses, looking scared for the first time.

  ‘What plan?’

  ‘Marduke’s. To break up their friendship. To make Matt fall in love with me.’

  ‘For your life, tell me why?’

  ‘Marduke is into pain and suffering and just about anything to hurt people, especially Ethan, his father, or anything to do with them. It’s his revenge. It clouds his judgement.’

  This much I understand, but how can I trust her when she herself admits to having become a traitor through her own weak spirit?