'Know you?'
The woman posed. 'Do I look like her? Like my sister, like Sophia?'
'Aunt Sarah?'
The image seemed to effervesce on the mention of the name. Elena threw herself back as the smoke erupted inside the image. When she looked, the woman wore an expression of arrogance. It communicated a mind with dark intent.
'Yes, your true mother.'
'No, it's not you.'
'I thought you were lost, child. I thought you were dead. And now here you are, returned to me.'
'My mother and father brought me up-they cared for me.'
'My sister? Care for you? She never would have shown you half the love I did the day you were born.'
Elena stalled. Her memories failed as she tried to summon an example of her childhood. A happy memory, one of love Sophia had shown her, or her father. There were none. She remembered a cold room with cold emotion. Maids and nannies who gave her indifferent, mechanical care. No friends; no peers with similar interests; no unlikely bonds formed with her tutors. It was a life that had disguised itself in the succour of never needing to want for anything; a sheltered life that had never given her doubt or hardship.
'I cannot remember.'
'A lie. I can tell. I used to tell them at your age,’ Sarah smiled.
'They did not care for me. No. Why are you doing this to me?'
Elena had never felt such a sensation before. It felt as though an animal was working its way up her from her stomach and through her throat. Pangs of filth and nausea made her head spin and she collapsed on her knees.
'They did not care for you. And now look. You're frail, unable to stand. You are special my daughters, you and your sister. What name did they give you? For all of my sister's foibles, she has taste.'
'Elena.'
'Elena. Don't cry. Don't be sad sweet Elena. You are home now.'
‘Where are you? Or are you an eidolon within glass?'
There was a pause while Lady Saville thought on the question. Elena wiped her mouth clean.
'I am real. Like you. You do not know how long it took to find you, nor how many nights I spent searching for you. Do you know what happened? The truth of the day I lost my world?'
'No, my mother never mentioned it.'
'She wouldn't. I would have. I would have disclosed the truth to you.'
'Tell me of it then, when you lost everything.'
'You were a baby-you and your sister. Just innocence wrapped up in my arms. I fell in love with you both, you know that? I used to sing songs of joy and it gladdened my heart to see you both smile when I did. We were so happy.'
Elena saw drops fall from Sarah's eyes; her sorrow ran deep, the pain still fresh. 'What happened? What caused this?'
'W-We were attacked on a ship. They came at us with cannon and men and fought back. I was injured. When I woke, you were both gone.'
'We were in danger?' Elena rubbed her temples. 'I never knew I had a sister to call my own. Where is she?'
'Lost. She was like you. You viewed the world with hungry eyes, whereas your sister, she saw everything as a puzzle to solve. The world as a curiosity. You would have grown up together. We could have been as a family.'
'But where did we go? How did we separate?'
'Frost's daughter and Cyrus both saved you. They rowed to shore. Why I have not heard from them in years, I do not know. My sweet child soon it will be time.'
'For what?' asked Elena.
'For you to be let out of that cage so that everyone can see you. I am sorry to have kept you this way.'
'You're fading.'
'The spell is weak. I cannot hold it much longer. You'll be freed, and they'll take you to me. Courage. Don't be scared Elena.'
The image of Sarah Saville dissipated as fast as it appeared. Her cell rose up with a grinding of chains. At first her arms flung up to shield the worst of the daylight. Then she heard a seagull above the chains, its keening rising above the thunder of waves and the whisper of dry grass. She saw around her, through a squint, a low cliffside which almost tumbled into the water; her cell, one of many, poised above the waves by a single rusted link. The man who looked into her cell was absent, as was the mechanism which had elevated her prison, though his footprints were still there, and chimney smoke rose from a lonely hut in the distance. She crawled outside in the mud and ate herbs and thick bulbs of grass and sipped water from puddles and crags. Her only shelter from the wind was back inside the cell, where she stayed and waited for the sun to return and her hunger to fade.
✽✽✽
Her thoughts were a conspiracy as they flooded her mind, telling her to doubt everything she saw. She shut them out until it was hot enough to warm her skin and the wind had died. What the monster in the mirror had said, Elena couldn’t fathom. She couldn’t believe in a truth that pushed everything she knew aside and replaced it with a falsehood. She took a clump of grass and chewed what water remained inside its stem. She had lost a disturbing amount of weight. She felt along her protruding ribs and her hips that now rose out of her skin. Elena paused mid-chew and took stock of her new world. A bust of energy brought her up to her knees; she could smell cooking past the cliffside. The coast was as alien to her as a full stomach. She recognised a few trees and bushes, the rest unfamiliar. She walked until her feet blistered and her sandals cracked. She flopped against a rock and sank until comfortable. Her vision blurred, her stomach rumbled and she rubbed it in hope of relief. The forest conjured phantoms made from mist that clung to the tree-tops and eavesdropped. Mother, father, please forgive me. Elena sobbed. She scolded herself for doing so. There was no point in wasting energy over being remorseful for the past, over what choices made. At this point she wished she had her old life back before the curse. Before leaving home and to wander towards Ashtree and beyond; she wished she had seen her mother one last time, or be held by her father. The memories swarmed and stung her. The few happy memories came back to her: being with her family during parades and festivals, her mother’s perfume, the grand days she would be free to walk the garden during summer. Most of all, she remembered Alex.
‘Why so sad on a day like this?’
Elena looked up. A band had strolled through the forest to meet her. She lifted her legs and tried to steady herself.
‘We were told to meet a girl, word from the gaoler,’ said a rough shaven man.
‘She looks about the right age,’ said a woman next to the man.’
Elena hesitated. ‘Do you know the woman in the mirror?’
‘We do,’ said another male. He was bald, with elliptical scars running across his face. He dropped down to eye level. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Elena.’
‘Look at her eyes. The same as hers,’ said the woman.
‘What’s wrong with my eyes?’ said Elena.
The band was silent as they exchanged glances.
‘Where is she?’ Elena addressed the bald man.
‘To know that, miss, you’ll have to follow us to our village.’
Throughout the forest dusk had settled in. The village was on the crest of a hill, which overlooked a fast river that drained into the coast. The band of hunters told her there were seven farmers, twelve wives, five carpenters, one blacksmith, ten freemen, two teachers, four babies and five children old enough to play games with each other. It reminded Elena of the streets surrounding Ashtree. Paths trampled through mud on top of mud that ran next to slanted houses. In the thick of it a forge and workshop made a constant din and she could smell a distant tannery over the loam underfoot. From the yew and ash trees she spied a church of sorts; its foundation built on a knoll. A great oak had grown through the middle of it, arching its branches towards the sky, its bark slick with recent rain. Coloured pennants woven in the oak fluttered and danced in the breeze. The bald man and the woman pushed Elena up a shrouded path, around a middling garden and into a warmed hall. It stank of fresh wood, forcing her to sneeze. At the back of the hall stood a highbacked chair w
ith four cloven feet and polished armrests; on it sat Sarah who glanced at her with a curious tightening of her face. An older man stood beside her, with beard dark as soot. His skin was pitted with experience, but his clothes clean and civil.
The woman who had followed her from the forest knelt before the throne and took her place beside it. Perching herself on a stool to the right of it. She removed her hood and checked her posture. She looked at Elena with mixed interest. Her skin was as grey as ghost-trails and she looked as hospitable as a winter sky. Elena noticed one of her arms was missing.
‘Where do you think you are child?’ asked Sarah. She rested forwards with her chin supported by one clutched hand.
Elena thought back to when her Sophia first taught her court etiquette, and ignored it.
‘You tell me,’ Elena replied with smirk.
‘The Storm Coast,’ she laughed. ‘By the river Plum.’
‘I want to return home. My father and mother will have sought me out-’
‘You are home now sweet Elena,’ said Sarah. Elena fell silent, her mouth glued. She could feel her stomach drop as the fire within her faded.
✽✽✽
An open pit fire heated the hall when night came. The village had huddled underneath the oak and roof to hear Sarah’s tale of how her daughter had come back to her. Droplets of rain hissed as they hit the hot slate near the pit. Logs split into quarters were placed in beaten iron sconces that roared around them. Fur blankets spread amongst the sick or feeble. Hot broth, spiced with coriander, was soon served in large cups. Elena started with a sip, but was soon cupping the broth back, drinking it all. The meat melted in her mouth; the gravy as good as she had back home. After the broth came spelt loaves; broken amongst the still hungry with a nod and a thank you. It was wholesome bread, scooped from the baker’s oven and still warm on the inside. The blacksmith, a man with puffed cheeks and scrabbly beard, knocked his tankard onto the stone floor. Everyone grew silent, conversations ceasing mid-sentence.
‘Are we all well and warm?’ began Sarah, standing above them on a stool. The hall murmured approval with taps of their cups. ‘Decades ago, my daughters were stolen from me, stolen by a man twisted by greed. One of them has returned. They have named her Elena, a part of the infamous Stone family. They had no right to steal her in the first place,’ she hissed.
Sarah motioned to Elena to take her side. Elena stood, aware of eyes on her, shuffling towards Sarah. She could hear the whispers and glances of the villages beneath their cowls or blankets. She could hear malcontent with sharing their food to a stranger, another stranger out of the blue. Elena recognised the characters behind a few of their faces, mostly bitter and hard. They were sailors and craftsmen, traders and rogues. Her heart trembled in her chest as she took Sarah’s hand.
‘There is revolution spreading through the world. The Continental States has sparked liberty in our hearts. We are the fire that will excise the fat from our country.’ There was cheer amongst the crowd. A murmur of approval as they stoked the fire again. ‘With our Sisters we will take back London, take back what was stolen from us, from me.’
As the crowd settled, a cook brought platters of roasted greens with him. Together the village ate again. For companions lost, they left seats empty. Others ate alone or with a prayer on their lips. Through it all Elena studied the villager’s expressions.
‘They’re scared. Deep down,’ she whispered to Sarah.
‘They are frightened of the winter; the rain turns as bitter as the sea around these parts.’ Sarah sighed with her eyes closed. She appeared a degree more human in Elena’s eyes, not the monster in the mirror.
‘How do you know I’m your daughter?’
‘You must have felt it,’ Sarah said as she wiped her eyes. ‘You must have felt the bond between us.’ She pricked Elena with her thumb onto on her stomach. Elena sensed a tingle that warmed from her cheeks to her heart. ‘Come child, there is something I need you to see. Selene, get cloaks for us and some torches, we are taking the coastal path.’
‘Yes Cwen,’ said the woman with the lost arm.
They paced out into the open air. The world had turned opaque with nightfall; everywhere a royal purple died on top of a failing sun. Above, a flock of crows scattered in formation, cawing in adulation. Elena had donned brown cloak which reeked of horse. Sarah lit their torches with a bend of her wrist, casting a spell. She handed one to Elena. The path took them down through muddy dykes and bogged trees. She looked at crumpled cliffs, hedgerows filled with stumps shrivelled by the wind; at the end of one path stood Selene who escorted Elena from the forest. She gave a nod to them both and creased her face into a smile when Elena got close.
‘We haven’t been introduced my Cwen. So, this is Elena. A spitting image of you, but she doesn’t have John’s sable hair.’
‘No, she doesn’t, and I’ve explained her birth. Elena, this is Selene. She and her Sisters helped us, after we fought against privateers.’
‘Fought? You didn’t come here by choice?’ said Elena.
‘We had no choice. We had to land here or be destroyed. Our ship was almost sunk.’
‘I’ve heard of it. From my father. The Tale of The Lion? It’s a popular story.’
‘That man is not your father,’ Sarah seethed behind her cloak, ‘try and be mindful of what you say around me.’
‘I’m sorry my Lady for offence,’ Elena tipped her head for effect.
‘No harm done my child,’ Sarah reached out a hand to caress but stopped halfway, her eyes hesitant.
‘My Cwen, we are waiting for you,’ Selene’s voice broke the trance of the moment.
‘Yes. Of course, come.’
‘But one question my Cwen–can I ask your daughter something?’
‘You may. Elena you can answer Selene’s question?’
‘I can certainly try,’ Elena said with a frown. ‘What is it?’
‘You don’t see anything do you?’ Selene held up her false arm.
‘No, just your shoulder. I am sorry.’
‘She must be your daughter Sarah. She can see right through my glamour.’
Sarah smiled and nodded at Elena, who still frowned.
‘Understand the confusion. You can see through a witch’s glamour Elena. To ordinary folk it would appear as a normal limb, an illusion.’
They walked down to a cracked strand of beach, past long grass and clumps of samphire. There came a honeycomb cave set into a cliff, its passage lined with candles held in niches. At the end of the cave stood pillars of granite, dark as kelp. They supported a roof for the beginning of a dock that stretched back into bare earth. The Lion’s Tail slumped in the dock, its timber and sails had seen better days. Elena did not need to be a mariner to figure it was an aged vessel, one that would be more suitable now for firewood. A relic someone was holding dear to.
‘Impressed?’ said Selene.
‘What is this place?’
‘We call it The Hollows. We’ve got the whole coven down here-all of the Sisterhood.’
Elena gaped as they rounded a corner and saw how extensive the channel was. At the mouth was a tall pair of sluice gates waiting to flood the dock at command. Wisps skimmed off the top of waves, coating the entrance with salt. In moments the sea turned ink and the sky unfolded. A group of women in riding habits glided from the air with torches in one hand and a bundle of twigs in the other.
‘You’re a coven?’ Elena asked.
‘The Sisterhood of the Plum has protected us Elena, our ship was almost lost to us with all souls on board. But we fought back against Turner’s lapdogs. In the end, we prevailed with their help.’
‘I know the story. You summoned a dragon to fight back against the pirates.’
‘A dragon?’ Sarah laughed. ‘Oh! I wish I had. My live would have been complete.’
‘You know why it's called The Lion’s Tail?’ Selene asked.
‘Nobody has ever caught it,’ Elena repeated from memory.
‘And no
body has ever caught one of us,’ said one of the incoming witches, stepping off her staff. Elena studied the witch that spoke. Her broomstick gnarled around one gloved hand with a band of twine holding a bundle of twigs at one end. She was older than Elena, with tossed hair and sun-kissed skin. There was a carefree smile on her lips and confidence in her eyes as she led her group into a set of doors set into the rock face.
‘Welcome to your legacy, Elena Saville,’ Sarah said, as a rare smile stretched on her face.
The Chariot
— Houndbarrow, London —
The day began with Mr Alex leaving their home before she was awake. The sight of the man, the singular way he spoke and moved, had stirred too much of the past in her. On her bedroom floor she closed her eyes and prayed, fingers wrapped around her cross. As she knelt, Gold recalled why she felt troubled as of late. Not because of anxiety. She felt as though her mind was reorganising itself. She could sense her eyes moving while dreaming. Seeking out new images, new faces. She saw it all in sharp clarity. Her worried mind comprehended the smallest details, to the biggest vista: the sounds, the colours, and the taste of the air on her tongue. To her, it signified change, but of what nature she was not sure. As Cyrus woke with a sore back and a cold attitude, she told him that Hazel was missing, much to his appal. They searched her room with fervour; it was empty, as she had said, with Hazel’s clothes and boots gone. Together they made the decision to not involve Victoria, as it would only serve to stress her, and let her sleep. Cyrus could not bear the thought of her missing. They dressed in hunting frocks, with knives and daggers concealed in their jackboots. They stomped about as if their noise would wake Hazel and all would be well. Out on the street, Houndbarrow expanded as a maze in all directions.
'Why wouldn't she tell us? She promised me she was happy.' said Gold.
'I don't know,' said Cyrus, whose mind had just started to stir.
'Did she mention anything to you?'
'No.'
'Where would she have gone in Houndbarrow? It's a rat's nest.'
The First House Page 14