Rheged mounted up and rode off as fast as he could, a wind driving the rain into his face and almost blinding him. Within seconds he was soaked through and exhausted, but he was confident he would not be pursued.
Chapter 5
Kicva and Elined
At the feasting that night, beside Huandaw’s great chair, on the right hand, where his eldest son should have been, sat Kicva, clearly as honoured by Huandaw as she had been by Goreu. Viviane’s heart sank when she recognized her, particularly when she saw how the old woman looked at her.
As she was led in on the arm of Neol, arrayed in his sister’s finery, green gown with gold at waist and throat, gold on her bare arms and swinging from her ears, her hair plaited and twisted high upon her head, she felt confident that she could charm these people into treating her with kindness and respect . . . And then she saw Kicva and knew that she was lost.
Neol guided her round the tables where companions, relatives and retainers sat, proudly parading her as though she was some trophy won in battle. She held her head high, allowing him the pleasure of his game; biding her time.
He ushered her to the chair on Huandaw’s left side, and she looked hard at the old man, remembering Goreu. But Huandaw was not like Goreu. He was thin and spare, grey-haired and grey-eyed. His face was lined as though he smiled a lot; his manner was gracious. She wondered what he could be doing with that evil hag on his right, and a son with such cold eyes. She bowed formally to Kicva in greeting, and Kicva bowed mockingly back.
‘You see, my lady, we already have here someone known to you,’ Huandaw said mildly, and she could not tell from his expression if he were being sarcastic or whether he genuinely thought she would he pleased to meet an old acquaintance.
‘Kicva is known to me, my lord,’ she said carefully, ‘but I am surprised that an enemy of Goreu should entertain his most devoted servant with such honour.’
Kicva’s eyes sparked dangerously.
‘It is because she was so devoted to the Lord Goreu that she is now here,’ Huandaw said.
‘Explain, my lord,’ Viviane said coolly, trying not to let the old woman’s malevolent stare unnerve her.
He gazed at her appraisingly before he answered. ‘She tells me Goreu was murdered, and has come to offer her services in avenging his death.’ His eyes did not leave Viviane’s.
‘Why would you want to avenge the Lord Goreu’s death, my lord?’ she asked softly. ‘Surely, as he was your enemy, you would reward the man who did the deed.’
‘Or the woman,’ he said, watching her closely.
She kept control of her face and looked at Kicva. ‘Does this Druid know who killed her lord, sir? Was she there?’
‘She has the Sight.’
‘Ah, the Sight!’ Viviane was relieved. If Kicva’s Druid ‘Sight’ had told her that she, Viviane, was the murderer, then Kicva’s Druid ‘Sight’ was not worth fearing.
‘Her vengeance might well serve our purposes,’ Huandaw continued, ‘though it is not vengeance for his death we seek.’
‘Your son tells me, sir, that my lord Goreu robbed you of many things during his life.’
‘That is true.’
‘I am sure you’ll find, sir, that my lord Caradawc will gladly make recompense.’
‘He has already shown his “goodwill” towards us by attacking us.’
‘I know nothing of that, my lord,’ she said, ‘but I am surprised. Goreu’s son is very different from his father and does not relish conquest.’
Neol, sitting to her left, leant forward and spoke across her.
‘The son is always loyal to the father, sir, though there be differences between them.’
Viviane caught a look that passed between them which intrigued her.
‘I must have my lands back,’ Huandaw declared. ‘If you, my lady, think I’ll get them back by asking – well, I will ask.’
‘And when you do, you’ll take a sword in the belly,’ said Neol bitterly.
‘Not from Caradawc!’ she said quickly.
‘No? Why do you run from him then, my lady, if he is so fair and just?’
She bit her lip. How could she possibly explain?
‘She runs because she was given hospitality and yet she murdered her host,’ Kicva said suddenly, clearly and loudly.
Viviane could hear the gasp, and see the hostility in every eye in the hall. Her composure broke.
‘No!’ she cried. ‘It is not true!’
Kicva stood up and pointed her bony finger straight at the young woman’s breast. Though it did not touch, Viviane experienced a sharp pain. She gasped and clutched her heart and sank back in her chair, her face drained of colour.
‘You see!’ Kicva said with satisfaction.
Viviane felt she could not breathe, as though some great weight lay on her breast. Kicva’s eyes never left hers. She tried to speak, to defend herself, but the words would not come.
‘It seems the Druid’s accusations strike home,’ Huandaw said coldly. ‘Take her away,’ he bade the two armed men who stood behind his chair. ‘Lock her up until we decide what to do with her.’
‘Locking up will do no good!’ Kicva snarled. ‘She is driven by demons. Kill her now . . . or let me bind her with spells.’
‘Kill her!’ The whisper started like a small wind rustling among dry leaves . . . and grew in volume until all were standing, shouting, shaking their fists . . . and then the wind was huge, swirling the dead leaves until the air was thick with them, and no one could see through them . . .
Viviane was dragged from the room. She saw the angry faces . . . the docile people turned suddenly violent by the dark wind that blew through the hall . . . the wind that was no wind . . .
She was thrown into a small dark room and heard the bolts slammed home. She could still hear the chanting, led by Kicva, and put her hands over her ears to shut it out. Gradually it faded and the terrible pressure on her chest began to lift . . . but not the despair. Perhaps she was possessed by demons? She thought back to all that had happened since she had followed that hart deeper into the forest. But in thinking back Viviane also remembered the Green Lady, and the chapel of the tree . . .
Did she imagine a light tap on the door? She listened, holding her breath. It was so intensely quiet she was aware of her own heartbeats. Then the sound came again: as though the bolts were being drawn back furtively, gradually.
After a few moments the door opened a crack, and a sharp triangle of light flooded in. Viviane blinked like a night-owl suddenly woken in daylight. It was Neol’s sister Elined.
‘Hush,’ the girl whispered, putting her fingers to Viviane’s lips. ‘I’ll help you to escape if you’ll take me with you.’
Viviane nodded silently, surprised, but unquestioning.
The girl slipped a dark cloak over her shoulders and took her hand. Together they glided like shadows down the deserted corridor. As they passed the sleeping guard, Elined smiled mischievously and pointed to herself, proudly, claiming that this was her handiwork. She knew her way through the labyrinth of corridors, which ones to take and which to avoid, and it was not long before the two young women were out of the house and into the dark of the night. A young groom was waiting for them holding ready two horses (one of them Hunydd!) and Elined kissed his cheek lightly as he helped her to mount. Viviane saw the adoration in his eyes and knew that Elined would always inspire such loyal devotion, so it might be no bad thing to have her company.
The gatekeeper must also have been dealt with by the resourceful girl, for he was nowhere in sight. They walked their horses carefully and quietly until they were well clear.
Much later, after they had put a good distance between themselves and the great house, Viviane learned why Elined had gone to all this trouble. It was to save herself from an arranged marriage to an old man she hated.
‘I could probably talk my father out of it, but Neol would not give way.’
‘Surely it is your father’s word that is heard in your house?�
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‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But it is not so. I’ve seen Neol get his way time and time again against father’s wishes. For instance, it was Neol’s idea to attack Caradawc. My father was reluctant.’
‘You dislike your brother?’
‘No, I love him, but over this matter of the marriage I am really angry with him.’
Viviane was silent, remembering how she herself had been sent on a long journey to marry a man she had never met. But she had been lucky. The prospect of marrying Caradawc was not at all unpleasant. If only . . . She wondered if she should warn Elined of the frightening and inexplicable things likely to happen to them. She decided against it for the moment: to have a companion on her difficult journey would be a great relief.
‘He’s older than my father,’ complained Elined. ‘But Neol thinks he’ll die soon, and I’ll inherit his lands. Neol is ambitious to extend our family lands and doesn’t care that I may have to live with that disgusting creature for years!’
‘Has he no children to inherit?’
‘No. After two wives he’s still childless.’
‘Then perhaps he’s impotent, and won’t want anything from you but your companionship.’
‘Even that . . .’ Elined shuddered.
For a while the two young women rode on in silence. It was Viviane who first broke it.
‘We must expect Neol to send men after us,’ she said.
‘We’ll give them the slip with the help of your demons,’ Elined said cheerfully.
‘My demons?’
‘Yes. The ones Kicva told us about.’
‘You really believe I’m possessed by demons and yet you choose to ride with me?’
‘Well, I decided no ordinary means would get me out of this marriage!’
‘But if Kicva speaks the truth, you are in great danger.’
Elined looked across at Viviane. ‘I don’t care. Nothing could be worse than marrying that revolting old man.’
‘You don’t know what you’re saying!’ Viviane was shocked that this girl could have such a casual attitude to the forces of darkness. She had obviously had no experience of them. Indeed she was very young, a virgin still, Viviane thought. What was it in a person’s face that gave away this secret, no matter how closely guarded?
‘Is what Kicva said true?’ Elined asked, curious now.
‘No.’
‘Well, then . . . I’m in no danger.’
‘Yes, you are, though not because of me . . . but because I too am being pursued.’
‘By demons?’ Elined sounded positively eager.
Viviane did not answer. What would be best to do now? Should she send Elined back to her father and her angry brother before too much harm was done, or should they both try to reach the sanctuary? It was almost dawn and she felt very tired; her thoughts were sluggish and confused. She hated the thought of being alone again. Two women riding together were not as remarkable as one, but with Elined to look after as well as herself . . .
She reined in. She would decide in the morning, after rest . . .
* * * *
Idoc paced the octagonal chamber of his tower. On a polished brass table stood a collection of glass vessels and bottles of different shapes and sizes. Each of the table’s four legs stood on a hard disc of beeswax carved with potent geometric signs. Charts of vellum hung on six of the walls, three worked all over with geometric signs and numbers, while the other three depicted hideous beings of the underworld in intricate detail. The black obsidian mirror, tall as himself, filled the seventh wall, while the eighth contained a heavy door, the lock itself an elaborate system of metal boxes, cogs and bolts, opened only by a series of keys in different metals, each preparing the way for the next. There was no window: no way of seeing out into the world by any natural means.
She had betrayed him. She must suffer – be destroyed. He would never let her be at peace again. Through life after life he would pursue her. She had sealed her own fate when she used her feminine beauty to trap him. The priests who had pronounced the spells would pay, too – but it was against her he bore the most malice. He had loved her and she had destroyed him. Well, now she would love him and he would destroy her. But to do this he must first master his own need for her. The time he had lain with her on the riverbank, using Caradawc’s body, was intended only to rouse in her the desire for him that would eventually destroy her – but he had felt too much joy himself, too much ecstasy.
He would not look at her again. Striding across the room he opened a heavy wooden chest and lifted out a black cloak stained with blood, the cloak he had worn recently to play the role of the black knight. He now hung it over the mirror. He would find other means of punishing her.
From the same chest he drew a sheet of lead beaten thin, and laid it on the table, pushing the glass vessels impatiently aside. He took his knife – double-edged, traced with the planetary symbols, its handle exquisitely inset with jewels in silver – and, holding it firm, began to scratch the words of a curse into the lead.
After he had done this, he looked up at the charts and thoughtfully pondered which of the many beings he should send.
At last he smiled, and began to draw on the lead sheet . . .
* * * *
Viviane awoke to find her clothes drenched, and a cold, sour rain driving down the valley before a grey north wind. Startled and shivering, she staggered to her feet, wondering where she was.
She had the feeling that she was being watched, but could not bring herself to turn around and see who it was. Remembering Elined suddenly, she thought it might be Neol’s men come to fetch her back. She saw the girl, asleep under a tree, out of the worst of the rain, the horses tethered beside her. Calmly, and still not looking round, she began to move towards Elined, her cloak, soaked with icy water, dragging like lead against her shoulders. The rain felt like tiny painful needles as it beat upon her face: the wind howled in her ears like a banshee.
‘Elined,’ she called.
How could she sleep through such a storm? The ominously creaking branches of the tree above her were being tossed so violently it seemed they would soon be ripped out of their sockets and come crashing down. Viviane nudged the girl with her foot – but she did not stir. She stooped down and shook her violently, but still she slept on. It dawned on Viviane that this was no ordinary sleep.
She spun round, clutching her knife, and crouched like a cat ready to spring.
And then she froze . . .
The crowd that pressed closer and closer was not comprised of Neol’s warriors – but of foul and infernal beings . . . Bat-winged and human-faced, vulture-clawed and lizard-eyed, they flapped around her beating their webbed wings. She could feel the scalding heat of their bodies, smell their acrid and sulphurous breath.
She screamed, her tears mingling with the rain that poured over her face.
But Elined slept on, though the horses snorted and pulled at their tethers. And then, borne in on the wind, came thick black fog . . . at first in shreds and slivers, and then in waves and billows. She thought now she would surely die.
But it was not to her that death came with the fog. For it was as inimical to Idoc’s fiends as they were to her. Howling as their strength failed them, they shrank . . . they withered . . .
And then it was all over. They were gone as mysteriously as they had come. She sat in silence – seeing nothing, hearing nothing. She held the sleeping Elined close, thankful for her human warmth. She could feel her peaceful breathing as though she slumbered naturally after all.
Viviane peered through the dark fog that surrounded her.
What now? She thought she saw a point of light high above her, and prayed that it was the sun trying to break through.
The point grew brighter, so bright indeed that it made her eyes water and she had to close them. When she opened them again, the point had become a rod, so bright against the darkness that it looked solid. Another appeared, and then another. As she watched, the darkness became c
riss-crossed with thin, brilliant rods of light. They silently moved from above to below, from side to side, diagonally . . . steadily breaking the fog into smaller and smaller patches. She stared, fascinated. She had never seen such a sight: they were like swords cutting a solid into tiny pieces. Natural sunlight would have dispersed the fog gradually. She reached out her hand curiously to touch a beam close by. Her hand disappeared. She drew her arm back hastily, staring at where her hand had been. Very slowly it began to materialize again. Then she sat very still, watching the marvellously precise way the darkness was cut away from them – until at last she stood on a clear hillside in full daylight.
* * * *
Waiting for the curse to take effect, Idoc sat hunched in his chair. His hands locked and unlocked convulsively, his mouth worked, saying over and over again the words he had carved on the lead. He gloated when he felt the creatures he had invoked rising around him like so many vulture-shadows and go streaming through the walls out into the world beyond . . .
Time passed. Time strained and pulled and tugged at him. He longed to look in the mirror, but he clutched the chair arms and refused to move. ‘Now they will have found her,’ he thought. ‘Now they will be closing in . . . now they will be surrounding her . . .’
But something was wrong – he could sense it. He half rose, thinking of the mirror. But if he saw her he might show mercy. He forced himself down again into the chair. The curse could not fail . . .
He smelled a strange smell – at first so faint he took no notice. But soon it became so strong he could no longer ignore it. Sniffing, he turned his head and searched the chamber with dark, tormented eyes . . . From the table where he had laid the curse a thin plume of black smoke was rising. He leapt towards it. What . . .?
The smoke was gone before he reached it, and he would have thought he had imagined it but in the place of the neat leaden scroll was now a pool of molten lead still faintly sizzling. The brass table beneath was unharmed.
Furiously Idoc stared at it, then rushed to the mirror. He ripped the cloak away from its surface and glared into it. At first he was almost blinded by the flash of light that reflected off the surface. He staggered back, a shaft of pain striking him through the centre of the forehead. Screaming, he clutched his head. How could this be?
The Tower and the Emerald Page 7