Maig's Hand

by Phillip Henderson

  “That being…?” Kane asked, intrigued by the story. He had heard this history before but from the reformist viewpoint and that study in self-righteousness said nothing of a curse or Children of Light.

  “On a stone altar deep in the wilds of the Eastern Mountains, he anointed five newborn babies with the blood of the First Mother,” Fren said, taking up the tale. “The ceremony brought her touch into the world like none had seen before, or since. Anointed so, these children were a serious threat to Larnius’ rule. He managed to kill two of the lines during his lifetime. But three out-lived him, and their off-spring were a bane to the druid over-lords across the centuries.”

  “So how is it that my sister has this blood and not I? We were born of the same womb.”

  “The blood of the First Mother flows only in the female line, not the male. It is also haphazard, frequently skipping two or even three generations before reappearing again.”

  “So one of the children originally anointed by this elder was of my blood?”

  “All five children were of Kathius’ lineage, yes. Your great-grandmother going back seven generations was the last to appear in the line to which your sister was born, and it was your great grandmother on your mother’s side who influenced a certain reformist brotherhood to break their vows of pacifism and to steal the book of Minion—a debt we plan to repay.”

  “And you’re sure that my sister is one of them?”

  “Quite sure,” replied Fren. “The Prophecy of the Fall warns that the chosen one will come into the world in the shadow of such a girl child. And on the highway yesterday I have confirmed that your sister bears the mark of the First Mother, though she is totally unaware of its significance.”

  “And there are others like her?”

  “Two, but we do not yet know who they might be. The lines were lost two centuries ago, at the end of the Long Terror, but we know they’re out there somewhere. Securing your sister and killing her will afford us their identities.”

  “How so?”

  “Her blood contains the names, though as one yet to be anointed, she won’t know this. When we sacrifice her, we will perform a certain spell which will give us access to this knowledge.”

  “So if she was anointed, she would know who these other two women were?”

  “With time, yes. She would recognise their aura, and have a knowing that belies understanding and thought. In short, yes, she would know them.”

  “And these two will be discovered and killed also?”

  “Yes, but one of their kind is important to the recovery of the book. Not a matter you need to concern yourself with at this time my lord.”

  Kane was content that was so. “Now, what is this Fountain of Rebirth you mentioned?”

  “Like the seeing bones Keira and I have, the fountain or alter as some call it was also a gift to Larnius. Carved from brastic crystal, it has the power to raise the dead when used with the Book of Minion. It can be used to create armies of the dead, and bolster our ranks if need be. And it will certainly be necessary if you decide to restore the boundaries of the Larniusian Empire.”

  Kane resisted the impulse to frown at this. The thought of raising the dead, let alone leading such creatures into battle didn’t thrill him one bit. Even the thought of ‘slave armies’ bothered him slightly. “How does it work?”

  “Blood is drawn from a corpse, and when placed in the bowl of the crystal altar, and the correct incantations are uttered, the corpse is reanimated to walk the world as a member of the living dead.”

  “You must excuse me,” Kane said, “but that I would have to see with my own eyes before I would believe it. Perhaps an example might be helpful?”

  A look of unease spread across the faces of those seated around the table. This time Kane did frown. “Is there a problem?”

  It was Fren who replied. “I’m afraid there is. The Fountain of Rebirth and all knowledge of its workings were lost at the time of Brutarius’ fall. And despite considerable effort being expended in searching for it over the past two centuries, we are still none the wiser.”

  “Well, not to worry. I’m sure slave armies will suffice,” Kane said dismissively. “Now, what did you have in mind for my sister?” he said, changing the subject.

  A knowing smirk flitted across Fren’s aged face, and then she gestured to the Lord Marshal, saying, “Allius, if you would like to tell our liege-in-waiting what has been discussed …”

  “Of course. Simply put, Milord, we are going to abduct your sister from the Amthenium Palace on the last evening of the tri-monthly meeting in a few weeks time. To avoid suspicion finding its way to your doorstep, we’re going to make it look like pirates from the black Isles did the deed in retaliation for this proposal we understand the Lady de Brie is preparing to present to the assembly. If successful significant aid will be shipped to the Vafusolum Empire to help fight the famine there—hardly a proposal that will please the pirate lords. A ransom note will be delivered to the Chancellor, demanding gold, the autonomy of the peoples of the Black Isles from the Vafusolum Empire, recognition by the Grand Assembly of the Isles as an independent and sovereign entity, and the right to a seat on the Grand Assembly. Of course, none of this will be delivered, nor will we need fear discovery, because by the time the assembly has finished squabbling about the terms, your father will be dead, you will be Arkaelyon’s next king, and Amthenium will have been restored as Arkaelyon’s capital.”

  “And my sister?”

  “Also quite dead. Our sacred alter in the Eastern mountains is already waiting for her and I can promise you, Milord, that your sister will not see the dawn of the day following her abduction.”

  Kane nodded. “Then I agree, Lord Allius, you have my permission to proceed.”

  “As you say, Milord. We will not fail you.”

  At that moment a servant emerged from a side tunnel and approached Lord Cameron’s side. There was a whispered exchange, and then Lord Cameron waved the man away and smiled amicably at those at the table. “I am please to say, the small celebratory meal I spoke of earlier is prepared, so I suggest we retire to my apartment. We can converse further there.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It sounded like a clap of thunder directly above the palace, at least until the room shook violently and the sound of shattering glass and collapsing masonry and timber beams brought James fully awake. Realising Danielle wasn’t lying beside him, fear set his blood alight and he jumped out of bed and pulled on his trousers. Oddly the chamber looked untouched in the dim candlelight. But there was no doubting what he had heard.

  “Danielle, Danielle?”

  She didn’t answer so he reached for his sword and found an empty scabbard. Someone started hammering at the door from the vestibule outside.

  “Mr. Sydney, are you in there. Mr. Sydney?”

  James ran up the hallway to his day room and threw back the bolt.

  It was the night sergeant, his eyes wide with fear in a round, black bearded face. “Sir, it’s the lady’s chambers. We can’t get in. Something’s blocking the door and dust is coming out around the doorframe.”

  “What happened?” James could see the three palace guards trying to shoulder open the oak doors at the end of the vestibule and making no progress at all.

  “There was a flash of white light and then all Vellum broke loose. We think there’s been a collapse.”

  Fighting the panic that surged through his blood, James said, “With me! And bring those torches.” He rushed over to the door between Danielle and his chambers and tried to open it. It moved an inch and then ran up against something solid. As with the main doors to her chamber a shoulder wouldn’t budge it either. Thick dust was billowing out of the inky darkness within.

  “Danielle … Danielle. Can you hear me?”

  Again there was no reply. “Shit!”

  Not about to waste any more time, James turned and ran for the balcony door. All the chambers of Dee’s royal suite had doors that opened out to the gar
den and it was the quickest way to find her. Once outside he reached the first window and found her bedchambers untouched from whatever had rocked the building, the glass still intact and the soft glow of several night lamps illuminating the curtains. He banged on one of the windows and called out to her. Again, nothing, so he darted round the corner of the building. A thick cloud of dust was ebbing from the shattered doors and windows of her day room and dissipating out into the cool night air.

  “Open that door,” James said, gesturing at the entrance to her bedchamber, before taking a torch from one of the solders and hurrying on to the devastated day chamber. Debris pricked his bare feet as he tried to gain entrance but it was the dust and darkness that threatened to gutter out the torch and forced him back.

  “Danielle! Danielle!”

  “I’m here.”

  To James’ surprise her voice sailed up from the quiet of the garden behind him. Odder still she sounded annoyed, rather than shocked. With the moon behind a cloud there was nothing to see in the deep shadow below the oak trees, not that it stopped him pelting down the stairs, two at a time, from the flag stone patio. “Where are you?”

  “Here.”

  She was closer now but still not visible. He held up the torch and squinted into the darkness. He saw movement to his right. A moment later she emerged from under the trees and approached across the lawn at a fast walk. James ran across the cold dewy grass to meet her and as she stepped into the light of his torch he saw she was dripping wet and wrapped in one of the curtains that had hung in her day room.

  “Are you alright?”

  “No, I’m not.” There was anger in her voice and bearing as she walked past. “Sergeant send for my father, the Lord Protector, and the Cardinal, and have your men establish a cordon to stop curious on-lookers. And please hurry.”

  “What happened? Why are you out here? And why are you wet?” James fell in beside her.

  “I woke up beside the pond with this wrapped around me.” She watched the guards hurry along the patio and disappear around the side of the building and then, to James’ surprise, she stopped abruptly to face him and said, lowering her voice. “My dream, the prophecy, it’s all true. A Druid did this.”

  “Fren?”

  “No. The other presence; the other dream. The one that lies.”

  James was not sure he understood. Danielle had said that the presence in her dreams, however inaccurate in the information it had relayed to her, was, nonetheless, benevolent. Yet the destruction in her chamber was hardly the work of a friend.

  “So what happened?”

  She smiled humourlessly. “I woke with the feeling someone was watching me. It demanded that I go to my day room. Once there I saw a single flame break into many and begin to write on the walls of the chamber. When I demanded answers, this presence lifted me into the air talked some gibberish about being reborn in blood and fire and that I would know my self when I woke. Then it took the sword from my hand and ran me clean through. As I bled out, the words on the walls floated free like a swarm of fireflies, circled me and finally there was an explosion of white light that knocked me out. When I woke I was lying beside the pond, wet and wrapped in this curtain.”

  James stared at her, horrified and not sure what to say. “How could you not be hurt?” He glanced back the way they’d come. “And how did you end up down there if you were unconscious?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Danielle continued up the stairs, and he followed her. “You should have woken me.”

  “I was going to, but this Druid threatened to kill you if I did. And I think it’s clear he’s more than capable of following through on his threats.”

  “He?”

  “Yes, he.” Danielle took the torch from his hand. She crossed the balcony, careful not to step on the shards of broken glass, and then climbed through the rubble where her balcony doors had stood. Most of the dust had settled and the torch flame flickered a dim yellow light around the walls of the ruined chamber. The evidence of the force responsible for the damage was everywhere; the stout elegant furnishings had been smashed to kindling and strewn about, and part of the timber ceiling had crashed in almost completely blocking the hallway and main doors to the room. Even the mantle was cracked and part of the internal stonewall had collapsed between the dayroom and the dining room.

  James stood there speechless.

  Danielle walked over to where her desk had once stood, crouched with the torch and pulled his sword out of the debris. Its blade was red with blood, as was the carpet beneath her feet.

  “Believe me now?

  She handed the weapon to him with a look that dared him to doubt her and then turned and held up the torch so it illuminated the top of the walls with its dim flickering light. That’s when James saw the writing. Line upon line of odd script had been etched or burned into the stone, it was hard to tell which, and as she trailed the light around the room for his benefit it was clear it covered all four walls.

  “Its not possible.”

  “Apparently it is,” Danielle replied. A curious expression settled on her face and she went over to the wall opposite the balcony and squinted up at the etchings.

  “You recognise the language?” James certainly didn’t, though he’d sailed to all the major ports around the continent and heard as many tongues as there were to hear. In fact it didn’t even look remotely familiar to any he had seen in his travels.

  Danielle said nothing. Lost in concentration she walked slowly along the wall, her eyes on the script and her lips moving without a sound. And when she had finished with the writing on the first wall she moved to the next.

  “How is all this possible?” he asked.

  “How is it possible for an old woman to turn into a crow?” Danielle replied, her attention still on the walls.

  He shook his head. “So what does it say?”

  She was silent again, lost in her own dark musings. Or ignoring him, he wasn’t sure which.

  “Danielle, will you please talk to me?”

  She finished studying the last wall and abruptly opened the curtain she held around herself and glanced down.

  She was standing with her back to him, but James heard her sudden gasp. “You alright?”

  She quickly pulled the curtain around herself and turned to face him, a mix of fear and amazement on her face.

  “Dee, are you alright?”

  The scars have gone. The one Kane gave me in the tournament ring, and the arrow wound I took yesterday. They’ve gone.”

  “How?”

  She stared at him for a moment longer and then abruptly headed down the hall towards her bedchamber, climbing over the rubble as she went.

  “Danielle?”

  “James, what do you want me to say? You have eyes.”

  “Yes, but I can’t read this language and you clearly can.”

  “Yet I wish I could not.” Her voice quivered as she said this and the misery in her face made him haste after her.

  “Dee.”

  She stopped at the door to her bedchamber. “I need you to do something for me.”

  “What? What’s wrong?”

  “Everything.” Tears glistened in her eyes as she opened the door and went into her bedchamber. James followed and quickly closed the door. Danielle had crossed the room and was closing and locking the balcony doors.

  “I need you to draw something. Use my journal and quill and ink over there.”

  She put the torch in an iron holder on the wall and went around the room turning up the oil lamps so there was a good light to see by.

  “It marked me.” She hesitated and then said with some effort, “He marked me. He didn’t just remove my scars.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “I bear a mark and I need you to draw it; and quickly. Joseph will certainly need to see it.”

  She was trembling as she sat down on the bed and moved the curtain just enough so he could see her stomach.

  James had coll
ected her journal and writing equipment, but they were forgot for a moment as he blinked in astonishment at what he saw there on her stomach. What looked to be a blue vine was tattooed onto her pale skin. A dark blue taproot began down towards her crotch and branched out in intricate detail as far as the base of her breasts, the colour lightening as the branches thinned. There was a strange beauty to the design, but nothing could dispel the fact that this, like the script on the walls of her chamber and the general destruction, had been put there against the laws of nature and by a hand possessed of a formidable power.