by Anna Kendall
Any other woman, faced with so much uncertainty and fear, would have burst into tears. Maggie glared at me and clenched her fists. I took her again into my arms.
‘You are right to wait—’ As if she had any choice! ‘I’m certain Mother Chilton will send a web woman about Tom. The war with Soulvine Moor is over. And we will go …’
Where? I had nowhere to take Maggie, no home, no money. And I did not know where my son laid his downy head. For me, the war was not over.
‘Roger!’ It was Rawnie, barrelling out of a round stone hut towards the ponies. ‘You’re back! Where did you go? Did you hear the news? I forgive you for tying me up. Papa explained why it was necessary. I would forgive Nell, too, except she’s dead.’
That sobered her. To my surprise, the soberness lasted for more than a moment. Something dark rested in Rawnie’s eyes that had never been there before. Not fear, for she was still incapable of more than momentary fear. But her eyes held sadness. She had seen and experienced too much for a little girl.
‘Roger,’ Rawnie said, ‘Do you think Nell is happy in the Country of the Dead?’
No one wished to stay in Hygryll. For what was left of the day we journeyed north. In the evening we camped on the moor, perhaps two dozen of us: Rawnie, a very pale Charlotte, Maggie and I, plus a small band of men from The Queendom. I did not see the woman who had lost her child and then cared for the Soulviner children my father had been prepared to torture. I asked Maggie about her.
‘When the first report came that the tranced children had been restored, she left with the first group of Rawley’s men to go to her own baby,’ Maggie said, her tone implying that I should have already guessed this. ‘Most of the parents did.’
‘And the children of Soulvine Moor that Rawley held at Hygryll?’
‘Some women of the moor arrived just before you did. Ragged old women, no one that we could possibly see as a threat. They begged for the children and of course I gave them.’
Maggie gave them. I could easily picture it: Rawley and his men gone, Charlotte bewildered and uncertain of what Rawley would want, Maggie assuming charge. She would have been glad to give the children back, thinking all the while of her own babe but not giving way to tears or losing hope. Not my Maggie. She hoped for the best now; I could feel it in the grasp of her hand. And if the worst came, she would face that, too.
We sat around an immense peat fire, blazing on Soulvine Moor as if to announce to the sky that the war was over and we had won. Nonetheless, grey dogs patrolled the edges of the camp, along with men in rotating shifts. I did not expect an attack. The Brotherhood might chase Rawley for revenge, but they must also know he was not here. And without him to imprison, they had no use for Charlotte or Rawnie.
And me? I didn’t know if they knew where I was. But the Brotherhood would now be in disarray, their war lost, their prize of immortality wrenched from their grasp. All this they would impute to Rawley, not me. If they could muster their fleeing group enough to attack, it would probably focus on my father, not me.
I had eaten for the first time in nearly two days. That and sleeplessness sapped my energy, but there was something I must do first. Having convinced myself that I was at no risk, I determined to take a risk. Just as I had to see whether the sword had righted the Country of the Dead, this was something I must do. Something I must know.
Maggie, however, would not let me go. She had waited too long. ‘Come away from the fire, Roger.’
‘It isn’t time to—’
‘Yes, it is! Come!’
There was no flouting that tone. I took her hand and we stumbled to an outcropping of rock. Maggie pulled me down and we sat with our backs to the cold stone. I put my arms around her.
‘No, Roger, no kissing. Not now. Tell me!’
‘Tell you what?’
‘Everything. Everything you … have left out since we met.’
It was the catch in her voice, the little sob on the word ‘you’ that undid me. That and the desire to finally trust, to be known, to love. I had been a long time coming to that. So I gave what she asked: everything. I told her about my mother, Aunt Jo, Hartah. About the wreck of the Frances Ormund, Mistress Conyers, Cecilia. Everything about Cecilia. And then about Mother Chilton, Queen Caroline, Tom Jenkins, Tarek son of Solek, Princess Stephanie, Lady Margaret. Everything I had learned from Alysse and the mouse-woman and Nell. And finally, all I had done to right the balance between the living and Dead, this realm and that other, Galtryf and the sword. Only one thing did I hold back: the part played by our son, and what he was. I talked until my throat was raw, and the blazing campfire visible across the heather had died to a ruddy glow in the darkness.
Did Maggie believe me? Perhaps, with her native scepticism, not all of it. But she listened without a single word. When I finally finished, she kissed me softly and said nothing.
‘Maggie—’
‘No, not now. No more talk now. We must sleep.’
We returned to the fire. Everyone else except the guards slept. When Maggie, too, gave way to exhaustion, I left her and made my way back to the outcropping of rock. To the guard I signalled a need for privacy behind a clump of gorse, and he nodded.
Alone in the shadows I bit my tongue and crossed over.
Night in the land of the living, an endless grey and tranquil day in the Country of the Dead. I began walking. All was as it should be in that quiet place, and the few Dead that I passed were as they should be, waiting for whatever it was that came next for them. If the sword had a part to play in that, I knew I would never witness it until, one far distant day, my own time came.
The walk back to Hygryll, unburdened by packs or ponies or Rawnie, did not take long. The round stone huts had all vanished, but the large flat rock was there. Upon it sat Harbinger.
I approached him warily, but why should that be? He was now just another of the Dead, this old man who had aspired to live for ever by destroying the souls of others. None of the Brotherhood, if that band still was in existence, surrounded him now. He was of no use to them. He sat calmly, his green eyes open and unseeing, and I passed him by as if he were just another boulder or tree.
What had I expected when I reached the circle of Dead that had surrounded my mother? What I feared was that she was still gone, another of Soulvine Moor’s victims. She was not. The huge circle of fifty Dead, however, had vanished, and my mother sat beside one other Dead on the tranquil moor. Without the fog, even from a distance I could see the lavender of her gown. No – not another Dead. The figure rose. My heart clutched – an assassin from the Brotherhood?
It was my father.
‘Roger,’ he said tonelessly.
‘What are you doing here?’ I heard the harshness of my tone, and did not regret it.
‘Are you surprised that I would come?’
‘Very surprised.’
Anger broke from him, his usual defence. ‘You understand nothing.’
‘I understand that you abandoned her. And me.’
‘I explained to you once, but I will do so again since you are acting like a sulky boy and boys need repetition: I left you both for your own safety. I did not know that would make her less safe, nor that you would be taken by your Aunt Jo before I could find you.’
It must have been Rawley who’d removed my mother before, when I could not find her. He must have carried her to some place of safety. The realization didn’t lessen my anger (and why had I not thought to do the same thing?). We faced each other on the desolate moor like two fighting dogs, two moor curs. He was stronger than I, with two good hands. If this came to blows—
It did not. My father broke. He put his hand in front of his face, but not before I saw the tears he immediately tried to blink back. He said quietly, ‘I loved her, you great fool. I always will.’
And even though I saw that it was the truth, a lifetime of anger cannot be released that quickly. I wanted to hurt him, still. So I said, ‘Really? And does Charlotte know that?’
&nb
sp; The tears vanished. Rawley glared at me, but he had himself in control. ‘There are so many things about love that you do not yet understand, Roger. I hope that someday you will.’
‘Yes, with luck I may yet turn out like you.’
A faint smile, which reduced me to a child. Fresh fury rose in me. But his next words disarmed it entirely – as perhaps he intended.
‘I have told everyone that it was I that brought an end to the war with Soulvine, that the victory was mine. I did so because there may be some of the Brotherhood, or of Soulvine Moor, who are not yet ready to give up. Now they will seek revenge on me, not you, and you and Maggie can live safely with my grandchild.’
I gasped, ‘How … how did you know ….’
‘It doesn’t matter how I know. No one else does. Be well, Roger.’ And he vanished, crossing back over.
My anger at him was replaced with a hollowness at my heart. All these meetings in bitterness and anger, and I still did not know what Rawley Kilbourne truly was. Ruthless warrior, burning with vengeance. Tender husband to two women. Abandoner, betrayer, rescuer, protector.
Kneeling, I touched my mother’s face. She looked just as I remembered from childhood. I could almost feel her arms around me, hear her voice singing to me. That could not come again. But she looked peaceful and calm, and there was no longer fresh blood on her gown. Whatever she waited for, she waited in peace. I kissed her tranquil cheek. ‘Good-bye, Mother. Be well.’
I crossed back over, knowing I had seen both my parents for the last time.
When I returned to camp, it was past dawn. Maggie still slept, but the others ate breakfast or watered ponies, and someone was singing.
It was Rawnie. I had never heard her sing before. The voice from that scrawny, freckled throat was surprisingly full and sweet. Someone played upon a lute, and to its accompaniment Rawnie sang Leo’s plaintive tune:
Although you to the hills do flee,
My love you can’t escape.
Your heart, my sweet, belongs to me
Though you may change its shape.
Never, never will I cease
To follow where you go,
And ever, ever will I be
The hound upon your doe.
Do what you will and what you can,
Employ the arts you know—
Ever, ever will I be
The hound upon your doe.
The words struck me differently than they had when Leo had sung them. I squatted beside Maggie and put my good hand on her shoulder. She woke and smiled at me. I smiled back, not wanting to escape, nor to cease following her, nor to seek anything except her loyal heart and my infant son. And never let either of them go again.
28
There was still the gnawing fear for Stephanie. No vision had come from her since the sword had righted balance in the Country of the Dead. Was she ill from such great effort in the soul arts? She was but seven years old. Nell had been a woman grown, and her exertions had cost her life. Nor did Mother Chilton dream to me.
I had lost an entire night’s sleep and during the next day’s travel I stumbled along, half awake. Fortunately we halted early, just over the border between Soulvine Moor and the Unclaimed Lands. I fell asleep immediately, and I dreamed. It was, however, a dream so faint that when I woke, I could not be sure if I had only imagined it from the desperation of my desire – a dream of a dream:
A wavering swirl of grey, without place or colour. A figure, which I took to be a woman only by the high-pitched voice, although even about that I could not be sure. A single word: ‘Wait.’ I woke.
Wait! What was I doing except waiting – and how often had I been doing it before? Wait for Lord Robert, wait to recover from inhabiting the moor cur, wait to get to Hygryll, wait to see my son, wait for the sword to right the Country of the Dead! My life consisted of waiting, broken only by bursts of desperate, terrified action.
I waited. I did so with relief: the dream had undoubtedly come through little Tom, which meant he was alive. But my relief was mixed with yet more fear: Was it so faint because Tom, like the web women whose visions he passed on, was exhausted and ill from his efforts? They were not even really ‘efforts’; he was like an aqueduct through which water passed with no exertion on its part – or so I hoped. But even so, an aqueduct can give way under a torrential flood.
Maggie knew none of this. And yet she never forgot anything, a trait I had cursed before and now had cause to be uneasy about again.
‘Roger,’ she said as we began the day’s travel north, ‘you look very tired. Are you worried about Tom?’
‘Why would I be worried about Tom?’
She said slowly, ‘You asked me something once. You asked if I had seen him “vanishing and reappearing”. You would only ask that if you thought he was … was like you. But he never vanished. He is not a hisaf, is he?’
‘No.’ I was glad to be able to answer her honestly, and I hoped she would ask no further. But then she would not have been Maggie.
‘He cannot cross over to … you know?’
‘No. He cannot.’
‘Can he do what Mother Chilton can? And those other women? Oh, Roger … is he a witch?’
I heard the dread in her voice. ‘No,’ I said, again honestly, ‘he is not as the web women are.’
‘So where is he?’
‘They’ll tell us soon.’
‘But how can you know that? Have you received word?’
‘Only to wait. But I’m sure Mother Chilton will send word soon.’ I was not sure.
By late afternoon even Rawnie was tired. Someone put her on one of the pack ponies, where she appeared to fall asleep. But not so, because from the greater height atop the pony she was the first to see the horsemen.
‘Soldiers! Soldiers in the valley, coming on horses!’
The men looked at each other and drew their weapons: knives, swords, a few guns. I strained my ears to hear shots, simultaneously looking around for a place to hide Maggie. That proved unnecessary. The horsemen wore the purple of Lord Robert’s army and even before his horse had fully halted, the captain was swinging down from the saddle. ‘Roger Kilbourne?’
‘I am Roger Kilbourne.’
‘You are summoned to the palace at Glory.’
We gazed at each other: I ragged, weary, scrawny, uncombed, without a bath in far too long. He, well-fed and clean-shaven, wore a new purple tunic and high boots. His breastplate and helmet shone in the sun. But his face held wariness and even fear. This captain was here under unwelcome orders, and he did not like dealing with whatever preternatural thing he considered me to be.
I said, ‘Who summons me?’
‘Lord Regent and High Commander Robert Hopewell, acting for Her Grace Queen Stephanie.’
‘And why does Lord Robert wish to bring me to Glory?’
‘I carry out Lord Robert’s orders,’ he said stiffly. I would get no more information from him, even if he possessed it. ‘His orders are to bring you to Glory with all possible haste. Mount now.’
They had brought an extra horse, a great high beast of deep brown. A soldier dismounted, led the horse to me, and cupped his hands for my foot.
I backed away. ‘I cannot ride.’
‘You cannot ride?’ the captain said, as if I had just announced that I did not know how to breathe.
‘No, I cannot ride!’ I repeated, at the same moment that Maggie said, ‘If Roger goes, I go with him.’
The captain gazed down at her with profound distaste. ‘Who are you?’
I said, ‘She is my wife.’
A small, pleased sound from Maggie.
The captain said, ‘I have no orders concerning your wife. Mount, Roger Kilbourne. You must be able to ride a little!’
‘No,’ I said. I had ridden donkeys, slow ambling beasts, and once I had ridden pillion behind a royal courier. But to sit alone on this huge horse … and if Maggie rode behind me, I would only tumble her off, too, when I fell. As I surely would.
Th
e captain sighed. He said to the soldier still cupping his hands, ‘Throw him up behind Starkington.’
Another soldier, presumably Starkington, looked startled and unhappy. I said, ‘And my wife? I will not go without her.’
Faced with the choice of wrestling with and binding one who had been summoned by the queen or of not carrying out his orders, the captain snarled, ‘She may ride behind Everett.’
Two horses were walked up to the hand-cupper, who threw first me and then Maggie up behind soldiers. My horse shied and I gripped Starkington tightly around the waist. Maggie insisted on bringing her pack, which was fastened to the saddle. Rawnie leaped off her pony and tore over to us.
‘I want to come, too!’
The captain did not deign even to notice her. He wheeled his mount and signalled to the others to follow. We moved off.
‘I want to go too!’ Rawnie screamed, the last thing I heard before the horses moved off. ‘Roger, I hate you again!’
Two days later we reached Glory.
Again, just as it had three years earlier, the sight of the capital city filled me with trepidation. It rose on its river island as a high wall of stone, above which soared the one palace tower. I had stood in or on that tower with Queen Caroline, or with Mother Chilton, or with nothing for company but my own pain and fear. Then the tower had flown Caroline’s green banner; now Stephanie’s purple flag furled and unfurled in the wind.
Our horses rode over the wide east bridge, hooves clattering on stone. Through the narrow, noisy ring of the city to the palace gates. They opened and we stood, as I had before so long ago, in a courtyard quiet, clean, and deserted.
Maggie dismounted first. ‘We do not see the queen until we have bathed!’
The captain began, ‘My orders are—’
‘Forget your orders! Do you think the queen wishes to see us travel-soiled and stinking? I—’
‘She does not wish you to appear before her at all, Mistress Kilbourne. She sent only for your husband.’
‘—know my way to the servants’ baths, and so does Roger,’ Maggie finished, exactly as if the captain had not spoken. ‘Both of us will need clean clothing.’