“I will try to make it up to you—in whatever way I can.”
She waved her hand at him. “Go, Will, perhaps we can both be happier at a distance.”
It was almost a relief when the day dawned to leave. The little ones cried, his mother’s eyes watered, but the crowd of his siblings glowed with excitement. However it was Anne and his father’s faces that would follow him down the long road to the capital. John Shakespeare had embraced him, the first real contact they had shared since Will’s youth, and when they pulled apart, something that might have been a tear glinted in his eye. “God speed,” his father said with a shake of his head, before retreating into the shop.
Anne’s farewell was the last, and most awkward. Whatever joy they had once had in each other was long gone, and Will knew he would wear that guilt forever. Anne had herself retreated into the protective role of efficient goodwife. Her face was that of a stranger.
“Good travels, husband,” she said somewhat forcefully, clutching the bawling Hamnet. “I hope London brings fortune.” Will clasped her fingers. “I shall make it happen,
Anne.” It was the only thing he could offer now. Then Will turned aside, locked away the memory, and set his eyes instead to the future. Stratford dwindled and , but disappeared, but it wasn't immediately replace by London.
First there was the road. The players were a lively bunch, seven men with an odd way of looking at the world, held together by Richard’s constant banter and the sheer necessity of trust. Everyone had value, including Thomas the hard-pressed carthorse, and Crab the dog who was Tarlton’s best friend and comic sidekick.
The players were making their summer income in the smaller villages and towns. They saw both beauty and squalor around them and found both joy and disgust in the eyes of the inhabitants. The mud of these places clung to him while the slick professionalism of the others served to make Will aware of his own inexperience. He spent his first days caring for the props and the heavy, valuable costumes. It was hardly what he had imagined life in the players to be, but he contented himself with the fact that he was learning all the time.
Many people dreamed of a place in the Queen's men, for in every place they stopped, some young hopeful thrust himself into Richard Talbot’s path. Each one made Will nervous, for perhaps among them was another more worthy than he. Until he proved himself, nothing was certain.
On Will’s third night, they stopped at a dingy little inn, not far north of Stratford, and put on a short rendition of ‘All for Love’. It was in the third act, Richard was in front of the makeshift curtain, down with the beer drinkers and slack-jawed farmers, doing what he did best, making them laugh. He certainly was the master of bawd and was so at ease that Will had quite forgotten his part in the grand scheme of things.
That was, until that moment when Richard called for Crab. The players woe-begone dog had been standing all quiet and nice by Will’s heel, shaggy head downcast waiting for his moment like the professional he was. Had been, Will realized. His fellow actor’s voice rose another octave. “I say come here, Crab the mighty!”
Shakespeare did a quick spin around, looking under the muddle of tables and props, feeling like a complete fool.
John Heminges was in the corner, waiting for his own more distant cue. He didn’t laugh, didn’t curse, but did roll his eyes a little. “Crab gets the odd bit of stage fright,” he whispered. “Richard should have warned you.”
“What do I do?” Will replied, feeling heat building under his collar.
“Don’t worry.” John pulled out a ragtag ball of fluff that once might have been a hat, clapped it on Will’s head, and shoved him to his knees, “Now’s your chance to make your name.”
It wasn’t the best of starts, but once the initial shock wore off, Will thought he did rather well. He bounced around the stage chased by Tarlton, making his best dog noises, and trying not to think what his father would have thought of this. He got the biggest laughs when the rebellious Crab did return and tried to make off with Will’s cap. The dog was none too pleased to have a rival.
Embarrassing as it was, the incident broke the ice. The whole troupe of players drank tankards and toasted his first stage performance. Everyone agreed Will was a natural.
“Perhaps you’ll even get to stand on two feet next time,” John grinned. That prompted a round of bawdy comments that almost raised the roof.
Eventually though, Richard called time on the travels, and they made the slow way to London. The players were more cheerful than ever, talking of lovers and excitement waiting for them there. All it meant to Shakespeare was that soon his talents would have to get measure. The players had owners and shareholders he would have to impress.
It was drawing near dusk on a cold miserable day when Richard cut Will’s morbid musings short. “There she rises, boy—that ill-tempered whore London.”
Lifting his gaze from the road, Will caught sight of the city that would be his testing ground; she was a monster, the greatest city in Europe, bursting at her tight fitting, gaudy seams, curled about the Thames, wreaths of smoke visible for miles in the still air, proclaiming both her vigour and her filth. The largest city in the world, Will thought, and I am come to pay her court. I wonder if we will be to each other’s taste.
Perhaps reading his mind, Richard nudged him. “Best make friends with the ugly strumpet, Will, she can swallow you or bed you, but either can kill.”
Will inhaled her reek as the players stepped forward more lively. So much humanity packed together produced a plethora of ignominious scents, and some were even a match for his father’s whittawering.
As they passed through Newgate, the severed limbs of the hapless London criminals mounted on pikes on either side of the gate waved the young Shakespeare on into their domain. It was a harsh reminder—London made a few men rich and devoured the rest.
Will got pushed from right to left in the street as he contemplated the one advantage to the city. Even Sive’s angry, unearthly husband would be unable to find him amongst all this mass of humanity. But that was chill comfort as faces both welcoming and hostile turned in his direction.
People obviously recognized the players; some clasped hands with Richard, and passed friendly words, while other sterner faces averted their eyes and made an effort to not even brush sleeves with them. To these, Will knew, the players were ungodly; a sign how far fair England had slipped from the path of righteousness. And here he was, pious John Shakespeare’s son, walking right in the middle of the sinners.
Richard chuckled, a low hearty sound that for a moment held back the icy effect of the dissenters’ eyes. “Oh yes, Will, there they are, the sanctimonious horde; to them every laugh or smile a smack in the face of God. So beware you do not commit the gravest sin.” He pulled Will close. “Show them their own foolishness.”
Will hoped that was humour, but he tucked each word away for later examination.
“We’ll find you a place in one of the Stew Houses,” Richard clamped him on the shoulder. “They’re noisy—but there is always plenty of life going on in them.” With a broad wink, he added, “What a writer needs, boy—experience.”
Will smiled. “And when can I expect my work to be performed?” Despite his fears, the very idea of his jottings reaching the stage was a thrill. His Bardic Art whispered.
Richard roared with laughter, “Oh come now, lad—you can hardly expect to step in and take over like that. Plenty of other scribblers in the troupe—you’ll be fighting with them to get that far. But I will show them what you showed me.” He’d sounded much more hopeful back in Stratford.
Will fought down disappointment, but he had expected something of the sort.
Richard jostled his elbow. “Don’t make that face, boy, you’re no fool. You’ll have to work your way into the troupe like all the rest before you.”
Will managed a brave smile. “I’m not afraid of a bit of hard work. Anything will be better than whitterwaring.”
The actor’s famous moustac
he twitched. “I dare say so. But perhaps I should warn you, we’re a careful bunch.” He looked over his shoulder to emphasize the point. “We have to be.”
Richard found him lodging close to the city gates. The downstairs was a rowdy public house of the kind that Will was unfamiliar with, but upstairs were a variety of rooms, used for a variety of purposes, one of which was boarding for travellers like himself.
Alice the tavern keeper welcomed Will with open arms. “Won’t be the first player we’ve had here,” she said, but this didn’t make Will any more comfortable. “In fact,” she beamed through her broken teeth, “Mr. Tarlton here once enjoyed my hospitality when he was younger.” Her well-plumped bosom heaved at the memory, at which Richard became rather intent on escape.
“Yes... how nice of you to remember, Mistress Alice.” He was already backing for the door. “Get your way to the Rose tomorrow, Will, bright and early, mind.” And with a swirl of his cape, he departed.
Alice made a pout, but then turned on her one remaining player. “I’ll show you to your room then, sir. And then I’ll tell you about other services available to our guests.” One eyebrow wriggled.
Will took a look over his shoulder into the heaving public room and was a green youth again. In Stratford such acts would not be tolerated. Still one had to be as politic as possible. “I’m a bit tired from the long journey. Sir Richard certainly sets a fast pace.”
Mistress Alice sighed before leading him up to his room. “That he does young man, that he does.”
* * *
The Fey had no real desire to leave the Avon. After Will had left, Sive hadn’t returned to the Three Crowns. Perhaps Henry would think his sweet wife drowned in the Avon—perhaps he would not even notice. It mattered little; that part of her life was over. Around them the riverbank was quiet, swans tucked up under the reeds, willows whispering to each other in the wind, everything afraid to move and attract Sive’s attention.
In truth, she was ill inclined to follow Will this time. London was not for her, and the idea of so much humanity stacked up was disgusting. And yet soon enough she would have to traipse after William. No other option remained.
Stratford was beginning to look more like home, the river a balm to her shattered senses.
“Will you come with me, Puck?” Her voice barely rose above the trickle of the water under the reeds. “London is not a place I want to go to alone.”
Puck, nestled in the reeds not very far from her, sighed, “I would be in the way—I have nothing more I can say to the boy. I shall stay here—Will has a family he loves, and I don’t think he will look kindly on us if Mordant finds them unprotected.”
What good would it do? If her husband came, they would all die and Puck’s sacrifice would only put that fate off by a heartbeat. But it was plain he would not budge, so Sive didn't argue. Let him choose his own path.
Instead her hand closed on his arm. “Then at least tell me what you wanted to before. What was it that killed our aunt?”
Puck froze, neither pulling away, nor breaking at this rare sign of affection. “He is no longer the Mordant you once loved, fair cousin. He probed too far into the Between, and something relentless found him, and made him its creature.”
“What?”
Puck’s skin shuddered under her hand. “You would not believe me if I told you, no Fey nor mortal would.”
“Then what makes you believe?”
His heavy eyelids drooped as he contemplated something deep within. “Because I took Brigit’s Last Breath, and she knew. She got killed for that knowledge, and it is why Mordant hunts me now.”
Sive slumped against the willow, losing the will to stand. “If Brigit wasn’t powerful enough to beat Mordant, what hope is there for us?”
“I can show you the end, then you may understand.”
Something in her voice made her afraid, but the fact remained at this very moment her foolish brother and his Court might all be dead, and all that had been beautiful and precious of the Fey swallowed up.
Slipping her hand into Puck’s small one, Sive clenched his fingers. “Show me.”
Briefly raising her hand to his lips he grinned, and there was a hint of Brigit’s strength hidden in it.
Puck fished under the loose shirt he wore on childish shoulders and pulled out a dark knotted cord. It took Sive a moment to realize that a strange dark pendant hung from it, and as it described a lazy arc in her cousin’s hand she was uneasy. Her eyes wanted to skid away, almost, as though there was a type of glamour on it. But it looked familiar all the same.
Her cousin’s fingers grasped hers tight. “This will not be easy, Sive, but believe me that it is the only way.”
It was not very long ago that she wouldn’t have trusted Puck to do the simplest task, and yet now she did not hesitate. “I’m ready,” she muttered, though she had no idea for what.
He shut Sive’s eyes with his fingertips, and then the icy cold metal of what could only be the amulet pressed to her forehead. First a chill came, then total numbness; her body slipped loose of its chains so swiftly that she had no time for shock, or to reach for her Art. Puck had become more powerful than she’d realized. Though his voice was very far away, it echoed in the back of her head. He was using words of power she’d never heard before, but they resonated through her being, summoning the past. The only thing left for Sive to do was trust.
The world collapsed into a spiralling pinwheel, but she was not afraid—not afraid at all. How could she be afraid? She was powerful and beloved, and she was Anu.
“Sister?”
Anu opened her eyes and smiled into Brigit the Blessed’s sweet face. “Is it time?”
“You know it is,” her sister grinned. “As if you could not know he is coming.”
Anu’s hand drifted to the contented swell of her belly, and though this would be the last time she would see her love, she was not afraid. They had said what needed saying and had always known this time would come. She brushed Brigit’s copper bright curls from her face. “You do not need to come dearest—the setting of the Seal needs only one mortal and one Fey.”
Those violet eyes met her own. “I would not leave you all alone in the Between when it is over. You might need me.”
It would do no good to pretend that there was no danger. Both Anu and her sister had seen too much death to take any chance lightly. So she nodded before drawing Brigit in for a swift hug. It was the Mother of All’s blessing that they had both survived, and she could not deny that this moment meant something, both as a queen and as a mother-to-be. She locked her sister’s hands around her swollen belly in an unspoken pledge to the future. When her lover had returned to his realm, they would be alone again, sister and sister as it had been before.
“Come then,” Anu opened the Veil with a gentle caress. “You will be our witness.”
The Between was a far quieter and safer place since their victory, and both sisters were grateful for that. The cool light was kind to tired eyes, and the air like thick honey pressed as balm against battered senses. In the Between there was no direction, no sun to mark the passing of time, no air to fill the lungs. It was a place where time had paused, and space did not exist. Some Fey had speculated it was the place where the Mother of All’s thoughts came from, a physical expression of her spirit.
Brigit and Anu’s shared thoughts wandered through melancholy memories, the people they had loved, both human and Fey, the pain they had shared, the terrible face of their enemy, until settling amazed on the fact that they had indeed won.
Anu kept her eyes cast down as they walked, finding the way through the mists to the place where he waited; it would not be so simple to let him go though.
Finally The Nexus welcomed them. It was the place where lines of power meet, not just those of one world, but of three. It bound and held the triumvirate worlds together, much like the great stone circles in the human world, or the sacred oak groves in the Fey.
The thousand colours of a millio
n possibilities rattled against their eyes as the light of Between passed through the great columns of the Nexus. Even now, after so many times in this place, Anu’s breathing slowed and her heart raced. Those columns were as smooth and tall as trees as broad and solid as stones. The purest of the Mother’s creations, they were made of a thousand faceted crystals through which the light from the triumvirate passed, emerging on the other side as millions of bright, coloured lights. Where these touched Anu’s skin, she ached. It was the most sacred place in any realm, and a fitting spot to find him this last time. Her heart leapt in her chest at his tall dark form waiting in the brightness.
Brigit stepped aside, her eyes glistening with empathic tears, but wanting her sister to savour the moment by herself.
Galentus was Anu’s human half, and she’d known it the moment she saw him. He was not exceptionally beautiful even by mortal standards, but he had fire and passion. His strength had held the queen of the Fey up in those moments when hope had been impossible. She had thought him lost in that moment, with the Unmaker defeat—yet the Mother must have watched for him. Anu had never doubted that he would father a child with her and never been unaware that he would return to his world. They’d known it from the start.
He strode across and pulled Anu to him. His kiss seared, his thoughts leapt across to hers. The last time. Neither could bear to speak to the other, and what words would they have used instead? They had said their goodbyes before.
Together, fingers intertwined, they stepped between the pillars where the light was brightest. Both could feel the pulse of the worlds in that spot and almost see the bubble curves of the surrounding triumvirate. Even now, with the Sealing almost complete, the Shattered realm pulsed with malice. Together Galenta and Anu held their hands high locked around the amulet they had cast from Fey and mortal earth. Art of two races belled forth, making the crystal pillars sing, and both could feel the Mother of All was with them. The Nexus rang, and the Sealing was complete. The hand of human and Fey sealed the Unmaker. Anu wept for victory and loss.
Chasing the Bard Page 18