by Sarah Rayne
Near to the fire, Rumour was getting out food. She had even brought up the Lady’s silver table utensils and squares of white linen for napkins. Through the pain that still gnawed, Andrew found himself smiling as she bent over the small task, because it was so very like her to remember knives and forks and linen, and to choose the best.
Without turning round, Rumour said, ‘There is no reason for us to live in an uncivilised fashion, Andrew.’
‘Of course not.’ Andrew accepted the plate she handed to him, and reached for a sharp knife to slice the bread for them. Rumour sat facing him, the warm glow from the wine in her own chalice casting a deep rich shadow over her face.
She said, in a level voice, ‘I intend to take the Lady down to the dungeons presently, and pronounce the spell that will cause her to bricked up for ever.’ She looked at him, not precisely asking for his view on this, not quite asking for his permission, but certainly waiting for his reactions.
Andrew said, ‘And then? Afterwards?’
Rumour met his eyes straightly. ‘She will be left for ever in the dark,’ she said. ‘There will be no light, no sound, no companionship for her ever again.’ She looked at him very directly, and her expression said that she did not care. ‘It is a fitting punishment,’ she said, aloud, but even to her own ears there was a defiance in her tone which should not have been necessary. Am I convinced that what I intend is right? thought Rumour. I suppose I cannot be, or I would have done it hours ago while Andrew slept. She touched, in her mind, the spells that could be used; simple Enchantments of Labour and Construction — what were called Artisan Enchantments — that would do the work and that would not be in the least quenched by the darkness of Almhuin.
Andrew’s eyes were thoughtful, and Rumour waited. At length he set down his wine and, leaning forward, took her hand. ‘My dear love,’ he said, ‘you cannot do it.’
‘Yes, I can do it.’ Rumour put up her chin challengingly. ‘No. The creature cannot be left to die like that.’
‘She is unutterably evil.’ But Rumour had known for several hours that she could not leave the Crimson Lady to die.
‘Revenge belongs not to us,’ said Andrew.
‘More of your Leader’s tenets?’ The defiance was still there, but Rumour could hear that it rang false.
Andrew said gently, ‘There may come a time when even this one will repent of her evil. If that should happen, then she should be allowed to —’
‘Pay her debts? Make reparation? Andrew, this is the Crimson Lady!’ And already she has helped to mutilate you …
If Andrew caught the thought, he gave no indication. He had picked up his wine chalice again, and was sipping it slowly, his eyes shadowed and unreadable. He said, very gently, ‘It is not permissible that any creature should take the life of another.’
‘You killed Coelacanth.’
‘And you killed Searbhan. And each time it was in defence of my life and yours!’
‘It is permissible to kill in self-defence, but not mete out just punishment? I do not understand these teachings you follow!’ said Rumour in angry frustration. ‘I do not understand your rules!’
‘I do not understand them either,’ said Andrew quietly.
‘Do you ever question?’
‘Constantly.’ His hand tightened about her. ‘I did not understand the beliefs of your people,’ he said.
‘And yet you paid them a surface, more than a surface courtesy,’ said Rumour, staring at him.
‘Of course. I think that my way is right,’ said Andrew. ‘I believe it is. But I do not know that it is, not with absolute certainty.’ He looked at her, his eyes suddenly filled with self-doubt. ‘For all my deep convictions, I cannot help occasionally wondering —’
‘Whether the other ways, the old ways, the ways of the ancient Ireland might be the true ones after all?’ whispered Rumour.
‘Yes. It is difficult for me to explain, but they seem to share the same roots and the same bases. There are so many parallels. You have the Samildanach —’
‘The Man of Each and Every Art who will come humbly and quietly, but who will fling wide the doors that will let light into the Dark Ireland.’ Rumour smiled softly. ‘I have always loved that belief,’ she said. ‘I have always found such comfort in the thought that perhaps one day the Dark Realm will be for ever vanquished.’
‘We have a similar belief,’ said Andrew, watching her. ‘But we believe that He has already entered the world.’
‘Was it … humbly and quietly?’
‘Yes.’ He looked at her. ‘Yes, it was very humbly and very modestly. During His life, He endured immense suffering. But He was a healer of extraordinary powers, and also he was a very remarkable …’ He paused. ‘I think you would say “orator”,’ he said, and Rumour nodded, for the concept of one who could exercise charisma over a listening throng was not unknown to her.
She said, thoughtfully, ‘They say that when Chaos calls his people to gather together in the great open square outside his Castle, and addresses them standing in Murder’s Chariot, such are his powers of oration, that the people would follow him into Hell if he asked.’
Andrew, remembering Chaos’s dark, strong beauty, understood this at once. He grinned suddenly, and said, ‘Quite aside from the many similarities, your people’s beliefs are deeply interesting.’
‘The Samildanach?’
‘Yes.’ Andrew reached for her hand. ‘We may hold differing beliefs,’ he said. ‘And it is true that I have always questioned some of my religion’s ways. But I know without having to question it that you must not leave the Beithioch to die. If you had slain her in a fight, or if I had, that would have been —’
‘Permissible?’
‘Acceptable,’ said Andrew.
A small detached part of Rumour’s mind noted that he had said: you must not leave her to die, and not: you must not punish her. She said, ‘You cannot stop me.’
‘I can.’
They stared at one another. Rumour thought, with sudden terror: is this a measure of his love for me? That the instant I conflict with his strange beliefs, he chooses those beliefs and not me? She put the thought from her, for she would not be so small-minded as to ask or expect him to choose her above something that mattered to him so deeply. But all the same, she felt a sudden deep pain.
At length, she said, ‘If the creature is not to die, she must have a Keeper. Someone must be here to pass food and water to her. Someone who will not allow her to escape.’
‘Yes.’
‘But that is not possible,’ said Rumour, knowing already that it was very possible, that it was pre-ordained and that the decision had already been made.
Andrew said, ‘I will do it.’
*
He was horrified and afraid, but he knew there was no other way. For I, also, must serve my penance, he might have said. I also must pay a debt for the sweet stolen nights and the golden forbidden slaking of my desires.
I also must make my mea culpa to my Lord, and sit out the time of my penance.
A soft voice inside his mind said: and share your penance with the Beithioch, the BeastWoman inside the fearsome Almhuin Castle? Roam these halls and dwell at the heart of this terrible Fortress, where evil still stalks the darkness?
Yes.
And what of Rumour? said the insidious voice. What of the strange exotic creature who has already risked so much for you, and who has been unfailingly courageous, and unflaggingly high-spirited?
Already I have wounded her, he thought. By making the decision to remain here, to guard the evil creature of this Castle, I am deliberately putting her from me. A tiny spiral of agony threaded through his mind. But it could not have been otherwise! he thought. I cannot be other than I am. Against his will, the words of his Teacher and Leader, the gentle Nazarene carpenter, echoed across his mind’s surface … I am what I am …
Aloud he said, ‘There is the question of my lameness.’ And was pleased that he had been able to refer to it quite n
ormally and quite lightly. Lameness. Yes. It was an acceptable word. He touched the stout ash branch that Rumour had found to assist him in walking and that stood nearby. ‘I would slow you down,’ said Andrew, watching her, seeing how the firelight fell across her face, lighting the planes. Shall I ever forget her? Do I ever want to forget her? But he said, ‘You must go on to Chaos’s
Castle of Infinity, as we planned. There will surely be horses in the stables — it would be a swift enough journey if you could ride.’ He paused and then went on, in a different, anguished voice. ‘I think my heart will be torn from me when you do,’ he said simply, and felt at once that the warmth flooded her body again, and understood that a deep, lonely coldness had been encasing her.
She said, ‘But I have to go?’ And at once, ‘Yes, of course I have to. There is still Theodora.’ She looked at him. ‘I vowed I would find Theodora for Nechtan,’ she said. ‘I cannot go back on that. And Nechtan would have said —’ she paused, and a sudden smile curved her lips — ‘Nechtan would have wanted it,’ said Rumour softly. ‘He would have said the danger ought not to count.’
‘It ought not.’ Andrew was remembering the small, slight child who had turned to him with such trust but who had glared at Chaos, and who had sought in her mind for some way to defeat him. Yes, he could not let Theodora down. ‘I would be an encumbrance,’ he said. ‘We both know it. Alone, you will do better. There will be danger, but you will be less vulnerable without me.’
He eyed her steadily and, after a moment, Rumour said softly, ‘Very well. Will you come with me now to imprison the creature below?’
‘Yes. All right.’ Andrew reached for the ash branch. He hesitated for a moment, and Rumour turned in the doorway.
Andrew said, ‘Bring the bread and wine.’
*
The Enchantment of Silver Bars had held strongly and well. ‘Although I did not expect it to do otherwise,’ said Rumour.
‘You can summon the — the power again?’ asked Andrew as she raised her hands in the gesture he had come to know.
‘The Lady is caged,’ said Rumour. ‘And therefore I am able to touch a little of the power again.’ She looked at him. ‘The door to the light is still ajar.’
She murmured a brief incantation, and at once, silver reins materialised in her hands and slid across the room, to loop about the bars of the cage. Rumour moved slowly towards the door, drawing the silken reins with her, and the silver-barred cage moved with her, gently and easily. At once, the Lady let out a terrible animal howl and threw herself against the bars, reaching between them with her blood-stained hands, clawing at her captors. Andrew thought: she knows what we are about to do. She is struggling to get free. And then, with the framing of the thought, came another: but she is not using necromancy to do so … She cannot match her power against Rumour’s. He knew a brief spurt of pride in Rumour, who could outclass this creature who had wielded such power.
Rumour paid the Lady no attention, but her face was white, and her lips were set in a rather grim line. Andrew thought: it is hurting her to do this. She hates the Crimson Lady, and she will carry out the sentence she has decided on. But is still causing her anguish.
Rumour was moving carefully out into the darkened halls, the silver skeins shimmering behind her, sprinkling their quicksilver light across the floor. Andrew followed, awkwardly and painfully, but finding that the ash stick was surprisingly strong. The rather thin healing spells that Rumour had managed to summon had dispelled much of the pain, but even so, he was trembling and soaked in sweat as they reached the narrow walled stair leading down to the dungeons. Rumour had not looked back, and Andrew could feel that her entire mind, her whole will was concentrating on drawing the cage with its snarling, lashing victim down the narrow tunnels. He stayed where he was, regaining his strength, trying to push back the pain that was sending spears of agony through his leg.
He had thought they would have to fumble their way through the dark, for Rumour’s hands were both occupied with the silver cords, and Andrew’s right hand leaned heavily on the stick, while his left was occupied with the flagon of wine and the bread which they had packed into a small drawstring bag. Neither of them had been able to carry any kind of light. There had been a moment when Andrew had thought: am I really doing this? Is it a madman’s whim? But he knew it was not; he knew he must bring his own beliefs and his own strengths to bear against the creeping evil of Almhuin Castle.
The silken skeins and the glinting bars of the cage shed a soft radiance of their own as they moved through the shadows. Andrew thought that Rumour pronounced a spell of some kind, and that the shadows had flinched back from it, but he could not be sure.
He found himself trying to feel pity for the caged and doomed Lady of Almhuin. But I have only hatred, he thought, and wondered if this would fade with the passing of time. Would he come to feel compassion for his malevolent prisoner? I should try to do so, he thought, and then, in sudden fear: but how long shall I be here? How long is the term of the Lady’s imprisonment to be?
They had reached the small, dark cell, and Rumour drew on the silver cords again, pulling them with her hands, drawing the cage through the narrow, low door carefully, until it stood at the centre of the tiny stone room. Andrew, watching from the passage, felt a terrible dark coldness descend about him. How did it feel to be caged like this, to know that in a few minutes you would be sealed away from the world, bricked up for the rest of your life, with no human companionship, no light, no sound … Only the twice-or thrice-daily ritual of bread and water being pushed through a tiny hatch. Shall I weaken? he wondered. In time, shall I find myself bringing better food, perhaps even wine? Shall I finally enter into discourse with the creature?
For you, also, will be friendless, surrounded by silence, perpetually alone, Human Monk …
He closed his mind at once, understanding that the Lady was reaching for his inmost thoughts, that she was snaking her dark evil seductions about his consciousness, as she had done in the fearsome slaughterhouses. I dare not let that happen! he thought. I must perform this dreadful task boldly and unthinkingly. But even as the thought formed, his mind was racing ahead, to the days and months and years when all there would be for him would be the wearisome journey here to send in food and water, perhaps a blanket if it was cold. Would he find himself falling prey to pity for her at those times?
And you may be glad of another living creature to talk with, Human Monk, for Almhuin is a cold and lonely place, and there will be none of your kind here …
I shall walk the land and try to grow things, thought Andrew with silent determination. I shall find solace in mending and renewing. He remembered the satisfaction he had felt in the monks’ house when a wall had had to be rebuilt, or a roof mended. And there would be prayer … The observance of the rituals of his house. He thought that, although he no longer had any notion of time, he could draw up a chart, what the monks had called a calendar, with the feast-days marked. Yes. Perhaps he could write a little, telling the story once again of the great Leader whose beliefs he followed, perhaps even telling a little of the story of his brotherhood. The idea fired him; he remembered how his Order had contained several monks gifted in the making of illuminated manuscripts, lovely painted books chronicling the events of the day and the miracles of Christ.
I could do that, thought Andrew, fixing his mind on the idea in an endeavour to shut out the terrible swirling evil of the Castle. I could write the story of this battle, perhaps. There would be more than enough to occupy him. And one day this terrible task will somehow be ended, and I shall be on the other side of it. I shall have returned to the world and I shall have found and reclaimed the Black Monk.
He took no part in the brief ritual which Rumour performed, although he listened attentively to the short incantation — ‘The Spell of Labour,’ said Rumour. He thought it interesting, as he thought all other religious rituals interesting, and for the first time he found himself able to differentiate between some of sylla
bles, recognising that they were rather terse and abrupt, comparing them to the gentle, light-filled chant that Rumour had used to create the silken reins.
The bricks and the undressed stones were obedient to Rumour’s chanting; they had tumbled forward, and begun to lay themselves in a neat serried row, one atop another, so that a fourth wall to the tiny dank cell was forming. Soon she will know nothing but the impenetrable blackness of that cell, thought Andrew. Soon she will have no sound, no sense of closeness to the world … She will never see or hear anything ever again, only the faint rasp of the hatch opening as food is pushed through to her. In time she will become blind and deaf, and the only one of her senses left to her will be that of smell, and with that she will eternally smell the dank sourness of the tomb and of her own bodily excretions …
He thought: and in her own world she is a Lady of a Royal House! and felt fear close about him once more, for he could not and he dared not show any shred of pity for the creature.
As Rumour’s voice rose and fell in the chant that was so eerily familiar, Andrew found his voice murmuring, almost of its own volition, the joyous words of the Te Deum.
‘We praise thee, O God … To thee all Angels cry aloud … the Heavens and all the Powers therein … Cherubim and Seraphim cry …’
His voice mingled with Rumour’s, both seeming to touch the soft, pure notes of praise and entreaty and worship together. But beneath the ordered layers of prayer, Andrew thought: am I lending my strengths to paganism? Is paganism buttressing Christianity? Or is this the common ground? The meeting of the two worlds, Christianity blending with paganism at last …
The Lady of Almhuin was crouching behind the silver bars of the cage, black hatred burning in her terrible eyes, and Rumour stepped back, and chanted the ancient spell that invoked the Amaranth Seals. As they began to form, great purple and silver crests with licking curlicues of flame, Andrew moved forward, unhooking the small ebony wood crucifix from about his waist. Without pausing in her own incantation, Rumour handed him the bread and wine.