by Laura Powell
Aiden and Scarlet weren’t the only dinner-party guests to revisit the Sanctuary soon afterwards. A few days later, on my way across the lawn, I heard voices in the High Priestess’s garden. I glanced through the wrought-iron gate to see Seb Winter and Cally strolling on the lawn. Cally wasn’t veiled. Her head was lowered modestly, but she was gesturing animatedly as she talked. Seb didn’t seem to be saying much. Even in the sunshine, his pale, regular features had a chilly sort of look, as if carved from marble.
‘How’s King Brutus?’ I asked her after dinner, my curiosity getting the better of me.
‘King –? Oh . . . you mean Seb.’ Her smile was sleek. ‘He’s well. He’s writing a magazine article about the younger generation of Trinovantum Councillors and their relations with the cult. Opis has asked me to help him with our side of the story.’
I thought of Brutus’s square jaw and heavy brow, and how Cally’s face had glowed in the sunshine. But Cally was surely too smart to allow herself to be compromised. She must know what she was doing. So must Opis.
Still, I was curious about Seb and his role within the council. The next day, I even asked Aiden about him, trying a casual, roundabout approach.
‘Your family must be disappointed you’re not joining the Trinovantum.’
‘Not really. They think I’d only do it to cause trouble. Which is tempting, I’ll admit.’
‘Sebastian Winter is quite active on the board. I . . . I heard you went to school together.’
‘So?’
‘I just wondered how well you knew him.’
Aiden raised one eyebrow. ‘I know he’s a thug. A thug and a bore who’s being groomed for greatness by his uncle Lionel. Why d’you ask?’
I glanced over in Leto’s direction. Our chaperone was cackling over the problem pages of Women’s Own.
‘No reason. He’s just been hanging around the Sanctuary a lot.’
‘Hmm.’ He tipped back in his chair. ‘Setting hearts aflutter, no doubt. I’d be careful if I were you. Seb Winter takes no prisoners.’
I regretted raising the subject. Starting any sort of conversation with Aiden only gave him the chance to goad me. I resolved to maintain a dignified silence from here on. Unfortunately, that same afternoon Leto told me to give our ‘volunteer’ a tour of the oracle display room.
‘You ever think about swapping the archive for the oracle?’ he asked, as I showed him in.
‘It’s not up to me. The goddess calls her own.’
Aiden laughed. ‘Yeah, right. I’ve heard that High Priestess elections are a cut-throat business. I doubt you’d be two-faced enough for the job – which is kind of a shame. You even look the part.’
‘I do?’ I was so surprised I spoke before realising it.
‘It’s your eyes. And your hair – all pale and silvery. A good match for a moonshine goddess.’
I didn’t know what to say. I’d never thought of myself like that. As if I wasn’t grey and shadowy but . . . silver.
Aiden’s attention had already moved on to the display cases. ‘Clever – like horoscopes,’ was his verdict. ‘You recycle enough vague phrases enough times, one or other of them will turn out to be relevant to something or somebody, somewhere.’
I pursed my lips. ‘These predictions aren’t vague. They’re specific. Like the oracle about the Gunpowder Plot. It actually said where to find the plotters.’
‘That’ll be because somebody had already given the High Priestess a tip-off. The cult’s always had its spies, and so has the council. I bet old Lionel’s pillow talk is very informative.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘C’mon, surely you can’t be that naive.’ He was amused and – even more infuriating – pitying. ‘Everyone knows he and your Honoured Lady are more than just good friends.’
‘Don’t be disgusting.’
I turned on my heel and went to the door. He put his hand on it to stop me leaving. His hand was like the rest of him – long and lean and brown. I stared at his bitten-down fingernails, my body tensed all over, ready to fight. But when he spoke his voice was gentle.
‘You may be sheltered, Aura, but you’re not immune to the real world. If you’re going to make it in this place, you’re going to need to be pretty hard-nosed. Else people will take advantage.’
I was glad he couldn’t see my face. ‘I don’t take life lessons from smutty gossip.’ I was only just able to keep my voice steady as I pushed past. ‘Don’t pretend you know anything about me or this cult.’
Later, though, I began to wonder. Aiden’s family were Trinovantum insiders. That’s why Opis wanted him, and his money, on-board. He could be as much of an insider as Seb, if he wanted.
Maybe he already was. Maybe all this heretical talk was designed to trip me up, entrap me . . . I remembered the feel of his hand on mine, and went hot and cold all over.
Chapter 5
‘How is young Mr Carlyle doing?’
‘He gets the work done, Honoured Lady. But he doesn’t respect it, or us. He’s too full of himself.’
‘Adolescent posturing, no doubt. Young men can be slow to mature.’
‘And learn manners, apparently.’
‘Aura. You have started to become rather sharp. It’s not an attractive quality.’
‘I’m sorry, Honoured Lady.’
I passed Lionel Winter on my way out of the Residence. He greeted me with his usual distant courtesy, and I was ashamed to think of Aiden’s insinuations.
Later that morning, I went to fetch a book and found Cally in our room. She was standing by the window, which overlooked the tall stone arch at the Sanctuary entrance. Seb and his uncle were talking with a man in military uniform by the gate. Her expression was unguarded and softer – younger – than I’d seen for a while. She didn’t even hear me come and stand behind her until I said her name.
She started. ‘Don’t creep up on me like that!’
I sat on the bed.
‘You know we have to be careful, right? About getting too involved with people outside the cult, I mean. Especially boys.’
‘What are you implying?’
‘Nothing bad.’ I was thinking of Aiden as well as Seb. I didn’t really believe he was trying to trap me and felt a little guilty about complaining about him to Opis. The trouble was I’d never met anyone who had such a knack for getting under my skin. Apart from Cally, of course. ‘Just . . . well, it’s easy to get a bit carried away.’
‘Easy for you, perhaps. My reputation is impeccable and I intend to keep it that way. If you’ve disgraced yourself, then Artemis will be your judge. Opis too, of course, once she finds out.’
I knew how reckless I was being. But, just once, I wanted us to speak openly to each other.
‘Cally . . . have you ever had any doubts that we’re doing the right thing?’
‘Doing what?’
‘Becoming priestesses.’
Cally looked at me, and then towards the window. She bit her lip and got ready to speak. Then something in her tightened.
‘Of course not. Unlike you, I have a calling. I’ve made my own choices the whole way, guided by the goddess.’
I felt a spurt of anger.
‘Oh please. You were dumped here, same as me, because your mother wanted to keep on partying.’
Cally’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘You have no faith. No sense of respect. No reverence. That’s why you’ll be calling me Honoured Lady in a couple of years’ time.’
‘Cally –’
‘It’s Callisto. Priestesses don’t have nicknames.’
The next afternoon, Leto and I had an appointment at the British Library with a paper conservator who was helping carry out repairs on some of the archive material. Neither of us set off with any enthusiasm. ‘I’m too old for this babysitting nonsense,’ Leto harrumphed. ‘Between you and that looter idiot, I get no peace.’
I didn’t like leaving the Sanctuary at the best of times. Today was dark and wet and I had a headache. I was still
feeling depressed about my conversation with Cally – Callisto – and the drive through the pouring rain did nothing to lift my spirits. Even in formerly affluent areas there was graffiti on the walls and piles of uncollected rubbish clogging the pavements. The people hurrying to get out of the rain had a hunched, anxious sort of look. I sat back in the warmth of our chauffeur-driven Daimler and was ashamed. Aiden was right: I’d been too sheltered for too long. It was time for me, and the cult, to go out into the real world and get our hands dirty.
Our business was done by five. No car, however, was waiting to collect us. A woman in the library’s back office let us use her phone to call the Sanctuary. We were told our driver had got stuck behind a protest march in central London, so we should get a taxi and come home the long way round.
Aiden had said he was going on the march. He’d even suggested I should come along too. ‘It would do you good to shout about something,’ he’d said, waggling his eyebrows at me. ‘I can see you’re secretly dying to unleash your inner hooligan.’
I’d ignored him, of course. But shutting him out was getting harder. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about our conversations. I just wished I could tell when he was annoyed with me, and when he was teasing.
The taxi firms we tried said it would be over an hour’s wait. It took forty-five minutes standing in the rain before I managed to hail one. The driver was from Nigeria and thought we were nuns. At least he trusted us for the fare; priestesses don’t carry cash or even mobile phones. Our uniform is supposed to be both passport and protection.
As we rattled through the city, the driver kept up a stream of grumbles. Petrol prices meant that hardly anyone could afford taxis and nobody tipped any more. The country was bust, and run by criminals. He should get out and go home. In the background, the radio warned of more chaos. Today’s march was in response to the death of a political activist in police custody and had sparked ‘disturbances’ throughout the city –
We turned a corner and drove straight into the middle of one.
The dilapidated high street was jammed with cars and buses, some drivers honking and shouting, others abandoning their vehicles and heading for cover. A makeshift barricade had been set up at the end of the road from wedged-together cars. One had been overturned and set alight. A group of young men in hooded tops and red bandannas were standing in front of the barricade, armed with metal pipes. Another group in purple scarves advanced upon them, throwing bricks and stones. Then we heard gunshots.
The taxi driver was swearing and sweating but couldn’t reverse because there were already more cars behind us. A young kid ran up, his face twisted with glee, and smashed a bat on the windscreen of the car.
‘Out,’ Leto wheezed, poking me with bony fingers. ‘Out! Out!’
We scrambled from the backseat and fled into one of the side streets, joining a stream of other refugees. Our taxi driver wasn’t far behind. It was every man for himself as people jostled to get away from the gunfire and the rising clouds of black smoke. I felt old and shaky, as feeble as Leto, my flimsy sandals pattering along on the pavement, my breath wheezing through the veil. Artemis. Goddess. Protect your servants. Hear my prayer –
‘Aura?’ said a disbelieving voice.
‘Aiden!’
‘Are you all right?’
I would never have guessed I could be so glad to see him. ‘I – we were on an errand, but nobody came to collect us, and then – then –’ It was a struggle to get my voice under control. ‘I don’t know where we are, or what we should do –’
‘It’s OK. Let’s get you out of here.’
He took me by one arm and Leto by another. I despised my own weakness, the sickly thumping of my heart that made me hold on to our escort like a frightened child.
Aiden was among a group of people who had come from the march. Some of them had bloody scrapes and torn clothing; the radio report had spoken of clashes with the police. But this was a different kind of conflict. As sirens sounded in the distance, there were screams as well as shots. A gaggle of young men on rusty motorbikes roared past us, heading into the fray.
‘Who are these louts?’ Leto panted.
‘The guys in the red bandannas are the Hatchill Boyz,’ Aiden said. ‘The ones in purple are the Manor Town Crew. They started off as drugs gangs – now they’re self-styled militia.’ He looked round. ‘Look, let’s wait in here. I’ll phone for back-up and we can stay put till things calm down a bit.’
He was pointing at a derelict shopping centre. The metal grille over the main entrance had been wrenched open and broken glass was scattered on the pavement. Inside, it smelled sour and the only light came through the gaps in boarded-up windows. From what I could see, the shops had never been up to much. A plastic palm tree leaned drunkenly at the foot of the escalator.
‘I’ll try the Sanctuary first,’ Aiden said, getting out his phone, ‘and then the Trinovantum Council.’
As he made the call, something moved in the shadows and I saw we weren’t alone. Three or four unshaven men and one woman were lying in sleeping bags on the floor.
‘Artemis’s Angels,’ one of them said, striking a match so he could see us better. ‘Come to give us an oracle.’ He laughed softly. ‘What shall we ask?’
‘Do they serve beer in Hades?’ suggested his friend, through a fit of coughing.
‘This is it,’ said the woman. Her voice was cultured, her face all bones and hollows. ‘Welcome to the underworld.’
More people were squeezing their way through the entrance, seeking shelter. Even though there was plenty of space I felt crowded. The pressure in my head had intensified; my skin prickled and shivered.
‘I don’t . . . I don’t feel very well,’ I whispered.
‘Maybe we should wait upstairs,’ said Aiden, eyeing the new arrivals warily. He drew us back into the darker recesses of the foyer, then up the stairs to the first-floor gallery. I sank to the floor, my back against the door of a smashed-up accessories shop. Orion’s Belts.
‘Too highly strung, that’s her problem,’ Leto sniffed. ‘All the girls are mollycoddled these days. It wasn’t like that when I was a handmaiden.’
I tried to protest, and say that I was fine, really. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t even lift up my head. My body was crawling all over with dread.
Aura.
My head snapped upwards. ‘Who was that?’
‘Who was what?’ Aiden asked.
‘Who called my name?’
Aura.
Though the voice – and I thought it was a woman’s – had spoken softly, its echo made the air shake. It was as if my skull was made of glass, and something had struck it to make it chime.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to calm the racing of my heart, to block out Aiden and Leto’s confused faces, the restless sounds and movements in the darkness below.
But when I opened them again everything had changed.
I’d been here before. It seemed this was somewhere I’d known my whole life. A golden wood, a sky swollen with storm clouds. Someone or something was running ahead, flashing through the trees.
I could hear gasping, agonised breath. Not my own. A howl. Not my own either. Animal? Human –?
My body convulsed. I fell to my knees. The smell in my nostrils was of damp earth and rotting leaves. The trees’ shadows lengthened and the moon rose.
Everything speeded up, sickeningly. The moon waxing and waning, clouds rushing across the sky, stars bursting to meet them. Dogs howling, my own breath sobbing, a high cold laughter. Hooves drummed through me. I was breaking into pieces, fragments of light and leaves.
Aura.
My name again. Said in a different voice.
The woods had gone. Aiden was holding me by the hands, saying my name, staring into my face. His own was frightened but his hands were firm and steady, and warm in mine.
‘Do you see it?’ I panted. ‘Can you hear it?’
He began to speak but I shushed him. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘Li
sten.’
More laughter, high and cold.
‘The Green Knight,’ I told him, though the voice wasn’t my own. It was pure and ringing, and ancient as the night. ‘The Green Knight will run red, for the march is stolen by the Iron Lord. He cries havoc, and the Python’s Child shall preach with a double tongue –’
Darkness fell.
And then I was running, animal breath on my heels, the snap of their teeth on my skin. I was the hunter. I was the hunted. The moon spun in the sky. A man leaped before me, antlers bursting from his skull.
I felt the jaws of the hounds fasten on me. They dragged the voice out of my bone and flesh, the pit of my heart.
Forced out of my twisted, broken mouth –
A howl, like a beast’s –
Like a man in agony, a woman in triumph.
I blacked out. When I came to, blinking and mumbling, the first thing I saw was Leto’s wrinkled face staring into mine.
‘Are you hurt?’ she was asking.
I put my hand up to my mouth. There was blood on it. Otherwise I felt fine. I’ve never been drunk but I thought this might be what it was like. I was floppy and giddy, emptied out.
I looked for Aiden. He was hanging back in the shadows.
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t . . . I don’t know . . .’ His face was strained and white. ‘Those things you said . . . I don’t understand . . .’
The old priestess got to her feet, her joints creaking, and pulled me up after her. ‘The Trinovantum Council are sending a car to take us home. It’ll be here any moment.’
‘Leto . . . Tell me. Was I –? Did I –?’
‘You got overexcited and had a funny turn. That’s all.’ She was busy tweaking my veil. Light flooded the foyer, followed by authoritative voices, the crackle of a radio.
Aiden stared at her. ‘You don’t believe that.’
Leto rounded on him with a savagery that made both of us start. ‘Enough,’ she hissed. ‘Nothing happened. You heard nothing. There’s nothing more to say.’