Whatever I’d expected, this certainly wasn’t it. Sitting up, I stared at the book half-expecting it would turn into something else, or start talking to me, or – I don’t know what! But it stayed mute and still, just within reach. Gingerly, I put out a hand to touch its cover. As I did so, words suddenly appeared on it as though by an unseen hand, words written in a hurried scrawl of spidery silver script: The Book of Thalia, Oracles of the Moon.
So it wasn’t a person I was meant to see, but a book! And oracle meant a kind of fortune-telling, didn’t it? Was that what the moon-sister had meant by ‘speaking with Thalia’? Cautiously, I picked up the book. It was nowhere near as heavy as I’d thought it would be.
I settled it on my lap and, with my heart beating fast, opened it. The first page was blank but as soon as I touched it, words appeared in the same spidery script.
What is the question you wish to ask?
‘What?’ I said, dismayed. ‘I can have only one?’
Yes.
There were so many questions I wanted to ask. So many things I wanted to know – about my mother, my family, what it really meant to be a moon-sister, my happiness, my fate . . . And yet the first thing that came unbidden to my lips was none of these things.
‘Why am I here?’ I whispered.
The silvery script blinked a few times, like a signal-lamp going on and off, then went out and the page was blank again. I turned it. On the next page words winked into sight.
Because this is the time.
I wanted to say, ‘Time for what?’ But I remembered I could only ask one question. I thought a moment, and said, ‘I don’t understand.’
As I’d hoped, more words appeared.
You are the last. The last child of the blood. The last, come at last.
I thought of what the old man in Smutny had told me. And of what the dying moon-sister had said: ‘There are so few of us left, little sister, and you the only young one I have met in such a long time.’
‘That’s why the forest lands are dying,’ I said, aloud. ‘Why they say there is a curse on this land – because the moon-sisters are dying out. And worse still, the forest people have forgotten the moon-sisters even existed, so they don’t even know why it’s happening.’
Yes, said the book, and I could almost hear the sad sigh in the simple word.
‘But what can I . . .’ I began, then remembering the protocol, went on, hastily, ‘I have heard a curse can be broken, if the right way is found.’
I turned the page. Instead of a blank page, there was a shimmering surface as clear as a pool of pure water. And in it I saw not my face, but a scene reflected as if in a mirror. I looked into a huge, grand room of golden pillars and marble floors and crystal chandeliers. It was crowded with people in fine clothes, but I could see above the heads of the crowd to a raised platform at one end, with three thrones on it: a big one in the middle, and a smaller one on either side. There was a person sitting on each of the thrones and I recognised them at once to be the Emperor, the Empress and Crown Prince Leopold.
‘I don’t see why you are showing me this,’ I mumbled.
Something appeared on the shimmering surface like a patch of foggy breath on a mirror, and then a single word appeared, written in a shaky hand: Watch.
I did as I was told and looked at the imperial family’s faces. I thought that the Emperor looked old and weary, and the Empress was still beautiful, though her eyes were a little sad. But Leopold looked just the same as when I’d first seen him dancing in his sky-blue uniform at the ball: dashing, handsome and entirely, arrogantly sure of himself. I watched as courtiers, ambassadors, advisers and even a Mancer or two swirled around the imperial family, bowing and fawning over them. At one point, I caught a glimpse of someone else I recognised: Count Otto, talking with some other courtiers. With a pang, I saw that he looked both drawn and anxious. Perhaps I’d been too cynical in assuming all fathers were like mine, perhaps he really was missing Max and didn’t believe the lies they’d told him.
‘I want to . . .’ I began, and then stopped. The hair prickled coldly on my neck, for I had suddenly seen someone else I knew. Someone I knew very well indeed. For that someone was myself . . . yet changed.
I hadn’t seen my mirror-self because I – she – it? – had been hidden by a pillar. Now my mirror-twin had stepped out of hiding and revealed herself in a magnificent dress of silver and white brocade. On her glossy head was a silver tiara that shone like the new moon and in her hand she carried a silver fan. It wasn’t those things that I found so alien, so changed, but the fact that she had a look of serene calm such as I had never worn – a look of perfect understanding, as if she knew precisely the purpose of her existence. Suddenly, as if I was there in her mind, I knew. I knew what deadly weapon the silver fan concealed, in its hollow stem. I knew what mission she was on – a mission of death. She had come to kill the Prince!
The scene vanished and words appeared. Sharp, hard words that bore into my mind.
The shadow will only be lifted if the last daughter of Serafina spills the blood of the last son of Karl.
A picture then appeared. Not a scene, but an old portrait of a woman. Though she was not in the first flush of youth, she was still beautiful, with large, dark eyes and lips slightly open in an enigmatic smile. Her raven hair had a strange silver streak in it. Her dress was of the fashion of a hundred years ago, on top of which she wore a pearl-grey cloak with a hood.
Karl had this painted as a gift, said the book. A gift for his beloved Serafina before he betrayed her by delivering her to her enemies.
So this was what it was all about! Revenge for Serafina the moon-sister whose rebellion against Karl the Great a century ago had brought disaster to the moon-sisters and put all magic in the hands of the Mancers. Instinctively, I’d never believed that the story of Serafina, the Grey Widow, was quite as imperial propaganda had told us. But was the rest of it, too, a lie? ‘I want to know if what they say is true – if she did mount a rebellion against him.’
Yes, said the book, as the page turned. That part is true. But our people were suffering. She did what she thought was right.
Big deal, I thought. How could she have possibly expected that the Emperor would take it well? She must have known her ill-judged revolt was likely to bring disaster not just on herself but on the thousands of others she’d rallied to her standard. She’d brought a dreadful punishment not just on herself but on all her people. Why would I want to avenge someone like that? Even more, why would I want to avenge someone I’d never met, someone from long ago?
Yes, it was true that ever since her defeat the empire had maintained the cruel laws that made my kind fugitives and outcasts; and yes, I had no love whatsoever for the imperial family, but I did not want to kill any of them, not even creepy, arrogant Leopold. I was not some nemesis, nor some ruthless figure of ancient justice. I was just an ordinary girl.
I said, sharply, ‘This has nothing to do with me. I am not Serafina’s daughter, I am Jana’s. And my mother, though a moon-sister, did not carry old hatreds. Never. She was beautiful, loving and kind. All she ever wanted was my happiness.’ I turned the page. ‘No, I will not do it.’
It is your destiny, came the reply.
‘I don’t believe in destiny,’ I said harshly.
Only you can save them and there is so little time.
‘I’m sorry,’ I snapped. ‘I’m sorry for all the people of the forest, but they are strangers to me and I to them and . . .’
I broke off, for a scene had suddenly flickered into view on the page. It was of a small room. The curtains were drawn, the room dark, but I could just about make out overturned chairs and a table, and what looked like a bundle of rags on the floor. Then my breath caught in my throat for the door opened to reveal Prince Leopold. Carrying a lamp, he headed straight for the bundle of rags. And as the l
ight from his lamp shone on the scene I saw that it wasn’t a bundle of rags he was standing over but someone – Max! – lying dead or dying on the floor.
Max’s face was still and grey as waxwork. There was blood coming out of his mouth and his eyes were fixed and glassy. My heart shrank and withered at the sight and a dreadful, dreadful cold invaded every cell in my body.
And then Leopold turned and looked straight at me, smiling the most horrible smile I had ever seen. I could not look away. I saw his lips move and realised that, of course, he wasn’t looking at me but at someone else coming into the room.
I could only see the newcomer from behind as he approached the Prince. Wrapped in a long overcoat, he wore a hat that shadowed his face and carried himself in a way that was oddly familiar. The shadows in the corner of the room moved and a figure in a black cloak emerged. As it approached the other two men, I knew, with a stunning shock, just why I had that odd sense of familiarity. The two cloaked figures were the men I’d seen secretly meeting in the cemetery in Ashberg.
Suddenly, the scene vanished only to be replaced by a string of words piling hectically onto the page.
He is in terrible danger. Unless you do what you must, he will most surely die. His enemies will never rest till he is dead, for only then can they feel truly safe.
I couldn’t bear it. Forgetting the rules, I screamed, ‘Why, why does Leopold hate Max so? What secret does he know that is so dangerous? And those other men – his accomplices – who are they? How have they made the Emperor believe Max is a traitor?’
The page went blank and the book began to close.
I tried to calm myself and stammered, ‘Please, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I will do it. Please help me.’
The book flew open again. The last reserves of power in this place will be given for your task. But if that is so then you must promise not to falter, no matter what happens, no matter what you learn. You must not tell anyone, or he will die, there is nothing more certain.
‘I promise,’ I said, hastily. ‘But I do not know how I can get into the palace to –’
The power of Dremda will help you, but only to a point – you will have to use only your wits to get into the palace itself.
Well, thanks very much, I thought, sourly. ‘Please tell me what I must do next.’
Break a twig from the hazel tree closest to the water and put it in your pocket. Drink one scoop of water from the pool. Take Thalia and climb to the top of the black rocks and tap your foot three times.
I was about to ask why but thought better of it. Instead, I put the book down and went to the hazel tree closest to the water – a rather twisted and withered-looking thing – broke off a twig, and put it in my pocket. Then I knelt down beside the pool and, grimacing, scooped up some muddy water and drank it, trying not to gag as I felt slimy things go down my throat. I picked up The Book of Thalia – now closed – put it under my arm and began to climb up the black rocks. It was quite a scramble, especially as I was handicapped by the book, but I managed it and reached the top quickly enough.
I took a deep breath. Then I tapped my foot once, twice, three times. At once my ears filled with a horrific shrieking till my head felt as though it might explode. The book flew out of my hands. The rocks collapsed under me as if made of sand and I fell headlong into complete darkness.
I hurtled blindly through the darkness like a rag doll, with the shrieking in my ears accompanied by a low, rushing rumble like distant thunder. I was beyond fear, beyond questions, beyond even my own body – plunged into a nether world of violent sensation that seemed endless.
And then, quite suddenly, the shrieking stopped, though the rumble continued. Light punched painfully under my eyelids, and I opened my eyes. For a moment my brain could not make sense of what my eyes were seeing. I was lying on my back in a long, narrow space, a red light flashing. And under me was that rumble, that rushing . . .
In the next moment I knew I was moving, or rather the place I was in was moving, and in a heartbeat I knew where I was.
I was lying in a train corridor. I sat up, holding my aching head. The train was rushing through the countryside. It was just on dawn, the red light of morning flashing in and out of the windows. Beyond that, I had no idea.
‘What do you think you are doing?’
Startled, I looked up at the owner of the stern voice. A maroon uniform with gold buttons. A jowly face under a peaked cap. A train attendant.
Trying to gather my scattered wits, I said, hastily, ‘I . . . was, er, on my way to . . . to the, er, washroom and I fell over. Bumped my head.’
‘You should stay in your seat when the train’s in a long tunnel. It’s safer that way,’ said the man, sharply.
A tunnel! That explained the darkness and the shrieking, which must have been the whistle of the train as it raced through the tunnel.
Scrambling to my feet, I said, humbly, ‘I’ll make sure to keep that in mind next time. Um, can you please tell me how far it is to our destination?’
‘Faustina is about an hour away, sonny,’ he said, raising an eyebrow.
He’d called me sonny, I thought, confused for an instant before I remembered I was still wearing boy’s clothes.
I gave a sickly grin. ‘Oh, right. Thank you, sir. I’ll be off to the washroom, then.’
I turned and started down the corridor, but he called out, sharply, ‘Hey, washroom’s the other way. The way you’re headed, you’ll end up in first class, and if you’ve got a first-class ticket, sonny, I’ll eat my hat in mustard sauce.’
Your silly hat’s quite safe from the mustard sauce, I felt like saying, but ducked my head and scuttled off as fast as I could in the direction he’d indicated.
Reaching the washroom, which was fortunately vacant, I went in and locked the door. I sat on the lavatory lid for a moment, breathing deeply. I splashed my face with water from the washstand and dried myself with a thin towel. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was pale, my eyes were a little bloodshot and my head ached. But my memory and reasoning were intact.
I remembered I’d been on the rocks at Dremda, not long before dawn, before I had been brutally thrust through space and time. Now I was on a train, racing through the dawn to the imperial capital – to Faustina. I did not know for sure if this was the same day I’d left Dremda, but I thought it most likely was. What kind of massive power had there still been at Dremda to do this? Thalia had said it was the last reserve of power. If that was so, I could only imagine what that power must have once been long ago, when the moon-sisters were as important a magical order as the Mancers! It was a thought both awe-inspiring and sad – for now that power was reduced to, well, to me, in a train heading to Faustina.
Me, the reluctant assassin. The thought should have been frightening and bitter, but somehow it was not. Something had changed in me between Dremda and here. Maybe it was the water I’d drunk at the moon-sisters’ pool. Maybe it was the hazel twig in my pocket. But most likely it was simply the certain knowledge, in the deepest part of me, that this was the only way Max would be safe from Leopold. While the Prince lived, Max would be in danger – and our friends, too. Only I could save them. It was simply as stark as that and I’d accepted that this was my fate. It didn’t matter to me that Thalia’s deepest aim in revealing this to me must have been to save the forest lands, and not just Max and my friends. What mattered was my aim. And it would be true – straight at the black heart of the wicked prince.
What would happen to me afterwards, I did not know. I hoped I would be able to get away, hoped that there might somehow be a life together for Max and me, somewhere. Yet I knew the likely outcome was far darker.
I did not want to think about it, not now, for if I did, fear and sadness would grow in me and I couldn’t allow it. I could not even think too much about the one I loved, could not allow myself to imagine what he migh
t be thinking right now, having woken up and found my note. Could not allow myself to dwell on the fact that he might imagine I’d had cold feet about him, had betrayed him, did not want to help him. Could not think of the others, either, and what they might feel. The only thing I had to remember were those terrible scenes that would come true if I did not act. I had to steel myself and become a warrior. I remembered my mirror-twin and the expression on her face, that strange calm. I did not feel like that, not yet, not by a long way. I did not know how long it would take; but it would. It must.
I felt in my pocket for the hazel twig. It had been a withered stick when I’d first broken it off, but it had become suppler, greener, as if the sap of life was running through it again. An image came unbidden into my mind then, of the first magic hazel twig I’d held back home in Ashberg, and tears suddenly came to my eyes. Despite all my resolve, my memory jumped to that moment on Andel’s barge when, folded in Max’s arms, I had understood what the hazel-tree magic had brought me: an end to loneliness, the beginning of love, and the sharing of two fates – Max’s and mine.
That had been my mother’s magic, because all she had wanted was my happiness after years of pain. But the intertwining of my fate and Max’s had led to the second hazel twig, whose magic was far sterner and was not of happiness, but of sacrifice. I was sure it was not the result my mother had intended; but it had turned out as such. And so it had to be.
Eavesdropping on people’s conversations in the corridors, I soon learned that not only was it the same day I’d left Dremda, but that the train I was on was the overnight express from Ashberg. I spent the rest of the journey skulking between compartments and the washroom, just in the unlikely and unfortunate case there’d be someone on the train who might know my family and recognise me. It seemed unlikely given the fact I looked like a ragamuffin, but I could not take any chances.
Nothing happened and when the train, draped in a thick scarf of steam, finally pulled in at Faustina Central Station, I was one of the first to jump off and saunter away through the bustling crowds.
Moonlight and Ashes Page 18