Mythangelus

by Constantine, Storm

  Jadrin stood up. ‘No!’ he said, flinging out his arm. ‘I will not! You must ask something else of me!’

  ‘You gave your word!’ shrieked the spirit angrily. Jadrin denied this vigorously.

  ‘I was in no position to make such a bargain. Ashalan is not an evil man. I will not let you harm him. Tell me, what else do you want in payment?’

  ‘Nothing!’ the spirit spat petulantly. ‘I will taunt you and haunt you until you do as I ask!’

  ‘Then you will have to taunt me forever, for I never shall!’

  ‘Hah!’ the spirit snarled. ‘That is where you are wrong, little boy, little, foolish boy. You have three days; that is all. At the end of that time, I am quite within my rights to force myself into your helpless, mortal brain and destroy you and the king together! We made an agreement, Jadrin, there is no going back now. You are bound by cosmic law!’

  ‘And surely cosmic law is no friend of evil!’

  The spirit pulsed with angry light. ‘You are a child. You know nothing of evil.’

  ‘Perhaps not much, but enough to know it when I see it. I am young, creature, I know that, but don’t underestimate me. I know for a fact that it is always possible to wriggle out of situations like this, and I shall find the way, you can be sure of that.’

  The spirit laughed. ‘Brave words for a catamite, Jadrin! But I concede that you are right. You cast aspersions upon my character, but I shall prove my honesty and integrity by saving you the trouble. As you have guessed, there is a way to release yourself from our bargain and it is this. If, within three days, you can learn who and what I was on this earth, you can consider yourself free of our agreement. However, I think it extremely unlikely that you’ll be able to do so. In my opinion, you are far too stupid!’ It laughed again, a cruel and spiteful sound. ‘See you in three days, my little friend!’

  In a whirl of light, it disappeared, leaving only a trace of lingering laughter, an unpleasant smell and a cold spot in the room.

  Jadrin sat down again, his heart thumping madly. He stared at himself in the mirror intently for some moments before coming to a decision. With tremorless hand, he picked up the brush once more and ran its bristles through his hair. By the time he rose and passed softly into the next room, the cold spot had gone completely.

  In the morning, Jadrin awoke in Ashalan’s arms, his body trembling to the echo of a hundred delightful pangs. The caress of mouth, the nip of teeth, the probings of tongue and fingers, and, above all, the invasion of spirit and body that is the most magical of all human activities if they could but know it. Jadrin knew. He said, ‘Ashalan, I would like to visit my family,’ and the king replied,

  ‘Whatever you wish. I shall give you a white stallion to ride home upon, a retinue of six liveried guards, gifts for your kinfolk. Promise only that you will return to me.’

  ‘Within three days, I promise.’ Jadrin answered.

  Once Jadrin could see the sparkle of the river in the distance, which signalled the proximity of his old home, he experienced a small, sad thrill. If only he could live here forever beside the tumbling water with the man he loved. That would be a life, showing Ashalan the mysteries of this beautiful land, benevolent mysteries that he felt the king had never experienced. However, Jadrin knew, that in becoming Ashalan’s lover he had certainly bid farewell to his old life forever. Ashalan would probably never see the mill-house.

  Amberina was waiting for her brother upon the road, half a mile from the house. ‘I knew you were coming,’ she said.

  Jadrin dismounted and walked beside her, leading his horse.

  ‘You have such fine clothes now,’ Amberina said.

  ‘Yes. I have brought you a gown of crimson linen sashed with gold rope.’

  ‘Thank you, Jadrin! Are these men your servants?’ Amberina gestured towards the six liveried riders following behind them at a respectful distance.

  ‘Indeed they are. And do you see the girl riding behind them on the grey pony? She is Psydre, the daughter of a witch from a far land. She was bored of life at court, so I have brought her to be your companion.’

  ‘Thank you, my brother.’

  ‘She carries a small chest of jewels to adorn your throat and wrists.’

  ‘You are too generous Jadrin.’

  Amberina narrowed her eyes and looked at him slyly. ‘If only you had not had to leave such a large part of yourself in the city!’

  Jadrin glanced at her sharply, but her eyes were twinkling with merriment. ‘I am glad to see you so happy,’ she said.

  ‘My happiness is not yet complete,’ Jadrin replied. ‘I think I may need your help, Amberina.’

  ‘Ah,’ said she.

  Jadrin had brought gifts for all the household. Excitedly, they gathered around him in the large, warm kitchen of the mill, crying out in pleasure as the rich colours of silks and jewels spilled out over the table. Psydre, a gregarious creature, danced around the room, flinging the shining bolts of cloth around the servants’ shoulders. Within minutes, they had taken her to their hearts.

  Jadrin beckoned his father aside. ‘This is for you,’ he said, and took from his jacket a jewelled, white-gold pin, which had been found deep beneath the ground and was far more valuable than all the rest put together.

  Skimblaze looked at it thoughtfully as it lay in his son’s outstretched palm. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I cannot take it, Jadrin. I virtually sold you, my only son and the first-born of she whom I loved above all things, to pay off the miserable debts of my weakness! You owe me nothing but scorn.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Jadrin replied smoothly. ‘I owe you everything, father.’

  Skimblaze smiled ruefully, but let Jadrin pin the jewel onto his jacket. ‘And did you spin the gold?’ he asked.

  ‘In a fashion.’

  ‘Oh, my son!’ Skimblaze, unaware of all that had happened to Jadrin in Ashbrilim, drew him close, but one thing he was sure of, in his heart; the boy he held belonged now, wholly, to another man.

  In the evening, Jadrin and Amberina stole away from the impromptu party that was raging in the house in celebration of Jadrin’s visit. Neighbours had materialised from miles away to congratulate Jadrin on his good fortune. Now, brother and sister walked hand in hand down to the riverside, where the long shadows fished the water’s surface and balls of flimsy flies hung, dancing, in the dusk. ‘You seem taller,’ Amberina mused aloud.

  Jadrin did not answer. He lifted the velvet bag from around his neck and tipped out the quartz onto his palm.

  ‘Ah yes,’ Amberina said, ‘I still have mine. Was it useful?’

  Jadrin told her just how useful it had been, and also the situation he had got himself into because of it. ‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘if I’d refused the spirit’s offer, Ashalan would have come to love me even though I couldn’t spin straw into gold.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’ Amberina asked drily, in a voice far wiser than her years. Jadrin shrugged. He did not really know.

  ‘Now, I have to learn the spirit’s name, its identity, but how?’

  ‘Perhaps in the forest...’ Amberina gestured across the lazy water. Jadrin wrinkled his nose.

  ‘That is why I have come home, I suppose.’

  ‘There is a place in the forest,’ Amberina said, ‘where the spirits gather, they who will not leave this earth or who are held here by the cruelty of their souls and their love of carnal things. You must go to this place, all pathways lead there, to see what you can learn, but it will not be easy. They can smell a living heart from miles away and will scatter if they sense you or, worse, attempt to possess you.’ She sighed. ‘It’s not much, but I don’t know how to advise you other than that. Naturally, I will come with you if you want me to.’

  Jadrin took one of her white hands and pressed it against his face. ‘You are more help to me than you know but how we’ll be able to conceal ourselves I just don’t know. It seems hopeless.’

  Amberina was just about to answer when they were disturbed by the unmistakeab
le sound of low chuckling coming from the bushes beside them. The branches shook and separated to reveal the slim form of Psydre, the witch’s daughter. She stood up, still laughing and pulling twigs from her hair. Amberina and Jadrin drew closer together in surprise. ‘There are ways and means to everything!’ Psydre announced.

  Jadrin bristled. ‘Spying being one of them, I suppose?’

  Psydre shook her dark, wild hair and smiled with her red, red mouth. ‘I wasn’t spying. I just overheard. Couldn’t help it, although I must confess, I am surprised to learn that it wasn’t you who spun the straw into gold. Does Ashalan know of this?’

  Jadrin growled and Amberina laid her hand fearfully on his arm.

  ‘Hush now,’ Psydre said sweetly. ‘I can help you.’

  ‘You?’ Amberina sounded sceptical. ‘Why should you want to?’

  ‘What a suspicious little thing you are!’ Psydre exclaimed. ‘I don’t mean you harm. You can trust me.’

  ‘As I did the spirit in the turret?’ Jadrin reminded her.

  Psydre waved his comment away with a careless hand. ‘Poosht!’ she said. ‘Come on now, listen to what I say. I can help you and I do not lie. Your sister is right, Jadrin. You must find the desecrated shrine where the spirits congregate to emulate the ways of men. If you walk there in your flesh, you have no chance at all. No, you must leave it behind you.’

  Jadrin laughed. ‘Fine. I’ll kill myself then to be able to spy on the spirits! Such action seems a little extreme.’

  ‘Do you know nothing?’ Psydre asked. ‘I can help your soul leave your flesh and be able to come back to it as many times as you like. It’s a simple art and one that is taught to all where I come from.’

  Jadrin was still a little sceptical but Amberina confirmed Psydre’s words by saying that she too had heard of such abilities. ‘We have nothing to lose,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t,’ Jadrin replied, rather frostily, but he agreed to let Psydre help him.

  Well-guarded are the arts of the witch-women of the east. Jadrin hardly knew what was happening to him other than Psydre’s soft, compelling voice seemed to lure him into infinity. She made him lie down on the damp grass and stroked his limbs, murmuring in a sing-song voice until he was nearly asleep. Then the pull. For a second he seemed to hover between sleep and waking, before leaping up with a yelp as if tugged sharply to his feet. Psydre was smiling up at him.

  ‘You see?’ she said.

  ‘Perfectly!’ Jadrin replied. ‘So what?’

  ‘So look down at your feet, young magician.’

  There on the grass lay the body of a pale young man, eyes closed, perfectly motionless. Jadrin recognised it as himself. He was free! His soul was really out of his body! Amberina was on hands and knees, stunned, squinting at the spectral form of her brother’s soul whom only Psydre could see with any clarity. ‘Go now, Jadrin, quickly, before the moon rises,’ Psydre said. ‘When you want to return, merely think it so and you will be back within your flesh.’ She patted the ground beside her. ‘Come, Amberina, and sit with me. Your brother must go alone. We shall have to keep each other company while I weave a protection around his body. After that, perhaps we can gaze into the pool together for some moments...’

  Jadrin moved away from them, downstream, where he crossed the water and so ventured into the trees.

  It was nearly morning by the time he came once more to the widest path that led out of the forest. Although he did not truly need to follow it, he was enjoying the freedom this astral movement afforded him. When the trees opened out upon the banks of the river, he thought himself back to flesh, and sat up as if waking from a dream, with stiff limbs and an aching back. Amberina and Psydre had returned to the house hours before, confident that Psydre’s power was strong enough to protect the corporeal bits of Jadrin left beside the river. Above the trees, behind him, the sky was flushed with pale dawn. Jadrin walked to the mill-house and let himself inside. On the kitchen table, he found a bottle of wine which he took with him to the best parlour. Sprawled out in his father’s favourite chair, he drained the bottle. By the time the servants were stirring, he was dozing, half drunk.

  By mid-day, Amberina could contain her curiosity no more. She went to shake him awake. ‘What happened in the forest?’ she asked.

  ‘I know the answer,’ Jadrin said wearily, but it looked as if knowing it hadn’t lightened his burden at all.

  On the morning of the third day, Jadrin and the six liveried guards took their leave of the mill-house to return to the city. Jadrin said to his sister. ‘Give me the other half of the quartz’ and she did so. He kissed her goodbye, inclined his head to the silent Psydre and embraced his father fondly. They spoke vaguely of reciprocal visits in the near future.

  In the afternoon, some miles from Ashbrilim, Jadrin bid his companions wait for him whilst he visited a cottage set some yards back from the road amongst a snuggle of gnarled trees. The guards raised eyebrows at each other and sniffed, although none of them spoke. It was well-known that the cottage was the home of a witch of less than savoury reputation. Jadrin stayed within for maybe ten minutes. When he emerged, he offered no explanation to the others, but urged that they should hurry towards the city.

  On reaching the palace, without even pausing to refresh himself or brush the dust of travel from his clothes, Jadrin went straight to the king’s apartments. He threw open the doors and five of the king’s servants looked up in alarm. Ashalan was playing a game with counters and a chequered board with one of his courtiers. Jadrin said, ‘Send them all away!’ and from the darkness in the boy’s face and voice, Ashalan did so.

  ‘What has happened?’ he asked, once they were alone.

  ‘You must tell me the truth,’ Jadrin said, quietly.

  ‘What truth? What are you speaking of?’

  ‘Of Angeline...’

  At the mention of that name, Ashalan’s face fell dramatically. He was silent. He turned away.

  ‘I shall be truthful with you,’ Jadrin said, ‘and my truth is that I cannot spin straw into gold. Now I shall tell you who can...’

  Calmly, omitting no detail, Jadrin told the king how he had gone into the forest on the previous evening. He had followed the winding, hidden paths until he had come to the white, stone shrine, all covered in creepers and moss. There, he had lurked among the ruins, waiting for the spirits to gather. Eventually, two wavery forms had come to sit upon the tumbled stones at the front of the shrine. They were wearing forms that approximated human appearances, though their faces were terrible and their hands merely sticks of bone. Presently, others drifted through the misty ferns, coming to pluck at their companions and chitter together as children do. Jadrin had moved from cover a little. He noticed some of the shades were inclined to hover apart from the rest. He wasn’t that conspicuous. Eventually one of them had said, ‘One of our company is seeking justice this moon!’ and another had replied,

  ‘Seek it? She shall have it dearest, have it, have it!’

  Then another had murmured, ‘Hush now, she is here.’

  Jadrin could barely differentiate between one spirit and another, but there was something balefully familiar about the blade of light that had come dancing into the centre of the glade. It danced and sang and preened, cavorting with smug merriment.

  ‘Are you happy, dear one?’ cried the spirits.

  ‘Indeed I am!’

  ‘And why is that, beloved?’

  ‘Because Ashalan is to die in the arms of his whore!’

  ‘But why, lovely sister?’

  ‘He has my blood on his hands, my sisters, my brothers, and I desire to live once more with his on mine!’

  The spirits swayed towards her like a fog. ‘And how shall you do that?’ they asked together.

  Here the spirit grew into a great and pulsing flame.

  ‘Quite simply,’ it replied. ‘Tomorrow night, I shall possess the boy Jadrin. I shall possess his body and, through that, experience all that was denied me; the passion of the man I o
nce loved. After that, my dears, Ashalan will experience the true, keen blade of my revenge. As he still penetrates the body that I possess, I shall take a knife and kill him! It will be very easy. Naturally, after such a terrible crime, Jadrin will have to flee the city, but then Jadrin, as he lives and breathes on this earth, shall be no more. He is too weak and no match for me! In Mewt, I think, I will discover a new and rewarding life...’

  ‘But are you quite sure, my dear, that the boy Jadrin shall have no defence?’ one of the other spirits asked.

  The spirit glowed red. ‘Quite sure!’ it said. ‘There is only one way he can defeat me but, as he will never know by whose shade he is to be possessed, there is no chance of his victory. Tomorrow night, Ashalan shall die and I shall live again! I who was once Angeline Hope De Vanceron! I who am the murdered, slaughtered, butchered, dead queen of Ashbrilim!’

  Ashalan’s expression of disbelief as he listened to this tale gradually changed to one of pale horror. At the end, he said, ‘I did not kill her,’ which Jadrin had expected and also dearly wanted to believe.

  ‘Then tell me the truth,’ he said. ‘Who was this woman and why is she so bitterly seeking revenge from beyond the grave?’

  Ashalan looked at the floor. It was clear he was considering memories best left forgotten. ‘She was my wife,’ he said.

  Jadrin sat down beside him. ‘Then how...?’

  ‘I did try to dissuade her,’ Ashalan butted in, slamming a clenched fist into his cupped palm. ‘I told her marriage to me would be a barren, joyless venture, but she would not listen! She was obsessed! What could I do? She was a strong-willed creature and clearly intended to try and change my nature, even make me love her. A fruitless task!’

  Ashalan told of how he and Angeline were married, to the delight of Ashalan’s father and those who had previously considered Ashalan to be a weak and sickly creature. Surely the strong and tempestuous Angeline with her fiery beauty would fill him with life and strength?

  Unfortunately, their relationship, which had started off badly, never came to anything. Ashalan found Angeline terrifying: a succubus of a creature, hungry and grasping. He knew his nature and refused to go anywhere near her bedchamber at night, never mind share it. This behaviour only served to stoke Angeline’s pain and grief into a vicious rage. She tried to win Ashalan over, but eventually, exhausted by her efforts, resorted to extreme and desperate measures. A boy of whom Ashalan was particularly fond was found poisoned, his flesh black and burned. Ashalan knew who was responsible, but had no way of proving it.