N’tombe put her head to one side, as though listening. All I could hear was the wind rustling the bracken and the spiralling call of the larks. ‘I think we can stop,’ she said. ‘They seem to have lost us.’
We came to a small brook. I dismounted and let the mare drink while I fixed Will’s saddle.
‘What was that about?’ Will said.
I stared up at him. ‘Didn’t you see it?’
‘See what?’ He sounded angry. ‘We’re riding along, then for no reason you’re off! Making hell for leather back along the track. What’s with you?’
‘The horses knew they were there.’ I pushed the buckle home. ‘There, that should do it.’
He snorted. ‘What?’
N’tombe put her hand up. ‘Children! Quiet.’ She cupped her hand to her ear, her face intent. ‘I think they’ve found us,’ she said, her voice tense.
My horse turned uneasily as I set my foot into the stirrup, her ears twitching. We cantered through the brook, splashing the water in a muddy spray.
‘Those spears,’ N’tombe called.
‘Spears?’ asked Will.
‘There were spears,’ I said. ‘Golden ones. They seemed to come from nowhere. Or from the sky.’ Whoever had thrown them had a very strong arm.
‘They’re magic,’ said N’tombe. ‘They were cast from a great distance.’
‘I didn’t see anything,’ said Will.
‘What are they for?’ I called.
She shrugged. ‘A way of noting where we are, probably. Rosa will know. We need to get back to the Castle.’
We reached the trees. Here, at last, I knew where I was. The Great Ride, a long swathe of mown grass free from trees, where horsemen could gallop at speed. Above the treetops, the tower’s flag fluttered. As children, my brothers spoke of racing each other along this smooth turf, and I’d listened, envious, because I was confined to the Castle.
The Ride stretched upwards to the road, meeting it just by the gate house, like an arrow pointing directly to safety. If we could only get there in time.
At first I thought it was the wind in the grass. It grew louder, closer, a high-pitched pulsing. Behind me Will’s mount was restless, probably because Will, not aware of our pursuers, sat on her like a block of wood. This long stretch of mown grass, green with the first blush of spring, was perfect for speed. My horse lurched forward.
Behind us, down the Ride, came a row of golden spears, hissing as they fell, standing in a golden line.
My hair blew in the breeze and my cloak streamed behind as I fought the reins, trying to control my mare. She’d never make it to the road if she spent herself too soon.
The line of spears was gaining. A rabbit, unnoticed in the long grass, bounded forward into their pathway. A sharp ssttt, a shrill cry and the rabbit tottered and fell in a twitching heap.
Will’s horse neighed, flinching from the sudden movement. ‘Aah,’ shouted Will, lurching sideways in the saddle.
I hadn’t done the girth up tightly enough. His saddle twisted again.
‘Will!’ I called.
Too late. Like a heavy sack, he fell from his horse, landing with a thud on the soft turf. The horse picked her foot up at the last moment, jumping over him. Free of her rider, she put her head down and bolted for the roadway, stirrups clattering.
I pulled on my reins. My horse shook her head, resisting, not wanting to turn. I wrapped my legs around her, fighting her panic. Her ears were flat on her neck, her eyes restless.
In front of the spears, Will lay, clutching his head.
‘Will!’
N’tombe’s horse would not stop. She had her bit between her teeth, and N’tombe clung to the pommel, bouncing like a rag doll.
Will couldn’t see the spears. He wouldn’t realize his peril.
‘Will!’
He lifted his head. ‘What?’
‘Move! You must move!’
Will put his hand over his forehead, shielding his face from the light. He seemed dazed. Maybe he’d hit his head as he fell. I pulled my mare off the Ride, slid off her back. If I couldn’t tie her to something she’d be off too, haring up the avenue after N’tombe and then where would I be? I looped the reins around a low branch, knotting them tight, as I did after a riding lesson. Behind me the hissing grew louder, like rain, or leaves in a high wind.
Will just lay, groaning. I pulled on his doublet. ‘Come on!’
‘Leave me,’ he grumbled. ‘Oh, my head!’
‘Come,’ I said, and getting hold of his shoulder, I dragged him towards the edge of the Ride, out of the mown strip, towards the deeper grass. From this angle the spears were taller, their tips pointing to the sky, like the bars of a giant cage.
‘What are you doing?’ Will said, struggling.
They grew closer, closer until I felt like an ant in front of their golden ranks. They sizzled when they touched the grass. And as I dragged Will, the direction of their pursuit changed. Instead of heading straight up the Ride, as I hoped they’d do, they began to follow me, the line curving towards me.
Will lay in the grass, his face pale. ‘I feel sick.’
The spears were thicker than my wrist and flat as planed timber. Or a sword blade. As though they were golden glass, I could see through them and, like glass, I could see my face in them. But my reflection was strange; my face wider, my eyes pulled apart. There seemed little point in running. I stepped away from Will and faced them.
The line seemed to hesitate as it moved closer, until it stopped, right in front of me. I felt a faint flicker, a tickle on the side of my cheek. I looked down a row of transparent stakes, stretching into the distance below me. They were seeking me. And their intentions were not kindly. The seeds lifting from the grasses, the rise and fall of Will’s chest, the wind blowing the clouds; each movement seemed to take an age. As in combat with the sergeant, the moment slowed.
Help! I hurled the thought upwards, into the heavens, hoping N’tombe or Rosa or a kindly disposed god would hear it and intervene, as above me another spear formed and fell towards my heart. I put my hands together, reached them above my head.
‘No!’ I screamed. Who was this person who sought me out, though I’d done nothing wrong?
Like a suddenly struck match my left hand warmed, igniting into a golden light that spread down my outstretched arms, into my head, until my whole body was aglow. And above me, a multi-faceted star bloomed. It rushed to join the golden spears.
‘Go!’ I screamed. Or was it ‘No!’, and through my mind a deeper voice called out too, a rusty, creaky voice that seemed unused to speaking. ‘No!’ it cried. My left hand, the one wearing the copper ring, moved without my control, turning so the palm faced outward. Above me the star turned, twisting over my head like a shield.
The spear hit it, striking with such force I felt the shock travelling through my outstretched palm, down my elbows, into my feet, but I, or whoever controlled my arms, held the shield firm and the spear stopped, wavering.
‘Go!’ I called again, out loud or in my head, I did not know, but the voice was strange, not mine at all.
I flipped the shield, turning it so the points of the star twisted, blurring like a hard swung sword. My hand closed, squeezing into a fist. Then my fingers straightened, flicking open and I thrust my arms up and out, throwing the shield and its captive spear up and out, away from me, up into the sky.
Upwards it flew, turning and sparkling in the sunlight until it was just a mote of dust that flickered and disappeared. And then, following like a rope that’s been spun and lifted, the other spears rose, spinning up in a stream, turning transparent as they flew, until, like water in sunlight, they vanished.
The world snapped back. I fell, sinking to my knees, cradling my suddenly heavy hand. It felt as though it was broken, yet the skin was undamaged. I lay beside Will in the grass, listening to the mare’s calm breathing. She nuzzled my hair, then, probably deciding it wouldn’t taste good, took a chomp of the deep grass beside me.
‘That’s the first time,’ I reached out to touch his hair.
He groaned. ‘Yes, first and last.’
‘Not the hunting, stupid,’ I said, smiling up at him from my cocoon of grass. His head was too high for my heavy arm, so I stroked the back of his hand instead. ‘It’s the first time you’ve called me by my name.’
23
Lessons
The surgeon put Will to bed for a week.
‘He must have been shaken badly in that fall,’ said Daddy, frowning. ‘Keeps babbling about “bright lights”.’ He put his arm about my shoulders. ‘You did well to bring him back.’
‘Why can’t I see him?’ Poor Will. I’d eventually got him up into the saddle and walked the horse up the Ride to the road — not easy in riding boots. I was met at the top of the Ride by the guardsmen that N’tombe had mobilized.
Daddy took his arm away. ‘Dana. You can’t visit the barracks.’
‘Why not?’
‘Young ladies do not visit barracks.’
‘Oh, Daddy! You’re so old-fashioned!’
‘Even so, Dana, you’re not going.’
‘Daddy! He’s my …’ I stopped. What was Will, anyway? A teacher? My friend? When I thought of Will, with his serious face and sudden smile that dawned like sunlight after rain, neither of those labels felt right.
Fortunately, Daddy didn’t notice my hesitation. ‘A princess needs to think of her reputation.’
‘I’m not a princess, Daddy.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m a tool, aren’t I? You said so, yourself.’ My voice grew shrill and I couldn’t stop it. ‘I won’t grow up to get married and have lots of little babies for you to dote on. My precious reputation shouldn’t matter. Not as long as I can put on the stupid necklace and protect you and Mother and all the rest of this stupid Kingdom.’ I tried to pull the copper circlet off my finger but it was stuck fast. A pity. It would have been effective to throw it at him. I settled for tears instead.
‘Dana, honey.’
I stormed from his study, running down the stairs and out through the long gallery. Stupid ancestors with their passive, inbred faces and their pathetic reputations. I ran past them all. I didn’t look at the Guardians. It was too easy to see my face up there on the wall.
N’tombe was in the schoolroom. ‘Are you ready, lady?’
‘What for?’
‘To see Rosa.’
‘I’m not going,’ I said, sniffing.
She took my wrist, lifting my hand so it was level with my face. ‘Thumb man, pointer, long man, ring man,’ she counted off my fingers. ‘Pinky.’ She tapped the ring on my little finger significantly. ‘Aren’t you just the least bit interested, lady?’
I twisted my hand from her grasp. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Who speaks to you in your dreams, Princess?’
‘What?’ I stepped away from her.
‘You know what I mean, lady.’
I sniffed again, for form’s sake. I did know what she meant. ‘Alright,’ I conceded. ‘I’ll come.’
The dreams had started the evening of our failed hunting trip. When I closed my eyes, I saw Will, lying with a sick face, his body jerking as a hissing spear pierced his side. There was no blood, just him screaming, convulsing. I jerked, waking. I couldn’t return to sleep; I lay, just staring up at the folds of the bed curtains.
The next night I left the curtains open. Maybe it would be better if I could see the moon through my window.
When I finally dozed, I dreamt I was flying high above the world. I followed the coastline, a ridge of brown against the endlessly moving ocean. And I realized that we are wrong to think of the land as always there. The sea is the constant; it is the land that moves. Cliffs fall, mountains explode. But always, there are the waves and the sighing of the wind.
‘With that thought comes wisdom,’ a voice whispered.
A fat man with a smile and a cloth skirt lay on a cloud. Startled, I looked down and realized that I, too, rested on a cloud.
‘I’ll fall!’ I gasped, and panicking, grabbed for something firm and dependable, like the ground. I dropped like a stone. The air rushed past my face and I screamed. And then, thinking of my father, who’d kept my future from me, I realized another truth: nothing is firm. Like a cork held under the water, I bobbed up again, settling into place beside the fat man.
He seemed unsurprised by my sudden fall and ascent. ‘Very good.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Truly, all is illusion.’
He was bald but his eyes were bright, shining with good humour. When he laughed all his wrinkles turned upwards, so his smile extended all the way across his face.
‘Do you know something?’ he whispered.
I was too shaken to speak, so I shook my head.
‘Excellent!’ said the little man, beaming again. ‘You do know something, after all.’
I laughed. This dream was mad. ‘That’s right! I know I know nothing.’ My cloud jerked under me, as if laughing too.
‘Realizing ignorance marks the beginning of knowledge.’ He stretched his hand towards me. I copied him, reaching out until we touched, brown skin, white skin, connected across the cloud-gap. ‘I am Rinpoche,’ he said. ‘That means precious one, teacher. Wise one. I will teach you. But first you must sleep. Dreams are useful, but sleep also is necessary.’
‘Wait!’ I called, as the little man vanished, blown out like a soap bubble.
Too late. I grew heavier, sinking into the cloud. It wrapped itself around me, nestling into my body. Cradled in cloud, I slept deeply until roused by the sun on my face.
While I breakfasted, waiting for news of Will, I worried about the dream. It had been mysterious, yet important. That fat old man on the cloud — I’d heard his voice before. Where? And the winking face was familiar.
‘You did well, Dana,’ said Rosa. As usual, she was at her table. The wind whipped through the open windows like a gale, rustling the pages of the book in front of her.
‘I thought I was going to die,’ I said, remembering the spears, the rabbit lying so still.
‘Were you scared for yourself?’
I thought about this. ‘Not really. It was Will I was worried about.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Why was that?’
‘Because he couldn’t see them,’ I said. ‘How could he escape if he didn’t even understand the threat?’
‘Ah,’ she said, steepling her fingers. ‘Yes. And so you rescued him and yourself. Well done.’
‘I don’t know what I did,’ I admitted.
She smiled. ‘Come here, Dana. There’s something I want you to see.’
I have read books, of course. Everyone does. But I’m not an avid reader; I’d rather be outside on horseback or in the practice arena. The only time I bother with books is when the weather is too disgusting for training. The stories I like to read are usually about brave heroes battling incredible odds. The only thing that annoys me about those stories is that they’re always about princes, who generally get rewarded with a princess. Never the other way around.
Rosa’s book didn’t seem to be at all the sort of book I liked. Broad and wide and fat, it was the size of a small piece of furniture. And probably as exciting. The cover was pretty, though, as it was embossed with gold and inlaid with polished stones. The pages swished as she turned them, and tended to turn back on themselves because of the wind.
‘Shall I close the shutters?’ I asked.
‘No,’ she said absently, inspecting the pages closely. ‘I like to leave them open. That way my crows can come and go.’
She only ever wore that white robe, open at the neck. How could she stand it? I had on a woollen dress and cloak and I was cold.
She looked up. ‘I don’t feel the cold.’
‘Oh,’ I said, and tried to keep my thoughts to myse
lf.
‘Here it is,’ she said, pointing with a gnarled finger to a densely worded paragraph. The language was archaic. I read it slowly.
How to Create a Seekinge Speare. First set a chafing dish full of Charcoal well lighted. If your foe is very strong, use a Pound of rolled Golde, if weake, Half a Pound. Incante the following spelles: The spelle of Seekinge, the spelle of Bloode, the spelle of Hidinge. For what Good wille it availe if the Enemy can see the Speare?
‘What is this?’
‘It’s instructions for the spears you saw,’ she said. ‘Only you shouldn’t have seen them.’ She closed the book with a thud. ‘They were supposed to pierce your heart and draw your soul back to their maker. Interesting. I’ve not come across them before. Now. Tell me what happened.’
Interesting? Someone was trying to steal my soul. ‘Don’t you know?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m not omniscient, child. My crows told me that something was happening, but they couldn’t tell me what.’ She smiled wryly. ‘They’re not very good communicators.’
Well, I suppose they wouldn’t be. They’re birds. I told Rosa what had happened, adding about the strange voice. Or was it just my voice, sounding different under stress?
‘Well,’ she said. ‘You did do well. And it seems that I did well too. I thought he’d be useful.’ She frowned. ‘But I didn’t see this coming.’ She pulled down on the table, her knuckles whitening, as she pushed her chair back and tried to stand. ‘No, child,’ she said, as I went to help. ‘I can manage.’
She limped awkwardly to the leather case that held the necklace. ‘It seems I’ll have to become used to you,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘I’m not talking to you.’ She reached into the box and picked up the beautiful thing. The stones seemed to shift under her hand, writhing in her grip.
‘It’s alive!’
She grunted. ‘It has awareness, of a sort.’
‘Please,’ I said, ‘don’t do this.’
‘I have to,’ she said. ‘Can’t you see? There is an enemy. I thought you would understand. He is seeking you.’
‘Me?’
‘Of course. Did you not say that the spears moved, following you?’
A Necklace of Souls Page 18