A Necklace of Souls

by R. L. Stedman

  ‘She speaks our language perfectly, Mother,’ I said. ‘She’s the one that got them into the Kingdom.’ I put my hands on either side of her head. If it worked for N’tombe, I thought grimly, it might work for me. ‘You wanted to come here, didn’t you Fatima. Why?’

  Across my mind rolled an image of a tall man, magnificent in multi-layered robes and golden rings. He reached out, handing me a tiny seed. Magic, he whispered. The key to a magical kingdom.

  ‘Where did he find it, Fatima?’

  Another image of the same man. The same nose, the same beard but now seen from above, for he lay supine. Fatima’s father lifted skeletal hands and his gold tooth flashed as he spoke. His breath smelt of cinnamon. Their king gave it to me, bidding me to return. I bequeath it to you. Daughter, keep it safe. Keep it safe.

  I let go of her head. Had the king been my grandfather, famed for his gold and jewels and pride? Not fond of his children, though. He’d never visited Rosa in her tower, had little to do with my father. But he’d invited merchants, and entertained them most lavishly, and dispensed entry tokens like sweets. And now another lord, also powerful, had heard of our Kingdom. Old sins, they say, cast long shadows.

  She sighed, a long exhalation that smelt of decay. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.

  I stared down at her, feeling no pity for this woman. She’d led an enemy to our gates. Why should I feel sadness for her? ‘I thought,’ she whispered again, and licked cracked lips. Strands of moisture beaded her mouth. ‘I hoped.’

  I leant closer. ‘What?’

  ‘You have power. You could behead the dragon,’ she said, with difficulty.

  What did she mean? I put my hands to her head again. The old woman’s thoughts were becoming cloudy, tangled.

  Mother crept up behind me, as though sheltering behind my shoulder, and stared at the woman. ‘She’s dying,’ she said flatly. ‘She won’t be much help to us. Come on, Dana.’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  Fatima’s lips moved again. Her voice was growing weaker. I bent over to catch what she was saying.

  ‘Thought you might,’ she stopped, then gasped, as her eyes rolled back, ‘bring freedom.’

  A faint image rolled through her mind, of a horde of men on horseback, a golden tent, a man on an ornamented throne. So gnarled and bald and toothless was he that, strangely, the creature he most resembled was an infant.

  ‘The dragon,’ she grasped my wrists with whitening fingers. ‘Destroy the dragon. Freedom.’

  Freedom?

  Blasting through the arrow slit, a chill wind pushed my skirts about my legs, lifted my hair. Purple storm clouds moved south, towering against the blue of the sky, blocking out the sun. The air smelt of snow and hail. Below me, Fatima stared out of the window and sighed.

  ‘Well,’ said Mother briskly, ‘she’s dead.’

  35

  Soul-breaker

  Dana. Rosa’s voice whispering in my mind like a dream. I need you.

  Without hesitation I turned, leaving Fatima’s body lying on the shelf beneath the window. Mayhap her spirit would soar out that narrow gap and find peace in the clouds.

  Mother grabbed my skirt. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Rosa needs me.’

  ‘I need you.’

  I turned. ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘You can’t leave me here.’

  I didn’t have time for this. ‘Frizzer.’

  The boy appeared at the door. In the light of day he looked barely thirteen, but was already tall and broad of shoulder, with arms that fell midway to his thigh. ‘Can you escort my mother to my brother? He’s in the courtyard.’

  He bowed his head, tugged his forelock. ‘My lady.’ He looked doubt fully at Fatima. ‘The prisoner. Captain said I was to guard her.’

  ‘She’s dead.’

  He still looked doubtful. ‘Captain will need to be told.’

  Well,’ I said patiently, ‘after you’ve escorted my mother to the prince, you can return and tell your captain that the prisoner’s passed on.’

  He bowed, tugged his forelock again and looked relieved to have his actions planned for him.

  ‘Go with Frizzer, Mother. He’ll look after you.’

  I ran towards the door, out the corridor, across the courtyard, for Rosa had called again. When the Guardian called in urgency, one had little choice but to obey.

  Owein had achieved some sort of order in the courtyard. People were lining up to have a task offered to them, or were placing weapons in piles at the base of the tower stairwells, making ready for transport to the battlements. Owein cried to me, but I waved at him and, picking up my skirts, tore across the cobbles towards the inner keep, through the dark stone gateway that even now was quiet and empty, to the base of the stone tower.

  Rosa’s guards stood waiting. But there was no doorway.

  ‘How?’ I panted.

  They both reached for me, in a strange mirror image, one on the right, the other on the left.

  ‘Hold on,’ one of them — was it Reginald or Gregor? — grunted, and pulled me into the tower. I felt the cold stone seeping through me, and I spun, like a lettuce drying, up and up along the tower, until I emerged dizzily outside her door. The guards kept hold of me, which was good, for without them I would have fallen.

  Rosa, standing beside her chair, wore the necklace draped over her white robe like a mayoral chain, the ruby against the wadding of bandage.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully.

  ‘What do you need?’ I stepped into the room.

  ‘Come and see,’ she said, and handed me the crystal. I took the heavy thing from her, and stared into its clear depths.

  Dimly, I heard her say, ‘You’d better sit,’ and my legs folded, just as my consciousness left the room and fell into —

  Somewhere else.

  Suspended in midair, I fought for balance in an empty space of wind and cold. Clouds towered around me like castles. Crows poured in a stream of black, their wings so close they brushed against my face, before lifting, spiralling into the clouds. Crash! The heavens split. A shaft of light arced down, down. Then the rain began, lines of water that burnt as they fell.

  I pushed hair from my face, blinking to see in the downpour. Far below, foam-flecked waves rose and fell. Flashes of light smashed and crackled into the raging water. I drifted lower, trying to avoid the lightning.

  Below were ships, storm-tossed and struggling in the waves. These were strange, misshapen craft with blunt prows and forests of masts adorned by ragged strips of cloth, sails torn by the gale. Men struggled desperately to turn their boats into the wind. Some did not succeed; many craft had capsized. Their upturned hulls looked like toy boats.

  Twisting like a top in the frigid air, I sought for something solid; something that did not move like the air or the water. In the distance were the mountains. Unlike the sea below, they did not travel up and down. At the base of the mountains was something small. A boat with one empty mast. Passing away from the drowning flotilla, it drifted towards the land.

  Help them, whispered Rosa.

  I skimmed across the water towards the little boat. It looked like a fisherman, caught by the storm. Surely, no-one would have gone fishing with those storm clouds looming on the horizon.

  I hung above the craft just as a rolling wave slapped into its side, lifting it so it flew above the waves. For an eyeblink the boat hung, still. Then it fell, plummeting into the trough as a wave broke over its side. Green water washed across its deck, tipping the boat. Two men, small as ants, clung to the railing. Another wave took it. The men shouted and the boat bucked like a horse, tipped into the swell and capsized.

  I dived into the water. There were no heads on the surface, just bundles of soaked clothing. Where were its passengers?

  Pounding, thudding on the hull. They were under the boat! I swam deeper, falling into a cascade of bubbles. My legs tangled in my skirts and my hair flew into my eyes, but I kicked out, moving through the tumblin
g water until I reached the darker shape of the boat. Two men, legs dangling beneath the bow’s prow, beat frantically on the upturned hull. Their calls echoed through the water, mingling with the wave-formed bubbles and the crashes of the storm.

  I pulled one from under the boat, pushing him up onto the wooden hull. He lay, gasping. I dived again. The other man’s legs floated unmoving, as the trapped air leached away. I dragged him out, heaving him up onto the hull, next to his fellow. He choked and gulped, and finally took a deep breath.

  The wind and tide caught the little boat, and the low hills of the Kingdom rose steadily against the horizon. The storm was moving south to the mountains of the mainland but here the wind was calming. I swam behind the boat, one hand on its wooden hull, until I could see high cliffs above a sandy beach. Shipwreck Cove. How appropriate. The men, resting on the upturned hull, stirred.

  Return, said Rosa. A wave slapped over me, pulled me under. I drifted in crackling bubbles in an ever-shifting sea. Above, the hull of the boat floated gently, pointing like an arrow towards home. As though stepping over a sill, I crossed into light and air and warmth, and lay gasping on the floor of Rosa’s chamber.

  I handed her the globe. ‘Here,’ I said.

  She passed me a blanket. ‘Well done.’

  N’tombe gave me a cup of hot tea. I blew the steam gently, enjoying the fragrance of jasmine and rose.

  ‘Was that your storm?’

  Rosa nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I saw the ships,’ I said.

  ‘Some survived.’ She didn’t look happy, but I remembered the clinging waves, the choking water, and felt sorry for the sailors.

  ‘Drink your tea. You will need your energy.’

  ‘What of the army to the south?’

  ‘The storm will reach them soon,’ said N’tombe.

  Holding my tea, I crossed to the window. The blue hills of the mainland, lit by orange, storm-filtered sunlight, looked close enough to touch. Steel-grey clouds, their flattened tops like anvils, towered above the peaks. Even as I watched, the light faded, curtains of mist fell and they were gone. Just grey cloud all the way to the horizon. But here in the Kingdom the sun shone from a sky swept clear of clouds. Steam rose from the puddles. Even from the tower’s height I could smell the damp warmth. It reminded me of washday, the day I stood outside the laundry hut and crept onto the collier’s cart.

  ‘That was a long time ago,’ said Rosa with a grin.

  ‘Three years.’ A lot had happened since then.

  Once I’d played chasing games with my father on those battlements but now the towers were alive with guards. Below the muddy turf of the parade ground, now filling with carts and livestock, light sparked from weapons as sentries patrolled the outer ward. More wagons were crossing into the Castle, but the line of villagers coming up the distant stone road seemed to be reaching an end. Everyone who could make it to the Castle had done so.

  ‘By nightfall,’ said N’tombe, ‘it’s best if everyone is behind the walls.’

  ‘Is the enemy so close?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Rosa. ‘But do not fear. Did you not know that the Kingdom has defences of its own?’

  There were soldiers, true, and each village had its own little militia, kept for emergencies like fire or flood. Would they be effective against the type of army Will had seen?

  ‘I do not refer to the militia,’ said N’tombe. ‘Are you really as unaware as you pretend?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Hush,’ said Rosa. ‘Remember, she is tired. She has done well today.’ I tried to look modest. ‘And she is part of the Kingdom. She will not feel the protection as you do.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  N’tombe sighed. ‘Recall the fireworks?’

  Only two days ago. So much had happened since then. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Most think that the battle was won by the Castle’s defenders and their pitch-soaked barrels.’

  ‘But that’s what happened.’

  Rosa shook her head. ‘The Kingdom has other defences.’

  I looked at the necklace, gleaming gold, that rose and fell with her harsh breathing. ‘Did the Guardian …?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘What will you do?’ I asked.

  N’tombe handed me a platter. Meat and bread. ‘I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Sit,’ she said, pointing at a chair, ‘and eat. We must be on our way.’

  ‘Our way?’

  ‘Eat.’

  N’tombe frowned at me until I placed the meat on top of the bread.

  ‘A sandwich!’ she sounded surprised.

  ‘What?’

  ‘At my school the teachers made sandwiches for lunch.’

  I stared at her, chewing. Sometimes she did not make sense. ‘It’s just bread and meat.’

  ‘Never mind,’ she said, and looked at Rosa. ‘We must leave soon.’

  I swallowed. ‘Why must we leave?’

  ‘Eat,’ said N’tombe sternly. ‘Don’t talk.’

  I set the food in my mouth and chewed as quickly as was polite.

  ‘Many years ago,’ said Rosa, ‘a visitor bought the Kingdom a gift. This.’

  She pointed at the ruby, resting like a splash of blood on her chest.

  I swallowed. ‘Not much of a present.’

  She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand. The ruby does not kill. It transforms.’

  I set the platter down. ‘Transforms?’

  She sighed. ‘Child. There is so much to teach you, but so little time. This necklace, which you think of as evil, is not a thing of adornment. It is a collection.’

  A collection?

  ‘Quickly,’ growled N’tombe.

  ‘Hush now,’ said Rosa, and laid her pale hand on N’tombe’s arm, smiling up into her worried face. ‘This man, this visitor, helped the Kingdom gather its defences.’

  ‘Defences?’

  ‘The defences,’ said N’tombe impatiently, ‘that your previous teachers should have told you about.’

  There was more to this than she saying. Who was this visitor? What was the ruby? Why had he brought it here to us?

  ‘If the Kingdom is under attack,’ Rosa added, ‘the land rouses.’

  I thought of the forest, of the life that leapt from it like a fountain of fire, and the river that could rise in a heartbeat. Yes, there was power there.

  ‘Exactly,’ said N’tombe. ‘Every land has power. But here the Guardian can channel it. The land builds its own protection.’

  ‘She won’t be harmed,’ said Rosa quickly. ‘She is of the Kingdom. She will be safe. And you will be safe too, for you are with her.’

  ‘It’s not her I’m worried about,’ said N’tombe. ‘It’s Will.’

  ‘Will?’ I jumped to my feet, still holding my cup. ‘Where is he? Let me go to him.’

  She smiled at that and the worry left her eyes. ‘Did you not look at the faces of the men you saved?’

  I shook my head. I had been too caught up in swimming, in saving their lives, in avoiding lightning. ‘You mean … that was Will?’

  ‘I brought him halfway around the world for you,’ said N’tombe with a flicker of a grin, ‘and you didn’t even notice.’

  I stared at this woman. How had she done this? ‘The stars are strange,’ he had said. She could move people around the world, yet became excited by everyday food. I shook my head.

  ‘Don’t worry, he’s fine,’ said N’tombe. ‘He’s found clothes and food. He and Jed should be sheltering in a cave by now.’

  How could she be sure? ‘I must go.’

  Rosa smiled at me. ‘You must. But first I have three things for you. The first is advice: do what N’tombe tells you. She is born to magic. You will travel far, child, but she will keep you safe. The second is a command: you must leave the Kingdom.’

  ‘Leave the Kingdom?’ I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. What a time to have my prayer of escape answered. ‘Why?’

  ‘This king, rep
ortedly eternal, is powerful. He must be stopped. Our duty is to the Kingdom. I must stay with it, but you, with your heart of fire, you can escape. Find a way to defeat him.’

  ‘The third thing,’ said N’tombe, prompting.

  ‘Ah yes. I have a gift.’ Rosa put her hand to the necklace, to the gems shaped into clusters of gold-rimmed flowers, and closed her eyes.

  I felt trapped in a bubble of timelessness, caught out of the world as Rosa pulled at the glistening, heavy thing. A vein throbbed at her temple, and her face was pale as she concentrated, pulling her hands apart. Alive, aware, the necklace struggled at her touch, shrieking in a silent voice. Between her fists I saw a shimmering thread that flowed in the light like quicksilver as it stretched and parted. The scream stopped. The necklace opened.

  The ruby clung to Rosa’s frail chest as she moved her hands again, climbing them down the beads as a man clambers down a ladder. Again, she set her fists together and pulled. Again, the soundless scream as the silver between the beads stretched and snapped.

  The world jerked into place. Outside, a crow cawed. Children called in the courtyard. At the table sat Rosa, with two strands of jewels set on the table in front of her. On the longer one, the ruby dangled in the centre like a key, but there was no sign of the loops of flowers, ornately cut gems, or gold encrustations. Just two strands of beads, each different from the other, each unique: finely carved ivory or wood or rich enamel. Some were shaped into figures: an elephant, a camel, a house.

  She sighed. ‘It is done.’ She bent the longer strand up on itself, and like iron filings to a magnet, the ends met and touched and there was a necklace, shorter and less magnificent than the original, with the ruby dangling as its centrepiece. She did the same with the smaller strand, and handed it to me.

  ‘Yours,’ she said.

  ‘Mine?’ I didn’t want to touch the thing.

  ‘It won’t hurt you.’ She sounded amused, and a little tired. ‘Take it.’

  It wouldn’t fit over my head. ‘How do I open it?’

  ‘You can’t. Wear it on your wrist.’ She was breathing hard, but her skin was gently flushed, and her eyes were bright. ‘Dana, the necklace is not a string of beads. It is a string, a collection, of souls.’