A Necklace of Souls

by R. L. Stedman

  I stared up at her, touching the beads with the tip of my finger. Some were smooth to the touch, some caught on my skin. Five beads in different colours, making an unbroken circle. They were curiously warm. Feeling as though I was putting my hand into fire, I held my breath and slipped the strand onto my wrist.

  ‘The ruby transforms a Guardian, and so the necklace grows. You’ve met one of the souls already.’

  ‘Rinpoche.’ Turned into sparks, he’d leapt away with the wind. I looked at my empty finger.

  ‘They are not all as kind, or as merry, but you will grow used to them in time. Remember: you are born to this. It is your birthright.’ She smiled at me very kindly. ‘Think of this too: few of us are as strong or as wise as you, my dear.’ She walked over to me, bent and kissed me on the forehead. ‘Be well, child.’ Her breath was warm and smelt of age.

  She looked at N’tombe. ‘It is time.’

  ‘That,’ said my tutor, ‘is what I’ve been telling you.’

  Rosa put a hand on her arm. ‘Take care.’

  N’tombe placed her own palm over Rosa’s. Black skin, white skin. ‘You also.’ She turned, went down the stairs.

  Will. I followed her down the stairs, past the torches that flickered and died. I didn’t look back. I didn’t want to see Rosa standing alone, as she’d always been.

  ‘I have horses,’ said N’tombe, and took my hand, lifting me out of the darkness of the empty stairwell into the streaming courtyard. The cobbles were wet, but the bonfire still roared. Barrels of pitch had been set to melt beside the fire. Women rolled strips of cloth into bandages. Mother sat in a chair in the shelter of the gate house, snipping cloth into lengths. I curtsied to her as best I could, my sodden skirts clinging to my legs.

  ‘Oh dear. Oh Dana.’ With a sob she threw herself at me. ‘I thought …’ She stopped.

  ‘You thought?’

  She didn’t answer me, but pulled the neckline of my top down and ran her hand over the top of my sternum. ‘No.’

  ‘I’m wearing the necklace, Mother,’ I said. That was what she wanted, wasn’t it? ‘Part of it, anyway. Look.’ I lifted my wrist and waved it under her nose.

  ‘That isn’t the necklace,’ she said. ‘Is it?’

  I shrugged. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘It’s not over your heart,’ she said, her voice wondering.

  I shook my head and she smiled, the tightness around her lips and eyes easing.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ called N’tombe, ‘are the horses ready?’

  ‘Here we are,’ said Daddy. He came through the open portcullis looking like a groom, his shirtsleeves rolled up. Two men followed behind him. Each led two horses. I knew these animals; they were the king’s hunters: two mares, two geldings. Deep-chested animals, bred for strength and staying power. Not saddled for hunting today, though. Two wore leading reins, longer straps of leather attached to their halters, and all had bulging travelling packs attached to their saddles. Clearly, we would be travelling some distance. Sheathed blades, bows and quivers hung beside the saddle-bow, so the horses looked strangely like hedgehogs.

  ‘Is this what you need?’ said my father, smiling slightly. The wind lifted his hair so it hung like a disordered halo about his head.

  ‘Oh, Daddy!’ For a moment I forgot I was sixteen and officially an adult. I ran to him. Awkwardly, he put his arm about me.

  ‘Are you going to ride in that skirt?’ said Mother. Such a typical question that I choked on the tears.

  I turned to face her. ‘I’m wearing hose underneath,’ I said.

  She grimaced, as if in pain. ‘You may as well take the skirt off, then.’ She felt the wet fabric between finger and thumb. ‘What have you been doing? Swimming?’

  Alden and Owein emerged from the side door.

  ‘I don’t agree,’ said Alden loudly. ‘You can’t leave them outside.’ He reached for Owein’s shoulder and spun him around. ‘Look at me while I’m talking to you!’

  Owein waved his hand at the open gate. ‘I tell you, the parade ground’s completely full. We can’t fit anyone else into the Castle.’

  ‘Owein,’ I said. ‘Let them in. Everyone should be behind walls.’

  ‘Dana!’ He put his hands on my shoulders. ‘You’re soaked!’

  ‘See,’ said Alden. ‘Even Dana agrees with me.’

  I let the ‘even’ go, for N’tombe sighed impatiently behind us. The noon wore on while we talked. And, in a cave on the beach, Will was waiting.

  ‘Owein,’ I said, ‘there’s room in the pleasure wood. And the inner courtyard; Rosa won’t mind.’

  Alden turned his head, looked at me and stared at the horses. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘We’re leaving,’ I said.

  ‘What?’

  Mother slipped her arm around my waist and kissed my cheek. She smelt of perfume and sun-warmed silk. ‘Go well, my daughter.’

  Just as I was about to climb on the horse there was a cry of ‘Hold!’ from a window above, and a head swaddled in cream linen poked out.

  ‘My lady!’ called Nurse, fluttering a ’kerchief at me. ‘Wait!’

  Was it my imagination or was her voice thickened? The latch of the schoolroom window creaked as she opened the pane further and a heavy piece of cloth fell, writhing and twisting in the wind. My cloak! I caught it as it fell, and bundled the heavy wool into a tight parcel, which the groom helped me strap behind the saddle.

  I waved to Nurse, who was leaning so far from the sill that she looked set to tumble after the cloak. ‘Thank you!’

  She fluttered her kerchief again. In front of all those watching, I unlaced my heavy skirt, stepping out of its wet folds. A groom cupped his hands and I stepped into them, lifting myself into the saddle.

  ‘You,’ I called to the guardsman. Clifford. I’d given him that black eye. ‘I need some blades.’ That sword on the saddle was all very well, but I liked to have more on me than one length of steel. ‘You know how I fight.’

  He nodded and touched his eye with a grin. ‘Aye, Princess, I know.’ He touched the other guardsman. ‘Steve?’

  The men quickly unbuckled their daggers, handing their leather sheaths up. With a strange, sidelong look, Clifford rolled up his sleeve, undid the forearm holster and passed that to me.

  ‘Concealed weapons?’ I said.

  ‘We like the way you fight, lady,’ he said. ‘We’ve been practising.’

  ‘All of you?’

  He nodded, smiling shyly at my tight grin. Maybe there was hope for the Kingdom in these fighters; maybe they would be good enough to defeat the invaders.

  ‘Do you have any more?’ I said. A girl could never have too many knives.

  With a shrug and a half-smile, he unbuttoned the one on his other wrist. The other guard did the same, passing the knives and leather sheaths to me. I buckled them onto my calves; no-one ever died from being over-armed.

  In a clatter of hooves, N’tombe turned her horse.

  ‘I’ll take the leading reins.’ The groomsman looked at Father, who nodded. I lifted a hand to them, and called, ‘Raise the drawbridge after all the villagers are within.’

  Father nodded again. The breeze picked up, cracking the standard above the gates and lifting the skirts of the women. Crows soared in the rising air, calling harshly above the quiet crowd. As we clattered under the barbican, I saw the Fire Master clinging like a rangy spider to the stonework as he pinned fireworks to the walls; rockets against the invaders. I waved at him and to Nurse, who had stuck her head from my chamber window, to my family, and to the assorted inhabitants of the Castle who stood at the ramparts calling good wishes down to us, bidding me farewell.

  Trotting down to the outer gate house, where guards held back the crowds of carts and workhorses and livestock to let us through, across the drawbridge that swung to the movement of our feet. Along the stone road that led down the mount, its stones dazzlingly bright in the sunshine. I looked back to see the Castle of the Fallen tiered like a wedding cake, rising honey-
gold against the blue sky. Flags fluttered at the five towers and, above the tallest, birds drifted like a dark cloud.

  36

  The Return

  Racing against pursuit, Will and Jed had reached the harbour. They’d been lucky — their horses were strong, well watered, and the weather had been fair. They’d stuck to roads or paths with hard surfaces, leaving little tracks so it would be some time, Will felt, before any pursuers would catch them.

  Jed was not so optimistic. Jed was never optimistic.

  ‘They can change horses at their damned way-stations,’ he said. ‘They’ll travel twice as fast as us.’

  ‘Well,’ said Will, shortening his stirrups, ‘best we travel light, then.’

  Privately, Will wasn’t at all sure there were pursuers. Maybe they’d hidden the bodies of Kasar and his men well enough so they would never be found. Still, as Ma would say, better to be safe than sorry; cutting and running was the best option.

  The wastes had been empty, save for one surprising meeting with Dana. How did she do this? Did she find it disorientating, going to sleep in her bed, waking somewhere else? Not that he was ungrateful, not exactly. But it was disconcerting, not to mention frustrating. She seemed to find it frustrating too, if he was any judge, but it wasn’t as though they could discuss it. She was with him for such a brief time.

  Finally, miles from the Stronghold, they’d reached the coast. The sea gleamed in the bright afternoon sun. There was a small town behind them — Will didn’t even know its name — with strong stone walls. The walls extended beyond the town, so it seemed the town was reaching out, embracing the sea. Beyond the breakwater, the sea was choppy with whitecaps, but here, in the harbour, the water was calm.

  Gulls fought over fish scraps and shy, skinny cats rested in the wall’s shade. Jed and Will tied their horses to a convenient post and regarded the boats in front of them with interest. Will munched flat bread, spread with a paste of lentils and garlic. The bread here had a different flavour, but not unpleasant. And flat bread, he thought, would be good for travelling. He could even bake it himself on a campfire, if he had flour.

  The quickest route to the Kingdom was by water. They needed a boat.

  ‘You planning to hire one?’ he asked Jed.

  ‘I’ll borrow one, lad.’

  ‘You’ll steal it, won’t you?’

  Jed looked pained. ‘Borrow, steal? What does it matter? When you’ve finished filling your belly, time for you to go trading.’

  ‘You want me to sell the horses?’

  ‘Aye. We’ll need provisions. And for that, we’ll need coin.’

  Will swallowed the last of his bread with regret. Fresh food, after weeks on the run, was a luxury he preferred to savour. ‘I thought we borrowed the horses too.’

  Jed shrugged. ‘Borrowed, stolen …’

  ‘Be a shame to lose these mounts,’ Will said, stroking the small mare’s neck. ‘They’ve been good to us.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Jed, shading his eyes and staring out at the bay. ‘We caught a stroke of luck alright.’

  That night, Will and Jed crept along the jetty, keeping to the shadows. Jed had bribed the watchman with rum.

  ‘That one,’ hissed Jed, pointing at a small skiff. It had one mast and no cabin.

  ‘You sure?’ Will hoped Jed knew what he was doing. Boats were tricky things. Raised in a fishing village, Will had spent enough time on the water to know that sailing a boat as far as the Kingdom was an undertaking requiring skill.

  ‘Boats and women, lad — never choose on appearance.’

  Jed was a better sailor than Will had given him credit for; it seemed they’d only just cleared the breakwater, silver in the moonlight, when they caught the breeze. The triangular sail cracked, filling with the wind’s power, and Will swung the tiller. The little craft was off, flying towards the moon.

  Jed looked troubled. ‘This is the first full moon since we met your princess.’

  ‘She’s not my princess.’

  ‘Alright.’ Jed held up a hand. ‘The princess. My point is — we seem to be making unusual speed. Should have taken us nigh on three months to reach the port. We seem to have travelled it in much less.’

  The wind remained favourable. The two men took it in turns to sleep, the other keeping watch. It was a miserable journey; there was no shelter on the boat, save that of the sail and a cloak, so no protection from sea spray. Will grew mighty sick of dried meat and cheese and Jed began to speak longingly of lettuce, and carrots and onions. Although, perhaps such food would not have been pleasant; Will’s stomach did not welcome the constant motion of the boat.

  For the first two days they followed the coastline from a distance, keeping too far off, they hoped, for unfriendly eyes. The next day the fog came. The world became wrapped in white wool; all was still, save for the cracking of the wind against the sails and the slap of the waves against the ship. Once, Will thought he heard the call of a bird, but it passed quickly overhead. It was a strange time; three days, three nights of limbo when, it felt, the world about them did not exist. Once it rained and they filled the buckets.

  ‘’Taint natural, this fog,’ hissed Jed.

  ‘Maybe we’ll run aground,’ said Will hopefully. He would put up with being shipwrecked, if it meant the world would stop moving.

  ‘I doubt we will, lad. I doubt we will.’

  ‘You think this is magic?’

  Jed shrugged. ‘Probably. Smells of it.’

  ‘It’s from the Kingdom?’

  ‘Let’s hope so, lad. Rather that than otherwise.’

  Dana! Will thought, in relief. She must have told N’tombe they were coming home.

  On the third day, the fog lifted silently, parting like a white wall. The sun was high, the weather fair, the wind strong. And there, in the distance, was the unmistakeable peak of Jenkins Hill.

  ‘We’ve been led,’ said Will.

  ‘Ah,’ said Jed, ‘but we’re not alone.’

  In the distance was a forest of masts. Red sails, towering above the horizon. Huge, square ships. On the deck, figures in white. Thousands of men.

  ‘Seems like we’ve been followed,’ said Jed.

  Will shook his head. ‘I think we’re the followers.’ Far to the north, clouds were massing.

  The storm hit that afternoon. They tried to tack into the headwind, making for the cliffs that Will, recalling N’tombe’s map, thought were the cliffs of the Kingdom, but the waves grew to mountains. They clung to the mast of the boat and prayed.

  Will would never forget the power of that storm.

  Hailstones, great slabs of ice. Waterspouts, waving like multi-limbed monsters, stretched transparent arms towards the sky. Torrential rain. Between the spray from the waves and the rain, the sea was a haze of grey.

  Blinking water from his eyes, Will saw lightning strike a ship. It split in two, both halves on fire. The sails caught alight, flaring like a torch against the dark sky. Masts split like matchwood. Some ships broke apart, scattering men and weapons into the water.

  Part of him felt relief at seeing the invaders dispatched. Who would have believed that the great navy of the Eternal could be broken in a single afternoon? But part of him felt terrified; waves and wind are not precise weapons, and their boat was a small one. Would whoever was directing this storm see them?

  Jed swung the tiller hard, trying to turn into the waves, but the wind howled and tore the rigging. A wave struck the side of the ship, rolling it like a baker throwing dough. They hit the water so hard, Will hardly had time to breathe.

  Stuck under the hull of the little boat, Will reached for air. The world turned dark and the wash of the waves made him dizzy. In which direction was the sky? He stretched out with empty arms, seeking aid: Help me! Yet still the world spun and his chest burned. His eyes closed.

  He roused, coughing. Strong arms pulled him onto damp wood. He rested his face against barnacles and peeling paint and thought only of breathing. How amazing — to be able
to do a little thing like pulling air into your lungs.

  Behind the upturned boat the storm wind roared, but here all felt quiet; calm. His skin pricked in the sunlight and the waves washed peacefully against the boat, rocking him like a child in a cradle. He smiled, saw the cliffs of the cove grow closer. Home. He was going home.

  37

  Depart with Sorrow, Greet with Joy

  Eventually, the road grew empty of anxious animals and villagers and there was space to move. They were alert, these horses, ears pricked to each sound, and fast pacers. The two I led nuzzled each other, jerking on the reins until I hissed at them to be still. The air smelt fresh and new after the storm and the roadside grass steamed gently in the sunlight, so that we seemed to be trotting through warm clouds.

  ‘Are you ready?’ N’tombe called.

  ‘Ready!’ I called, pressing my calves to the side of my horse. The leading reins grew taut against my palm as the hunter leapt forward, her gait moving from trot to smooth canter. The riderless horses followed eagerly.

  ‘Fix your eyes on the road,’ called N’tombe. Just as on our last journey, the world twisted, blurring as we cantered forward. From the corners of my eyes I caught strange, dislocated visions: glimpses of houses, trees, a river, a mill, the brief hollow booming of a bridge, the white stone of the roadway again, until, finally, a change in the air and the high, mournful calls of the gulls.

  I blinked, and the world trembled, paused, and snapped into focus. We stood on the top of a cliff. Ahead, the road split into two paths, one heading north along the bluffs, the other turning, twisting towards the beach below. The air smelt of salt and the shore was covered with blackened hulks and wooden spars. Birds cawed and dived, fighting over things that bobbed in the waves.

  ‘Not far,’ called N’tombe.

  As we stepped off the white gravel road, I felt I was really leaving. That white road had always been my lookout, a kind of arrow that, if followed, would point my way home.

  The track led steadily downhill towards the cliff edge. Just when I feared that we would fall over the edge it turned, descending through daisies and yellow bracken towards the sand. Breakers pounded, spray drifting in from the sea in a white mist. The sea roared, mixing with the wind, so it seemed the world was all noise.