Heart of Valor - V1 Dec 2004

by Lisa Jane Smith

  “I’m saying that maybe she had her reasons. I would have thought,” Janie added, looking at her oddly, “that you would know more about it than I do.”

  “What on earth do you mean by that?” said Alys, but some part of her knew exactly what Janie meant. She did know, if only she could remember—

  The sudden jerk of the ground took her by surprise. For an instant she thought it was something going on inside her, a wave of dizziness, but she quickly realized the truth.

  “Get under the doorways, quick!”

  The whole house was shaking. They crouched under the frames of the doorways, Alys with Claudia and Charles with Janie, and watched each other with frightened eyes.

  “Look at the chandelier,” said Charles. It was swinging back and forth, crystal pendants tinkling musically. The sliding doors to the closet rattled. Ornaments fell off shelves, and suddenly, with a crash, so did a row of books. Claudia shrieked, and Janie leaned her head on her knees, looking ill.

  And then it was over. Alys made them sit in the doorways a few minutes to make sure. When they got up their legs were so rubbery it felt as if the room were still moving.

  “Guess it was an aftershock,” mumbled Janie.

  “And now maybe more things have come through the Passage?” demanded Alys. Janie spread her hands helplessly; she didn’t know.

  “Look,” said Alys, “do you really think all these creatures are just things that came through the Passage? The shape on the roof, and the bobcat, and the thing that chased Claudia?”

  “I never said any of those things came through the Passage. I just said something did.”

  “Well, I don’t think it was any of these.” She hadn’t realized this until she said it.

  “Where did they come from, then?” demanded Charles. “And what are they doing? Why are they bothering us?”

  There was a silence. Alys was thinking about the rainbow.

  “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But, Janie, I want you to check the wards again. I feel as if something were about to happen.”

  The wards were up and untouched. Still, Alys couldn’t shake off her feeling of apprehension as she went to bed. She took the sword out and held it a long time before placing it on the nightstand. At last she fell asleep.

  And immediately began to dream.

  *

  When Morgana went to Arthur’s chief palace at Caerleon to look at him with her own eyes she did so inconspicuously, taking only a small retinue. She had had many servants over the years, for her lifetime spanned many human generations. She would take on an attendant young and raw, full of little quirks that annoyed her, and almost before she knew it would wake to find a retainer well loved and trusted, but growing old. It saddened her.

  Her only constant companion was the vixen. One day when she was still an apprentice she had gone to the woods to gather herbs and found a tiny fox cub which had been savaged by some animal. Morgana’s heart had gone out to the little creature, and she brought it home to heal by sorcery. By the time it was well it followed her everywhere. The Council had been shocked when she used her portion of the Elixir of Days—which could not, by law, be denied to her once she won her staff—to grant her familiar long life, but Morgana had never regretted it.

  Now, traveling to Caerleon, she took only the vixen and two maidservants. One was named Viviane, a slender girl with a steady gaze and hair like copper. She had a gift for sorcery, and Morgana encouraged it, for although it was difficult for a human to win a staff, it was not impossible.

  They watched Arthur from concealment and Morgana was pleased with what she saw. He was a tall and handsome youth, with a strong easy step and an air of energy and authority. The gold threads in his tunic were no brighter than his hair, and his eyes were as blue as the gems in the hilt of his sword.

  But, looking at those gems, Morgana’s eyes fell on one, a blue stone the size of a walnut, and a cold wind seemed to go through her. Where it had come from, she could not imagine, but no sorceress could mistake it. It was one of the Forgotten Gems, one of the stones of great power whose fate was lost in the mists of antiquity. Great power—and great peril. Its name was Mirror of Heaven, but there was nothing heavenly about its influence. A fury came over her, and she cast a portal straight into Merlin’s tower room in the castle to demand an explanation.

  Merlin smiled at her. “I don’t remember where I got it,” he said. “I found it lying about somewhere.”

  If Elwyn had said this, Morgana would have believed it. But not Merlin.

  “What do you mean by giving such a thing to a human?” she said. “Have you lost your wits entirely? Or are you merely trying to destroy him?”

  Merlin raised an insulted eyebrow. “It will not destroy him but protect him. He will be almost invulnerable—”

  “To weapons of steel, perhaps. But what wild magic is inside that stone, to prey upon his mind? Merlin”—she leaned forward—“the Council itself could not contain the power of those Gems. They were made right before the Time of Chaos, and some say all that happened after was their doing. Or have you forgotten your history as well?”

  Merlin simply smiled maddeningly. “Ah, the old tales. What a pity so few of them are true. For what it’s worth, you have my leave to try to take the sword from Arthur. I don’t think he’ll give it to you, though. It was a gift from me.

  Merlin actually brought Arthur to the Forest of Darnantes himself. Morgana watched them riding toward her, laughing and talking, the sun shining on the silver hair of the one and the gold of the other. They looked for all the world like two carefree young knights on holiday.

  Leaving Merlin on the shore, she took Arthur across the lake into her house. There, with both hands, she held out an object wrapped in dark green silk.

  He unwrapped it and drew in his breath quickly. She could see the wonder in his eyes when he raised them to her.

  “It is the most beautiful sword I have ever seen,” he said simply, sitting and laying it across his knees.

  “It is yours,” said Morgana. “I made it for you. But I ask one thing in return, that you give me the other.”

  Arthur grasped the hilt of the sword at his belt and Morgana had to control herself from wincing at the sight of his hand on the Gem. “Well?” she said.

  Arthur’s honest blue eyes—Ygraine’s eyes—met hers regretfully. “I cannot,” he said.

  “Merlin has told you, I believe, why I want it.”

  “He has said that you fear it will work a great bane upon me, and upon those I love best. But, lady, this sword was given me by Merlin himself, and it is the sword of my kingship. He does not believe it will bring me any harm. But, regardless, I will take the adventure ordained me. I must not turn back from peril.”

  Morgana stared at him. Two things were clear to her even without the extra rapport the sword engendered between them: that Arthur was of a simplicity and purity of heart such as she had never encountered, and that he loved Merlin very much. Perhaps he believed he could conquer the evil in the stone as he meant, with absolute sincerity, to conquer all the evil in the world.

  She bowed her head. “Your majesty,” she said, and stopped, and started again. “Arthur,” she said, “there are some things quite beyond your powers.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said steadily. “But if no one ever tries to strive against them no one will ever succeed. We must simply do our best, you know. And hope.”

  Morgana dropped her eyes. “Promise me one thing, at least, for the sake of the love I bore your mother. If you will not give up the sword, at least forbear to use it. You have another, now.”

  “And a fairer,” he said, courteously. “I will do what you ask. I will lay the old one aside and give out that it is broken, and I will use your sword all my days. May I be shown worthy of it!” He kissed her hand and left.

  Morgana watched him go and whispered, “Oh, Merlin, what have you done? And what are you yet to do?”

  She feared very much that Arthur, with his inno
cence and inexperience, would come to disaster among the knights and rival warriors at his court. But the opposite was true: the young king somehow brought out the best in people, and soon champions from kingdoms far and near were coming to Caerleon to lay their weapons at his feet. Still, she was afraid. Arthur’s knights seemed to take his philosophy to heart: refuse no adventure and suffer no injustice to endure, but they were not Arthur. They were ordinary men, with passions and jealousies of their own. They could be dangerous.

  Meanwhile Merlin continued to amuse himself. Although he must have been at least partly responsible for Arthur’s ideas, and although he continued to advise and support Arthur in his efforts to unite the kingdoms of Britain, the presence of the Gem seemed to wake the Quislai in him, and there were times when he just couldn’t resist a joke. It was he who sent two knights to slay a dread perilous monster in Morgana’s lake, an adventure which ended with the death of her selkie, a gentle and domesticated pet like a seal. Morgana herself preferred not to kill unless it was unavoidable, so she confined herself to a spell which sent the knights running off into the forest, convinced they were wild boars. Still, this started a feud with the knights’ relatives, and when that was settled, new warriors kept coming. Furious, she called Merlin to her.

  “What have you told them of me, that they come here looking for battle?”

  Merlin displayed round-eyed innocence. “Why, nothing—except that you are an enchantress. Which is only true. And perhaps one or two other things which I can’t recall at the moment.”

  “And these one or two other things—were they true?”

  Merlin thought hard. “I am not sure. Do you lure men to dance with you on the water and then drag them beneath the waves? And have you the bodies of twelve good knights hung upside down in your dungeon?”

  Morgana repressed the impulse to shake him, and also, paradoxically, to laugh. He was completely irresponsible and quite beyond her understanding. But she had had enough experience in dealing with her half sister Elwyn, who shared these exact qualities, to know that reproaches would do no good.

  “It must stop,” she said flatly, laying a hand on her staff.

  “Do you understand me, Merlin? It must stop at once.”

  She had, as a matter of fact, no real way of compelling him. His staff was as powerful as her own, and if she had experience to draw on, he could lay hands on a Gem with powers untold. But he agreed, and even seemed genuinely repentant.

  As far as she could tell, he kept his word, but it made little difference in the end. Her reputation was already established, and many knights came to the lake girded for battle and went back to add to the tales of her beauty and wickedness. She tried to hurt them as little as possible.

  Years passed. She saw Merlin’s prophecies about Arthur come true. The kingdoms were united; Arthur became High King. He married Guinevere, a shy little princess from Wales. Warriors continued to flock to him. Morgana sent one of her own household, a bold and gallant young man named Lancelot whom she had fostered since his mother died, and he became Arthur’s strong right hand.

  The real trouble started then. Merlin had always been jealous of anyone who shared Arthur’s affections, and it was difficult for him to accept that the boy who had depended on him could care for others as well. As time went on the young sorcerer seemed to find it harder to resist his darker impulses. The Gem, perhaps. One thing she knew he had done was start rumors that Lancelot du Lac and Queen Guinevere had betrayed the king. Arthur believed neither the rumors nor the reports that Merlin was behind them. He would hear no evil of the people he loved.

  Morgana did not know what other harm the Gem was doing. Because of its influence or no, feuds and factions developed between the knights. Perhaps it simply was not possible to have so many powerful and independent lords under one roof without fomenting trouble. Still, somehow or other, by his very presence, Arthur held them all together. Morgana, sensing his love and concern through the sword, wondered how long it could last.

  NINE

  Down in the Dark

  Alys woke all at once and sat up in bed, overcome by a feeling of foreboding. At first the feeling was vague, and then it narrowed into a focus. Something had wakened her. She held herself quite still for several minutes, listening, then threw off the covers and got up. Her hand reached for the sword automatically; she didn’t even have to glance down as she picked it up.

  Half the lights in the house were still on downstairs, but this did nothing to make her feel more safe. Darkness hung in corners and pooled behind furniture. She made the circuit of quiet room after quiet room, her uneasiness growing with every step.

  As she approached the dining room she faltered and pulled up short. The many lights in the room turned the sliding glass doors into half-mirrors which reflected the oak table and the chandelier, making it hard to see outside. But there was something outside, something moving, coming right up to the glass and then away again. Alys stared at it, her brow creasing, her eyes narrowing. She felt her hands slowly lower the sword.

  It was Janie outside, wearing a white nightgown which fluttered around her bare ankles. She moved quickly and lightly up to the sliding glass doors, almost but not quite touching them as she cupped her hands around her face to peer in. Then she danced away again. She reminded Alys of some great, pale moth going blindly from window to window.

  But Janie never wore nightgowns, she wore pajamas. And the face framed between those slender hands was blank, expressionless. Alys felt ice up and down her backbone. She took a step back.

  The next instant she almost screamed aloud as something grabbed her from behind. She struggled and managed to get the sword up before she saw a tumble of black hair and wide purple eyes; then she froze in shock.

  “Shhh!” Janie waited until Alys had taken a deep breath and nodded, indicating that the temptation to yell was over, before removing her hand from Alys’s mouth. It really was Janie. She was wearing neither a nightgown nor pajamas, but rumpled jeans and a pullover. There was a red crease on one cheek—from falling asleep on a book, Alys guessed.

  Slowly, as if compelled, Alys turned to look outside again. It was still there, bumbling against the glass.

  “What in the name of heaven is it?”

  “I don’t know.” Janie was looking, too, leaning over Alys’s arm. She spoke in a whisper. “Offhand, three things come to mind: phantasm, elemental, or boojum.”

  “Boojum?”

  Janie grimaced. “My word. It’s a kind of sprite you can make by sorcery, by conjuring from an element. But I can’t tell what that thing is, not without a closer look.”

  “Is it trying to get through the wards?”

  Janie shook her head, looking disturbed. “The strange thing is, the wards haven’t given any warning at all. And I would have known if they had, I’ve been awake most of the night.” She added, “Couldn’t sleep. Busy reading.”

  But Alys, touched, knew the truth. Her sister, who looked at the moment like nothing so much as an undernourished elf in wrinkled denim, had been standing guard for all of them.

  “Next time you tell me and we’ll take turns,” she said. She added, “What do you suggest we do now?”

  Janie bit her lips, then her gaze dropped considerably to the sword. “We really should try and trap it, see what it’s made of,” she said, seeming reluctant. “Oh, I don’t like doing this without Morgana.”

  “We don’t seem to have much choice.”

  “No. All right, listen to me. We have to be careful; I don’t know what that thing can do. And I need my rowan stick.”

  They conferred together in whispers. Then Alys crept around behind the dining table and stationed herself on one side of the sliding glass doors, while Janie crouched on the other. The beautiful, pale, blind thing continued to flutter up against the glass. Alys’s eyes met Janie’s; she saw her sister’s lips move soundlessly and just as soundlessly counted with her: one, two, three, now. On the last count Janie brought the rowan wand down with
a crack, breaking the wards, and Alys simultaneously jumped out, flipping up the lock on the door and pulling it open almost in one motion. The white-nightgowned thing tumbled inside and Janie threw the door closed again, restoring the wards as Alys dove in a tackle.

  The nightgown was cool against her cheek as she locked her arms about the Janie-thing’s waist, and she could smell the freshness of night air in the folds of cotton. The intruder yielded and fell to the floor and she fell on top of it, momentarily concerned because it seemed so fragile. And then somehow everything went wrong. She found herself staring into blank, lovely violet eyes as the thing twisted with impossible agility and speed and got its hands around her throat. The pale, thin hands were Janie’s hands, but they were much stronger than Janie’s would ever be. Alys found that she had lost the sword. She tried to pry the hands away. The violet eyes were staring at a point just over her left shoulder. She balled her hand into a fist and raised it—and stopped. It was Janie’s face, her sister’s face.

  Then she felt other hands pulling at the hands on her throat—the real Janie. The iron grip cutting off her air eased for an instant and she drew in a great, gasping breath. She took two handfuls of nightgown and twisted the creature around, banging it down hard against the wooden floor. The false Janie bucked and the real Janie flew across the room.

  What followed was never clear in her memory. A chair was knocked over, the throw rug wound itself around her legs. It was a bare-handed fight: undignified, unsystematic, and deadly serious. Alys knew without question that the thing with Janie’s face was trying to kill her.

  And it was winning. It was stronger than she was, faster, tougher. It could outlast her. In one of her brief moments of advantage she threw it to the ground again, groping for something on the floor almost without knowing what she was doing. Her body was searching for something, telling her what to do, but her mind didn’t catch up until she felt the sword in her hand.