“Eubrey can’t stop it,” he said, “because it wasn’t his spell that did this.”
And even as they watched, the column of smoke reached higher in the sky as the crows darted and wheeled.
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE LONG AFTERNOON seemed to stand still. There was not a cloud in view, and in the fields all around poppies drooped their heads. It was as if all the world had fallen into a golden drowse, lulled by the drone of locusts.
Mrs. Baydon took a sip of wine and gave a sigh. “I really believe nothing could be conceived that would be more marvelous than this. Wouldn’t you agree, Ivoleyn?”
Ivy could not deny it was all very pleasant; or rather, she knew that she ought to have found it pleasant. The maid and the driver had strewn blankets on the grass and heaped them with cushions, so that all of the party were able to arrange themselves in the most comfortable fashion. There were niceties to partake of, and there was a plentitude of wine, poured from bottles that had been kept cool in moist clay pots. Ivy should only have been content.
Instead, her own glass of wine remained full in her hand, and her attention kept roving down the path to the gray-green curtain of Madiger’s Wall. She wondered what sort of things Lord Rafferdy, Lord Eubrey, and Lord Coulten had discovered in their exploration. In particular, she wondered if they had come upon any more red stones. Ivy was curious how a stone block that looked just like the ones her father’s house was built from had come to be a part of Madiger’s Wall.
“Ivoleyn?”
Ivy realized she had been staring at the wall again. “Of course,” she said, and gave her friend a smile. “There could be nothing more lovely than this.”
“I knew you would agree,” Mrs. Baydon said, only then her own smile altered into a frown. “Do not be so greedy with the cherries, Mr. Baydon! I am sure others might wish to taste them.”
Her husband responded with a look of indignation, though its effect was significantly lessened by the red stain on his chin.
“We must be sure to invite Lord Rafferdy with us on our next outing,” Lady Crayford said. She was making a sketch in her book of a bouquet of poppies that Captain Branfort had brought her. “He would be a natural addition to our circle, given that both you and Lord Eubrey are already acquainted with him.”
Ivy could only be pleased by this suggestion. “Captain Branfort knows him as well. And I would not be surprised if the same was true of your husband.”
Lady Crayford looked up from her book. “What would make you say such a thing, Lady Quent?”
“I was only thinking it is possible that Lord Rafferdy has encountered the viscount at Assembly.”
“But that is not possible at all!” Lady Crayford exclaimed. “The viscount never goes to Assembly. It is his belief that there are other and better ways to affect affairs in our nation.”
“What other way could there possibly be?” Mr. Baydon said, lowering a cherry he had been about to pop in his mouth.
At this, Colonel Daubrent, who was reclining on his back to gaze at the sky, gave a rare laugh. “Politics are far from the only way to affect the course of nations. Wouldn’t you concur, Branfort?”
“I would,” the captain said.
Mr. Baydon scowled. “You are both military men, so I can only presume you mean to imply that war can alter the fate of a nation. Yet you forget that all wars come about for some reason of politics or another.”
Captain Branfort slapped his knee. “I do believe he has us there, Colonel! What can we poor soldiers do but go whither and fight whoever our government commands us to? We have no choice in the matter.”
“No, we do not,” Daubrent said. “Not unless we were to become the government ourselves.”
Ivy supposed this statement was meant to be humorous. Except the colonel was not one for making jokes. She considered asking him to explain further, but at that moment Mrs. Baydon let out a sound of dismay.
“What ill luck!” she said. “I want only to linger here all afternoon, but I do believe a storm is coming. Look how the trees are blowing, and there is a dark cloud over there.”
Ivy had been doing her best not to be fascinated by the wall, and to instead pay attention to her companions. Now she did look that way and saw that Mrs. Baydon was right. Above the wall, the crowns of the trees were tossing back and forth, and a dark smudge stained the sky.
Captain Branfort stood and lifted a hand to shade his eyes. “I say, that doesn’t look like any sort of cloud.”
Ivy felt a prickling on the back of her neck and her arms. She looked at the fields of poppies around them; the flowers still drooped on their stalks, motionless. There was not a breath of wind.
Yet the trees moved as if propelled by a violent gale.
Even as understanding came to her, she heard the first shouts. The others must have heard as well, for they all followed Captain Branfort and leaped to their feet. Now people were rushing up the path, fleeing away from Madiger’s Wall in the most chaotic fashion.
“What’s all this now?” Mr. Baydon exclaimed.
Ivy looked upward. The black stain continued to spread over the sky, and at the same time a terrible sound rose on the air: deep groans punctuated by a shrill creaking. There were no words in the sound, but Ivy comprehended it all the same. It was an expression of shock and pain.
And of anger.
Several redcrests went dashing by, running not away from the wall but toward it.
“Ho, there!” Captain Branfort called, stopping one of them with a raised hand. “Can you give me a report?”
The soldier eyed Branfort’s coat and nodded. “You had best get your people away from here, sir.”
“Why should we leave?” Mr. Baydon said, his voice pitched rather high now. “I demand to know what is going on!”
The redcrest kept his attention on Captain Branfort. “We have a report that someone has made an attempt to lob torches soaked with naphtha over the wall, and there’s a fire. Nor have they caught whoever did it.”
“A fire!” Ivy said, a horror coming over her. “You mean in the Evengrove?”
“No, as far as we can tell none of the torches made it over the wall. It was too high for that, but the field and bracken all along the wall is ablaze. And the trees, they … I had believed it of course, all the stories in Torland, only I never really …”
The man shook his head, at a loss, but Ivy understood him perfectly. The Old Trees, beaten back by flame and ax for so many centuries, had perceived the acrid smoke and the heat licking against the stones of the wall. They felt the fire was near.
And they had awakened from quiescence.
“I must take my leave, sir,” the soldier said. “I only left to fetch more men. There is a water tower near the wall. We are to form a brigade.”
Captain Branfort gave a firm nod. “The colonel and I can lend a hand, can’t we?”
“Of course,” Daubrent said grimly.
“Mr. Baydon, please escort the ladies a safe distance from the wall,” Captain Branfort said. “Several furlongs at least. Mr. Baydon!”
Mr. Baydon blinked, then managed to look away from the wall and the thrashing trees. “Yes, of course. At once.”
Captain Branfort touched Ivy’s arm. “Do not be afraid. The wall is very thick. It has withstood the forest for over a thousand years. There is no way they can get beyond it.”
Ivy’s breathing was rapid; her heart raced in her breast. Only she was not frightened. Rather, a wonder had come over her, and an exhilaration. The soldier started back down the path after his compatriots. Captain Branfort and Colonel Daubrent followed.
All around now were shouts and cries of alarm. The horses were wild-eyed, having smelled the smoke, but there was no hope of getting the carriages any farther from the wall; as people fled from the Evengrove the road had become a snarl of traffic worse than the busiest day on Marble Street.
Instead, the driver freed the horses from the harnesses. He took the team from the four-in-hand, while Mr.
Baydon grabbed the reins of the colonel’s pair. They led the beasts away from the wall while Mrs. Baydon and Lady Crayford hurried after, along with the maid.
Ivy hesitated. Smoke billowed into the sky, and ash had begun to rain down like gray snow. Above the top of the wall, the trees still tossed to and fro. She was astonished by the violence and speed with which they moved. Even as she watched, she saw the first branches reach out and scrabble against the topmost stones, straining to reach past.
“Lady Quent, what are you doing?”
Only when she heard Mr. Baydon’s shout did Ivy realize she had taken several steps down the path toward the wall. She nearly collided with a knot of people fleeing along the path.
One of them, a young man, flung up his hand to keep from colliding with her. His palm was marked with black lines, and she wondered if he had gotten too close to the fire. Indeed, the sleeves of his coat were scorched in several places; only the marks on his hand were too sharp to have been formed by smears of soot.
In an instant, the group was past her, and Ivy forgot all other thoughts as she saw three figures hurrying up the path.
“Mr. Rafferdy!” she cried out, running toward him.
Lord Eubrey and Lord Coulten were with him, and such was their pace that she had gone only a few steps before they were upon her.
“Mrs. Quent, are you well?” There was great concern in his eyes.
“I am!” she said, rather breathlessly. “I had feared you were still near the wall. I am so relieved you are away. It is …”
“It is a Rising,” Lord Eubrey said, his expression more one of interest than dread.
In hurried words, Ivy explained how Captain Branfort and Colonel Daubrent had gone to aid the soldiers, and the others had gone with the horses away from the wall.
“Then let us join them,” Lord Eubrey said, starting in that direction. Lord Coulten said nothing as he followed after, his face the color of whey.
“Come, Mrs. Quent, we must go.”
Mr. Rafferdy took her arm. At that moment came the terrible sound of a man’s screams. They both turned to see a dreadful sight: a soldier caught in a tangle of black branches, being lifted into the air.
How the branches had managed to reach so far down, Ivy did not know. Perhaps it was a place where, due to long years of weathering or some other damage, the wall was a little lower. Or perhaps the boughs of the trees were extending in length somehow. Whatever the reason, it was enough for the branches to just reach a soldier as he ran along the base of the wall, a bucket in hand.
“Do not look, Mrs. Quent!” Mr. Rafferdy cried. “Turn your head.”
As he said this, he took her in his arms, and with one hand pressed her cheek against his coat to avert her eyes. However, he had not been so swift that she hadn’t seen the soldier’s limbs flop about like those of a doll shaken by a child, or how he was cast twenty feet back to the ground.
For a moment both she and Mr. Rafferdy were motionless, though she could hear the thudding of his heart in his chest. It felt different than when Mr. Quent held her close. Mr. Rafferdy’s arms were perhaps not so powerful, but he was taller, and was able to easily enfold her in his embrace, so that she felt no less secure.
“Good God,” Mr. Rafferdy said in a low voice. “I did not believe they could reach so far. I think the poor fellow is …”
He did not finish speaking, nor did he need to. She had no doubt that the unfortunate soldier had perished in the fall, if not before. How many others would share a similar fate before the fire could be put out?
A thought occurred to her, one that left her feeling giddy. The Old Trees were lashing out because they were fearful; she could hear it in their wordless voices. But what if they could be told that they had no reason to be afraid, that they were safe within the bounds of the wall? Was there not at least some possibility they might listen?
Only she had to get closer. She had to touch them.
“Mr. Rafferdy,” she said, pushing herself away from his grasp. “I must get closer to the wall.”
His expression was startled. And at first, she was not certain it was her words that had astonished him, but rather the fact of their embrace. However, after a moment it was clear her words had indeed impinged upon him.
“You are in a state of shock, Mrs. Quent! It has made you morbid. You must come with me at once.”
Beyond him, she could see soldiers running toward their fallen comrade, axes in their hands. This only convinced her further.
“No, Mr. Rafferdy. There is something I must do there, though I know you cannot possibly understand.”
“No, I cannot understand!” he exclaimed. “You’ve just seen a man perish. Would you have yourself be the next?”
“No, I would try to ensure that no more come to harm.”
“How is such a thing possible?”
“I do not know that it is possible! But there is some hope it may be if I can get to the wall.” Then she shook her head, her thoughts racing. “Except it won’t be enough to be close to the wall. I must find a way to get through it. Yet how could that be done? Perhaps it is hopeless after all.”
His expression was startled anew. She laid a hand on his arm.
“What is it, Mr. Rafferdy? There is something you almost spoke just now. What was it? I beg that you tell me!”
He drew in a shuddering breath. “There is a door in the wall, one locked by magick. Eubrey had read of it, and Coulten discovered it.”
“When?”
“Just a little while earlier.”
“And you opened it with magick?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “At first I feared it was our own actions that disturbed the trees. Only it wasn’t—it was the fire.”
A thrill passed through her, and she tightened her fingers around his arm. “You did not cause this, Mr. Rafferdy, but perhaps you can help to ease it if you take me to the door.”
He shook his head and tried to recoil from her, but she would not release him from her grasp.
“How could I do such a thing?”
Ivy drew in a breath. There was so much to explain to him, only there was no time. The crowns of the trees continued to heave violently; the air was choked with smoke and ash.
“Mr. Rafferdy,” she said, keeping her voice low, and meeting his gaze with her own. “I know you recall our encounter with the magicians of my father’s order at the house on Durrow Street. Yet there is something about that day you do not know—something that I did. You did not see due to the enchantment they placed upon you, but it is something you will witness now if you take me to the door, and then you will understand.”
He stared at her, his expression one of horror. Yet there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes as well—she was certain of it.
“Please, Mr. Rafferdy! You know I would not ask you such a thing if it must not be done.”
A shudder passed through him, and he held a hand to his brow. “Your husband will have me hanged if he learns of this.” Then a wan smile touched the corners of his lips. “Yet how can I argue with you, Mrs. Quent? You have ever been the sensible one, not I.”
She squeezed his arm. “Thank you.”
“This way, before I come to my senses,” he said, and he led her down the path toward the Evengrove.
IVY CLUNG TO Mr. Rafferdy’s arm as they cut across the open fields. Rather than take the path along the wall, their intention was to keep their distance from the Evengrove as long as possible to avoid both the trees and the soldiers who might question them.
“There,” he said, pointing to the wall. “I can see the red stones from here.”
Now that she knew to look for them, they were easy to see against the gray-green curtain of the wall: red stones arranged in the shape of a door. The wall was reassuringly high at this point, and the trees above, while they swayed back and forth, were not moving nearly as violently as those to the south, closer to the smoke of the fire. This gave her some hope that to approach would not be exceedingly dang
erous.
Yet she could not deny there was some peril in doing so. She recalled the rain-lashed evening when, as governess to Clarette and Chambley, she had followed the children to the old stand of Wyrdwood east of Heathcrest Hall. She would never forget the way the branches had reached down over the wall to bar their passage.
Only they had raised back up when she commanded them to do so.
They slowed their pace as they approached the wall. Ivy looked around, fearing soldiers might see them and tell them to get back. However, they were beyond a bend in the wall now, and for all the smoke she could see little more than a furlong. No, it was not soldiers they need be concerned with.
“They move even though there is no wind,” Mr. Rafferdy said as he gazed up at the trees, his brown eyes wide. “I knew it was possible, and I see it before me, yet still I can hardly believe it.”
He was right; there was no wind. All the same, the sound was like that of a gale through the boughs of the trees. So deafening was the noise that Ivy was nearly overcome by it. They had felt the heat of fire; they had seen the bright flash of axes. The Old Trees had encountered these things before, they knew what they portended, and they would fight back.
She would fight back.…
“Mrs. Quent!”
Ivy shook her head, and the air around her went from green to ash gray.
He was looking at her, a grimace on his face. “I say, you have an unusually forceful grip. Could you please … ?”
Ivy snatched her hand back. There was a red weal around his wrist. He raised it and rubbed it with his other hand.
“Are you still certain you want to do this?”
She gave him a mute nod.
“Very well,” he said, and he crossed the last distance to the wall.
He did not look up as he went, but instead kept his eyes upon the red stones of the door. The bravery of this act astonished Ivy. It was not that she had any reason to believe Mr. Rafferdy was not brave; indeed, he had shown great courage when they confronted the magicians at the house on Durrow Street. It was only that she wondered when in his life, prior to the events of last year, he had ever been required to display such a character.
The House on Durrow Street Page 53