The Queen of sinister da-2

by Marc Chadbourn

  Mahalia sensed what they were discussing and came over. 'I'll stay with him.'

  Caitlin eyed her coldly; she could feel the Morrigan stirring at the back of her head, the frantic fluttering of black wings.

  Mahalia saw what was happening in Caitlin's face and said, 'I've done bad things, I know, but this isn't the time to punish me. You can do that later, after he's gone.'

  Without acknowledging Mahalia, Caitlin nodded to Matt and set off back over the boulders. 'What's going on between you two?' Matt asked the girl. Mahalia waved him away and turned back to Crowther, the only thing on her mind now.

  'I'll stay as well,' Jack said when she returned.

  'No. We need you.' The tone in Matt's voice suggested there would be no argument.

  'Go on,' Mahalia said. 'I'll be here when you're done.' They both knew it was a lie. They hugged and kissed briefly, almost blase, so that they could pretend it wasn't going to be the last time, and then Jack hurried off with Matt in pursuit of Caitlin. As Caitlin approached the door, the familiar smell of burned iron drifted into her nostrils and lightning bolts crackled through the air. The knight with the boar's-head helmet stood to one side of the entrance, pointing with his sword for her to enter the House of Pain. Now Caitlin could see the truth: he belonged in some way to that awful power and everything he had done had been to draw her there. She considered attacking him, hacking open that ghoulish boar's head, but it was pointless; she should save her rage for what lay within.

  'Enter, Caitlin Shepherd. Your destiny awaits you.' His voice seethed with the same lightning energy.

  As she passed, she pointed her sword at his throat; he didn't flinch.

  'What did you do that for?' Matt asked as they moved into the shadows beneath the porch of gleaming obsidian that overhung the door.

  Caitlin looked from Matt to the knight. 'You can't see him?'

  Matt stared at her blankly.

  Her own personal demon. Without a backwards glance, she plunged through the area of shadows, into the House of Pain. Mary's footsteps echoed hollowly as she ventured across the large tiled entrance hall of the Roman Baths. The foliage that swamped the outside of the building covered the external windows and made the interior very dark, but once her eyes had adjusted she could see the ticket desks and beyond them the doors through to the baths themselves.

  Mary's heart beat wildly. She knew something was here, but she had no idea what it was. Arthur Lee could feel it, too; the cat pressed tightly against her calves, his fur prickling.

  Cautiously, she walked through the next set of doors into blazing sunshine. There was a walkway running around a square, open area. Peering over the edge, Mary could see the green water of the ancient stone-lined baths on the floor below.

  The atmosphere of sanctity she had felt the moment she entered the town was even more potent here. It was almost alive, breathing. With her footsteps echoing in the still air, she moved along the walkway until she came to some steps.

  They brought her out next to the pool where Romans had bathed nearly two thousand years before. The echoes were even louder there, rippling out across the water and bouncing off the stone that had been uncovered during the excavations in the earlier part of the twentieth century. Much of the original baths remained, and it wasn't difficult to imagine life going on there all those years ago.

  But the Romans had only been one of many peoples who had used the naturally warm, mineral-heavy water. From the earliest days it had been a place of pilgrimage, as though the water flowed from the next world to this one, carrying with it some of the flavour of the beyond.

  The tranquillity that lay across the baths was seductive. Mary knelt on the edge and dipped her fingers into the water. It was warm and oddly soothing, yet as the ripples ran out, the water appeared to take on an odd viscous quality. At first, Mary had been able to see the stone flags on the bottom, not far below the surface, but now it looked as if the water went down for ever.

  The change to the water was hypnotic and Mary found herself peering into the dim depths to see what was happening. There was movement. Someone was in there, immeasurably deep, swimming. Back and forth the figure went, coming up tirelessly, rolling over like a dolphin, the skin gleaming white, the hair long and grey.

  Finally it stopped just a few inches beneath the surface and rolled on to its back so that it could peer up at her. Mary found herself looking into her own face. The shock made her pull back, but the swimming Mary remained at peace, her eyes big and wide.

  'Who are you?' Mary asked.

  The lips of the Swimming Mary moved and somehow her lilting voice sounded above the water level. 'I am you.'

  Mary steadied herself; the sensation of looking into her own face was weird, but there was no sense of threat. She had the strangest feeling that the water wasn't water at all, rather that it was a window between two worlds.

  'We are the same,' the Swimming Mary continued. 'All things are joined.'

  'Is the Goddess here?' Mary asked.

  There was a long pause before her double replied. 'If you wish to enter Her presence, you must first prove yourself worthy.'

  'How do I do that?'

  'Follow the path. All will be revealed.'

  Her other self, whatever she really was, didn't swim away; she simply floated down and down until she disappeared into the dark-green depths. Mary stood up, her knees cracking, and when she looked back into the pool the stone bottom was once again visible. The sense of a connection with the otherworldly stayed with her as she searched around for some kind of path. As she looked around, thin blue veins rose up in the stone flags leading around the outside of the pool. It was a clear enough marker and she followed it, her cat trailing behind.

  The blue veins led her into an adjoining room, another bath, this one in a more ruinous state. The room was enclosed and it was cool and dark after the warmth of the sun. It took a couple of seconds for Mary's eyes to adjust and then she was startled to realise that someone was standing as silently as a statue in the gloom in one corner.

  'Hello?' she said tentatively. She tried to pierce the shadows to see who stood within.

  After a moment, he or she took a step forward, not far enough for Mary to get a clear view; an overhanging light fitting, now obsolete, still cast the head in shadow.

  Mary was gripped by it. In a trick of the faint light filtering through, it appeared as though its long hair was moving with a life of its own. Only when the figure prepared to take a second step did she realise that the hair was moving — and that in fact it wasn't hair at all, too thick, too sinuous.

  Cold ran through her as tales from her childhood classrooms came rushing back, of gods and demi-gods, and quests and monsters. She knew she should run or feel her limbs grow as heavy as the ancient stone that lay all around, but then she would never get to the Goddess and all her travelling would have been in vain.

  The figure took another step, slowly, as if testing her knowledge of its identity. Mary quickly turned her back, plucking up Arthur Lee and holding his head so that he couldn't see, either.

  'You know me, then.' The voice had a faint sibilance; it sounded simultaneously male and female, both and neither.

  'I think…' Mary's voice was so shaky that she stopped speaking so as not to reveal her fear.

  A faint sound, like steam escaping from a pipe, grew louder as the stranger approached. A shudder ran through Mary: the figure was now a mere foot behind her back. If she turned now…

  'You know what will happen if you see my face?'

  'Yes.'

  'The Greeks knew me, though I do not belong to them. Perseus saw only one aspect. The Celts knew me, thought me a man, though they were only concerned with my role as servant to Sulis. But I did not belong to them either. I am part of something greater… the power that resides in this place. I am the Servant. Do you understand?'

  Mary nodded, terrified that the Servant would try to edge round one side or the other to catch her unawares.

  '
If you wish to know my being, consider this: my hair, rolling like the waves of the sea, but also stretching out like the rays of the sun. There are wings on the sides of my head. And then stone, always cold, hard stone. Water, fire, air, earth. That is what I am — a part of everything. And that is what I serve. Do you understand?' This time the Servant's voice was harder and Mary trembled at the sound of it.

  'You will take my hand and I will lead you. You must close your eyes, for you know what will happen if you see my face. I could lead you to your death, to a pit down which you will fall, shattering every bone. Know that this is a trial, not a trick. Everything that seems at stake is at stake. If you fail the price will be high: your death. No one will mourn. For if the trial is not extreme, success in it means nothing.'

  Mary forced her voice to remain calm. 'I understand.'

  'Good. Then take my hand. Your life will belong to me completely. Live or die, it will be my choice. And you must trust me, utterly. If you pull away… if your eyes open even the tiniest amount to see your way…'

  'I know, I know!' Mary clamped her eyes shut and stuck out a hand. 'Go on, then.' Cool, hard fingers slid into hers; they felt almost scaly to the touch. She whispered a quiet prayer to the Goddess and then followed when gently tugged, already tripping over the minute ridges on the stone flags, her sense of balance precarious.

  Mary had no idea where she was taken. She kept her eyes so tightly closed that the muscles all around them hurt and trembled. The chill hand pulled her along steadily. After the cool of the shadowy bathhouse she felt the warmth of the sun on her face and presumed that the Servant had taken her back outside, but the air smelled different, and she had the strangest sensation that she was no longer in the baths at all. That made her even more hesitant, for she couldn't begin to picture her position, or guess at what lay ahead.

  At times she gasped, fearing that she was about to stumble when her foot caught against an obstacle, that her eyes would crack open instinctively on impact. And there was one terrible moment when she felt as if she was walking along the edge of an immense drop; wind currents plucked at her from the side and from below, and vertigo rushed up inside her dizzyingly. She had no idea how she stopped herself from tumbling, even if it was only an illusion; the Servant didn't slow down for an instant. She could only do what was asked of her: trust implicidy. The frightening trial appeared to go on for hours, though it was probably only ten minutes, and then, eerily, she could no longer feel the fingers in hers. She grasped the air, unsure if she had accidentally let go, but could find the hand nowhere, nor could she sense the Servant in the vicinity. Her first thought was that it was another part of the trial, to tempt her to look and find the Servant there, staring into her face. For five full minutes she waited, occasionally reaching out, and finally she decided that the Servant had indeed gone. She opened her eyes cautiously, looking at the ground first, and found with near-euphoric relief that she was standing alone near one of the tourist displays in a subterranean corridor. Nearby she could hear rushing water and there was steam in the air: the spring itself, she guessed.

  She set off in the direction of the water only to find her way blocked. A wall of what appeared to be streaming water lay across the entire width of the corridor, but when Mary tried to walk through it, it felt as if she was walking into stone.

  She stepped back, puzzled, and only then did she see two masks hanging on a nearby wall. One was completely featureless, though with a feminine shape. The other was a startlingly lifelike representation of her own face. It was deeply unsettling to see it there, as if her quest to Bath had been some fait accompli decided by the Higher Powers.

  After pondering what it all meant for a moment, she decided it must be another part of the trial. She was expected to choose one of the masks, and then, perhaps, the way would be opened. It seemed so obvious as to be facile. She took down the mask of her own face, which creepily felt as if it was made of real skin.

  She paused just before she pressed it into place. It was too easy. What was the point of it? If it was a trial, it had to call on something in her character, surely. She sat down against the foot of the wall and placed the mask face down on the floor next to her. Arthur Lee sniffed at it curiously, then came to settle in her lap. She stroked him while she thought.

  What was the meaning of the first test? she wondered. She turned it over in her mind for a little while, and decided it had to be faith. She had just put her trust, and her life, completely in the hands of the Higher Power. And she had clearly passed that test.

  But this one? She eyed the blank mask, then stood up and took it down. It was cold and unlifelike to the touch. She glanced between the two masks, and remembered the Servant's warning about the price that would be paid.

  Finally she thought she had it. She steeled herself and pressed the blank mask to her face. It fit perfectly, and was cool and soothing against her skin. Two things happened at once: she heard the streaming wall of water dry up and disappear, and there was a loud pock near her feet.

  She removed the mask and looked down to see with horror two spikes protruding from the inside of the mask of her face, just where her eyes would have been if she had been wearing it. She steadied herself against the wall, dizzy at how close she had come.

  The blank mask, she decided, was symbolic of her acceptance of a lack of identity, or humility in the presence of the Goddess. Faith and humility — two things she would need in the hidden sanctum.

  Now extremely cautious about what other trials might lie ahead, she rehung the blank mask on the wall and moved along the corridor. It sloped downwards, illustrated scenes from the history of the baths decorating the walls.

  As she rounded a corner, she caught her breath when she was confronted by a figure. At first she thought it was the Servant, but this figure was short and hunched, wearing rough grey robes and a hood that plunged all features into deepest shadow. In fact, from Mary's perspective it looked as if there was no face in the hood at all.

  'Two trials have you passed,' said the hooded figure, an old woman from the sound of her voice. She held up two gnarled fingers. 'This third is final, and the most important. One simple question. Answer wisely and you shall pass. The wrong answer will condemn you to death, and worse, damnation: the ultimate fate. Your spirit will never pass to the Grey Lands. Here in this place you will remain, forced to live out what might have been and never can.'

  Mary took a deep breath, knowing it was too late to back out. One simple question didn't sound like much, but Mary knew it would undoubtedly be the hardest of all the trials: the final hurdle. 'Go on,' she said anxiously.

  'As you wish. What is the darkest secret in your heart?'

  Mary brought herself up sharp, all the potential pitfalls lining up before her. Of all her secrets, how could she possibly know which was the darkest?

  The hooded woman appeared to read her thoughts. She wagged her finger in caution. 'No little secret will do. No second-darkest secret. But you know, in your heart of hearts, what is the worst — one you have never dared tell anyone else for fear they would hate you. One you have never dared admit to yourself. Choose wisely.'

  Mary closed her eyes and thought. Behind the panic, she realised she did know; and she had never been able to face up to it.

  'Speak.'

  'I can't.'

  'Then die.' Mary gave a juddering sigh as she struggled to contain her emotion, and then, with cracking voice, she let it rise for the first time. 'My mother was dying. We hadn't got on for a long while. I was a little rebel, always saying and doing things I knew would annoy her. If I had sex with a boy — even a one-night stand at a party — I'd tell her, just to shock her. Or if I took drugs. It was the sixties. We all used to do things like that back then… at least, that's the excuse I've always told myself. It is an excuse. We're all responsible for our own actions. We can never blame anyone else for anything.' She was talking to herself, but it sounded as if someone else was speaking about a person she didn't know.'I lo
ok back on myself as I was then and I hate myself. I thought I was so sophisticated, so clever… cleverer than my parents. They didn't know anything about this whole new world we were carving out for ourselves back then. How naive. How fucking naive and callous! I thought I was so smart, but I was more stupid than anyone!'

  She wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her eyes had filled with tears, but she wasn't looking at the hooded woman. Her vision was turned in on that time, sundrenched and long buried. 'I'd walked out a while before, telling my mother I didn't need her holding me back any more. The woman who raised me and sacrificed everything for me! I didn't need her! And she called… she told me she was dying.' Her words choked in her throat; she didn't think she could continue.

  'You must speak it all!' the hooded woman prompted.

  Mary calmed herself, but it felt as if there was a rock in her chest. 'I told her I was going away with this boy. She said it was urgent. I told her not to be so dramatic… she was always being a drama queen. I said I was going away and I'd call her when I got back. We went off to some free festival, took lots of drugs, had lots of sex, and then I came back and I still didn't call her. The secret? I hadn't forgotten. I just didn't want to deal with all that death stuff. A bummer. I was having too much of a good time to be brought down. And I wouldn't miss her — I mean, we didn't get on at all!'

  She stared into the middle distance, watching the dreadful scene play out before her. 'I remember where I was when I got the call that she had died. I was in my flat, high on acid, listening to Love play "Alone Again Or" with some boy whose name I didn't know. And I laughed. I laughed and laughed and hung up the phone and told him I was free.'

  Mary covered her face for a long minute.

  'What I did back then broke me. It turned me into a different person. That was the price I paid for my actions. I did miss her. I missed her more and more with each passing year, and if I could go back and make amends I'd give up everything, even my life. But I can't, so I have to live with it, knowing I'm a terrible person, knowing what I lost by being so stupid and selfish and cruel… and worthless. I missed a few hours with a person who loved me in a way I would never be loved again, someone who sacrificed everything, who devoted her whole life to raising me. And that's the most valuable thing in the world… the Holy Grail… and I threw it away. I deserve every terrible thing that's ever happened to me. I deserve to be lonely and unloved in my old age.' She drew herself up to her full height and looked into the shadows of the old woman's hood. 'That's my darkest secret. And now I've admitted it I don't care if I live or die. I don't care if you condemn me to some eternal damnation. Could it be any worse than my life now? I don't think so.'