Realms of Stone

by Sharon K Gilbert

  She left the bedchamber and returned to the main room, looking again through the large window beside the door. The ranks had ceased moving, and now a broad corridor had formed. Every creature faced towards the opening, as though awaiting the arrival of a sovereign or general. Though the dusky panorama had very little light, Beth could make out movement coming from the dense woods. A cracking sound split the air, and she could see the canopies of huge yew trees shivering as the wooden sentries obediently moved aside to make room for the newcomer. Something enormous emerged from the gnarled and ancient trees, and Beth thought she could see some of the yews bowing, as though paying homage to their ruler.

  The hideous king wore black armour and rode upon the back of a monstrous dragon, whose leathery wings spread out sixty feet on either side. The creature’s body and tail reached higher than the trees, two hundred feet or more, and the ground trembled beneath the stamping of its clawed feet.

  The rider also bore wings, but had the aspect of a human, clad in finery decorated with gold and jewels that served as a faint and glittering light in the oppressive gloom.

  “Their ruler is here, Charles. If this place is a level of the underworld, then this may be their infernal king. Captain, what do I do? He’s heading towards this cottage, and the door is no match for that dragon. Please, my darling, help me! Find me!”

  She moved towards the room’s only source of light, the dying fire. The voice spoke again.

  “Your Grace, I believe I can hear you now. Did you just say that you are in the underworld?”

  “Go away!” she pleaded. “Do not tempt me, please. I cannot bear it!” she wept. “Oh, Charles, if only you were here!” she cried out, dropping to her knees from lack of strength. “Please, Lord, help me. Please, I don’t know what to do!”

  “Duchess, I implore you to listen. I am not a part of any attempt to hurt you or lie to you. My name is Henry MacAlpin, and I’ve been tending you as your physician. Prince Anatole Romanov hired me, and it’s been my honour to keep watch upon you, but you will never recover, if we cannot release you from this prison. I know it’s difficult, but I beg you to trust me. The prince tells me that you must leave right away. He says this fellow Raziel left only because he was commanded to do so by a very powerful and wicked fallen angel. That commander is about to enter your refuge. You have but a few moments to escape before it is too late!”

  She looked into the fire, for the voice emanated from within its charred stones. “You say your name is Henry?”

  “Yes, yes, my name is Henry! Please, Elizabeth, I know you must be terrified, but I beg you, do this for yourself and for the unborn life within you. Will you do it?”

  She prayed silently, struggling with the decision. “I can’t. I’m too afraid to move,” she confessed, tears clouding her vision. “I want Charles. Is he there with you? Have you seen him?”

  “I’m very sorry, Elizabeth. Charles isn’t here, but the prince assures me that he is well. I’m sure you are terrified, and your husband is your sole source of comfort, but if you hope to see him again, then you must escape! You’re running out of time, and your pulse is weakening. I beg you to do as I ask!”

  “You say Anatole is there with you? Let me speak to him. If he knows how to help, why doesn’t he come himself? Charles says that Anatole isn’t human but a messenger from another world. Perhaps, an angel from God. Why can’t he come here? Please, tell him to come here. I’m too afraid to move, and the birds will reach the door soon. And there’s a dragon!”

  “Yes, the prince is here. Give me one moment, Elizabeth. Don’t stop listening and stay close to the source of my voice. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, I’ll stay here, but, please, hurry!”

  In the real world, Henry MacAlpin’s anger erupted into a tirade of accusations against his host.

  “How can you put her through this? She doesn’t know me, and it’s clear from her voice that she’s been through more than any woman can bear! If you’re able to help her, then do it!”

  The prince seemed to grow taller and his eyes sparked fire as outrage overtook reason. “Do you think I haven’t tried?” he shouted. “I have pleaded with the One to allow me to rescue her. His answer again and again has been no. Without the One’s permission, the way for me remains shut unless I submit myself to the underworld king’s rule. Do you not see? This is an attempt to lure me into rebellion, and I cannot do that. Not now. Not ever.”

  “What the devil does that mean?” Salperton shouted in return. “If you love her as much as I believe you do, then go there and help!”

  “I cannot, and that is the end of it! You must convince her to trust you, Henry. She will. I have foreseen it. You play an important role in her life from this moment forward. Talk to her.”

  “I am talking to her!” he roared, both hands clenched in anger. Shutting his eyes tightly, the viscount forced himself to calm, his heart to slow, his mind to clear. “Very well. As you’re unwilling to do it, I shall.”

  He placed his hand once more on the open Bible, an electric sensation coursing through his body. “Elizabeth, can you hear me?”

  No reply.

  “Duchess? Please, if you can hear me, I beg you to answer.”

  Have the dragon and his demons already taken her?

  “Elizabeth? Are you there?”

  “Henry?” a childlike voice whispered into his thoughts.

  “Yes, yes! It’s Henry. I’m here.”

  He could hear her crying now, and it tore through his soul. “She’s terrified,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “She doesn’t know me, and she’s afraid.”

  Anatole sat beside the duchess, all serenity gone from his lean face, replaced with tension and agony. “Call her Beth,” he told the viscount. “Ask her if she remembers the time when she was lost in the woods near Branham Hall. Tell her that the same man who rescued her, then, will do so now.”

  “What?” he asked, completely mystified. “I cannot do that. It is a lie.”

  “It is not. Tell her.”

  Henry glared at the prince. “No.”

  “Tell her, Henry. I promise you. It is the truth. Tell her.”

  Forgive me for this, Lord. “Beth, it’s Henry. Can you still hear me?”

  “Yes, I hear you,” she answered, her voice small and trembling.

  “Do you remember a time as a child, when you became lost? In the woods near your home?”

  “At Branham?” she asked faintly.

  “Yes, that’s right. At Branham. Tell me about it.”

  “I was five years old,” she whispered, her strength failing.

  “What happened, Beth?”

  She sat beside the fire, staring into the dying coals. “I was with my father. We’d been enjoying our last afternoon together before he left again for India. He’d been carrying me on his shoulders, and we laughed and laughed as he pretended to be one of my ponies, bouncing me up and down. He loved playing that game,” she explained, her eyes rimmed in sadness. “But, then, he put me down. His voice turned quite serious, and he ordered me to return to the house.”

  “Why?” Henry asked her, his eyes still shut to concentrate.

  “I’m not sure we ever learnt who it was, but Father saw someone near the hedge maze. A stranger. He called for our chief gardener, and the two of them started towards this person. I could hear Father shouting, and several of the household servants ran into the garden. I should have gone inside, but instead, I must have wandered away. I can’t remember why. I may have followed someone. Before I knew it, I’d gotten all turned ‘round and become lost in the woods just the other side of the maze.”

  “You were lost?” he asked her. “How did you find your way out of the woods?”

  “A man found me,” she answered. “No one I’d ever met before. A tall man with dark, curly hair and brown eyes. He reminded me a little of my
father, only not as tall. I’d been warned against talking to strangers, but this man promised to take me home. He seemed kind and trustworthy, and he knew my name. He called me Beth.”

  “And this man led you to safety?” Henry asked, tears watering his cheeks.

  “Yes. He was very nice with kind eyes and a Scottish accent. He took my hand, and I remember that as we walked, he taught me what I thought was a poem, but it turned out to be a chapter in the Bible.”

  That same electric shock ran from the printed words and up the Scotsman’s arm. His entire body felt as though it vibrated, and he could actually see her now—pale and frightened, sitting beside a stone hearth inside a farmer’s cottage.

  “Which chapter was it?” he asked, though he’d already guessed the answer.

  “The Twenty-Third Psalm. The man told me his name was Hal. It was what his mother always called him.”

  Salperton began to weep, and he had to force himself to concentrate. “That’s right. Hal. It’s short for Henry. That’s what my mother always called me, too. Will you follow me out of the woods, Beth? Will you take my hand?”

  “How? I don’t understand. I hear your voice, but I can see nothing.”

  “The Lord will guide you. Say it with me. The Lord is my Shepherd. I shall not want. Say it, Beth.”

  He could see her plainly—as clearly as he could see anything in life. Her pale arms trembled, for the thin chemise barely kept her warm, but also terror and cold caused her to shiver. The viscount reached out hoping to touch her.

  “Here’s my hand, Beth! The Lord will show it to you. Take it! I’m here, and I won’t leave you until you are safely out of these dark woods. Just follow my voice and speak the words.”

  Silence.

  “Beth, say the words with me. You can do this. Trust me. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.”

  Elizabeth shivered, for she could hear the cries of the bird creatures. “I cannot see your hand. Where is it?”

  “Here,” he told her, concentrating and praying silently. “Let Christ’s words lead you home. Say it with me. He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.”

  She listened to the quoted passage, and it was like a refreshing breeze whispered heaven’s own song into her heart and mind. “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake,” she repeated.

  “Yes, that’s it! Continue, Beth. We’ll say it together. Speak it with me. Yea, though I walk. Say it. Yea, though I walk...”

  Henry recited the next few lines, and Elizabeth tried to do likewise, but the reminder of a valley of shadows, caused her to doubt. “I can’t!” she cried out. “Please, don’t make me say it! I’m afraid!”

  “I know, but our Lord is with you, Elizabeth, and he will not forsake you. Neither will I. Say it with me.”

  Her voice quivered, but she did her best. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the—the valley of the shadow—the shadow of death,” she said, weeping. “No, I can’t do it! I’m afraid!”

  “I know, Beth, but Christ is there with you. You are not alone. The enemy wants you to fear, for he cringes at the sound of the Lord’s Holy Word. Say it, Beth. Speak the words with me. Show the enemy that you will never submit to them! Remind them of who walks beside you as Shepherd. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death. What comes next? Say it, Beth. Say it so that all those horrid creatures can hear it! Say it so that all the worlds ever created can hear it!”

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,” she said aloud, her eyes on the dwindling fire, “for thou art with me.”

  The light which had shone down upon the cottage suddenly winked out, and the ravens shouted in response. They stamped their feet rhythmically, the dreadful sound like the pounding of a million drums. The army had grown confident, now that the cruel light no longer protected the cottage or its inhabitant.

  The enormous dragon bellowed, and its gigantic feet thundered upon the ground as it raced towards the refuge.

  Elizabeth could hear the dragon’s cries, and horns blasted from all directions. They were coming for her. HE was coming for her.

  She began to sob, her shoulders jerking in spasms. “I can’t do this without Charles. Captain, please, wherever you are, please help me!”

  Henry listened from the other side of reality, his heart breaking in two. “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me,” he repeated as he silently prayed. “Beth, say it. Say the next line with me.”

  She lay against the hearth’s stone apron, weeping so hard that her entire body jerked. “Captain, please!”

  “Elizabeth, I beg you to say the words. Charles needs for you to escape this place! Please, say them! For him!”

  She wiped her eyes and swallowed the fear. “Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou... Thou preparest a table before me, in the presence... In the presence of...” she halted upon the words, for the entire cottage had begun to shake as thunderous cries filled the air outside.

  Henry could hear them, too, for their raucous shouts of victory bled through from the underworld into his.

  Anatole Romanov also heard and understood the brackish language, perceiving the meaning of the ravens’ cries. “The king has broken through the protections placed on the cottage. If she does not leave right now, he will take her.”

  “Beth, speak the words!” Henry implored, his hand upon the Bible, eyes shut to concentrate. “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.”

  “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies. Thou anointest my head with oil,” she continued, the fear now replaced with a strength not of her own making. “My cup runneth over!” she exulted.

  The duchess took to her feet, steadying herself against the fireplace. “Henry, how do I leave?” she asked the viscount. “They’re about to break down the door.”

  “Anatole says you must walk towards my voice.”

  “But... But your voice is coming from the fireplace! How do I walk towards it, if you’re in the fire?”

  “You walk by faith. Close your eyes and follow my voice.” He concentrated with every last fibre of his being and reached out with his mind—forming the picture of a hand, and ‘seeing’ her take it. “Look for my hand, Beth. I’m right here. Let me help you find your way home.”

  “I love you, Captain,” she whispered, though she shook all over. “Father in heaven, be my Shepherd now and lead me where my eyes cannot see a path. Show me this hand and take me back to Charles, I beg you!”

  Henry waited—listening, his heart pounding.

  “Beth? Do you see it? Can you see my hand?”

  Nothing.

  “Elizabeth? Duchess, talk to me, please!”

  A thundering shock ran along his spine, and in his mind, Henry could see the wooden door to the cottage shudder, then splinter into a thousand pieces.

  Instantly, a raincloud of gigantic birds spilled into the dark and cold interior, filling it with caws and the harsh rush of gigantic wings. Behind these, he heard the screams of a monstrous creature, probably the dragon. The birdmen ceased their maddened flight and stood still as stones.

  The underworld ruler bent to peer through the open doorway.

  For an instant, Salperton stared into the infernal king’s eyes.

  He’d seen him before.

  “You!” it screamed, the voice like a clap of thunder. “It’s you! How dare you interfere with my plans again!”

  Salperton could feel strong hands shaking him.

  “Henry! Wake up!” a voice shouted from somewhere nearby.

  “What?” the viscount muttered, trying, but unable to open his eyes.

  Many seconds passed—an eternity of seconds. In his mind, the birds circled ‘round him, a
nd Henry could hear the harsh speech of the king and his soldiers talking to one another—and now and then to him—but he could not hear the duchess.

  She was nowhere to be seen.

  “What have you done with her?” he shouted at the infernal king. “Where is she?”

  The creature’s laughter shook the cottage, and the rafters began to splinter and crack. More birdmen burst through the small windows, shattering the glass and wreaking havoc upon the furnishings. Their sharp beaks tore through the quilt, the pillows, and the mattress. The dragon breathed, and the entwined hearts caught fire. In minutes, the birds and the dragon fire had destroyed everything inside the precious refuge.

  Now, they turned towards him with hungry eyes.

  The hands shook Henry again, more violently this time, and he felt a sharp slap against his right cheek.

  “Release him!” a deep voice commanded. Then in a different language, other commands volleyed back and forth betwixt worlds, as though two ancient kings waged war. The ruined walls of the cottage shook, and lightning flashed against the midnight sky. “Release him now! I command you in the Name of the One!”

  A mighty crash tore through his mind. Something slammed against the corridor that connected him to the duchess’s prison, and Henry MacAlpin collapsed against the bed.

  “I do not hear them now. Nor her,” he panted, gasping for air, all hope gone. “I failed. I failed! The demon took her!” Henry pushed against the mattress, steadying himself, anguish tearing at his heart and mind. “She’s lost.”

  Moments passed, then a soft voice began to whisper.

  “Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow me,” it was saying.

  “Mercy shall follow me. Follow. Surely, it shall follow me.”

  “She’s here!” the viscount shouted exuberantly, nearly falling as he rushed to the duchess’s side. “Elizabeth, open your eyes. You’ve made it! You’re home!”

  “Goodness and mercy,” she whispered. “And I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever and ever. Amen.”

  Her eyelids twitched ever so slightly, and then, for the first time since he arrived at the castle, Henry’s patient opened her eyes. They were dark brown with pupils as wide as saucers. Her black lashes contrasted with the chocolate irises, showing off tiny flecks of gold at the rim of each pupil. Henry had never seen such beautiful eyes in all his life.