He knew his wings, his power, were a gift, but they were a dark gift, they were dangerous...to his heart and soul, and to his Jane. She must never know what it costs me...to be this way. She must never know all the things I have done to guide her and...manipulate her.
The sky lightened into true morning. His heart sank as he felt the heat of the sun grow stronger, and he knew he would always remember this dark night. He would never be the same. Each time he transformed, he also evolved. He carried the memories of his flights and his passion within his heart.
He would go inside now and feign sleep for a while, pleading a stomachache to Jane, who would fuss over him as she always did when he was ill.
He already felt different inside. The little boy he was trapped inside of was not really a child, but still, his cool, calculating mind was different from the winged creature who seemed made up of only intense love and spontaneous desire.
His dark night of the soul ended as the Cupid fully took over, plodding back through the thick snow to the farmhouse where Jane still slept, and he curled up in a ball near her body. It was warm and cozy, and he appeared angelic as always.
* * * *
When Jane finally awoke, she turned to the Cupid, as she always did, and stroked his hair gently. He seemed so pure and tiny and guileless that she could not help but smile when she looked down upon him.
She moved quietly to boil water for tea, so as not to disturb him, for he slept deeply and she wished for him to rest. It was a Saturday, after all, and there was nothing pressing that they must do. She sipped her tea and gazed out at the shimmer of ice melting on the ground, and the dark undersides of the snow-capped branches.
“What a beautiful day,” she whispered, thinking of Blake as she always did at this hour. She smiled to herself, a sweet, quiet smile, wondering if he was thinking of her as well. Somehow, she knew he was, and the certainty of it filled her with joy and even pride. She threw on her cloak to go for a walk, as the Cupid was clearly exhausted. As the front door closed, she turned her head to glance back, and his blue eyes opened slowly, met her own for just an instant, and then closed again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
On the dark, deserted pathway that led to the main road to town, Liesel had watched it all. She had felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as the creature moved through the sky above her.
My God, what is it? she had thought, frantic, for she had seen all manner of creatures, human and god and otherwise, but never had she seen such a thing, a man who had the wings of a falcon or an eagle.
He is so beautiful, she had found herself thinking, and then she had wondered why he would be there, hovering silently over the tiny, nondescript village. She thought for a moment that he might be an angel, one who had come to reproach her for the deal she had made on the banks of the River. On that desperate night when nothing had mattered any longer except getting the one thing she must have.
She felt a shiver of fear travel through her heart as she imagined the vast, white wings, the glowing eyes, and the strong, chiseled features of the creature. “Could he be an emissary of the gods?” she whispered, gathering her cloak tighter around her body. Suddenly, she felt frozen right to the bones.
“But of which god?” she muttered, confused and worried. She didn’t want to believe in any of them, these ancient Roman gods who controlled one in this life and the next. Magic had taught her the tricks the powerful could use to make one think they were invincible. Sometimes she wondered if the gods were merely witches and warlocks who had learned these tricks to the highest level of mastery.
Is there really a Jupiter? A Minerva? Are there other worlds and the River and all manner of punishment, forever and ever? Or is it only the highest of spells...the trick of all tricks? But she knew, deep down, that it was true because she had felt Minerva’s power throughout the cave on the night when they’d first met, and it had flowed through her, and it had awed her, though she would never admit to it. And then there was Hecate, whose evil was like poison that chilled the heart.
Minerva could have given her everything. She had the power to save her from whatever lay beyond, and from that terrifying, guttural voice that came from her own throat as she whispered the last few words of the dark and secret incantation. Tears welled up in the crone’s now youthful eyes as she walked.
I am afraid, she thought angrily. I am afraid of what’s to come.
Liesel had her own power now. It had been given to her that night. She was, as yet, unsure of exactly what she could do, but she looked forward to finding out. She was certain the girl was close, for she knew that the children of gods attracted other such beings, and perhaps the flying creature was sent by Minerva to watch over the princess and protect her.
I’m not afraid! the witch told herself. She walked on in the growing light with just a little bag of goods over her shoulder, and an old cloak that could have belonged to a beggar. Her young face was unremarkable, plain, against the drab clothes. As she trudged on, she wondered how she would deal with this new problem. This creature might be another one of her enemies, and she was almost sure he was.
But she was not totally convinced that he was good. Although he had been far away, she had seen his face, illuminated and glowing green- white, against the ebony sky. His features had been lit up by his amazing eyes.
She sensed a sort of kindred spirit in the creature. His passions seemed to roil through his body, as though he was also tortured or fueled by his own desires. She wondered if perhaps there might not be a way to use him, to make things easier...to exact her revenge.
The sun was rising higher now, and the village looked picturesque and quaint in the growing light with snow topping every thatched roof. She wondered which little house contained the girl she now hated so intensely. She still hated Minerva the most, though, and she would punish her though the girl, and punish her severely. And when she did, she would have Blake for her own with his soft, chestnut hair and his pure heart. She knew such kind eyes betrayed a loving soul.
Liesel had her plan. The angel, or whatever the creature was, added another dangerous element to the mix. She knew she must be wary, for others were against her and she hadn’t much time left to be...young. She remembered her craven face in the looking glass in the cold, gray cave where she had lived for so long, and she shuddered.
I don’t have much time, she repeated to herself. I must find out just what powers I do have, and use them. I must get what I want...before it all disappears.
She quickened her step, turning suddenly away from the town, for another idea had occurred to her, and her new plan was undoubtedly clever and sound. She walked with new purpose toward her destination, a smile pasted onto her features. In her heart, though, light still battled with darkness and despair.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Blake sat at breakfast with his father, Lord Stirling. They always ate in a formal dining room, at opposite sides of a long, wooden table covered in pristine, starched linens. His father was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit and waistcoat, and servants fluttered around them, filling teacups and then silently retreating back to the huge kitchen.
His father had always made him feel nervous and ill at ease. This morning was no exception. Lord Stirling had not witnessed his performance at the pageant, but he had heard of his son’s performance and his words...and he was deeply unimpressed. Blake remembered their heated exchange as he spread marmalade onto warm toast.
“A proper young Lord should be concerned with matters of business alone, my son...with the running of an estate!” he had told him afterwards. “How could you expose yourself like that, like some young thespian? It simply is not done, Blake!”
“I want to be an actor or a poet,” Blake had protested, his face growing hot in his father’s study where a peat fire had burned aromatically in the corner.
“No, you will not be either of those things,” his father retorted brusquely. “You must face reality, and conduct yourself accordingly.
”
His mother had simply stayed silent while her husband and son had this argument; she retreated into meek silence.
“Why can’t Blake accept his place?” Lord Stirling asked her as she bowed her head. His father was exasperated by his rebellion. “He should be riding, learning how to manage the staff, learning how to take my place when I am gone!”
His mother rarely tried to sway his father from any point of view. He had such a strong will, and was accustomed to getting his way.
“He’s different from you, my lord.” She had finally gathered up the courage to speak in his defense, and Blake had cringed as she had been rewarded with sharp words and anger.
“He must be brought to heel,” his father had hissed at his mother, and Blake’s heart ached because he could not be everything his father wanted.
“He’ll change in time,” was all she said, and Lord Stirling stared at her with an accusing glare that froze Blake’s heart.
“You’ve spoiled him with all your books and plays and your talk of mythology and art,” he spat. “Now he is weak and he cannot see past all this false glamour to what really matters, which is our place in society and the future of our estate.”
After this, Blake noted the distance that grew between Lord and Lady Stirling. It made him feel guilty. His parents moved like ghosts, always loving their son, but for vastly different reasons. They had no common ground any longer. For Blake, it was as though the sun had disappeared behind a great, dark cloud, and he accepted responsibility for the rift between his father and mother, both of whom he loved so much.
And so this morning’s breakfast was much like every other morning lately, quiet and filled with uncomfortable silence. Occasionally, Blake would attempt to ask his father about their farm and their accounts, and all of the other things he knew he should care so much about. But it was all an act, and not the sort of performance he preferred.
Later, in his room, he would lie on his soft bed and think of the lovely blonde girl with the emerald eyes who seemed to understand everything. She was his only comfort, his only protection against the chilly atmosphere of his stately home.
He would recite poetry to her in the darkness. He must see her again, but he was certain that his parents would disapprove of her, as they disapproved of everything else that truly mattered to him. He sighed and tried to read and study, but he only felt weary, and the words soon swam on the vellum page.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Liesel knew that she needed money and she needed it quickly. She had to present herself to society, and she could not be seen as lower class or as anything less than a lady. In order to make the beautiful boy in the crystal ball love her, she must be everything he wanted.
She stayed on the road near the town, thinking hard about the best way to get the resources she would need to buy proper gowns and all the other accoutrements of the higher classes. She was still a witch, after all, and much was possible.
She stepped off the roadway, working her way through the dense trees that flanked it. It was too soon to be near the villagers, and she mustn’t be seen looking like this, in an old crone’s cloak, with dirty boots and a face streaked with the dust and grime of traveling.
She thought of the other quiet travelers she had seen on the roadways who passed her without so much as a nod or a smile. They looked down upon her, for she was only a poor girl traveling without money, horses and a carriage, or a proper chaperone. How she hated them as they sat so stiff and upright in their fancy broughams! They had not even glanced at her face, but now she knew that it was better that they hadn’t.
She smiled evilly into the night, walking faster, though she was weary and cold. She whispered old spells she hadn’t used in years. She silently practiced incantations that would help her get the money she needed so badly.
Liesel would walk along until she saw a likely victim, and she would rob him or her of everything; money-purses filled with coins, and anything else she could use, anything that could not be easily linked with its owner. She would be careful. Careful and quick. If she needed to, she would leave her victim stranded on the roadway, or dead. She did not care if she killed. Dead men tell no tales...
Then, she could go to the larger town of Allanshire and get everything she needed to act out her part.
“It will be easy, as long as I use the proper spells and I leave no witnesses,” she said aloud, fighting the fatigue that made her mind scream out for food, for a roaring fire, for sleep. “Just a little longer, not too long, and I will be ready.”
She walked along the roadway, just waiting for night, and waiting for her first victim, all the while chanting the spells that would bring these things to her. It would have to be full dark before she took action. She grabbed for a hunk of stale bread within her cloak and chewed it listlessly.
Life could be hard, it was true, but she was ready to do what had to be done. There was nothing worse than living all alone in her cave, waiting for villagers to come and beg her for glimpses of the future. Futures that were filled with love, with children, with happiness.
When they left her cave, excited about their lives and what was to come, she would take their money and curse them as they turned their backs! She’d become a witch because, at bottom, she knew she was filled with hate, and hate was the most powerful force in the universe. She truly believed that. Dark magic relied on hatred, which she carried in abundance. Pluto smiled at hatred and rewarded it tenfold.
When she had given herself over to the darkness she found at the River, she had done it with a completeness that made her willing to kill. She knew her time was short, and she would do murder to live out her dream.
Perhaps you needn’t kill anyone, a little voice in her head intoned as she schemed and trampled her way through the forest. She pushed the thought aside instantly, clearing it from her mind.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Blake’s father sat up in the carriage as evening came on, his back ramrod-straight, as always, as his wife and son waved goodbye to him from the door of their manor. The carriage was cold, but his overcoat was soft and warm. Tonight was the night he would leave for his twice-a-year journey to Allanshire, where he would meet with his bankers and lawyers. Two times each year, he planned to venture into the city and deal with his many accounts, and bring back supplies that were hard to come by in the little village where they now lived.
Lord Stirling always looked forward to going to the city, where he would sip sherry or brandy in wood-paneled offices and chat with men of his own class. He was always treated with deference in Allanshire, and he tended to enjoy the city where he could put aside the tensions of his home for a week or two.
It was winter, and it would be beautiful there. The city seemed to belong to the wealthy, and it offered up all manner of luxurious meals, private clubs, and other entertainments. Lord Stirling smiled at his family as the driver touched his whip to the two horses and the carriage lurched forward. His son looked so tall and handsome, and his wife was beautiful.
In the exhilaration of travel, he forgot his grudges and saw them for what they really were. A lovely, kind family without which his life would be comfortable, yet empty.
His driver turned toward the roadway out of town. Stirling was certain he was also in a happy mood as he imagined all the sights and sounds of the city, which would include merry shoppers and pretty ladies and crowded pubs and restaurants.
* * * *
It was full dark when Liesel heard the crunch of carriage wheels. She walked up to the main road, and then she doubled back and crouched behind a nearby tree.
“Hecate...Goddess of the Underworld, Goddess of the Crossroads...” Liesel whispered, gathering courage that was as cold as the steel blade of a sword. Never before had she killed and never before had her hands drawn human blood. Animals, yes, she had used them for her spells and potions, but never had she crossed this line, this important line, that separated evil thoughts from terrible deeds that could never be undone.
She chanted her witch’s spells, ancient and devastating, all the while picturing the flawless face of Minerva in her mind’s eye. The carriage soon appeared in the distance, barely visible in the dark night. She heard the whinny of horses and the clattering sound of the carriage’s wheels.
Already, the dark forces were gathering, hearing her call, assisting her in her time of need. It had not taken them long to come to her assistance.
It’s time, she thought, feeling the adrenaline rush all through her body. She raised one hand to stroke her smooth, now-youthful face. She raised her weak chin, squared her broad shoulders and drew herself up, staring down the road with the cold detachment of an executioner. In her cloak was a vial of powder that she had consecrated in her cave before she began her journey. The powder was a mixture of many things, many bad things, and it was powerful, so powerful.
The night was so dark. The moon was only a crescent in the black sky as Liesel hid, waiting for the carriage to come closer. She spoke the words of her spell, her voice growing rougher and more guttural as the carriage wheels grew louder in her ears.
“Blind the eyes of he that drives the horses, and his animals, too,” she hissed into the winter air. “Let their eyes see the truth, and then see nothing.”
A flare of light rose up as she stepped up onto the road. Her whole body seemed to glow as white and gossamer as a ghost’s. She lit up the dark earth all around her as the driver screamed and pulled his reins. The horses, spooked and terrified by the apparition, tried to rear up and run away, but they could not. They quieted as she went and touched their quivering flesh, rendering them silent. They were frozen instantly from the mere touch of Liesel’s hand. Their eyes were blind now, and their bodies were utterly still.
The Secret of the Emerald Sea Page 9