Pythia moaned. The snake was wrapped tightly around her legs now, and she seemed to be in pain. Soon, though, she fell silent again and began to speak, taking up where the serpent had left off.
“Hecate...is evil,” she said. “Hecate has set the Great War in motion, quite intentionally, and she will pay for this, perhaps. I cannot see the outcome.” The snake squeezed the oracle until she gasped with pain. “It is cloudy. It is not decided. Look to the forest by Lynnshire. Look to the skies at night.” The Pythia’s voice grew rough and choked, as though she could barely breathe. “Go not into the village, for there the witch waits, but you shall not know her until she comes for you.
“I see Death, end upon end, first the father, and then the son...if she succeeds...it is in her to succeed. Pluto pushes her forward, and he is so strong. Look to the skies, the skies at night, and you will have your answer. Do not take on the witch until you look into the night sky and see what you must see...it is too dangerous.”
The cave was suddenly flooded with a bright light, and Minerva lost consciousness. When she opened her eyes, the sun was rising over the Delphi, igniting the dawn sky. Minerva looked to the mouth of the cave where the clouds were streaked with pastel light, and then she glanced around her. Once again, she was completely alone.
She looked down at her forearm where two puncture marks marred her smooth flesh. The serpent had tasted her blood; she did not know when. She saw something else on her skin, a faint, almost invisible pattern in the shape of an ornate L. She stared at it, unable to make any sense of it as a symbol. Lynnshire? She wondered idly. Her head ached.
Minerva felt tired and unwell, and she fell into a deep sleep as the sun rose. Its heat warmed her frozen limbs. She slept until high noon, dreamless and at peace, and then she woke and made for the forest. No marks remained on her skin as she harnessed her power and prepared to travel through the worlds and across the skies. The bite marks were healed, if ever they were truly there at all. The L remained only as an image in her mind, something to think upon as she did her work. Its puzzle will all come clear in time, she knew. If only I am wise enough to make it so.
Chapter Forty-Six
Blake sat on a bench in the town square, talking to no one. The night was dark and rainy and cold. His eyes were almost swollen shut from crying, and his mother would not attend this meeting and hold his hand and soothe him. She was too consumed with grief to face the ordeal.
He avoided the eyes of the townspeople for he wondered in his heart if the same person who had shot him with an arrow on the night of the pageant had also destroyed his father. He remembered the way no one had seemed to notice the arrow strike his side and how there had been no wound, although he felt the tingling sensations still, sometimes intensely. He knew now that it was magic, black magic, and he trusted no one.
The formerly sweet and gentle boy narrowed his eyes as he listened to the petty constable explain the events of the day, and Blake felt disdain for the villagers who listened with wide eyes, greedy for all the details of his father’s demise. They seemed to revel in his family’s terrible misfortune.
He could not see Jane or the little tot anywhere, and he wondered where they were. Surely they had heard of the situation? He wished to see Jane’s face and to take comfort in her closeness. He had thought of going to her today, at the farmhouse, but he was too despondent to do it, and besides this, he found the little boy somewhat strange now. The way he would look into Blake’s eyes so probingly like a person much older. He seemed to stare into his soul. The young man wondered why he had not noticed this until now.
In his suspicion, he felt that no one was safe, perhaps not even the girl he loved. She, too, was involved in Tarot readings and all the rest of those dark arts, and he remembered the Death card and the way it had made him feel to look at it, the sense of doom that he had struggled to cast aside was simply a part of him now.
The meeting didn’t last long. The petty constable listened to the ravings of drunken servants and farmers, and to the worries of the decent, God-fearing folk who populated the town. There was little that could be done to persuade them that magic was not at play. The petty constable himself had no real explanation for what had occurred. As he himself did not...
The villagers tried to console Blake, walking over to where he stood, and murmuring the expected words. But they knew his wary eyes seemed to seek out suspects, and so they did not tarry with him. They left him be, knowing his merry, outgoing nature might be gone forever. Some of those who gave their condolences worked on the estate, and they fretted within his hearing that the young lord and his mother would leave Lynnshire forever. They would lose their jobs, which were so new, and their ability to feed their families.
The crevasse between Blake and the villagers was growing with every passing second, and he had no wish to mend fences or to reassure. He, himself, had thought about going back to the city, perhaps to study. Anything to be rid of this wretched place. Father, he thought sadly, I am sorry I failed you.
The meeting was done now, and nothing much had been achieved. The crowd dispersed, but Blake stayed where he was. He was deep in thought, and also dreaded returning to his mother’s tears and misery.
Across the emptying square, a young lady with dark hair walked quickly toward him. He had never seen her before. She was dressed fine, as fine as he. Her navy blue cape was made of the finest serge wool, and as she came closer, he noticed her little ruby earrings that glittered in the dark.
She stared into his face, and her pale blue eyes were sympathetic and kind. She asked if she might sit with him for a moment, and her voice reminded him of the city and the ladies he had met there. She is like me, he thought, cheered to speak with someone who might understand him and where he came from. Jane had let him down by failing to stand by his side when he needed her the most. She had said that she loved him, but where was she in his hour of need?
“I am Lady Brandon,” she said, extending a gloved hand for him to shake.
“You may call me Liesel, if you wish,” she added, smiling.
“Lord Stirling,” he answered gravely, not inclined to give his first name. They sat in silence for a moment, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts.
She is not as beautiful as my Jane, he thought, then chided himself, for what should looks matter? And besides, no one in the town was as beautiful as Jane.
“I am new to the village,” she said quietly after a few moments has passed.
* * * *
Liesel glanced over at the boy, so handsome and so desolate. He did indeed remind her of her own lost love. The other boy had not been so perfect to look at, but he had shared the same sensitive eyes and he had the same height and build. Her heart seemed to swell with love for him as she gazed at him, quite demurely, from under her smooth, dark bangs.
“Why have you come here?” he replied, only out of politeness, she thought. His voice was gruff from crying. “I have never seen you before.”
“I had some business here, an inheritance, and I thought I would come and make sure that everything was as it should be,” she said. “I have heard what happened to you, and I am terribly sorry.”
She watched his face as he glanced over at her. Her cheeks were rosy and full, her lips deep rose. She looked rich indeed, she was sure, and the rouge made her glow with vibrant health. Her weak chin was buried in a warm scarf, and she thought that her skin, at least, was clear and fine, although it lacked the pearly sheen of the girl she had seen in the crystal ball. Even in tears, the daughter of Neptune had seemed lit from within.
She sensed he wanted nothing but to be alone, but this was her chance, and she must take it! “I know how you must feel,” she said. “For I lost my father, too. That is why I am here. I, too, am in grieving, though it has been some time, and I no longer wear mourning.”
Blake also wore inky black...the color of death and black magic. She almost felt she could hear his heart break. He began to cry, as lonely and forlorn as a lost l
ittle child. Liesel grabbed his gloved hand and held it gently in her own. He let her hold his hand and comfort him, and they sat like that for a long time until it grew too cold to sit there any longer.
“I am sorry you lost your father. It is unbearable,” he muttered to her. He seemed embarrassed now by the way he had cried in front of her.
“Time will heal me, and you.” She smiled a little. “We must have faith in God’s plan for us.”
“Yes,” he muttered, his voice embroidered with bitterness. “God’s plan. I must confess, I have little faith in God any longer, for where was he when my father needed him?”
“I can understand you feelings,” she said, her voice soothing. “I am staying at the pub there. The Crown of Thorns...and I would like to see you again, and we can comfort each other... For we are of the same sort of people, I think, and perhaps we can be friends.”
Blake smiled weakly. “Thank you for offering, Lady Brandon,” he said, “but I’ve not much mind for company at the moment.”
“That may change,” she said, and she reached into her pocket and handed him a little package wrapped in a handkerchief. “This is a special loose tea,” she said, “from India. It will help you sleep, for it is filled with special herbs and good things to help you heal and rest. I always keep a little in my cloak, in case I need it.”
He took the handkerchief from her. He smelled the tea and some happiness lit up his face, just for a fleeting second. The leaves had a lavender scent. “This smells...familiar!” he whispered, and Liesel smiled.
My magic does not fail as of late, she thought slyly. The scent must remind him of the girl. That will make things easier.
He put the pouch in his pocket, muttered some thanks, and set off into the night without looking back.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The house was dark when Blake’s mother heard his key turn in the heavy lock upon the front door. She had been waiting for him, and crying, and thinking of the man she loved. The man she’d grown apart from over time. She had loved him well, though they never really knew one another the way a married couple should.
The years ahead of her seemed like a test now, a test of her strength and her ability to survive. She wanted for nothing, but she would always remember the stone face of her husband who seemed to cry out desperately for her help, and she had not been there. He had been so alone. She cried hot tears into her pillow. I have Blake, at least, she thought wearily.
Thank God for that.
* * * *
Blake went into the kitchen, suddenly eager to brew a cup of Liesel’s tea. It smelled heavenly. He wondered if it really would help him sleep. He’d heard of such herbal potions, but he’d never tried them. The girl had been so quiet and kind. He did not think there was any risk here. Herbs such as these were used by so many people...they weren’t magical.
He needed to forget tonight. As he poured the contents of the kettle over the leaves, the scent of lavender that was Jane’s own scent rose in the aromatic steam and soothed his soul. The kitchen was filled with its sweet perfume. Why he trusted this new girl, he did not really know. It was odd, as he trusted no one but his mother—and Jane?— but he felt he was safe drinking the brew she gave to him. He could not really say why.
Since his mother had always been so gentle and sweet, he trusted women most of all. He supposed this was part of the reason. Men were harder for him to understand. Fathers with their judgments, doctors with their metal instruments...women had always seemed clearer and simpler and gentler, and men had never brought him much comfort or joy. Sadly, his father had always made him unhappy, but his death did not seem to hurt any less for all of that. Indeed, it seemed to make it hurt more.
He walked to his room with his tea. The house was silent and dark...all the servants were asleep, or pretending to be so. Everyone was frightened, and it would be his role now to oversee them and to soothe their fears. No more would he have time to lie on his bed and recite sonnets or read plays. He was a man now, and he hated that, too.
The tea was delicious. He wondered at the blending of flavors. Aside from the hint of lavender, he could not figure out what they were. As soon as he finished his mug, he lay down, still in his clothes from the day, and he fell asleep.
His dreams were strange and vivid. He thought he saw the girl, Liesel, from the square, but she was like a goddess, wrapped in fine white robes, angelic and smiling. She seemed to be an angel beckoning to him, promising love and comfort. He smiled in his sleep, his cheeks flushed, and his body relaxed into a deep slumber that lasted until sunrise.
The next morning he woke, feeling surprisingly rested and calm. The empty teacup had been removed. Blake scrambled up and rummaged in his coat, which a servant had hung up in his closet, to be sure the rest of the tea was still there—it was—and then he washed in the basin of hot water that the maid had left, along with his regular cup of India tea.
He dressed in fresh clothes and went down to his mother and the servants, feeling stiff and formal in a tailored suit and waistcoat. He was truly a lord now, and he must act the part. In order to run the estate and the farms, which now were his, since women could not own property, he must step up to the challenges that lay ahead.
He shuddered to think of his father in heaven, and the way he would disdain him if he were to lose what had been so carefully earned and built. He would make him proud, and then, when the lunch hour drew close, he would go to the farmhouse and see about Jane.
Chapter Forty-Eight
The Cupid was in the forest now with his Jane and they walked across the cold January ground, their legs aching as they trudged through uneven snow and slush. Jane had tried to carry him as much as she could, but she seemed tired, and she was also obviously caught in the blackest despair. Every few minutes, he would glance nervously behind them to be certain they were not followed.
The Cupid tried to change, but it would not come. To fly them both away, perhaps back to the island, or even to the sea, where Jane could find her father again, was the simplest solution to their problems. They would do anything to escape the evil, which still seemed to hang in the very air!
However, he could not change on this day. He was a little boy still. He could not change simply by wanting to, and so they walked on, and Jane would pick him up when she had the strength, and put him back down when her body cried out in protest. The worst of it was, they did not know where they were any longer, or where they were going. The forest was vast, and dense with trees.
“What if we went back?” Jane asked him, desperately. “We could go to Blake’s house, and perhaps, in that fortress or sorts, we could be safe.” The Cupid told her there was no going back, and deep down, he was sure she knew this too. They could both feel the dangers of Lynnshire, and some menace that seemed to follow them like a bloodhound on the scent.
Wishful thinking, he thought. That’s all it is, and she knows it.
When he finally found a cave, they stopped. Perhaps they could use what they had to make a shelter for the night? Would it be safe? He poked his head inside the cave, which was freezing cold and full of sticks and rocks and snow.
* * * *
“More caves,” Jane muttered angrily as she contemplated the new shelter. It reminded her of their cave on the island, truth be told, where they could wake in the morning and run to the shores of the Emerald Sea, basking in the sun and finding pretty shells in the rocky sands. Their old cave had been decorated with driftwood and flowers. This one was like a stony grave.
I miss the island now, she thought as she picked up debris from the bottom of the shallow cave and thought about how she might make a barrier to the outside so that they could build a fire and warm themselves without the wind putting it out. The night was coming. They had only thin blankets and the heavy cloaks they wore. Neither would keep out the cold. It was vital that they stay here now. There was no time to hope for an abandoned cottage—that would not be safe, anyway—or a better shelter.
She watch
ed as the Cupid toddled out and bundled up some of the sticks Jane had thrown out of the mouth of the cave. He told her a few were dry and would do for a fire. He said the branches outside were all wet from the rains, and they would never dry in the icy cave. Then, he grabbed a rock and sat down on the cave floor. The cold from the stone floor rose up through his body and made him shiver. Cupid grabbed the flint he had brought and struck it with a stone over and over, his blue-gray eyes starting to glow. Jane wondered if he might change. What a help it would be to them if he did. He had told her that any repetitive movement would always trigger some small changes in him?
The first branch seemed to burst into flames all at once, and all along its length. Jane watched in disbelief as the whole pile of wood sparked into flames that seemed to burn too high and too bright.
“Get back,” the Cupid barked at her as she came over to pull him away from the leaping flames. “All is well.”
He was right. The flames never smoked or grew too strong, and they never seemed to go out, though the barricade she had made at the mouth of the cave, out of wet branches and leaves, still let in some of the harsh winds.
She huddled close to him, grateful for the warmth that seeped into their numb and frozen bodies. They ate some stale bread and dried meat, and Jane drank from a bottle of wine, though she rarely drank liquor. The wine made her warmer still, but so tired, and so she gathered the Cupid close to her, and they lay on the cold stone cave, and they wrapped themselves in their scant coverings.
The fire stayed lit through that long night. Without it, they would likely have frozen to death. The fire was a gift, she thought, and a sign. The Cupid agreed with her. Jane wondered listlessly whose divine protection allowed it to burn all through the long, miserable night.
The Secret of the Emerald Sea Page 17