by Sarah Zettel
He left her there, collapsed in the mud at the foot of his chair, and it seemed to her that he vanished. His specter, or perhaps it was his soul, remained where it was, high on its precarious perch, surrounded by its demons. Too far, too long, was it weary? Would it fall?
“Fall, yes fall, and take us all down with it!” cried one of the two who sat on the fountain. “Then my pretty lady would weep for sure!” It leapt into the air, dancing before Risa’s eyes. She knew better now than to swing at it. It would only fly away.
“Oh, poor spiritless thing!” squeaked its companion. “It’s all crunched up and has no fight left.”
“Shall we bite it, shall we pinch it?” asked the first, darting in so close that Risa shrank back involuntarily. “Watch it dance? It dances for the master now.” The creature’s fangs gleamed in the moonlight as it grinned with hideous merriment at her.
Its companion on the well’s cracked bowl scratched itself. “While it wears the chain, it dances like a bear. But does the master see the bear for the skin? Does he see the virtue for the sin?”
“Let’s see! Let’s see! He maybe has a dainty for us. Maybe doves, maybe better while he works!”
That seemed to please the other and they both took off into the air and were soon lost to Risa’s nightmare sight and she was alone.
Now was her chance if she had any, to lay a plan, to find a weakness.
But what chance could she have? The ruined courtyard with its overlay of dreams stretched before her. Euberacon stood on the parapet balancing himself before the swarm of demons that watched him greedily, furiously, impatiently, waiting for his slip, for his last mistake. Turn, and there was the stable boy sweeping furiously to the sound of the sea. Turn, and there was Drew, broken on the ground. Turn, and there was the cook trudging back again, with her empty eyes and her weight of weariness and her sieve.
Euberacon stood over all, lord and master of these horrors even caught in his own fears. All he had to do was look down and he would see her and what she did. All he would have to do was turn his head from the demons.
Which was all the protection she had. If he glanced away, if that shape of him aloft there looked away, what would they do? She had no way to know if it truly was vigilance that kept him aloft on that perilous height.
But he cannot see, she reminded herself. His omniscience was illusion. There lay her chance. She must find her way to use it. If not, day would come again soon. It would come and it would go and she would be lost in whatever slavery he commanded of her, and every night would be this horror until … until what?
Until Gawain came for her? But what if Gawain did not come? What if he did not come soon enough?
Why should I even try? asked a treacherous voice in the back of her mind. Euberacon commands demons and I command a few peasant’s tales. I am lost and gone. God has already condemned me.
No. No. I mustn’t. Despair is also a sin. Think. This is the stuff of those peasant tales. What would happen in one of them?
Absurd. Ridiculous.
No, it was the reality that moved around her. It was in Drew’s chains as he toiled up the stairs. In the sieve in the cook’s hand as she waded through the mud yet again.
An idea came to Risa then and nearly hysterical hope made her move, shuffling forward to the very limit of her copper chain as Nessa slogged toward the well. The woman did not look up, did not hesitate in her endless task.
Stretching her arm to its fullest length, Risa lifted the sieve from Nessa’s loose fingers. The woman opened and closed her suddenly empty hand. With a whimper of despair, she plunged her arms into the broken basin, seeking the sieve she must have dropped. Risa fell to her knees. With cold and trembling hands, she dug into the mud and clay at the base of the filthy, shattered fountain. She packed the clay and soaked grass into the sieve, blocking the mesh, stopping the holes. Praying with all the strength her weary and battered soul had left, she dipped the sieve into the water, and filled it to the brim. Then, she settled it into the Nessa’s hands.
The woman’s blank eyes stared down, her face gone slack with dumb surprise. She dabbled her fingers in the cloudy water, disbelieving.
Hurry, hurry, begged Risa silently. Whatever you must do, do it quickly. This trick will not work for long.
Nessa gave a shriek of delight and scurried back toward where the kitchen would have been. Risa heard the splash of water, presumably into some vessel, and then Nessa came running out, staggered in the mud, and froze. She blinked.
She had eyes.
The scales had fallen from them, perhaps into the water she had carried, and now she could see. Nessa took several steps forward, her mouth agape. Risa straightened up, so she was among the things that were seen.
Nessa screamed, a high, insane sound. Fear of discovery lent Risa strength and speed. She slapped her hand over the terrified servant’s mouth and dragged her close. Nessa’s eyes bulged in their sockets and for a moment Risa thought she might faint. She could feel her panting breath against her palm.
“By that God who loves us both, Nessa, hold your tongue. I know how I look but if you scream you’ll bring worse down on us.”
Slowly, Nessa nodded, although none of the terror left her eyes. Cautiously, Risa removed her hand.
“What … what …” stammered Nessa.
“A prisoner, even as you.” She did not give her time for questions. “What do you know of your state?”
She swallowed. She was a solid, plain woman, obviously of a practical turn of mind. Devils and true monsters did not swear by holy things.
“My master sold me to … I don’t know. He had black eyes. That is the last I know.”
As quickly as she could, Risa explained to whom she had been sold into service to. The woman clutched at her apron as if it were her telling beads to keep back the devils that must surely be about to jump forth. But she did not scream, nor did she deny what she heard.
“What of my man?” Nessa croaked. “How long have I been here?”
“Drew will be with you in the morning, but he won’t know anything’s wrong. He’s been enchanted, just as you and I have been.” Yes, pay attention. This is not the truth of me anymore than that struggling blind creature is the truth of you. “If you listen, and if you’ll help, I think I can set us all free.”
Nessa wadded her apron up in both hands, but still, she made her decision. “What must I do?”
Nessa’s question ringed around Risa’s mind and she frantically tried to think. There must be a way. Could Nessa steal the key to Euberacon’s tower? Impossible. But where else could his weaknesses be found? How else could they be discovered? Risa glanced furtively at the tower, as if she feared to see Euberacon scowling down at her. But he was as before, balancing on his strange and precarious perch, surrounded by the all the demons.
Risa’s breath froze in her lungs. Not all the demons. Where were the other pair? The two that were invisible during the day, that came and went from his study and seemed to know all that occurred within these walls?
And what if they could be made to tell what they knew?
She had it. The oldest stories and her own desperation showed her what to do. There were ways to trap demons, ways to make them speak, and they were told ‘round the fire on a winter’s night. Now was the time to find out if those tales told the truth.
Risa gripped Nessa’s hand tightly.
“At day’s end, you must take your largest covered kettle and put in it some of the hops, barley and malt for the brewing, a fresh egg, a length of rope and all the things needful to make a fire. Repeat that.” The woman actually looked affronted. She was used to receiving complex instructions, Risa reminded herself, but nonetheless, she made her say it. When Nessa had successfully repeated that much, Risa kept going. “Make sure everything is left by the fountain before you go to bed. If any sees you, you’ll have to make some excuse. It must be there tonight, by the fountain, nowhere else. If you fail … we are all here lost.”
“But … but what if I am questioned?” Nessa stammered, fear beginning to return. “What if I am discovered?”
“You must not be. You must go about your day. Serve as you would serve any other master. Do not question anything you see, that is the most important thing. Can you do this? Your freedom and your man’s depend on it. There’s a boy here too. They have no one but us to save them.”
That seemed to steady her. “I … I can try … mmm … mmm….” She was trying to say “mistress,” but the word would not come.
“Then try, and pray for your soul that your trying is good enough. Go now, before anyone comes.”
Nessa nodded and scurried away, relief plain on her face. Again, Risa wondered what she saw around her. It didn’t matter. As long as she did what Risa asked. As long as her guesses proved correct.
Too tired to stand anymore, Risa, greatly daring, curled up in the chair Euberacon had left behind. Perhaps she could find her way to sleep from here, and dream of Gawain, of her freedom. She looked up to the turret so she might again see Euberacon afraid and use that as fuel for the small sparks of hope inside her.
But Euberacon was not there. The demons bobbed and swooped like so many confused and angry bees. The turret was deserted of its specter, and not one of the monsters could tell what had happened.
Where had he gone? What had he done? Risa gaped.
He had saved himself, pulled his soul down from the precipice and regained that part of himself lost to nightmare, and she had helped.
How much more would he be able to do come the daylight?
She gripped the chair arms and struggled not to cry out as the fear swelled and bubbled and coiled within her. He could do so much, even when he was in danger, what would he do now? What would he force her to do?
Hold on, hold on. God give me strength. Help me. He doesn’t know what I have done. He can’t know. If he knew he would be down here now. He still can’t see. He knows only what I told him, nothing else. He can’t see for himself.
Yet.
But Euberacon did not appear, not to her, not to the demons, for all they searched, frantic in their outrage. Nessa stayed away. Drew lay broken in the mud, and the little stable boy still swept. There was nothing to do, nowhere to go. Her copper chain held her fast. All she could do was pray, for strength and for calm, and that the morning would come again.
Risa knelt and the mud and clay were cold beneath her aching knees. She bowed her head and clasped her twisted hands.
Help me, she prayed, for it was the only prayer she had left in the whole of her tattered soul. Help me.
Chapter Twenty
Gawain woke in his bed. Darkness surrounded him. His dreams had been confused. There had been a chase, and blood in the green wood. He rubbed his eyes. He did not even remember going to sleep. He had meant to stay awake and walk the hall after dark to see what he could find. He had sat at board, there had been strong wine, and … he was here.
What had woken him?
Then, he heard it. A soft scratching at his door. He stood, grabbing up his tunic to cover his nakedness and then he opened the door.
Ailla stood in the dark corridor, a rushlight burning low in her hand.
“My lady …?”
But even as he spoke, she pushed her way past him. “Close the door. They mustn’t see the light.”
Gawain did as he was told. She used her light to kindle the candle at his bedside, then she placed the rush in a wall sconce. Gawain watched her swift and graceful movements, trying to clear the last of the heavy sleep from his head.
Ailla faced him. “You know,” was all she said.
Precious little, though. But what he said was, “I know this is no natural place, lady.”
She nodded. “There is much I cannot tell you, but I can answer some of your questions if you ask them now.”
Gawain frowned at the closed door. “But it is night. If your husband …”
“It must be now,” Ailla cut him off. “He cannot question you about what you’ve received. It falls outside the bargain. Quickly, ask what you will.” She perched on the chair, her gaze darting anxiously between his befuddled countenance and the door.
With an effort, Gawain pulled his wits together. “Where is the Green Temple?”
Ailla nodded, as if approving of his choice of beginnings. “In the center of the great Northwood.”
“What is it?”
“A green mound without tree or brush growing on it and a clear stream running down its face.”
A strange temple for a strange apparition. Gawain found his mind clearing. What had taken him so deeply into sleep? Was he ill again? Or was there something else happening to him? “Who is Belinus?”
Ailla dropped her gaze to her hands clasped tightly together on her lap. “That I may not say.”
Gawain leaned forward, and put his hand beneath her chin, lifting her face toward him so that she had to look into his eyes. He wanted her to see his honest desire to help her, he wanted her to see she could trust him. “Who are you?”
But she only pulled herself away from him. “A prisoner, even as you are.”
“How can I free you?”
“You cannot.”
I do not accept this. “There must be some way …”
“There is none,” she announced, her voice flat and hopeless. “Listen to me, my Lord Gawain. I know what game you have committed yourself to play. Do you want to live to find you lady love?”
“With all my heart.” But do not say I must leave you here to do so. There must be a way to bring you out of this place, to thank you for all you have done.
She regarded him for a moment. Did she doubt him? No, she was saddened. She had no one she believed could save her, and yet her generous spirit drove her to try to save another in a similar plight. What a miracle to find such a one in such a place. “I can help you, but it must be done in secret. Tomorrow, your horse will be fit for travel. Come to breakfast with my husband. Do not be certain when he asks if you will leave. Say you are going to exercise your horse and ride out due southward. Do not take your arms, or they will know something is wrong. You will find a track and near it there is an oak that was split by lightning. I will meet you beside that oak.”
“I cannot ask you to risk yourself for me.”
“You do not ask. I do it gladly. If I cannot be free, then let me know that you are.” She stood, answering some inner warning. “I must go.”
She took her light and left him then, closing the door softly behind her. Gawain stared for a moment and then ran both hands through his hair, trying to think.
What he wanted to do was grab up sword and spear and fight his way out of here, dragging Lady Ailla with him, as the Pictishmen were said to do with brides they favored. He did not want to wait anymore. She needed him, she was risking everything for him and he could do nothing. Imprisoned, she said. How? By whom? There must be some way to find out, some way to set her free.
And what of Risa? asked a quiet voice in the back of his mind.
Risa. God in heaven, he had forgotten her for a moment. The realization appalled Gawain. How could he have ceased to think of her, even for a heartbeat? How could he find another woman fair or worthy when his betrothed had vanished, carried away by vile magics to what fate, God alone knew? How could his heart be so wayward?
Or so uncertain.
No. There was no doubt in him. No true doubt. He loved Risa, heart and soul. He would save her. He would marry her. Gawain leapt to his feet and began to pace, cursing his weakness and his confusion. It was this place. The wrongness of it was infecting his blood. He had to get away from here. The way had been opened for him, he had only to take it. When he found Risa again, his eyes would clear and there would be no doubt left.
There was some glamour on this place. It was deep and it was subtle. He could not trust anything.
Not even Ailla?
He dismissed the thought. Even if she was not all that she seemed, she was risking all to help
him. Should he open the door? Should he take his weapons and both of them out of here by force if he must?
No. She had some way to help him survive what must come at the Green Temple. To seek escape now would be to lose that chance. He must stay. He must endure the remainder of this night, and then he and Ailla both would be free. He would see to that. Then he would find Risa. He would find Risa if he had to split the world in two to do it. She was his love, she and no other.
Knowing sleep to be impossible, Gawain took up his sword and began a series of practice exercises, parries, cuts, thrusts, counters. The chamber was small, but there was just room enough to swing the blade, to dance with his shadow in dangerous play, cutting at the air as if he could slice through the tangle of mystery that held him, as if he could cut the yearning to see Lady Ailla smile once more for him from his mind.
In the morning, Gawain washed his face and hands. Regretfully leaving his arms behind, he went into the hall and for the first time since coming to this grim place, he joined his host in breaking his fast. Belinus consumed massive quantities of the simple porridge his wife served, washed down with more ale than Gawain would have thought it possible for one man to consume. Ailla did not look at him once during the meal.
“Well, my Lord Eagle!” Belinus slammed his noggin down on the table, making all the bowls and spoons rattle. “Do you fly away from us today?”
“I mean to take my horse out for exercise,” Gawain replied, hoping he did not sound too much as though he were being careful with his words. “If all be well then yes, I mean to continue on my journey.”
“Well, some of us will be sorry to see you go.” Belinus winked broadly at Ailla. “But if you are still not able to tear yourself away from our merry hall, you are welcome to stay and see what this day brings you.”
“I thank you for your most generous hospitality, my host.”
“Rather you should thank my wife!” Ailla was passing Belinus’s chair with an empty bowl and he grabbed her around her waist, planting a great kiss on her cheek before releasing her. Gawain had to force himself to remain seated. She was his wife, all rights were his, but … a serving girl would not be handled this way in Camelot, never mind a lady. Arthur would have never permitted it. “It is a treat to have her so blushing and lively! I would have you stay all the summer to quicken her blood with your tales of Camelot. But tell me,” his voice dropped into tones of conspiracy, “were you able to winkle the secret of the Green Temple while I left you two alone these past days?”