“Even colder! Not even waiting for the body to be buried.”
Lucky asked, “Can we cremate it?”
Siggy said, “No, Rachel probably wants us to check her pockets for loose change and magic rings.”
“Don’t waste time on nonsense!” Rachel ordered sharply. Her thoughts moved swiftly, keeping the keening agony at bay with calm, practical thoughts. “The tutors will be coming. Get the herbs! You know how useful they are to your Alchemy. This may be your last chance to gather any. See if you can dig some up with their roots attached, so we can replant them.”
“See, Lucky?” The point of view changed to the garden where the dragon was gathering huge swaths of herbs with his mouth. Rachel saw Siggy’s hands digging. “Icy as a cucumber!”
“Good grief,” Rachel sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Just hurry.”
Chapter Thirty:
A Conspiracy of Angels
Dear Sandra,
Yesterday, my Elf died. She was killed by the demon Morax. (Don’t say the name aloud.) I haven’t cried yet because I’ve been very busy, but I’m sure I will soon. She was an unearthly elf. She was very tall and very beautiful, and she died because of us. I am very sad.
Here is a picture I sketched of my Elf. I’ll call you, if I need you.
Love,
Rachel
The next day, Rachel received a reply:
Dear Rachel,
I am very sad to hear of the death of your friend. I would like to know more about her, if possible. I am not sure I understand what you mean by an unearthly elf. It’s okay to be sad when you lose someone you care about. It will take time to get better.
Please, let Father, Mother or me know if you need time off from school. You can come and stay with me in London. I live in a flat in a warehouse conversion. There are Unwary here. They are rather loud, but for the most part, they ignore me. I wouldn’t mind having my little sister come stay with me.
Love,
Sandra
• • •
“Rachel, can you meet me in the library?” Gaius’ voice came over the calling card as Rachel was crossing the Commons. “I found something I’d like to show you. Well…actually, I’d rather not show it to you, but I think you might rather want to see it.”
“Coming!”
It was Friday afternoon, a little more than a week after Samhain. Of what had occurred during the intervening days, Rachel was not quite sure. Her memory had recorded the events, classes, conversations, etc., but unless she called them up and reviewed them, she hardly knew what had happened. Only two things stood out. The first was that the proctor Mr. Fuentes had noticed her distress and tried to comfort her, but since he did not understand that she had lost a friend, his well-meaning attempts to cheer her had gone astray. The second was that she and Nastasia had shared a quiet cup of tea in memory of the Elf, but they had both been too well-brought up to indulge in something as undignified as tears.
Her other friends had spent the last week talking non-stop about the burning of the Roanoke Tree and the slaying of the Elf. Rachel wished they would stop. True, there was no longer a need for secrecy; however, their words seemed like a constant reminder that she was now a murderess. She accepted this difficult truth, but she did not enjoy having it constantly brought to her attention.
What made it doubly hard was that Illondria had been killed after Nastasia announced the plan to bring her home. Wanderlust dug its spurs into Rachel even on good days. Now, in addition to the sorrow of her friend’s passing, she had to face the disappointment of knowing that she would not be traveling to see the great forests of Hoddmimir’s Wood. Somehow her grief made her longing and disappointment stronger.
She managed to do her schoolwork, but it was hard to concentrate beyond that. The buzzing in her mind that came with a sense of falling was growing stronger and stronger. There was an accompanying darkness, too, that encroached on her senses. Any time she stopped focusing on the task before her, these sensations became worse.
At first, she had thought it might be her imagination, that sorrow and fatigue were taking their toll on her. But when she thought back, she could remember the buzzing very clearly, and she could see the darkness around the edges of her memory. When she remembered back to just after her grandfather died, the buzzing was in her memory there, too.
If she had not been so grief-stricken, she would have been terrified.
After a few days, she had to admit to herself what was occurring. Her mother had warned her that overusing the dissembling technique could have bad consequences. Hiding one’s expression did no harm, but Rachel had been using the technique to hide her fear, her anger, her pain, her sorrow—to hide it from herself, so she could continue to function.
This was exactly the kind of thing her mother had warned her never to do.
Rachel thought several times of calling home and asking her mother for help; however, she knew from previous conversations that there was no easy cure. Every time she thought of asking for help, Rachel’s mind played out what would happen next: visits to nuns of Asclepius or Hypnos, examinations in halls of healing, being dragged all over the place, and endless, endless questions—questions she probably would not want to answer.
And all this, most likely to no avail. There were many magical cures for colds and broken bones, but very few for madness. Once people believed someone was mad, that was the end of that person’s credibility. No one trusted those who went mad. No one hired them. No one wanted to marry them. Admitting that one was mentally unstable was the ultimate confession of weakness.
Grimly, she determined to fight it. So long as she kept concentrating on something, she could keep the buzzing at bay. Maybe once she recovered from this terrible sense of guilt and grief, it would fade again.
The only bright spot in her darkened world was Gaius. When he was around, her thoughts became calm and sane again. She laughed and talked, free of the otherwise constant pain and grief. No buzzing. No falling. No darkness. Even when he was not there, the thought of him buoyed her up. It was as if he was the pillar holding up her otherwise-shaking world. Mentally, she clung to him with all her strength.
Thus, when the young man who had become the most important thing in the universe to her called, rousing her from her gloom, she was delighted and relieved.
She ran all the way.
After the chill of the mid-November day, the heat in the library seemed almost stifling. Gaius sat at a table surrounded by books. He waved her over, gesturing at a chair.
“Hey, cutie,” he drawled lazily, looking her up and down in a manner that sent tingles up and down Rachel’s body. She blushed prettily and ducked her head shyly. He grinned. “Hey, what was that you asked Ghost-Remus about—with Darius Northwest?”
“Oh!” The recent grief had driven the matter from her thoughts. “I found a plaque in Transylvania, next to a glass that shone with moonlight. It had Northwest’s name on it, and I knew Beaumont Castle was the last place he was ever seen.”
“So…he stepped through the glass and was never seen again? Where did it go? Timbuktu?”
“He was a great traveler. If he had come out anywhere on the earth, and had not been killed, he would have made his way back home.”
“So…you’re saying, that glass leads somewhere that’s…not on earth? It leads to Metaplutonian lands?”
Rachel’s pupils grew wide. “Maybe.”
“Can I tell Vlad about this?”
“Yes, you can.” She paused. “Was that what you wanted to see me about?”
“No!” he leaned forward, “Look, this is from Plutarch’s On Superstition—which is a book even we Unwary have. This is what it has to say about the demon you and I were investigating—the boss demon. The one who is also Saturn. Or, in this case, Kronos: ‘…with full awareness, they offered up their own children. Those who had no children bought little ones from the poor. They cut their victim’s throats, as if they were so many lambs or young birds. Meanwhile, the poor chil
d’s mother stood by, without weeping. If she uttered a single moan or cried a single tear, she had to forfeit the money, but her child was sacrificed nonetheless. The area around the statue was filled with the noise of flutes and drums, so that the wailing of the victims did not reach the ears of the populace.’”
“Oh my!” Rachel sat down, hard.
“It’s truly terrible,” Gaius said hoarsely. “If there’s anything worse than mothers getting paid for letting their children be killed…but only if they don’t cry—I don’t know what it is.”
“Me, neither,” she whispered.
“I also found this. It’s from Diodorus Siculus, a Greek historian who lived in Sicily in the first century. He is describing a time when the Carthaginians were losing a war. He writes ‘They believed Kronos had turned against them. In former times, they had sacrificed to the god the noblest of their sons. More recently, they had been secretly buying and raising children that they sent to be sacrificed…When they saw their enemies camped before their walls, they were filled with superstitious dread, for they believed they had failed to honor the god in the manner established by their fathers. In their eagerness to make amends, they chose two hundred of the noblest children and sacrificed them publicly…’”
“Two hundred?” Rachel cried out. “Two hundred of their own children?”
“That’s what it says,” Gaius’s voice sounded hoarse.
“Gaius, we’ve got to stop that horrid bull-demon from summoning up the other one!” Rachel stated forcefully. “We absolutely must!”
Gaius nodded. “Preferably by this next dark of the moon. We don’t want anyone to be sacrificed.” He shook his head, sighing. “Only, I have no idea how. The next dark of the moon is only three days away. I’ve been trying to figure out where the bull-demon’s ‘place of power’ is, but I’m not having any luck.”
“I had been so hoping the Wisecraft had captured the bull one. But…obviously not.”
“I wish we had a better idea of what demons are capable of. Then, we would at least have a chance of preparing. Besides talking people into casting bad spells, like Egg did, what can they do? I mean demons and all these creatures, including that Raven guy?”
“Other than knocking over castles with a gesture? And stopping time?”
“Stopping time?” exclaimed Gaius.
“Rather like what happened to the storm winds near us when the Raven came on our way home on All-Hallow’s Eve. Other people stop moving, but they’re still moving.”
“Scary!” Gaius shivered, as if a cold wind were blowing on his neck. “Anything else?”
Rachel tipped her head back slightly, thinking. For the first time in over a week, happiness stirred inside her. It was time to tell him everything. But how to go about it?
“Come with me.” She jumped to her feet. “There’s something I would like to show you.”
• • •
They flew north on Vroomie, over the tops of hemlocks. The school was being extra careful due to the Heer of Dunderberg still being on the loose—the Agents having failed to capture the storm goblin. So, Rachel had been forced to evade the proctors. She flew south until she reached the creek and then doubled back to the north once under the cover of trees.
They followed the creek, soaring over a series of waterfalls, and then headed westward. Ahead of them, across the river, a great thunderhead hovered over the peak of Storm King. Bolts of brilliant blue-white illuminated the dark storm cloud as the lightning imps celebrated their newfound freedom. Perhaps the Heer was with them, or perhaps he had retreated to his seat of power at Dunderberg Mountain, some twenty miles downriver.
Rachel flew over the hemlocks to the large outcropping of rock, and beyond it to where the woods became particularly thick. There, she hesitated. The naked branches of occasional deciduous trees changed the look of the landscape. Comparing the tops of the hemlocks with those in her memory, however, she soon regained her bearings.
She dived down into the darkness of the forest and negotiated around the shaggy gray trunks. Here and there, a single sunbeam broke through, forming bright shafts of light. A large beam fell upon a statue of a woman with her head bowed. Stone robes draped her body.
“Nice statue,” Gaius commented, as they slid from the steeplechaser.
“Look at her back,” Rachel gestured casually. “Do you see any place where something might once have been attached?”
Gaius walked around the statue, examining it. He touched the face where the paler and darker moss seemed to form tear stains. Then, he moved to the back. “No. Not unless it was a long time ago…long enough for lichen to grow.”
“You’re sure?”
Gaius frowned and looked at the statue’s back again, running his hands over the stone shoulders and spine. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Rachel drew her mirror out of her robes and spoke into it. “Hey, Zoë? I need a favor.”
• • •
The new clubhouse of the Die Horribly Debate Club was Room 321 on the third floor of the north leg of Roanoke Hall. Currently, it looked like an empty classroom with a small side desk, a large central table, a few chairs, and the name of the club written in chalk on the blackboard. A great deal had been said over the last week about how they might decorate the room, but it had mainly consisted of Sigfried making outrageous suggestions, while the girls had squealed in dismay and shouted about why his latest idea was unacceptable.
Now that she had finally made the decision to tell Gaius about her memory, Rachel was so filled with anticipation that even the brief delay of flying back to find Zoë seemed unbearable. This was the kind of moment which for she lived—a chance to reveal something wondrous to someone for whom she cared deeply. She could not wait to see the expression on his face. He was going to be so impressed with her. She just knew it.
“Are you sure I’m allowed in here?” Gaius stuck his head into the club room, where Zoë and Joy were waiting for them. He squinted at the chalkboard. “What a name!”
“Sure. No secrets here yet.” Zoë gestured lazily.
Her hair was turquoise today. She sat in an armchair with her feet on the table. Joy stood at the board drawing little flowers and hearts around the H in Horribly. As Gaius walked around the table, Rachel rested her broom against the wall.
“Okay, Gaius, I need you to bedazzle me,” she announced. “Then, Joy will watch my body, while Zoë walks you into my dreams.”
“We’re going into dreamland?” Gaius asked, extremely interested.
“Rather!” Rachel smiled. “My dream space had Dream Gaius in it, and some space-going sailing ships he was worried about, which apparently look nothing like real star ships, and a unicorn. It was a very nice unicorn.”
“Uh, Dream Gaius, eh?” He quirked an eyebrow.
Behind him, Joy snickered.
“Dream You made me a little nervous because…” Rachel felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “Well, never mind why. Basically, because he wasn’t the real you. I mean a dream version of one’s boyfriend isn’t one’s boyfriend, right? And besides,” she muttered under her breath, “he wasn’t gentlemanly.”
“Definitely,” agreed Gaius, frowning slightly. “Though I must say, I am sorry to hear that dream me is not a proper gentleman. Wait, does Dream Gaius hang around with a unicorn? Or was that in some other dream?”
“I think they are friends.” Rachel leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Dream You and me got to ride him. If you come check it out, I can tell you about my secret power.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You have a secret power?”
“I do.”
Gaius leaned closer. For a moment, Rachel thought he was going to kiss her, right in front of the other girls. But he leaned farther and whispered in her ear. “Is this the Big Secret?”
“No,” Rachel whispered back, “but I need to explain the secret power before I can explain the Big Secret. That’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
“Ah! Smashing.” He stepped back again.
>
“As to my secret: Topher already knows it, but, still, please don’t tell anyone.”
Gaius raised his right hand solemnly, “I will keep your secret. Er…with Vlad’s standard clause of: ‘if you are planning to blow up a significant portion of the world, the deal is off.’”
Zoë chuckled. “Some parts of the world may need exploding.”
“I remember that clause.” Rachel gave Gaius a little cheerful nod. She jumped up on the table and lay down. “Bedazzle away! Only paralyze me first, otherwise, it can get…messy.”
“Wait, bedazzle?” He frowned. “You want me to cast a Spell of Bedazzlement on you?”
Rachel, Zoë, and Joy all nodded.
“Is it okay to be repeatedly bedazzled?” asked Gaius. “Maybe we should test it out on Mark Williams…”
“Isn’t he the boy I paralyzed?” Rachel asked. She shrugged. “The spell seems harmless.”
“It’s forcing a chaotic state of mind on you while you are awake. I can’t imagine it’s a good thing. Even if it’s not ‘that harmful,’ I’d prefer if we tested it out on someone I don’t care about. And Mark Williams’ star seems to be in rapid decline. Best to use him before he gets turned into a lamp post or something. He really seems to be unlucky.”
Rachel pressed her lips together to keep herself from smiling. “If we used someone else, you couldn’t meet Dream Gaius or the unicorn…and I could not show off my secret power.”
“Oh,” Gaius shrugged. “Okay, I’m sure casting it on you once will be all right. We’ve used the spell quite a number of times during the Knights’ practice sessions. No one has turned into a babbling idiot yet. Turned into, at least…”
Rachel and the other girls chuckled.
Gaius drew his fulgurator’s wand and pointed it at her. “Here goes!”
• • •
Rachel dreamed she was walking on the moors, singing. Zoë tapped her on the shoulder as she was beginning a new chorus. At least, they had not come upon her naked. As soon as she was lucid, she shifted the dream to her star-studded meadow.
Rachel and the Many-Splendored Dreamland (The Books of Unexpected Enlightenment Book 3) Page 38