The Shining City

by Kate Forsyth

  So May Day passed. Even the little bluebird fled the cell, soaring out through the bars and away, so that Rhiannon was in despair, thinking it would never return. When it did at last, in the dim twilight of that endless day, it carried a little spray of lily-of-the-valley for her. Rhiannon was comforted, and put the flowers in the cup by her bed so she could smell them in the dark, and pretend she was lying in the meadows and not in a hard prison bed.

  Even with Lewen’s rowan charm clutched between her hands, Rhiannon slept badly that night. She dreamt of a great wheel spinning before her eyes, light and dark flashing past her as the spokes whirled around. She dreamt she heard bells ringing out, filling her ears with doom, and saw she stood on a scaffold, the black-hooded hangman drawing a sack down over her head. Rhiannon looked out wildly into the crowd, screaming Lewen’s name with all her strength, but he was not there and then all her senses were muffled and she knew it was too late, this was the end. She woke up screaming, and opened her eyes into the darkness, whispering, ‘Lewen, Lewen, where are ye?’ Then her eyes closed again and she fell back into sleep.

  She saw Lewen. He was asleep. He lay sprawled on his back, his dark curls tousled, a sheet drawn up to his hips. He shifted in his sleep, turning on his side and curling round close to the white naked body of another woman. Rhiannon saw the mass of curls flaming down the woman’s bare back and breast, and knew it was her enemy, the red-headed Banprionnsa. She cried out in agony. Olwynne opened her eyes and looked at her, but did not see her. ‘My blades must have blood,’ she said in a voice as deep and ringing as a bell. ‘My blades must have blood.’

  Rhiannon watched Lewen soothe her back to sleep, and felt tears spring to her eyes. ‘No, no,’ she sobbed. She turned and fled, as far and fast as she could. The darkness streamed past her, and then she felt the cold wind turn sharp in her hand, and realised she was astride Blackthorn once more, the mare’s mane cutting her palm. She cried aloud in relief and joy, and the mare whinnied in response. Rhiannon looked back, and saw a delicate silver string winding away behind her. The further she flew, the tauter the string grew till it was tuned as tightly as any harp string, dragging at her heart until she thought it must snap or pluck her very heart out of her body. Rhiannon leant into the wind, urging the mare to go faster, wanting to escape or die in the attempt.

  ‘My blades must have blood,’ she remembered, and saw, or imagined, a scythe slicing down through her heart-string, severing it. Rhiannon saw, with great clarity, that she would indeed die then, or be lost. She pulled back on Blackthorn’s mane, leaning back all her weight, and the winged mare slowed her headlong flight, and hovered there in the starless abyss. ‘I want to live,’ Rhiannon said aloud. ‘Dark walkers spare me, I want to live.’

  With a great twang, the silver thread snapped her back into her bed. Rhiannon cried out at the shock of it. ‘Blackthorn!’ she called. ‘Blackthorn!’

  But all was quiet.

  Rhiannon’s hands smarted. She opened and shut them, the cuts on her palm throbbing. When she pressed her hands over her eyes to blot away her tears, the salt water seeped into the cuts, stinging them.

  The next morning, she could not eat the cold porridge the guards brought her. All the nervous energy that had driven her to pace her cell was gone. She could barely find the strength to move from her bed to the chair, or to turn the pages of the bestiary she had come to love so much. The bluebird perched on the edge of the bowl and pecked at the oatmeal, then flew about singing. Rhiannon watched it but did not smile.

  The morning plodded on. At noon, the door grated open. Rhiannon turned her eyes that way. Lewen stood in the doorway. Olwynne stood close behind him, dressed like a banprionnsa in shimmering yellow silk and gold embroidered brocade. Rhiannon saw that she had dressed to look her best. Her skin glowed, and her hair was like rippling lava. Rhiannon was all too aware of her own dull hair and skin, her shadowed eyes and stinking prison garb.

  ‘Rhiannon …’ Lewen faltered over her name.

  ‘Go on,’ she said.

  ‘I am sorry. I find I am mistaken … in my feelings for ye. I should never … it was wrong o’ me …’ He could not go on. He cast one beseeching glance at her then turned his eyes away.

  Olwynne stepped forward. A wave of perfume washed over Rhiannon, making her feel suddenly dizzy. She clutched at her iron bed-head to steady herself.

  ‘I ken ye and Lewen are lovers, and that ye consider yourself … affianced in some way. I’m sorry to have to say that Lewen finds himself mistaken in his feelings for ye. He hopes ye will understand that his feelings have changed, and that there are no hard feelings.’

  Rhiannon looked past her to Lewen. He would not meet her eyes. She said his name. He glanced at her, but only for a second, shaking his head and backing away.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Olwynne said again, her voice shaking. ‘We must go. It’ll only make it worse if we stay.’

  Rhiannon did not know if Olwynne spoke to her or to Lewen, but she straightened her back and stared Olwynne in the eye. ‘He is mine,’ she warned. ‘Do no’ think ye can have him.’

  Her defiance strengthened the Banprionnsa.

  ‘But I can,’ she said and stepped backwards, not taking her eyes off Rhiannon.

  Even so, she was unprepared for the speed of Rhiannon’s attack. With one leap Rhiannon crashed them both to the floor. Sitting astride the Banprionnsa, she seized two handfuls of the red curls and slammed Olwynne’s head hard into the floor, lifted and slammed again. Olwynne screamed. Rhiannon would have slammed her head down again, but Lewen and the two guards were on her, dragging her away. One guard cuffed her hard across the ear, but she ignored the blow, leaping for Olwynne again, raking her nails down one cheek. Only with great difficulty did they restrain her, for she kicked and squirmed and fought against their hold.

  Olwynne’s dress was crushed and torn, her face was scored red, and her careful coiffure was in wild disarray. When she gingerly felt the back of her skull, her fingers came back blotched with blood. Lewen looked dazed with shock, while both the guards were grim-faced and abjectly apologetic.

  ‘Get every single one o’ my hairs out o’ her hands,’ Olwynne said icily. ‘I do no’ want her using them for her sorcery.’

  Rhiannon’s fingers were forced open, and the great tufts of Olwynne’s hair prised free. Rhiannon was pleased when she saw how much she had torn out of the Banprionnsa’s head, though she did not understand what Olwynne meant with her comment about sorcery. She stared at Olwynne with burning hatred as the Banprionnsa straightened her dress and hair, Lewen supporting her with one arm about her waist. When he looked at Rhiannon, it was with horror and disgust. Olwynne was able to say, ‘See, she is quite wild! I told ye how it would be.’

  Rhiannon struggled once more to be free, her eyes burning with tears she refused to shed. The guards held her still, and Lewen led Olwynne out the door and away. Rhiannon was flung back on the bed, then the door was slammed shut and locked and bolted. She turned over, bringing her knees to her chest, trying hard to breathe, waves of pain beating through her.

  That night, when the surly bad-tempered guards brought Rhiannon her supper, she could not eat a bite. The bluebird pecked at the bread, then flew to her shoulder with a questioning chirrup. She lifted it off and put it on the chair-back, already deeply scored from its sharp claws and beak, and went and lay down on her bed. The candle flame devoured the time-rings scored upon the wax until at last the flame flickered out and she was left alone in the darkness again. She rolled over to press her hot, wet face into her pillow, and her fingers found the rowan charm under the pillow. Rhiannon hurled it away from her.

  That night the ghost came to her again.

  She stood at the foot of Rhiannon’s bed, a white-faced woman dressed all in darkness. ‘Ye sought to keep me away,’ she said in a low, intense voice, ‘but ye canna, can ye? I have penetrated all your defences.’

  Rhiannon, caught between sleep and wakefulness, sought desperately under her pillow
for the rowan charm but could not find it.

  ‘He has betrayed ye, your love, hasn’t he? What is there left for ye in life now? Nothing. Nothing.’

  Rhiannon turned her head back and forth on the pillow, her eyes smarting. Her limbs felt weighted down with chains.

  ‘Why do ye suffer this incarceration? Ye might as well be buried alive. Why do ye no’ claw your way out? I would. I would never let a man use me so.’ The ghost’s voice dropped even lower, growing sweet and persuasive. ‘If ye escape, if ye find your way free, I can help ye find power. If ye help me live again, if ye bring me a sweet young body to sacrifice, I will repay ye, I swear. I will make ye rich beyond your wildest dreams, I will give ye the power o’ life and death over your enemies. I will teach ye all I ken o’ the craft and cunning these witches guard so jealously. Ye want to conjure fire? I can teach ye.’

  Suddenly the room was illuminated so brightly Rhiannon cried out, and flung her arm over her eyes. Imprinted upon her retina was the shape of a grinning skull with gaping eye hollows, stuck upon a curving stick of bone. Even when she blinked, the sizzling impression did not fade.

  The low whisper went on, as slowly the light in the room faded away. ‘Aye, I am dead. I am naught but bones and dust in some grave over the seas. I was no’ even buried in my own land, the land o’ my clan. I want to live again! We could help each other, we two. We are o’ a kind.’

  Rhiannon forced her wooden tongue to shape the word ‘no’.

  ‘If ye will no’ help me, then ye are my enemy, and believe me, ye do no’ wish to be that. Come. I ken ye could escape from here if ye tried. It is no’ in your nature to be so meek and feeble. Kill these stupid guards o’ yours and get yourself free. I ken ye are afraid o’ what would happen then, but if ye help me, then ye need no’ fear pursuit or retribution. I would make sure ye grow so strong, so powerful, that none dare touch ye.’

  ‘How?’ Rhiannon whispered.

  ‘First ye must help me back to life. Without life, without blood, I am still naught but bones and spirit. Once I am alive again …’

  ‘Ye dead,’ Rhiannon said brutally. ‘Ye canna live again. Accept it.’

  ‘Never!’ the ghost cried. A wind sprang up from nowhere, blasting Rhiannon’s face with icy-cold air. Turning her face away, lifting her arm to protect herself, Rhiannon saw the wind whipping the ghost’s long black hair about her face and sending the darkness eddying about her like mist.

  ‘Close on twenty years now I have clung to my powers, when the void o’ death has sought to suck them away. I canna hold on much longer. I must have life again! And if ye will no’ help me, I shall take your life, and so I warn ye. Defy me and ye shall die. Help me, and I shall help ye.’

  ‘Help me to what?’

  ‘Whatever ye want,’ the ghost said impatiently. ‘Life, freedom, power, revenge …’

  ‘Revenge?’ Rhiannon wondered aloud.

  ‘Aye, on all those who have betrayed ye and imprisoned ye. We will have our revenge together. All ye need do is escape, and I will show ye the way forward.’

  ‘Escape,’ Rhiannon repeated and pressed the tears back into her eyes with icy fingers.

  The next morning Fèlice came, laden down with fruit and flowers and wine. Rhiannon knew at once that she had heard the news. She looked pale and distressed.

  ‘Oh, Rhiannon, I’m so sorry. I canna believe … I never would’ve thought …’

  ‘I will throttle her till she dead.’ Rhiannon paced the floor, her hands balled into fists. ‘I will chop her up for dog-food. How dare she? He mine! Lewen mine! I’ll hang her up for the rats to chew on, I will, I will!’

  ‘Oh, Rhiannon, I am so very sorry. I really thought … it seems so unlike Lewen!’

  ‘She has ensorcelled him,’ Rhiannon spat. ‘I’ll flay her alive, the bitch!’

  ‘Oh, surely no’? She canna have. It’s no’ allowed. The Coven says … that’s compulsion, a spell like that. It’s taking away free will. The Banprionnsa could never do such a thing.’

  ‘She could and she has,’ Rhiannon said with conviction. ‘Just wait until I get out o’ here! I’ll kill the skinny witch and rip her to bits. We’ll see whose quarters are thrown to the city dogs!’

  ‘Oh, Rhiannon, ye canna speak so! She’s the daughter o’ the Rìgh! They can hang, draw and quarter ye just for speaking so. Ye must be still! Do no’ be so angry.’

  ‘Do no’ be so angry! What ye want me to do, cry? Weep like a baby? I won’t, I won’t!’ Rhiannon cried, even as the tears poured down her cheeks. She dashed them away and went on, almost incoherently. ‘I willna cry, I willna, no! I willna let her have him. He’s mine! He’s mine!’

  Then the tears overwhelmed her and she flung herself down on the bed and sobbed wildly. Fèlice knelt beside her and tried to comfort her, but it was no use. Rhiannon wept, and pounded her pillow and tore at it with her teeth until the feathers flew. All Fèlice could do was try to shield her from the curious eye that appeared at the peephole in the door.

  At last Rhiannon’s sobs shuddered away. She sat up, thrusting Fèlice’s hand away and turned her hot, swollen face towards her with a grimace. ‘If ye ever tell anyone that I cried …’

  ‘I ken, I ken, ye’ll grind my bones for bread,’ Fèlice said, trying to joke. She got up and moved away to the table, pouring Rhiannon some water from the jug there and dampening the face-cloth so she could press it to her tear-ravaged eyes. ‘I am so sorry, Rhiannon,’ she said again, speaking very gently. ‘I thought … I hoped ye would no’ care so much. I never would’ve thought Lewen could be such a bastard. Ye’re better off without him.’

  To her dismay, Rhiannon was crying again, swift silent tears that poured down her face. She licked them from her upper lip and covered her eyes with her hand.

  ‘Nay, he mine,’ she muttered. ‘We promised. Me no’ give him up.’

  Fèlice did not know what to say. She thought of the Lewen she had seen that morning, his arm about Olwynne’s waist, their fingers entwined, their eyes fixed upon each other’s faces. It was as if they could not bear to have even an inch of air between them. Then there was Donncan and Bronwen, due to be married in six weeks, standing as stiff and cold and polite as if they were strangers while all about them swirled rumour and speculation, visible as smoke. Between the two couples, the gossip-mongers were having a field day.

  ‘Ye will no’ have heard the other big news,’ Fèlice said, seeking to distract Rhiannon. ‘There was a death last night, at the palace. His Highness, Prionnsa Donncan, accidentally killed one o’ the Blue Guards. We were no’ there, o’ course, we were at the Theurgia’s party, but we heard all about it this morning. They say the soldier that was killed was a great admirer o’ Her Highness, Banprionnsa Bronwen, and was quite mad with jealousy. Ye ken His Highness only returned from his travels yesterday? He’s been away months apparently, and the Banprionnsa has been amusing herself in his absence with a dalliance or two. Prionnsa Owein says she is even more o’ a flirt than I.’

  Fèlice giggled, then recollected herself, recounting the rest of the tale with greater sobriety. Rhiannon barely listened, so preoccupied was she with her own problems, until she caught the word ‘Yeoman’ and it dawned on her that the Crown Prionnsa Donncan had apparently done exactly what she had done – killed one of the Rìgh’s own guards.

  ‘So why is he no’ in prison too?’ Rhiannon demanded.

  Fèlice looked surprised. ‘Why … because it was self-defence, I suppose. Mathias attacked him.’

  ‘The Yeoman I killed attacked my mother,’ Rhiannon reminded her. ‘He would’ve killed her too. So why am I in prison for months and months, and this prionnsa o’ yours walks free?’

  Fèlice fidgeted with her sash. ‘I dinna ken,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, ye couldna put His Highness in gaol!’

  ‘Why no’? He killed a man too, a Blue Guard, just like me.’

  ‘Aye, but it was an accident.’

  ‘How do ye ken?’

  ‘He said so, and
Her Highness the Banprionnsa Bronwen too.’

  ‘How do ye ken they do no’ lie?’

  ‘He’s the Crown Prionnsa, he wouldna lie,’ Fèlice argued, looking harassed. ‘We all ken him! He wouldna murder one o’ his father’s own guards.’

  ‘No’ even if the guard was trying to steal his lover away?’ Rhiannon demanded. ‘Ye told me the guard who attacked the Prionnsa was mad with jealousy. How do ye ken the Prionnsa was no’ the one driven mad? If he thought the Blue Guard was mating with his woman, he would want to kill him, wouldn’t he? Anyone would. I ken I would.’

  Fèlice looked troubled. For a moment there was silence, and then she said, ‘There is to be an inquiry. The Privy Council has set up a special group to investigate.’

  ‘I’ll bet ye two gold royals that the Prionnsa does no’ have to wait in prison while they do it,’ Rhiannon said bitterly.

  ‘No,’ Fèlice said. ‘I don’t want to lose my money.’

  The eyes of the two girls met.

  ‘I have some good news that might cheer ye up,’ Fèlice said with an effort. ‘Ye ken Landon’s ballad, the one he wrote about ye? It’s all the rage in the faery quarter. We’ve been selling bundles o’ it. Ye have a lot o’ supporters among the faeries now.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ Rhiannon said. ‘I bet no’ one o’ them is a magistrate sitting on the quarter sessions.’