by Jon Jacks
*
Chapter 13
Prytani stumbled awkwardly as the man almost threw her into the room.
‘Here she is!’ the man growled, staying by the door, ‘As you warned me, she was more trouble than she was worth,’ he added gruffly, turning to leave as soon as he’d disposed of his charge, letting the door swing to behind him.
The wizard glanced up from studying a large stone set on the floor to one side of his room.
‘What kept you?’ he sneered sarcastically. ‘Oh, I see,’ he added, noticing the large bruise down Prytani’s temple. ‘You required a little persuasion, did you?’
‘He said Nechtan wanted to see me,’ Prytani scowled miserably. ‘I said I didn’t know any Nechtan.’
‘That’s me, fool.’ Moving away from the large stone, Nechtan let a blanket fall across the elaborate carvings he’d been closely observing. ‘Who else would want to see you?’
As Tamesis slinked in alongside Prytani’s heels, she glanced up warily at Nechtan’s magpie, Cructan. The magpie looked down imperiously upon the whole room from his high perch above a window. He squawked threateningly, flapped his wings aggressively: but after this brief display, satisfied himself with nothing more than the odd glare of a probing eye.
Nechtan pointed to a table, a plate of bread and cheese, a bowl of what looked like raw meat.
‘For you both,’ he said, adding mischievously, ‘Though I wasn’t too sure which plate or bowl you would choose.’
‘We’ve eaten.’
Prytani refused to be thankful for his offering. Even so, she eyed the meal with yearning. She knew from painful experience that what they’d eaten wasn’t enough to keep them from feeling hungry later on in the day.
‘But we can take it with us, I suppose.’
‘As you wish.’
Nechtan smiled wryly. Prytani’s craving for the food hadn’t gone unnoticed by him.
‘Now, this tale you told me: of the seven veils? I’ve been pondering its meaning.’
He studied Prytani’s response intently, saw that her face remained blank.
‘Do you know what this tale means?’ he asked.
Prytani shook her head, her face still revealing little interest in knowing any meaning lying behind the tale.
‘I’m surprised you don’t understand what it means.’ Nechtan stared back at her curiously, even a little doubtfully and suspiciously. ‘Obviously this lady, this lady you’ve met in the tower, believes it is important; important enough, in fact, to utilise you to ensure I know of its existence.’
He said this last part with particular pride. With a wave of a hand, he indicated the vast array of aging tracts and scrolls stored in every available space his room could offer.
‘Do you know how many sevens of this, or sevens of that, appear in all these ancient texts?’
Once again, he was amazed by Prytani’s lack of either knowledge or interest in this fact. Striding towards another table, one crowded with open texts, he reverently placed his hand on a particularly large set of scrolls.
‘The seven days of creation. Seven times the righteous man falls and gets up. The menorah, the lampstand, has seven branches, seven lamps; the eyes of God, the course of the seven planets, an intimation of the Decani, the seventy divisions of the planets.’
His hands moved across to two other scrolls, which he once again almost caressed in his reverence for the knowledge they contained.
‘The Talmud: the world rests upon the seven columns hewn out of rock by wisdom. The Merkabah; there are seven heavens, seven temples, through which we must travel to arrive at the throne of God.’
Yet again, Prytani’s expression said to him that she couldn’t see the relevance of this knowledge.
‘You obviously know none of this, do you?’ His tone was edged with frustration, even bitterness. ‘And yet it is you, not I, who’s risen so high as to meet this lady who possesses so much secret knowledge! Fortunately she, at least, seems to be aware of the unfairness of this situation, and is aiding my own ascent as much as she can!’
‘He knows your power is more natural than his,’ the lady had informed Prytani on their last meeting. ‘He’s envious of this. He hopes he can use your abilities to help his own ascension. To inform him of what you already know. To warn him of any pitfalls. Perhaps even prepare the way for him. So, be careful: for men such as this wizard see nothing wrong with abusing such powers to their own ends. And I fear that even your capabilities won’t be enough to satisfy him.’
‘Now this seven veils of the tale,’ Nechtan continued excitedly. ‘I think it’s linked to these other sevens, yes?’
Once again, he vainly waited for the light of understanding to appear in Prytani’s eyes. He grimaced in disappointment.
‘But I also think it’s something more specific. We must shed our earthly vestments if we are to make our way through the seven levels of the underworld! Now this you must know – are there seven levels? How did you pass through the seven levels?’
Now he vainly tried to hide the desperation in his voice.
‘I’m sorry: I really don’t know,’ Prytani admitted.
‘You don’t know?’
He sounded dumbfounded, disbelieving. He stared down at Tamesis, as if wondering if she might be more helpful. He looked back towards Prytani, his brow furrowed, his eyes blazing with irritation.
‘How can you not know? You’re at the top of the tower. I’m on the second level! The second level! That’s all!’
He screwed up his hands into fists in frustration and fury.
‘I don’t think I am at the top.’
Prytani wondered if she was admitting too much, if her honesty might endanger her. Hadn’t the lady said she feared even Prytani’s capabilities wouldn’t satisfy the wizard?
‘I mean, yes, I’ve reached the top of the tower: yet I sense there’s an even higher point to reach. One only accessed by the second flight of stairs.’
‘The second flight?’ The wizard paused, considering this new information with renewed excitement. ‘Yes, yes! I’ve heard of this: read of it before. But I’ve never seen them for myself – have you seen them?’
His voice had taken on the hard edge of envy once more.
Prytani nodded.
Nechtan slammed a clenched fist down hard on the table, making the scrolls laid across it shake. When he looked up again, however, his face was distraught.
‘I have so far to climb!’ he wailed despondently. He now appeared perplexed, pleading. ‘Why? Why is this gift given so freely to you? Someone who fails to realise how such a gift can be utilised! Yet someone such as I – who spends an entire life seeking it, accumulating knowledge – I’m made to suffer endlessly in my searching!’
The magpie cawed loudly in agreement. Nechtan glanced up towards his companion with a leering grin.
‘Why, Cructan, have these girls been sent to torture me?’
‘Girls? You have other girls helping you?’
‘Helping me?’ Nechtan scornfully chortled. ‘How little you understand, girl! This other girl, like you, is a vexation to my very soul!’
‘Has she ascended higher than me in the tower?’ Prytani asked innocently.
‘The tower?’ His chuckle was once again full of scorn. ‘This girl doesn’t need to be anywhere near the tower to cause me untold agonies. She’s one of the reasons, girl, why I requested your presence here.’
Prytani could have pointed out that she had actually been dragged here against her will, but thought better of it. Her dubiousness must have shown on her face, however, for Nechtan chastised her apparent nonchalance.
‘You think this is of no concern to you girl? The king of a kingdom is tied in with his land, with his people: and no, I don’t mean through mystical means. I speak purely rationally, and of practicality. A king has to marry for political ends, not love: least of all lust, infatuation. Marriage is a route to an alliance with an equally powerful kingdom, perhaps even an enjoini
ng of those two kingdoms to become one under their offspring. But this girl, this supposed princess – and oh yes, she came with the large entourage of a princess, I’ll grant her that, and she certainly has the right airs and graces – but she has been here less than one month: and the king is bewitched! And yes, I do not use the term bewitched lightly!’
For the first time since meeting the wizard, Prytani detected a hint of nervousness in him in the way he glanced about himself, as if fearing that someone might be listening, someone wishing to bring about his downfall. That, no doubt, she reasoned, was why all his suppressed anxieties were suddenly urgently spilling from him. Until now, he would have had no one to voice his worries to, lest they wilfully misinterpreted his concern for words of treachery.
‘Where is she from, this supposed Princess Sabea? Why, from the land, too, of Sabea, she claims – hence her name.’
Prytani looked around at all the manuscripts seemingly chaotically spread about the room.
‘You mean, there’s no such place?
‘Of course there’s such a place. If she were here to fool the king, would she make such an elementary mistake? Ironically, I’ve acquired a stone from that very place only this very day!’
His hand loosely waved in the general direction of the stone carving he’d been studying when Prytani had first entered.
‘But it might as well be on the other side of the world, it’s so far away. How long would it take to send a message, to wait for its return, to verify her claims? Even King Cadeyrn retains a modicum of sense to know he cannot fully trust her. And yet their wedding’s already arranged, the king’s so eager to marry sword and sheath. The invitations have already been sent out to his lords, demanding their attendance!’
‘Sword and sheath?’ Prytani frowned doubtfully.
Nechtan gave a dismiss wave of a hand.
‘Pah, there’s no time to explain everything here! But our king already possess Siren…’
He paused for a brief second, looking towards Prytani as if expecting a sense of recognition of the name.
‘Sparta’s Sword?’ he added, as if hoping this additional information would result in a better response from Prytani.
His face screwed up in disgust when he realised she wasn’t aware of either the sword’s fame or powers.
‘This sword can kill even those who are already dead!’ He was irritated that he had to explain such a commonplace fact. ‘But when combined with its sheath–’
‘Its powers increase? And this princess has this sheath, yes?’
‘Yes!’ At last, his face lit up with relief. Perhaps, his reassured expression said, this girl wasn’t such a fool after all. ‘How she came by it, no one knows. But the king, of course, can’t wait to bring these two great artefacts together. And this woman insists it can only happen on their wedding night! Hence the king’s headlong rush into marriage!’
This time as he spoke, Nechtan rooted urgently through a pile of clothes thrown across a chair. From the pile, he pulled out a dress.
‘Here, you’ll need this,’ he declared, thrusting the dress towards Prytani. ‘Don’t worry; the girl who wore it before you was reasonably clean.’
Prytani observed the crumpled dress with distaste. It was richly made, better by far than anything either she or Tamesis had managed to steal for her to wear. But they had always gone for breeches, jerkins, right from the very first set they had found drying outside an isolated farm when Prytani was only three. The clothes she wore now had become like a literal second skin to her, as she hardly took them off, hardly ever washed.
Seeing her growing resistance, Nechtan pushed the dress hard into her chest.
‘Put it on!’ he demanded. ‘I want you to tell me what you think of our princess!’
*
Chapter 14
On their way across the yard towards the great hall, Prytani already felt entranced by the enchanting singing she could hear emanating from it.
If this was how the princess sang, it was little wonder that everyone believed she had bewitched this King Cadeyrn.
Prytani felt ridiculously awkward in the dress. She felt even more at odds, however, even more naked, by Tamesis’s absence.
Nechtan had insisted that the little vixen wouldn’t be allowed into the hall. He had also insisted on tying her up, particularly as he had been commanded to tie Cructan to a perch with jesses whenever he vacated his room.
‘All because she tried to protect my precious texts from some nosy child!’ he had bitterly explained.
Prytani, however, had adamantly declared that parting them was bad enough, that if Nechtan went ahead with tying Tamesis up, then she was staying here too.
‘If anything here suffers damage, then you will both be staying in the same grave together!’ Nechtan had warned, casting a wry glance towards Cructan. ‘Keep an eye on this fox; let me know immediately if she starts wandering where she shouldn’t.’
He gave the impression that he and his magpie retained a connection beyond a purely mystical one. Prytani knew that wasn’t impossible.
The singing was almost ethereal in its gently exquisite wavering, its trembling modulations. On entering the hall, however, Prytani saw immediately that the girl singing was remarkably young, that another, far more beautiful girl was sitting alongside the king.
The king hardly appeared to be listening to the glorious song. All his attention was directed towards the girl sitting next to him. Even Prytani was aware that being allowed to sit next to the king was an honour in itself: but here, that honour had been extended to providing a seat hardly smaller than the king’s great throne.
Moreover, the back of her throne had been decorated with a wondrously made cloak of wren feathers, just as the king’s own throne was covered in a huge wolf pelt. It was wildly believed that when a king or queen wore such a cloak, they took on the better attributes of the animal chosen, a warrior garbing himself as a wolf, bear, or wild boar, a beautiful queen as a swan or peacock, or even a perfectly white mare.
The hall was crowded, the smells horrendous: sweat, rancid ale, rotting food spilt from platters and trodden into a paste underfoot, the smoke from the previous night’s fires. There was also the pungent scents of damp pelts, clothes, of the great dogs who wandered royally through the crowd, with no one daring to challenge this right.
Grabbing Prytani tightly by her upper arm, Nechtan half led, half pushed her towards the back of the crowd, up close against one of the walls.
‘Stay towards the back: just observe,’ he hissed.
He stretched his neck to get a better view through the crowd of the laughing princess.
‘What do you make of her? Our princess?’ he whispered.
‘She’s very beautiful.’
Prytani answered distractedly, her own gaze no longer on the girl but on the boy, who was also standing amongst the crowd. He was standing next to a tall, exotically dressed man. His uncle, perhaps?
‘That’s it?’ Nechtan glanced back at her with a dismayed frown. ‘Something anyone can see? I’d expected more of you girl!’
He stepped away from her, making his way through the crowd, heading closer towards the twin thrones.
Even as he vanished into the gathering of proudly-posed lords and heavily made-up ladies, there was an altercation of raised voices and awkwardly mumbled protests just off to one side of the king’s throne.
The hall fell silent. Even the angelic singing drifted away as the poor girl realised no one was listening anymore.
With a scornful glance off to where the minor scuffle had taken place, the king gave a casual wave of a hand, an indication that someone should step out of the crowd and stand before him. He smiled, however, as if more amused than offended. With a similarly casual wave of his other hand, a cry of ‘Haden!’, he called over one of the large dogs still nonchalantly loping through the gathered people.
Sensing the growing tension the sudden silence in the room had engendered, Prytani craned her neck in
a fruitless attempt to get a clear view between the heads of the much taller people standing in front of her.
She looked back towards the nearby wall, saw a large wooden chest. Hitching up her skirt, she stepped up onto the chest and, at last, she had a better view of the throne.
The boy saw her. He looked her way, grinned sheepishly.
A huge man was now standing before the twin thrones. Like the king, he was a heavily muscled warrior, a man who stood rigidly upright as he faced his king.
‘Brendan, my old friend.’
The king spoke kindly. His eyes sparkled warmly as, alongside him, he welcomed the dog he had called over with a tender pat, a gentle massaging of the great hound’s long neck.
The dog sat on its haunches alongside the throne, its tongue happily lolling as the king continued to gently massage its neck.
‘For those of you here who do not know,’ the king continued, addressing a crowd who chuckled along with him as he said this, ‘Brendan is, perhaps, my oldest, greatest friend!’
The gathering responded with cries and hurrahs of agreement.
‘As loyal to me, too, as my favourite hound Haden!’
He gave the dog’s neck a kindly, vigorous rub and shake.
The crowd laughed warmly once more. Brendan grinned in appreciation, shuffled a little as if with modesty.
The king smiled at Brendan, his gaze never leaving him as his vigorous shaking of the dog rapidly became more violent, more painful for the poor hound.
Suddenly, the dog tried to break free of the king’s brutal grip, to snap and snarl in warning that he was being hurt and wouldn’t stand for it much longer.
Prytani was taken completely by surprise by how swiftly and lithely the king moved.
Leaping to his feet, the king withdrew a double-handed sword that had been sheathed across his back. Wielding the sword with just one hand, as if it were weightless, the king curved it swiftly down then up, cleaving the dog’s neck.
The hound’s head rose into the air, its tongue still happily lolling, dripping saliva. It bounced across the floor, where it was instantly hungrily leapt upon by the other dogs. Picking up the dog’s torso, the king cleaned the sword’s blade upon its fur.
‘Now Brendan,’ he said calmly, tossing the bloodied body off towards the pack of ravenous dogs, ‘what was this matter you wished to raise with me?’