Darkwitch Rising

by Sara Douglass

  “You must be there,” the Sidlesaghe said again, his words now underscored with command, and Louis nodded curtly.

  “I shall be there. Do not fret. I will do this one last thing for Charles and for Noah, and then let me be in peace, I beg you.”

  The Sidlesaghe’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, and then, as Louis wished, he was gone, and Louis was left to his self-absorbed solitariness.

  James, Duke of York, brother to King Charles and formerly heir apparent to the powers and mysteries of the Gormagog of Llangarlia, rested in his bed in his luxurious bedchamber, one hand lying comfortably on the breast of Anne Hyde, the daughter of Sir Edward Hyde.

  He didn’t love Anne, but he respected her, and liked her immensely (she had more wit than most of the court women he met). Most importantly to James, Anne had no connection at all with Games, Minotaurs, or dead, dying or newly risen gods, and thus had never acquired the, to James, enormously bad habit of constantly referring to past lives to justify what she did in this one.

  For her part, Anne was desperately in love with James, and James had to admit the slightest twinge of guilt in taking her to his bed. She was of the nobility, she was of high education and wit, and here she was, destroying all hope for a virtuous life and a subsequent high marriage.

  She looked at him and smiled shyly—this was their first time at bedding, and Anne had been a virgin.

  “I am sorry if I hurt you,” James said, kissing her softly on the bridge of her nose.

  “No,” she said. “You did not—”

  She stopped, then suddenly tensed in James’ arms before giving a small half-shriek of total dismay.

  Then she was sliding under the covers, pulling them to her chin, and staring wildly at James’ side of the bed.

  James rolled over, sure that they’d been discovered by Anne’s father. Well, he thought, Hyde is a mere earl, while he was a prince and a duke. If nothing else he should manage to pull rank fairly easily on the aggrieved father.

  The creature that stood there was not to be outranked at all—and most certainly not by James.

  James took one look at the Sidlesaghe and cursed. Jesus Christ! How would he explain this to Anne?

  “Greetings, Lady Anne,” said the Sidlesaghe, bowing slightly as he saw Anne’s eyes peeking at him from over the top of the coverlet.

  Then the Sidlesaghe turned his attention to James. “Greetings, Loth.”

  “Loth?” said Anne. “James, who is this?”

  “What do you here?” James said, sitting up in bed.

  The Sidlesaghe extended a hand, holding a rolled up parchment tied with emerald light. “You are hereby invited, Loth, to a Council of England to be held atop The Naked on the night after next. Be there.”

  “What?”

  The Sidlesaghe patiently extended the invitation once more.

  “I have nothing to do with…Sidlesaghe, I am not among those who now battle this particular Game. I have chosen Christ over my past allegiances—”

  Anne was now regarding James with huge eyes.

  “—and renounce all former rights and privileges that I had. I want nothing to do with—”

  “Be there,” said the Sidlesaghe.

  “I—”

  “You still have the power. You must be there.”

  James sighed, and rubbed at his eyes. God. Would he never escape this?

  “No,” said the Sidlesaghe, softly. “Not until the Troy Game is played to a conclusion.”

  Highly reluctant, James reached out a hand and took the parchment. “How do I find my way to this…‘Naked’?” Despite himself, and despite his reluctance, James felt the smallest twinge of curiosity.

  More of Anne’s face emerged from the coverlet. “May I come?” she said. All fear had vanished from her face, and now she looked more curious than anything else.

  “No!” James cried.

  “You’re a faerie creature,” Anne said to the Sidlesaghe.

  He smiled, and inclined his head slightly.

  “And Charles’ court is going to convene at this…Naked?” she said.

  “Anne…” James began.

  “England’s Faerie Court, aye,” said the Sidlesaghe.

  “That’s enough!” James yelled.

  “You may come, madam, if you wish,” said the Sidlesaghe. “The invitation shall include you as well.”

  Anne sat up, forgetting in her excitement that her breasts were totally exposed.

  “For God’s sake!” James muttered, hauling the coverlet up to her shoulders.

  “But,” the Sidlesaghe continued, his voice now rigid with warning, “you shall tell no one of this invitation. No one.”

  She nodded. “I will tell no one.”

  James groaned.

  “She shall make you a fine wife,” said the Sidlesaghe.

  “I—” James said, then stopped, knowing that any denial spoken now would devastate Anne. He’d only wanted to bed her, not wed her…and most definitely not get her caught up in the machinations of the Troy Game.

  “I am so tired,” James finally said, meaning that he was not physically tired, but that he was tired of everything he had been battling for three thousand years.

  “Then I shall share your weariness,” said Anne, one of her hands on his upper arm, and she very gently kissed his cheek. Anne may have understood very little of the hidden meanings and depths behind this strange conversation, but she felt as if she suddenly knew James a great deal better.

  “Be there,” said the Sidlesaghe. “Do it for all that once you were, and can yet be.”

  Then he was gone, and James was left sitting in bed, Anne Hyde at his side, staring at the enchanted invitation in his hand.

  “What can you tell me?” Noah said very softly, lying on the pallet beside Jane.

  Jane, who was obviously awake, did not immediately reply.

  “Jane…”

  “Charles was not quite all I had expected.”

  “Ah.”

  “‘Ah’? You knew?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did you not tell—”

  “Would you have told, if our positions had been reversed?”

  To that, Jane said nothing for some time. She lay there, seething that she’d been left to think that Brutus-reborn was Charles, when all the time he’d been Louis. Oh, intellectually she knew the reasons why she hadn’t been told. But, emotionally, Jane could not help the hurt at discovering she had been deliberately left unknowing.

  “And you?” Jane finally said. “How did you spend your day, Mistress Noah? It seemed quite the domestic scene I came home to this evening.”

  “We talked.”

  “Oh, aye. But of what?”

  Noah hesitated. “Of what he wants.”

  “Aye? And that is?”

  “Me,” said Noah softly.

  At the softness in Noah’s voice, Jane rolled over and looked at Noah. “And this surprises you?”

  “No. You were right. He wants me to become the Mistress of the Labyrinth so that he and I can together control the Troy Game.”

  “Well,” said Jane. “As for learning the craft of Mistress of the Labyrinth, then I shall see about that. I—”

  At that moment both women jumped nervously. A tall figure had appeared from nowhere at the foot of their pallets.

  “I come bearing an invitation,” said the Sidlesaghe.

  Four

  The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie

  Two nights later, at the stroke of midnight, as instructed in his invitation, Louis de Silva rose from the chair where he’d been waiting, and opened the door of his bedchamber. By rights, there should have stretched a long, nondescript corridor beyond that door. But now Louis saw a wide and long meadow that stretched towards The Naked.

  Louis stared into the Faerie. He would have stood there indefinitely, save that a Sidlesaghe materialised at his side, and extended his hand into the faerie meadow in obvious invitation.

  “Come forward, Loui
s de Silva, for you are wanted.”

  Louis slid a cynical sideways glance at the Sidlesaghe, then walked forward into the faerie meadow. Louis was surprised at how fast they approached The Naked. One moment it seemed as if they were miles from it, the next they were leaning into its gentle slope.

  “Will Noah be here?” Louis asked.

  “Aye,” said the Sidlesaghe, “unless by misfortune the Bull stops her. But we think not. We think that the Bull will sleep well through this night. He knows nothing of faerie things.”

  As do I know nothing, thought Louis, and yet still I am here. His nerves twitched. Noah—Eaving— would be here tonight. How could he bear it, seeing her go to Charles?

  “You should have loved her earlier,” said the Sidlesaghe, “and then you would not now feel so dejected.”

  Irritated at the Sidlesaghe’s too-easy reading of his most intimate thoughts, Louis merely grunted. He could see many other creatures approaching or already climbing The Naked, some escorted by Sidlesaghes, others singly or in small groups. When Louis and his Sidlesaghe attained the summit, it was to discover almost the entire faerie folk already there.

  The Sidlesaghe touched his elbow gently. “Now, Louis de Silva, follow me and greet your host.”

  They walked forward through the throng. The summit of The Naked was peopled here and there with individuals and groups of the strangest folk Louis had ever encountered: Sidlesaghes in great numbers; water sprites; women who looked of human origin, but who exuded such power Louis could hardly dare allow his eyes to rest for too long on any one of them; various creatures of forest and moor and mountain—foxes, badgers, bears, wolves, moles, elk, hares, aurochs, creatures of both this world and of lost worlds; the giants, Gog and Magog, standing and laughing with a group of ethereal creatures the Sidlesaghe murmured to him were snow ghosts; and strange lumpen grey men called movles that the Sidlesaghe told Louis were the souls of the very mountains themselves.

  “And these exist beside us in the ordinary world?” asked Louis, feeling completely out of place. Gods, he had so much to learn about this land!

  “Aye,” said the Sidlesaghe. “But who has eyes to see, these days?”

  Louis caught sight of Eaving’s Sisters then, standing a few paces away, and they smiled at him, and curtsied as one, which he hadn’t expected. Marguerite came over, and kissed him softly on the mouth. “I am glad you came, Louis,” she said. “The night would have been lost without you.”

  Then, before Louis could reply, she returned to Catharine and Kate’s side.

  The Sidlesaghe smiled at them, and motioned Louis to keep walking forward.

  “Who are the women?” said Louis, nodding to one of the women who exuded strange power. She was a small, dark, fey creature, watching Louis and his companion Sidlesaghe with much curiosity.

  The Sidlesaghe bowed slightly in the woman’s direction, and she inclined her head and smiled. “She is Mag, of whom you must have some passing acquaintance.”

  Louis jerked to a halt, staring at her. “Mag? But—”

  “All the great mother goddesses depart from their ordinary life, if goddess life can ever be so called, and come here, to dream and laugh,” said the Sidlesaghe.

  Louis shook his head slightly. Again he thought, How could all this have been, and continue to be, and I not ever realise?

  He was still shaking his head when he saw James standing to one side, Anne Hyde standing with him. Anne? Louis thought bemusedly. James looked as stunned as Louis felt; Anne merely looked fascinated. She was also so excited that she had her hands clasped tightly before her like a small girl; when she saw Louis she grinned and actually jiggled up and down on her feet for a moment.

  Dear gods, thought Louis, his sense of unreality deepening. Who else shall I see here?

  “The Lord of the Faerie,” murmured the Sidlesaghe at his side, and Louis tore his eyes away from James and Anne and looked forward.

  At the eastern end of the summit stood a throne, in front of which had been scattered a great circle of leaves. In the centre of this circle of leaves stood a man, dressed simply in leather breeches but wearing a crown of twisted twigs and red berries.

  “Go,” whispered the Sidlesaghe, and Louis stepped forward, his eyes locked on the Lord of the Faerie’s face.

  Coel. Louis could hardly believe the power and dignity—as well as a deep sense of peace and tranquillity—that radiated out from the Lord of the Faerie. Louis walked forward, hardly daring to breathe, and bowed as he stopped before the Lord of the Faerie.

  The Lord of the Faerie stepped forward and took Louis into a tight embrace. “I thank every god and faerie creature that exists and has ever existed that you have come tonight,” he said into Louis’ ear, his arms hugging the man even closer to him. “I know the difficulty this has caused you.”

  Some of Louis’ discomfort eased, and he returned Coel’s embrace tightly.

  “Know that I wish you well,” Louis said.

  The Lord of the Faerie laughed, and leaned back, his hands now holding Louis’ shoulders. “I am glad you came,” he said. “I could not have done without you.”

  Louis smiled—a little wanly—and would have spoken, but then the Lord of the Faerie’s eyes focussed on someone over Louis’ shoulder.

  “And here she is,” the Lord of the Faerie whispered. “How I shall love her I think, my Faerie Queen.”

  His hands dropped away from Louis, and Louis turned about.

  And went still.

  Noah—Eaving, for she came in her goddess form —and Jane walked towards them, still at some distance, but Louis had eyes only for Eaving.

  He had never seen a woman so stunningly beautiful, nor seen a woman exude such immense power. Eaving wore the face and figure of Noah—the long glossy brunette hair, the ivory skin, the slender limbs and body—but was incalculably something else as well.

  In part this was due to her faerie raiment, but in large measure her goddess power shone forth from her eyes. In her lives as Cornelia, as Caela and as Noah, Louis had always known her to have the loveliest deep blue eyes he’d ever seen on a woman.

  Now they were a sage green, shot through with blue and slivers of gold.

  Eaving came slowly, for she stopped to greet various members of the Faerie, as well as guests, as she walked. Mag she embraced with evident delight; with James she placed a soft hand against his cheek, gracing him with a quiet word or two; she introduced herself to a still-excited Anne Hyde with a kiss to either cheek; Eaving’s Sisters she hugged tightly; the water sprites were greeted with a laugh and a wave of the hand, and Gog and Magog with an elegant incline of her head and a smile.

  All the time Jane trailed a few steps behind, turning her face away from Mag, and from Eaving’s Sisters.

  Eventually Eaving stopped a pace or two away from where Louis and the Lord of the Faerie stood. She looked first to Coel, and then, slowly, to Louis.

  She inclined her head, and smiled, and said, “Greetings, Brutus. How do you?”

  He blinked, disorientated by her naming him as Brutus, and then he looked down and, rather than wearing the silvered doublet and breeches he’d set out in, Louis saw that he was indeed dressed as Brutus in the white linen waistcloth and the strapped boots.

  All the better clothed to hand over my power, he thought, and then Eaving stepped past him and fell into the Lord of the Faerie’s arms.

  Five

  The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie

  Jane followed Eaving across the summit of The Naked, as astounded as Louis had been. How had she never known this existed? How could she have been so blind?

  No wonder they picked Cornelia, she thought.

  Frankly, she was stupefied to find herself here at all. She thought she would have been close to the last person invited to this faerie assembly (well, second to last; Jane thought that Weyland might actually be slightly more reviled than she). But then, had she been invited here only to be judged? To be condemned and belittled?

  Ea
ving stopped here and there to greet members of the Faerie with obvious pleasure. Jane followed, her movements stiff, her eyes averted. When Eaving stopped to greet Mag, Jane could barely breathe. Surely she would be struck down now?

  But nothing happened, Eaving moved off, and Jane followed, burning with humiliation as she felt Mag’s eyes on her. Jane could hear the whispers, feel the fingers pointed at her back, and shivered under the weight of so many stares of cold hatred.

  In an effort to distract herself, and to concentrate on something other than how much people loved Eaving and loathed her, Jane looked forward, to where Louis stood with the Lord of the Faerie. Jane’s heart beat a little faster when she saw Coel, for he seemed to her to be her only friend and her only hope of refuge in this nightmarish assembly.

  Louis looked as out of place as she herself felt, dressed in his court finery, and with that same slightly disorientated cast to his eyes that Jane was sure she must also exhibit. She blinked, and in that moment Louis’ appearance rippled and altered. Now he still stood in the same place, still staring at Eaving, but dressed as Jane had first seen him so long ago, when he had been Brutus and she Genvissa.

  He hadn’t taken Brutus’ form: he remained as Louis, taller and leaner than Brutus had ever been, but he was now dressed as a Trojan prince.

  Save for the golden bands of Troy. His limbs were unadorned.

  Eaving came to the central space, spoke briefly to Louis, and then stepped up to the Lord of the Faerie, and was enveloped in his tight embrace.

  Then, as Eaving stood back, the Lord of the Faerie looked at Jane, smiled, and held out a hand. “Jane,” he said.

  She hesitated, and his hand waggled a little impatiently.

  Tense, Jane stepped forward—and received as tight an embrace as Eaving had.

  “When will you start to believe,” the Lord of the Faerie whispered into her ear, “that I have no intention of murdering you?”

  “If not you, then most of the gathered throng here would be happy to wield the knife,” she said.

  He placed his palm against her cheek, very briefly. “I have welcomed you here,” he said, “thus there shall be no murdering. Although if I were you, I would stay out of Mag’s way.”