Patricia White, page 23
And Jane could do nothing to stop what had to be-what had already been. But someone knew she was there, knew she watched and hurt and relished her pain, took pleasure in her tears, and ignored all her pleas.
It was cold, terribly cold, colder than any winter in the history of her world, cold enough to freeze a land and its people.
And Jane knew the cold and the place and the dream, but she couldn't escape its clutches, had to live through it one more time. But she didn't have to like the dream or the cold. But, she knew, as she drifted into her place on the stage, that even the light would be cold, murky, bluish, glacial where it fell on the horde of too silent watchers.
Faces pinched, eyes empty, they stood, rank on silent rank, and they neither shivered nor stove for warmth or life. Ragged, dirty, somehow beaten, they, men, mostly old, all infirm, women with babes in their arms, wee ones clinging to their threadbare skirts, other children huddled close, waited in total, absolute silence-- but there was no sense of expectancy, anticipation.
Or even dread.
Jane remembered the dream and wanted scream, to demand, at the top her voice, to be set free, to shatter the thrall that held her. But she couldn't. There was nothing within the dream, including herself, that could break the terrible quiet, no wind, no bird, no beast-- even the dark border of evergreen trees stood without a murmur or tremble. Even the low-hanging blue-black clouds were without form or movement; all of their rain-tears frozen, silent and unshed.
And it seemed that she had to follow the same path, do the same things she had done before. She couldn't change that either; even if she was fuming and swearing, she was doing it without sound, and without changing, in the slightest, what she had done before.
Drifting out of the sheltering trees, to the edge of the crowd, Jane knew, this time, that it was more than just a nightmare of cold and silence, that was not a picture drawn from some horror hidden deep in her own mind. She knew that this had happened in some other time, in some other place; not that knowing it was true made the watching any easier. It didn't.
As in her previous visit, Jane wasn't afraid, not of the silence and the cold, but, as before, her fear came when the movement began. And this time, her fear was even greater because she knew what was going to happen and was powerless to stop it.
Once again the man, cowled and cloaked in deadly, unforgiving night, hooded, faceless with in its icy shadow, walked, soundless but with a fearsome grace, through the bluish-gray, low-lying ground fog that spread across the village square, making it writhe and roil, like agitated wraiths, at his every step.
And he wasn't alone.
Before it had been a nightmare with a sense of reality around it, that had changed. This time Jane knew it was real, knew it was some re-enactment from Sojourner's past. She would have preferred it to be a dream, but even asleep, Jane's mind wouldn't allow her that way out of the terrible reality. It was so overwhelming, so strong that Jane stood as still and silent as the other watchers and, scarcely daring to breathe, waited for what-would-be.
The man, his black-gloved hand a steel-hard prison around the woman's fragile wrist, led her toward the small, black stone, windowless building that cowered, alone and forsaken, in a barren space at the bottom end of the squalid village square.
Her richly embroidered, gold-on-green gown ragged and thin as any beggar's, the dream woman, her sun-bright hair tangled and fallen, her eyes too full of grief and pain, stumbled along beside the man on bare and bleeding feet. The Black Opal Crown of Seeting, her badge of royal office, still rested on the queen's bowed head, but now it mattered not.
Its gold was blood-tarnished, its opal heart-fire banked, nearly extinguished, leaving only a hint of sullen smolder at the center of each black polished stone, nothing more. The power was gone, gone like her throne, gone like her country. Gone.
Even Jane's knowledge that the fallen queen was Annette, Sojourner's sister-in-law, couldn't change the dream from its set path. It was a path she seemed doomed to travel to its bitter and inevitable end.
It was something Jane did not want, and she moaned, tried to escape into waking, but even as Sojourner's hand touched her shoulder, his deep voice murmured soothing nonsense, Jane dropped back into the horror of the dream.
* * *
Chapter Twenty-Six
For a brief, lucid moment, Jane knew she was safely in bed, with Sojourner warm at her side, firelight dancing on the cave walls and ceiling, but the moment was all too brief. And when it had past, the nightmare was the only reality that remained.
All around her, the air grew colder. The ice-blue light shifted, hid the hooded man in even deeper shadow, outlined the captive queen, called attention to who and what she was. Barely able to draw the frozen air into her lungs, feeling the band of winter tighten around her, take her warmth and life, Jane looked at the crowned woman. Jane and knew, with full certainty, that she was Annette, the beautiful, young princess who had married Sojourner's brother.
With the knowledge, sorrow rose within her, filled her soul until Jane wanted to weep. And the need was even greater when she looked upon the bright-haired, pregnant queen, and, once again, knew her time was hard upon her, squeezing her swollen belly in an iron-hard grip of pain.
"No," Jane tried to whisper, the feeble word of protest unuttered, frozen fast to her tongue.
Nonetheless, the shadow man, suddenly aware of her existence, turned toward her, stared at her with unseen eyes. Unable to do otherwise, she stared back and wanted to wail, to whimper, to cringe before the faceless void, the black nothing, that lurked inside the hood.
He assessed her with his gaze, and she knew he smiled, a strange cold smile of recognition and disdain, and knew, too, his tongue, like an adder's forked tongue, flicked across his thin lips in some sort of dreadful anticipation.
He said nothing. But there was something about him that was familiar. Something she didn't dare give a name, didn't dare acknowledge; even to herself. But the fear was there and growing, fear that the hooded man might be Sojourner, that the coming events were his terrible deed. She couldn't quite believe it. Not yet. Not without more evidence.
Jane wanted to move, to run away, to wake up, but the dream held her fast, froze her with its icy agony, as the man led the silent, unprotesting woman into the house of dark stone. Jane, because she could do nothing else, waited with the other watchers for what might have been hours or only minutes.
Tears froze on Jane's face when the black-clad, faceless man came out alone, the Opal Crown of Seeting dangling from the bronze-skinned fingers of his left hand. It was just the spoils of war, a bauble without life or meaning. Seeting was no more.
His voice deep, tolling like a great iron bell, a death bell, he pulled a naked babe from beneath his dark cloak, held it high in his right hand, and said, "Your land is destroyed. Your queen is dead. Her babe yet lives!"
The watchers, all except Jane, went down on their knees, moaning out their grief and fear.
The man lifted the child higher, his black-glove hand a horrible blemish on the small, white body. "It is demon get," he said, knelling doom in both the tone and the cadence of his incredibly beautiful voice. His grip slid to the babe's heels and he swung it in an arc, up, up, and then down, hard, against the stones of its mother's crypt.
The terrible frozen silence returned and one by one the mute watchers lay down in the blue-gray fog, let it cover them like grave soil, until only Jane was alive, only Jane remained standing.
Jane and the dark, foreboding figure of the man.
The dead babe discarded, lost in the sheltering veils of vaporous cold, his black cloak swaying with each gliding step, the man came toward Jane. She couldn't move, not even when he stopped in front of her, and held up the crown before her face. It came to life, the stones of polished black blazed with cold, inner fire, dazzled her with explosions of reds, greens, and blues. She wanted to blink, but couldn't.
Lowering the Opal Crown of Seeting, he reached out with the gloved forefinger of his other hand, his killing hand, gently touched the frozen tear on Jane's cheek. Then, he walked on, vanishing into fog and trees before he had gone more than a step or two.
And this time, as little as she wanted to, Jane had to follow the cloaked and hooded man, had to live the nightmare until it dragged her through all its manifestations of total horror and reached its terrible conclusion.
She tried to say, "No," and perhaps she did, perhaps Sojourner's arms held her, and perhaps his deep voice said, "Nothing will harm you, love. I am here."
But that, too, might have been part of the dream-a dream of unbearable sweetness with no relationship to the terror and grief that was growing inside her sleeping mind. On some still functioning level, she hoped it was true, hoped Sojourner was at her side, holding her body in a warm embrace, but whether or not it was true made no real difference.
Nothing could stop the nightmare's headlong rush into what-had-been. Jane, helpless in its cold claws, couldn't even fight against its ice-hard will. Faintly, but not far away, a mocking laugh sounded. A voice, cold with enmity and malice said something Jane couldn't understand. She didn't know what the words meant, but knew they were a threat, a promise of something evil yet to come. Again shivers ran down her entire form, inside and out, and her chest tightened around her pounding heart.
Gasping for breath, Jane fought against the force that pulled her forward, demanded she see the tragedy through to its bloody end. Her struggles were in vain-- indeed they seemed to amuse the unknown watcher to the point of new laughter. Laughter that held not a single hint of mirth or joy. Laughter that brought tears to Jane's eyes and an ache to her heart.
But she didn't cower. Even in her dreams, Jane wasn't a whiny, sniveling, catch-me-I'm-going-to-faint maiden who paled at the sight of blood and squealed at spiders. She was Jane Murdock, and Jane Murdock took on the world on its own terms and, more times than not, she beat it at its own game.
In this place, she was only a wraith, a less than visible visitor in a strange land, but whatever the dream had to offer, she would take straight, without flinching away. That much she knew. Or at least she hoped that would be her reaction.
But she wasn't sure, could never be completely sure again. The Jane she knew, the Jane that she had always been, no longer existed. Love had changed her, made her less sure, more vulnerable. And it might be that love would be what would destroy her.
"Love."
The single word was followed by a bark of laughter and Jane was flung into the midst of a storm of horror-saturated pictures. One by one, faster and faster, groaning, screaming, pleading, bleeding, and dying, they rushed at her, through her, and were gone before she could even throw up her hands to ward them off. Nor could she cringe away from the terrible onslaught, or weep with the pity wrung her soul.
And then they were gone, leaving behind an incoherent history in Jane's reeling mind. It was a history of a slaughter, a world gone mad, lands and people falling to ax and bow, sword and stone, fire and plague, and finally hunger, terrible aching hunger that took the least of them first, but was never appeased, even by the strong.
A world destroyed by the man cloaked in darkness, his face hidden from her. A madman. A butcher.
A man she thought she knew, was afraid to name, especially after the cruel laughter sounded again and her dreaming self was pushed through a curtain of mist and haze and into a cave, or dungeon, or some other rock-lined room befouled with greenish, stinking slime. Rank and disgusting, it oozed down walls, spread across the uneven floor, touched her bare feet, crept up her ankles, but Jane scarcely felt it or the ache of cold that was the slime's dear and constant companion.
The light was uncertain, but it held the yellow-green of the slime and something of its stench, enough to burn her eyes, snarl in her nostrils, make her cough, almost choke. She stood there, an animal trapped in the light, and she wouldn't raise her hands, couldn't wipe away the tears that blurred her seeing.
With a clink of metal against metal, the rasp of chain across stone, something moved, slowly and painfully, on the far side of the small room. Something that might have been a man, might have called her name, might have said, "Love," in the warm darkness of her mind.
Something, perhaps a hand between her shoulder blades, pushed her forward, toward the moving figure that resolved itself in a cloaked and hooded shape. And within the shadows of the hood was a face, a bronzed skinned face with silvery eyes. Sojourner's face.
The whisper, coming from behind her, was anonymous, without face or gender, but it spoke with viper's tongue. "Blood stains his hands, lies live his mouth. He is the betrayer, the scourge of worlds, and worse. His curse is thy curse. His doom, thy doom. Renounce him and live."
"No," Jane shouted, pushing the explosion of sound through numb lips. And her wild denial brought her to the topmost peak of sleep, almost to waking, near enough to feel Sojourner's arms enfold her lift her up, cradle her against his beating heart. To feel his breath warm upon her cheek. To know he was real, if naught else in that nightmare place was. It was knowledge to keep, knowledge to sustain and feed her-- and it was her destiny. And his. A destiny of love beyond measure, a doomed destiny that would never know life.
"Kai mahal intropec be!" His softly spoken words of command resounded, echoed, and called a magic into being where none had been before. As soon as they were uttered, she entered a haven, a refuge, a warm, spicy-smelling place where no harm, not even dream harm, could touch her.
He was her sanctuary, her rock in a cold and bitter now. It was a refuge she couldn't accept. "You must release the spell and let me find out who the bad guys are and fight through this on my own. Otherwise, they will win. I can't let them do that."
"Owner of my heart, I do not know your dreams, but I fear them greatly for they are..." He paused, held her a little closer and then continued, his voice warm and comforting, but more than a little troubled, "Dreams paths can lead you far astray, can be more than real, can... I would not willing let you walk into that danger without me at your side."
Her eyelids were far too heavy to open, sleep and dreams waited within easy reach, but still Jane lingered just on the far side of waking. "I must go alone," she finally said, the words rasping across the surface of her dry tongue, almost hurting her.
"Love, please. You cannot know what you ask. There is magic here, evil magic. I can smell it. It means you some sort of harm, grave harm."
"I know," she said in return, and it was true. She did know, but not enough, not nearly enough.
She wasn't exactly ready to learn more when he did as she had asked and released the protective spell. She plunged, like a jumper from a high window, back into the seething mass of festering ugliness and raw, implacable hate that was masquerading as something as innocent-sounding as dreams.
Her breathing was shallow and quick. Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip, glistening like small sunstones in the firelight. Holding her close, looking down at her sleeping face, Sojourner ached for her, wanted to take her dreams, fight the magic that was waiting to fell her, but he could do nothing. The woman of his destiny had to fight her own battles- just as he had to fight his. Even if that meant he had to protect her from himself, his need to be her hero.
He looked down at Jane's face again, saw innocence and trust, and his need to care for her, to keep her safe, rose high, almost strangled him. She had to get out of the canyon, had to go back to her own world, even if the thought of losing her was almost more than he could bear.
When she left, the prophecy would come true. Her departure would break his heart, leave him alone and lonely. No one would ever see him as a man again; he would be nothing more than an animal, a great cat who was forced to wander alone. Always alone.
But if she stayed? She was born to an easier life, one of soft beds and warm houses. Even if she wanted to, determined as she was, as wise and willing to tackle new experiences without a whimper, she couldn't go with him on his endless travels, couldn't sleep in caves, in brush piles.
The fire was burning down, but he didn't really think it mattered except to keep out the growing cold. A small outrider, a foretaste of what would be, a snow storm had arrived and was clothing the canyon in white beyond the end of the tunnel. It was not the best of news, but the dires were gone, running before the ice and cold that were coming fast on the heels of this small storm.
"Young wizard," Sojourner sent the thought hard and far, "winter comes too quickly and we must go out from this place. Help us if you can."
Almost as if he was dreaming his own dream, he brushed his lips across Jane's forehead and returned her to the bed, covering her with care. Then, he turned away to add more wood to the fire, to see it burning hot, before he could again hold her in his arms and try to protect her from what attacked her from within. But he was growing steadily weaker; the wanderlust tore at him, every minute making him less able to resist its terrible lure.
Jane had demanded to be free from his protective spell, and his other magic was almost as weak as he was, but he had to try. "May sweet dreams guard your rest, my dearest love," he said, and it was more than a wish-- but far, far less than the truth.
"Will? Be you ready for some grub, lad?"
The voice, Will thought it belonged to the ranch foreman, came out of the shadow-filled gloom of the hall beyond his bedroom door. His head ached. His body was sore from too much riding. And his brain pure slop from hours spent in magical communications with Wizardholm, he knew he had to eat, had to get his strength back in order to travel with the others to rescue the women. But all he wanted to do was drop back on the bed and sleep for hours. He would have if the thought of Maggie hadn't intruded.
She trusted him, and he couldn't let that trust be destroyed. After Sojourner, he couldn't stand another loss. But he wouldn't allow himself to think of that now. The great cat had saved his life, been his dearest friend, his only family, and now Cordelia had... Well, she had to be punished for her misdeeds before he could allow himself the luxury of grief.
