Darkwitch Rising (51 page)

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.

J
ane 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?

Eaving 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.”

Then he motioned Jane and Louis to one side and, taking Eaving’s hand so that she stood at his side in
the centre of the circle of leaves, addressed those atop The Naked.

The creatures gathered were now congregated into one mass a little distant from where the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving stood in their circle of leaves.

“Behold!” the Lord of the Faerie cried. “The Faerie Court convenes!”

The assemblage roared, and Jane jumped.

“I bid you welcome, one and all,” the Lord of the Faerie continued, “for you are all beloved to this land.” The Lord of the Faerie paused, and Jane swore that his stature literally grew an inch or two as he studied the throng before him.

“We convene tonight for one most magical reason—to witness the anointing of he who is to rise as the Stag God.”

Jane saw Louis frown, then look away, as if irritated.

“A man most ordinary, and yet extraordinary,” said Eaving.

At this point she gazed at the Lord of the Faerie with such emotion that Jane was not surprised to see Louis’ expression turn angry. She felt a moment’s sympathy for him; what the Lord of the Faerie and Eaving did here was cruel, to say the least, as they flaunted their love and power before Louis.

“It matters only,” Eaving said, turning away from the Lord of the Faerie and dropping his hand, “that he accept the responsibility for the Ringwalk, the track of the stag through the forests, and accept the challenge that his rising shall encompass. Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising?”

Jane looked to Louis, and knew then that she was truly alone in the world. Everyone else moved ever
forward into greater power, and a greater understanding with, and connection to, the Faerie.

Only she, of all, slid ever backwards towards irrelevance and dismissal.

He thought it was a cruel jest, that somehow this was his punishment for all the hurt he had done to Cornelia and Caela. He thought that this was the true purpose of the Faerie Court, to humiliate and torment him, and that at any moment the expression on Eaving’s face would turn from loving joy to terrifying contempt.

Brutus, once William, reborn again as Louis de Silva, will you accept the responsibility of the Ringwalk, and the challenge of your rising
?

Louis staggered a little, unable to comprehend that Eaving could have said that in anything but contempt-ridden jest. He stared at her, then looked around, wondering if he dared to run, and if the throng would part for him if he did.

If they parted, would they laugh as he ran past? Pepper him with malicious jests?

How could Eaving and the Lord of the Faerie think that he would willingly hand over his powers as Kingman to the Lord of the Faerie after
this
particular piece of spite?

“Louis,” Eaving said, very softly. She had walked close to him now, and the expression on her face had changed, as Louis was sure it would—but not into terrifying contempt. Rather, into an even greater depth of compassion.

“How could you not have known?” she said, so close to him now that her breath played over his face. She leaned against him, her hand warm on his chest. “I tried to tell you so often, but you would never listen.”

How could you not have known
? whispered the
assembled throng of faerie creatures.
How could you not have known
?

Louis still could not speak, nor raise his hands to Eaving. He looked beyond her to where the Lord of the Faerie stood, an empathetic expression on his face.

“How could you not have known?” the Lord of the Faerie whispered.

“I…” Louis began, drifting to a close, not knowing what to say. His mind still could not grasp what had happened, or that Eaving now leaned so close against him.

“Will you run the forests?” she murmured. “Will you trace the Ringwalk?”

Will you run the forests
? whispered the throng.
Will you trace the Ringwalk
?

“Will you be the land?” said the Lord of the Faerie, now also very close.

Will you be the land
? echoed the throng.

“Come dance with us,” murmured Eaving.

Dance with us
.

“Come dance with me, into eternity.”

Dance with us, into eternity
.

“Walk this land with me, run its forests, be my Kingman, be my Stag. Complete the Troy Game with me, and dance with me…dance with me…dance with me…”

Dance with her, be her lover, dance…dance…dance…

Louis realised he was trembling, so badly he wondered he did not fall to his knees.

“I cannot…” he stumbled.

She withdrew enough so that her magical eyes could look deep into his. “Is it that you do not want to, or that you do not think yourself able?”

“How can I? Gods, I am not what you
want
.”

“You are everything that this land needs.”

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to shout
yes
! And yet…why did she not speak words of love? Why did she not promise herself to him?
Why was
he
not everything that
she
wanted
?

Now she was kissing his brow, his cheek, his ear, and Louis wondered why she would not look at him.

“The Lord of the Faerie shall show you the way of the Ringwalk,” said Eaving, her fingertips trailing down his naked chest.

“Oh, aye,” murmured the Lord of the Faerie, now standing almost as close to Louis as was Eaving. “And when you are risen, and the Stag God runs the Ringwalk, then shall you and Eaving be joined together in the Great Marriage, and so shall the land be whole once again.”

The Great Marriage. Louis could remember Genvissa telling him of it when he’d been Brutus. When the goddess of the waters joined with the god of the forests in the Great Marriage, then, and then only, would the land be whole.

“Is that what you want?” Louis asked Eaving, and she leaned back, and her eyes glinted and sparkled.

“What else?” she said.

Louis relaxed. He had been shocked. His thoughts had tumbled in disarray. She loved him. She wanted him.

He took Eaving’s face between his hands. “We will dance the final Dance of the Flowers,” he said, “and then we will walk forward, together, into eternity.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and if there was a shadow in her eyes as she said that, then Louis merely thought it the reflection of the throng gathering close about them.

“We will all walk with you about the Ringwalk,” whispered the faerie folk now encircled about them. “Into eternity.”

Eaving leaned back a little again, and put a hand against his cheek. “Brutus,” she said, “will you accept the responsibility? The challenge? Will you face the Ringwalk?”

Suddenly Louis felt the strangest sensation in his chest, and it took him a moment to realise it was joy.

“Yes,” he said. “I do so accept.”

He cradled Eaving in his arms, and kissed her as he should once have kissed her when they’d stood beneath the night sky at the Altar of the Philistines, so long ago, and felt that new-found joy in his heart deepen into a hope that he had not realised until now he had abandoned many years before.

When she pulled back from him, he did not think it anything other than her desire to share her joy with the assembled faerie folk.

J
ane looked as Louis drew Eaving close, and kissed her. She felt cold and empty. Useless. A nonentity in this congregation where everyone seemed to have a purpose, except her.

What was I
, she thought,
but a pawn in all of this? I can no longer delude myself that I began this, with Brutus as willing, lustful confederate. We were all manipulated by something larger, and much darker. I was merely a piece, moved by some other, vaster power
.

“We have all been pawns, in our own way.”

Jane turned her head. The Lord of the Faerie was standing by her side, his attention all on her rather than on Eaving and Louis.

“That is so easy for you to mouth,” she said. “What have you gained from this but joy? I have slid the other way. I am tired, Coel. I don’t want to play any longer. Let me go, I pray you.”

The Lord of the Faerie’s face crinkled a little, as if in puzzlement. He lifted a hand, and brushed it softly against her cheek.

“Strange words, indeed, for Genvissa. For Swanne.”

“They are long dead,” she said, turning her head away from his contact. “I hope they stay that way.”

“But
you
still have a role to play,” the Lord of the Faerie said.

Jane’s face twisted. “Ah, yes. I must hand over my powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth, mustn’t I? And how can I refuse, eh? There stand the delightful couple, god reborn and god apparent, and all I need to do to complete the happy union is to give Eaving what she needs to make herself and her lover the most powerful divinities in creation—gods
and
players of the Game.”

“That was not what I meant.”

Jane looked at him, hating it that all her bitterness and disappointment must be written plain across her face. “Really? Then what is my role? To bake the cake for the Great Marriage? To ensure that the floor is swept and the sideboard dusted? To—”

“Jane,” he said, “quiet that harsh tongue of yours for just a moment.” Taking her hand, he led her away from the throng. When they stopped, he pulled her close so that he could speak quietly in her ear.

“Do you remember,” he said, “when you were Swanne and I Harold, how well we suited each other in those first years of our marriage?”