Moonlight and Ashes (18 page)

I hurtled blindly through the darkness like a rag doll, with the shrieking in my ears accompanied by a low, rushing rumble like distant thunder. I was beyond fear, beyond questions, beyond even my own body – plunged into a nether world of violent sensation that seemed endless.

And then, quite suddenly, the shrieking stopped, though the rumble continued. Light punched painfully under my eyelids, and I opened my eyes. For a moment my brain could not make sense of what my eyes were seeing. I was lying on my back in a long, narrow space, a red light flashing. And under me was that rumble, that rushing . . .

In the next moment I knew I was moving, or rather the place I was in was moving, and in a heartbeat I knew where I was.

I was lying in a train corridor. I sat up, holding my aching head. The train was rushing through the countryside. It was just on dawn, the red light of morning flashing in and out of the windows. Beyond that, I had no idea.

‘What do you think you are doing?'

Startled, I looked up at the owner of the stern voice. A maroon uniform with gold buttons. A jowly face under a peaked cap. A train attendant.

Trying to gather my scattered wits, I said, hastily, ‘I . . . was, er, on my way to . . . to the, er, washroom and I fell over. Bumped my head.'

‘You should stay in your seat when the train's in a long tunnel. It's safer that way,' said the man, sharply.

A tunnel! That explained the darkness and the shrieking, which must have been the whistle of the train as it raced through the tunnel.

Scrambling to my feet, I said, humbly, ‘I'll make sure to keep that in mind next time. Um, can you please tell me how far it is to our destination?'

‘Faustina is about an hour away, sonny,' he said, raising an eyebrow.

He'd called me
sonny,
I thought
,
confused for an instant before I remembered I was still wearing boy's clothes
.

I gave a sickly grin. ‘Oh, right. Thank you, sir. I'll be off to the washroom, then.'

I turned and started down the corridor, but he called out, sharply, ‘Hey, washroom's the other way. The way you're headed, you'll end up in first class, and if you've got a first-class ticket, sonny, I'll eat my hat in mustard sauce.'

Your silly hat's quite safe from the mustard sauce, I felt like saying, but ducked my head and scuttled off as fast as I could in the direction he'd indicated.

Reaching the washroom, which was fortunately vacant, I went in and locked the door. I sat on the lavatory lid for
a moment, breathing deeply. I splashed my face with water from the washstand and dried myself with a thin towel. I looked at myself in the mirror. I was pale, my eyes were a little bloodshot and my head ached. But my memory and reasoning were intact.

I remembered I'd been on the rocks at Dremda, not long before dawn, before I had been brutally thrust through space and time. Now I was on a train, racing through the dawn to the imperial capital – to Faustina. I did not know for sure if this was the same day I'd left Dremda, but I thought it most likely was. What kind of massive power had there still been at Dremda to do this? Thalia had said it was the last reserve of power. If that was so, I could only imagine what that power must have once been long ago, when the moon-sisters were as important a magical order as the Mancers! It was a thought both awe-inspiring and sad – for now that power was reduced to, well, to
me
, in a train heading to Faustina.

Me, the reluctant assassin. The thought should have been frightening and bitter, but somehow it was not. Something had changed in me between Dremda and here. Maybe it was the water I'd drunk at the moon-sisters' pool. Maybe it was the hazel twig in my pocket. But most likely it was simply the certain knowledge, in the deepest part of me, that this was the only way Max would be safe from Leopold. While the Prince lived, Max would be in danger – and our friends, too. Only I could save them. It was simply as stark as that and I'd accepted that this was my fate. It didn't matter to me that Thalia's deepest aim in revealing this to me must have been to save the forest lands, and not just Max and my friends. What mattered was
my
aim. And
it would be true – straight at the black heart of the wicked prince.

What would happen to me afterwards, I did not know. I hoped I would be able to get away, hoped that there might somehow be a life together for Max and me, somewhere. Yet I knew the likely outcome was far darker.

I did not want to think about it, not now, for if I did, fear and sadness would grow in me and I couldn't allow it. I could not even think too much about the one I loved, could not allow myself to imagine what he might be thinking right now, having woken up and found my note. Could not allow myself to dwell on the fact that he might imagine I'd had cold feet about him, had betrayed him, did not want to help him. Could not think of the others, either, and what they might feel. The only thing I had to remember were those terrible scenes that would come true if I did not act. I had to steel myself and become a warrior. I remembered my mirror-twin and the expression on her face, that strange calm. I did not feel like that, not yet, not by a long way. I did not know how long it would take; but it would. It
must
.

I felt in my pocket for the hazel twig. It had been a withered stick when I'd first broken it off, but it had become suppler, greener, as if the sap of life was running through it again. An image came unbidden into my mind then, of the first magic hazel twig I'd held back home in Ashberg, and tears suddenly came to my eyes. Despite all my resolve, my memory jumped to that moment on Andel's barge when, folded in Max's arms, I had understood what the hazel-tree magic had brought me: an end to loneliness, the beginning of love, and the sharing of two fates – Max's and mine.

That had been my mother's magic, because all she had wanted was my happiness after years of pain. But the intertwining of my fate and Max's had led to the
second
hazel twig, whose magic was far sterner and was not of happiness, but of sacrifice. I was sure it was not the result my mother had intended; but it had turned out as such. And so it had to be.

Eavesdropping on people's conversations in the corridors, I soon learned that not only was it the same day I'd left Dremda, but that the train I was on was the overnight express from Ashberg. I spent the rest of the journey skulking between compartments and the washroom, just in the unlikely and unfortunate case there'd be someone on the train who might know my family and recognise me. It seemed unlikely given the fact I looked like a ragamuffin, but I could not take any chances.

Nothing happened and when the train, draped in a thick scarf of steam, finally pulled in at Faustina Central Station, I was one of the first to jump off and saunter away through the bustling crowds.

I had never been to Faustina in my whole life. I had only ever seen pictures of it and, of course, heard my stepmother's endless stories of how much more elegant and grand and wonderful Faustina was compared to Ashberg. I'd always shut my ears to her nonsense but now that I was here in the midst of the great city, it was hard not to be impressed. Even Central Station was enough to take one's breath away; with its enormous, echoing marble hall; its
soaring, glittering glass-domed roof and gilt fretwork; its hordes of people and rows of massive trains coming in from all parts of the empire and abroad.

But that was nothing compared to the wide boulevards lined with grand government buildings, charming mansions and beautiful shops, including a stately department store so big that it was like a hundred Ashberg shops put together. There were a good many parks and gardens, too, much more showy and grand than those of Ashberg. It was only when I came through the largest of these parks and emerged into a sweeping avenue and saw the golden gates of the Imperial Palace that I was really struck dumb.

For there, behind the golden grilles, behind the sentries in their boxes, was my target: a vast sprawling building, beside which Ashberg Castle looked like a mere country cottage. Built from massive blocks of white stone, it boasted marble pillars in reds and greys and hundreds of decorated windows, while all around it stretched acres of gravelled paths and formal gardens with fountains and statues.

There were knots of tourists gawking through the closed gates and I crossed the road to go and gawk with them and eavesdrop on their conversations. They were Faustinians from the countryside by the sound of them. All of us in the empire learn Faustinian as schoolchildren – our own languages are only spoken at home – and though their country accent wasn't quite what I was used to, I easily understood everything they said.

One man said, ‘Look, the flag's flying. They're in.'

‘And the Crown Prince,' replied his friend, ‘is obviously back from Ashberg – look, there's his standard up there.'

There on the roof, fluttering in the breeze, were the imperial standard and Prince Leopold's flag that incorporated the arms of Ashberg.

The first tourist mused, ‘I wonder why he is back so soon? Maybe Ashberg wasn't to his liking.'

I pricked my ears up at that, but all his friend said was, ‘I heard a rumour that his father the Emperor had been taken very ill so he had to return. But there's been nothing in the papers about it, so I don't know how true that is.'

Not true at all, I thought. It was weird to be so close to the place I'd seen in Thalia's book and my heart beat fast at the thought that very soon I must go through those gates and carry out my task. And to do that I'd have to use my wits. There was no way I could get in through those gates as an ordinary person. And I could not bust my way in; the unmoving sentries might look like giant toys in their plumed hats, red uniforms and boxes but I knew that they were very far from harmless and that any would-be intruder would soon find themselves dead. And Thalia had told me that I couldn't use magic. Somehow I had to contrive to be
invited
in through those gates as a guest. If the image I'd seen in
The
Book of Thalia
reflected the future faithfully, I would have to be every inch the fine lady.

I left the palace and went back towards the busy centre of town. There was so much traffic, both wheeled and on horseback, and the streets were so wide that it seemed like you'd be risking your life just to cross the road. And it was so noisy! Chatter and church bells and street sellers' shouts combined with the clank of machines and the rumble and clatter of vehicles, creating a cacophony that set my ears ringing. Of course, we had those noises in Ashberg too,
but nowhere near this level. There were so many smells, too – horrid ones from the stink of drains to the smog of coal fires; and good ones, like the mouth-watering smells coming from bakeries and roast-meat stalls . . .

I had no money, for I'd left the few coins we had with the others. But I did have the twig. And though Thalia had said its magic could not be used for getting into the palace, she had not forbidden other uses, or why tell me to bring it at all? I put my hand in my pocket. The twig felt warm and tingly. I could feel the bumps of new buds, though there were still no leaves yet. Perhaps it would work anyway, I thought. Keeping my hand in my pocket, I scraped off a bud with a fingernail, and holding it in my closed palm, silently visualised a coin. At once, the bud moved and swelled, changing in texture and weight. I opened my hand and found not one, but several coins – good silver pieces, not copper nothings either.

I couldn't help feeling pleasure at the sight, not just because I'd now be able to buy a hot pork bun and a cup of coffee and plenty more besides; it was also because, unlike before, I felt in control of the magic. It was a bittersweet pleasure because I knew full well the magic was obeying me for its own reasons – or rather, Dremda's reasons – for I had to survive in Faustina till I could carry out my mission.

Funny how the human mind can find frivolous things to fasten onto to distract it from dark things! It is shameful to relate but I confess that as I sat in the bakery swilling the hot fragrant coffee and munching the delicious pork bun, I began to feel a little excited at the prospect of what I might do with the magic twig. It would only last for a short while,
probably no more than a few days, as Thalia had said there was very little time. But while I had it, before I had to face the moment of reckoning, I thought I might as well take pleasure in what I could, for it would stop me from being afraid.