The Riddles of Epsilon (21 page)

A man, standing high up, in the shadows.

A tall man in dark clothing. His clothes shimmered as he moved.

“Epsilon?” I whispered.

“It is I,” he said. “You have a choice to make. I am here to guide you.”

Yolandë did not even look at him. She just went on gazing down at me.

“He will guide you to your death!” she said. “He is a Dark Being. But I will protect you from him. Come.”

“Epsilon? A Dark Being?”

“Look closer!” she said, and she raised her hands so that the flame lit him up fully.

As the flame rose, I saw that Epsilon was not in the form I had seen at the beach, or even at the cottage—although that had been bad enough. Now I saw that his dark clothing was not just dark after all. It was red—the deep-scarlet color of blood. On his breast there was a shining golden O. As I watched, he seemed to grow, and the taller he grew, the
fiercer he looked.

His face was set with a grim look. Around his wrists were leather bands with golden studs. His belt was a sash of deep gold, and hanging from it—weapons. Sharp weapons, with curved blades that glinted and flashed. The blades of a warrior. And in his dark eyes, such a fury.

I could well believe he was a Dark Being. He terrified me.

But then I thought of Mom, falling deeper into a dark sleep. I had to keep moving, keep going!

The water all around didn't look silver now that I was above it. It looked utterly black and menacing—a dense darkness that made my mouth go dry. The thought of toppling into that water petrified me. I gripped the relic tightly in my hand.

“You have found the relic,” said Epsilon. “Now you must destroy it.”

“Destroy it?”

“Smash it against the stone!” he commanded. “She means to use its curses for great evil. She is a Dark Being.”

I turned back to Yolandë, to that beautiful light. She didn't look like a Dark Being. She looked like an angel. Over her face came a look of great concern.

“Do not believe him,” she said gently. “Do not smash the relic. You must bring it to your mother and awaken her from the dark sleep. Or she will die.”

“This is the Time of Dark Choices,” said Epsilon. “Choose wisely!”

I glanced up. Saw the mottled crimson of his garments. The curved weapons flashing at his belt. I felt that crackling, that eerie energy in the air. Felt sick. Epsilon—with blood on his tunic and cruel blades at his waist. Epsilon the Dark Being, waiting for me to smash the relic and destroy it against the stone.

Instead, I stepped over the water onto the next stepping-stone. Instantly the swan slipped into the water alongside the rest.

And something happened inside my head. Something shifted, lurched strangely, and all the shadows collided and clashed. At first I thought I had fallen, but no, here I was, still on the stone. Still standing on the stone, quite steady.

But Sebastian stood on it, too.

 

He stood beside me and grinned.

“The girl with the world in her hands,” he said.

“Don't talk to it, Jess!” yelled Epsilon. “It is not Sebastian. It is a base being—a Dark Being she has conjured up!”

Together, Seb and I looked up at Yolandë and Epsilon.

“It is just the same,” he whispered. “Just the same as it was for me!”

“It lies!” said Epsilon. “Sebastion was never here in this
place.”

“What shall I do?” I asked Sebastian. “Shall I destroy the relic? Or take it to my mother?”

“The relic?” he said.

He was staring up at Yolandë.

“I found it, Sebastian. Here it is. But Epsilon wants me to destroy it.”

Sebastian looked up at Epsilon and sighed.

“He deceived me, too,” he said. “Time and time again. Mama tried to warn me about him. But I wouldn't listen.”

So Epsilon was the Dark Being.

And Yolandë was on the side of the good.

“Come,” said Sebastian. “Let us go and wake your mother. We will give the relic to her together.”

We stepped onto the next stone. This brought a beautiful smile onto Yolandë's face. I would do anything, anything, to see that smile.

“No!” shouted Epsilon.

His face was very angry. But he was not looking at me. He was looking at Yolandë. Meanwhile, Sebastian stepped onto the next stone and tugged at my hand.

I hesitated. There was something about the way Epsilon was looking at Yolandë that scared me. But it also made me see that it was
her
he was angry with. Not me.

I glanced behind. The swans in the water glided silently,
staring intently at me. They didn't seem to even see Sebastian.

Epsilon's voice rang out.

“You must not give your mother the relic, Jess! Everything he says is a lie! He is a Dark Being—a base being. I told you they could imitate the dead!”

I thought of the warnings Martha had given Sebastian and old Luke had given to me. “He has bewitched you with his riddles and his music.” I thought of the tune he had played, to lure me to the cottage. The same tune he'd played when he'd shown me many things in the cottage window. That wonderful tune, lulling me into trusting him.

“She says
you
are a Dark Being!” I yelled. “Who am I supposed to believe? And she wants me to take the relic to Mom—to save Mom!”

“She wants to kill her. You, too—she wants to lull you into a cold sleep. As soon as you hand the relic over to your mother, she will kill you.”

“So why does she want me to give the relic to Mom in the first place?”

“Because only your mother can give it
back
to her. It must be freely given, from the hand of an innocent. She is that innocent.”

I was so cold. It wasn't just the cave, the water all around with its faint mist. It was Sebastian at my side.

A chill came from him and seeped into me. The deeper it grew, the sleepier I felt. As if I could fall asleep right here, in the middle of a lake, standing on my feet.

“They are sending you into a dark sleep!” said Epsilon. “Wake up! Look at the swans—look at what is round their necks.”

As his voice died away, I noticed that the swans did not like Epsilon. When he spoke, they hissed, very softly, and their feathers ruffled out a little. This woke me up a bit. I didn't much like the look of Epsilon myself. But I didn't like the swans either.

“Come
on
!” cried Sebastian.

He pulled me onto the next stone. His grip was very tight. And getting tighter. His fingers were icy, a horrible empty coldness that made my heart freeze. I snatched my hand away. He turned then and glared at me.

“Wait!” I said. “I want to see what's round the swans' necks. I have to check!”

He folded his arms and stared at me coldly. In his eyes, I saw a flash of utter meanness. Then it was gone, and he just looked bored.

“So check.” He shrugged.

Shaken, I knelt down and shone my light directly at the nearest swan. There, round its neck, was a small silver chain. Hanging from it was the symbol of the snake—the
Ouroborus. I reeled back, horrified.

“It's only a little snake.” Sebastian grinned. “You're not scared of snakes, are you? Come on.”

He pointed to the waterfall, just one stone away now. His lopsided grin was boyish, friendly, as he held out his hand to me. But as he watched me hesitate, an incredulous look came over his face.

“You wouldn't . . . let your mother
die
, would you?” he asked.

My stomach lurched. The swans just waited, their little black eyes glittering. Stop looking at me. Stop looking at me! I thought of them all wearing that symbol of the Ouroborus. I thought of its image in reverse. The golden O picture, back at the cottage.

“Sebastian,” I said, “what is the meaning of the golden O? Is it the symbol of Yolandë's enemy?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, a terrible sound came from far above us. The sound of many swans, angrily hissing my way. And from all around, a soft chanting came. Dim and eerie, that chanting sound was not from our time. It was the sound of past voices, singing through the years—ancient voices of those who had used this cave over the centuries. Their eerie words filled my head.

I knew who these singers were. The Solemn Choir. The ancient followers of Cimul. The men who believed in the
Inverted Law.

 

“Ours is for the Ouroborus!

Ours is for to be empowered!

Tooth to tail we chant in chorus—

The innocent will be devoured!

One is nought and One is dead,

Because the tail is at the head!

Ours is for the Inverted Law.

Ours the jewel from Cimul's jaw.”

 

But Epsilon ignored them. He shouted at Sebastian. His voice was angry and terrible.

“Answer her, you wretched being! Tell her whose is the symbol of the unbroken O! Tell her his name!”

Sebastian was cringing. The mean look came back into his eyes. But there was fear there, too. He clung to my hand more tightly. He was afraid of the name he was being asked to speak.

Yet the real Sebastian
hadn't
been afraid of that name—he'd used it, spoken it aloud to make him brave. I was beginning to see that this name—the name the real Sebastian trusted—was the name of the One Epsilon worked for. As I stared at the cringing Sebastian by my side, I suddenly knew that Epsilon had been telling the
truth. This was not Sebastian at all. This was a Dark Being. And he was clawing, clawing at my hand. I tried to pull away from his grip, but it was too tight. He was trying to pry my fingers apart—trying to seize the relic. But how could I stop him? I had no strength, no weapons. The only thing I had was that name he was scared of. So I took a deep breath.

“His name is Agapetos!” I yelled.

Instantly, the chant ceased. All the swans hissed. And so did Sebastian.

He let go of my hand as if I'd burned him. He hissed my way, an animal snarl. A cruelty appeared in his eyes—and a fury. Before my eyes, the boyish face of Sebastian Wren turned vile. Every line in it altered, turned menacing. The menace grew and grew until I could feel it emanating from him. Like tendrils of mist it came stealing my way, reached for me across the stone, made me sway and stagger. I bent down, covered my eyes.

“Go!” I heard Epsilon shout. “In the name of Agapetos, go back from whence you came!”

A dreadful scream echoed out—and when I opened my eyes, Sebastian had gone. The stone was bare. Just a faint wisp of yellow mist crept about it.

Then Yolandë spoke.

“Your mother is dying, child,” said Yolandë. “Bring her
the relic.”

“No, Jess! Destroy it! Smash it against the stone—do it quickly!”

I looked from one to the other, trying to think clearly.

All I knew was that the spirit posing as Sebastian had lied. He had said Epsilon was a Dark Being. But he
himself
had been a Dark Being.

Suddenly I finally knew who to trust.

I knew once and for all who was telling the truth.

I gazed up at that golden O on his chest. Something became crystal clear in my head.

The O was not a number—a zero. It was a letter—the first letter of the word One. But it was far more than that. It was a symbol in itself—the symbol of unity. The perfect circle. Of the complete unit. The never ending. The One.

And the snake? The snake was
not
a perfect circle. It could never be unified—not even if it began to eat its own tail. The symbol of one who depends only upon itself for nourishment. The ancient chant was still ringing in my head. I realized what a terrible lie was held in those words:

 

One is nought and One is dead,

Because the tail is at the head!

 

“One is nought.” They were declaring that the One—
the leader of the Bright Beings—is nothing. Does not exist.

“And One is dead.” They were declaring that the One—the leader of the Bright Beings—is dead.

Somehow I felt all the evil held within this lie.

And I knew now that Epsilon was a Bright Being. I knew that Yolandë was a Dark Being and spoke many lies. But I believed one thing she'd said.

That Mom would die unless I gave her the relic.

But if I did give Mom the relic—I knew, too, who she would give it to.
“I must find her,”
she'd said, over and over. Mom, sleepwalking, entranced by Yolandë. Mom, drawing a face, over and over again. She'd give it to Yolandë. And then the Dark Beings would invoke its curses for unimaginable evil.

But at least Mom would be alive.

“I can't let her die, Epsilon,” I said.

As his roar of anguish rang out, I stepped through the waterfall.

MY DIARY—MOM

The water hit me, as cold as ice. I stumbled forward. Then I was through. The thin silver sheet of water was at my back.

In the space behind the waterfall, I stood gasping and shivering.

Yolandë stood smiling to one side.

Behind her back, something lay—something dark and curled up. But I couldn't see what it was—she was blocking the way.

And there on the other side, to my left, was Mom.

She was lying very still. Her skin was white. She looked dead.

She lay curled up on one side like a tiny baby, snug in its crib.

I shook her. Her face was icy. Her hands were dead, useless things. I rubbed them between my palms, breathed onto her face.

Nothing.

I gathered her up in my arms.

“Wake up, Mom! I've brought it! Look, here it is. I've found the relic!”

I laid it in Mom's hand. The cold fingers twitched—moved—curled around the relic.

Her eyes flickered open.

“Mom! Oh, Mom!” I burst into tears. “You can stop looking now, Mom! I've found it—see? Look, it's in your hand. It's not a belemnite at all—it's the relic!”

Mom raised the relic to her face and peered at it. A tiny spot of color began to come into her cheeks.

“At last!” she whispered.

“But you must not give it to her, Mom! You must not give it to Yolandë. She is a Dark Being. Do you hear me?”

I was frantic. I must stop Mom from handing the relic to Yolandë. But how? Even though I had failed Epsilon so badly, I didn't want the Dark Beings to get possession of the tooth—to invoke those evil curses. I had to get her out of here. Had to get her away from Yolandë.

“Come on, Mom. Stand
up
!”

But Mom just turned away from me and stared at
Yolandë.

Yolandë smiled down at Mom with a look of such pride and love, it terrified me. This was the Dark Being who had entranced Mom with her beauty and her singing. Whose hand had beckoned Mom out into the dark, night after night. Who had visited her in dreams until all Mom could think of was her face, of doing whatever she wanted.

Now Yolandë moved toward us with her hand outstretched. In her fingers, tiny flowers appeared—blue flowers, pure and sweet. Harebells. Their scent filled the air—the scent of spring, of new life, of sunshine on meadows. She held the flowers out to Mom. An offering. A thank-you.

Mom's eyes grew dreamy as she stared at the flowers.

“Don't take them!” I said. “Come on—get up!”

With a great effort, I dragged Mom to her feet.

Slowly she got up, leaning on me heavily. I moved forward, trying to steer her toward the waterfall. But she didn't want to go that way. She turned to the side, past and away from Yolandë. Toward the black bundle lying on the floor, all curled up.

On the rock above it—the Ouroborus, carved over and over. And a word in symbols, carved many times.

Mom shone her flashlight on it.

“What does it say?” she whispered.

It said “Cimul.” But I was not going to say that name out loud. And anyway, what I was now looking at drove all words out of my head.

Nestled against the rock, someone lay curled.

Curled on her side, like a tiny baby in a crib.

Her small black bonnet hung in silken shreds. Her long black skirt was tattered. On her hands, little black half mittens. At her throat, something silver glittered, something that she held in the fingers of one hand. Only it wasn't a hand at all—not anymore. It was just bones.

And under the bonnet, a skull.

Mama.

Mom reached out and touched the very edge of her frayed bonnet.

“You poor thing!” she whispered as she held the relic out toward her. “Look, it's here! I've found it—see?”

Then she reached out for the glittering silver thing. Tugged at it carefully. Gently she untwined it from the thin fingers of bone.

It was a locket, very tarnished. The chain broke at once into many pieces. But Mom held the tiny heart shape in her hands. Her fingernail traced the letters imprinted there.

“M, A, R . . .”

She tried to scratch away at the tarnished silver. Gave up. Looked at me helplessly.

“M, A, R. Mary? She was called Mary?”

I shook my head.

“Martha. She was called Martha.”

She stared down at that little curled-up form.

“Martha,” she whispered.

But something was happening all around. The light was changing, growing. When we turned back, Yolandë's flame was magnified. Its blue-and-silver light bathed me, made me feel warmed and sleepy. The scent of the blossoms was rich and heavy. I was so drowsy. It was impossible to look away from that flame. I thought of meadows in summer and new-mown hay. Of skylarks and butterflies and the singing of little brooks, running glittering over stones.

Dimly I became aware that this watery music had words. The words were sung in crystal-clear voices, immeasurably sweet of tone. Chimes and notes filled the air and turned it all silver and blue. It was like sitting inside a great glass bell, lulled by melody and rhyme.

 

“ONE LADY she be,

ONE LADY we be,

ONE LADY be he-without-trace.

For he be ONE LADY

And she be ONE LADY

And we see the ONE LADY's face.”

 

Yolandë's whole face was shining. Her smiling eyes were deeply violet. She reached out her hand toward Mom.

“Give me the relic,” she said. “It is time.”

I tried to tug at Mom, but it was no use. I could barely move, but I had to get her back to Epsilon! I had to get her back through the waterfall. But there was nothing I could do. My arms were numb, my head spinning into sleep.

Dimly I became aware that the sound of falling water at my back was fainter. The rushing and splashing was not so fierce now. I came to a little and stared around, puzzled.

The waterfall was thinning. It divided itself into many smaller streams. Then it was just a series of thin trickles. Finally it was nothing but drips, coming from the rock above.

The waterfall was gone.

The enormous cavern stretched out before us, dark and vast. The heady scent of Yolandë's flowers faded and died. There was the lake with its stepping-stones, waiting. It was as if a spell had been broken. I could move.

“Come on, Mom,” I said as I pulled her to the first stone.

Epsilon appeared then, moving out of the mist. As we picked our way back across the stones, Epsilon moved away from his ledge. He strode down the stone steps and around the lake. He was coming down to meet us, his face set firm.

“Look, Mom! It's Epsilon. He is a Bright Being, oh, please, Mom—look at
him
!”

Mom stared at him, her face closed and tight.

“Him? I am not interested in him,” she said.

We stepped off the last stone and back onto the stony beach in total silence. Mom turned immediately toward Yolandë.

For Yolandë, too, was moving closer.

She stepped easily, daintily. Over the stepping-stones she came, and with each step she took, the light in her hand glowed and flickered. Nearer and nearer she came, and all the time, Mom followed her with her eyes. Until Yolandë, too, stood on the stony beach.

Yolandë was on one side, Epsilon on the other. Both within Mom's reach.

Epsilon's face held a look of immense sorrow as he looked at the relic Mom was holding. A look of failure—of despair.

“The relic is in the wrong hands,” he said.

But Mom turned away from Epsilon. Her eyes were fixed on Yolandë's.

“The relic is in the
right
hands!” whispered Mom.

“Yes, it is in the right hands at last.” Yolandë smiled, and as she spoke, a freshness came into the air. Sounds came and went—sea breezes sifting through harp strings and making
them thrum. Water trickling delicately in between roots of heather and over ancient soil. Old sounds, clear and unutterably fine.

“You have done well,” said Yolandë. “You have found the relic. Now it is time to hand it to me.”

Her delicate hand reached out, and it was as if her fingers had plucked the air and brought silver notes from it that played softly all around.

Mom's hand tightened in mine. She turned toward me slightly, never taking her eyes off Yolandë. When she spoke, it was in the quietest of whispers.

“Week after week, I saw her, Jess. I heard her calling me. Night after night after night.”

Yolandë nodded gracefully. “Yes. You heard my voice,” she said.

Mom spoke as if in a dream. As if she had not yet woken up. Her eyes had a fixed look, a tired, sad look. Her hand was cold, so cold.

“I followed her down to the sea,” she said to me. “Time and time again, I followed her. She had the sweetest face. She sang and sang. ‘The Ballad of Yolandë.' Over and over.”

“I
know
, Mom. But she isn't what she seems! Look away!”

But Mom tugged at my hand to silence me. She went on gazing.

“I saw her everywhere. Behind rocks. Along the beach. Up on Crag Point. In the woods. She woke me up, every night. Looking, she was always looking for something.”

She looked down, then, at the relic in her hand.

Yolandë reached out toward it and spoke gently.

“Yes, I have been looking for it. It is mine. Give it to me now. It holds great blessings, which I would bestow upon many people.”

“Don't believe her, Mom!” I shouted. “It's not blessings it holds—it's curses!”

But Epsilon shook his head at me.

“
She
must decide,” he said.

Mom stared up into Yolandë's gentle face.

“I drew her face, you know,” said Mom quietly. “Over and over. I couldn't rest. That sweet face, but always behind a fog. A mist.”

I thought of Mom's sketches. That woman's face, as seen through gauze. A pale face, peering out. A sweet, beseeching expression.

“Give me the relic now,” said Yolandë. “It was I who called you, it was my face you saw through the mist.”

But Mom slowly shook her head.

Yolandë went very still then. Something flashed across her face and was gone. And the lake swans were moving, I noticed. They were gathering in the middle of the misted water. They moved close together on the lake and faced Yolandë. Her tender smile deepened.

“It was my face you saw,” she repeated to Mom. “My voice. I called you to the shore.”

“It was not you I saw,” said Mom. “It was not your face.”

She lifted the locket then and struggled briefly, prying it open.

Inside, two faded faces peered out from the rust.

Sebastian's face.

Martha's face.

Mom lifted up the locket and held it out.

“It was not your face. It was this face. Martha's face. She looked so lost, so tired. On the beach, in the woods, looking and looking.”

Yolandë's flame glittered and leaped. The swans were silent, staring her way.

“Yes.” Yolandë smiled. “She was looking for the relic. And you have found it for her. You can give it to me now. It is what she would have done, what she would have wanted.”

“All she wanted was peace!” shouted Mom. Tears appeared in her eyes and fell. “And I saw her face, trapped
behind mist. But it wasn't mist at all. It was
water
. She was trapped behind the waterfall. Where you left her to die. Because she couldn't find
this
!”

Mom held out the relic.

Yolandë stared at it, and a look of immense greed came over her face. Both hands reached out, and I saw that the flame in her palm was not held in a white seashell at all. It was held in a coiled snake. A pale snake, with its tail in its own mouth—an Ouroborus. And the flame was coming from its coils, shining through its horrible skin.

Mom did not even seem to notice the snake. Her eyes were hard and stony.

“I promised her I would find her,” she said. “You left her to die, all alone. I would never give this to you. Never!”

Mom slowly turned her back on Yolandë.

She faced Epsilon and held the relic out toward him.

“No!” screamed Yolandë, and it was such a terrible scream that Mom whirled back round, appalled. It was a sound I never want to hear again—a monstrous scream, emanating from a monstrous mouth. For Yolandë had begun to change.

As we watched, her violet eyes darkened until they were black. Her smile was gone, and a look of such hatred came that I trembled all over. Yolandë grew in size, taller and
taller. The stench of rotting rose up all around and made me gag. Mom gazed up into that vile face and fell to her knees, her eyes wide with terror.

I turned to Epsilon for help.

But in his eyes was horror, too! I saw it there clearly. Then he covered his eyes with his hands.

“Do not look upon it!” he whispered.

But as he raised his hands to his face, a great beam of light shot out briefly from behind him. Then the light was gone. As if a brilliant arc light now stood behind him and his whole body blocked it out.