The Two Torcs (17 page)

“It was a spell. An attack by the enemy. As you may recall, it was aimed at Robin, not you.”

“Yes, but why did it work?”

Cardinal Francis said nothing.

“Is it because of sin in my life?”

Cardinal Francis said nothing.

“Is it?”

Francis sighed. “Sin can be a doorway to this kind of thing,” he admitted.

“Is it—”

Francis cut him off.

“You indulge your appetite.”

“It isn’t anything else?”

“I would say not.”

“Not even…?” He let the words trail off this time.

“No.” Francis’s voice was firm as the stone beneath them.

Silence came again, this time it held for a long time before it was broken.

* * *

“So, that’s it,” Tuck said. “We have no way to contact Richard.” He heard and hated the defeat that was so clear in his voice. “Nor Rome either, to warn her of what’s happening.”

“Take heart, my friend,” Francis said. “All is not yet lost. It just seems that way.”

“The true king of the land is needed here, in order to heal it.”

“There may yet be another way to accomplish that very thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“It might be time to use the book.”

Friar Tuck regarded his friend and mentor for a long moment, trying to find words with which to express his concern. As if reading his mind, Francis put a hand on his shoulder.

“Do not be afraid,” he said softly. “It is for this very crisis that we sought out the book, and had the bard bring it here, instead of leaving it in Ireland.”

“You knew?” Tuck asked. “Even then?”

“I feared,” the cardinal answered. “And I knew that if my fears were correct, we couldn’t risk being cut off from so powerful an object.”

“Taking it to Marian is a risk, and she’s already lost so much.”

“Before the end,” Francis said, “sacrifices will have to be made. Each of us will need to prepare our souls for that.”

Marian put down her cross-stitch and uttered a frustrated sigh. The thread had tangled and knotted, becoming unusable. She’d have to cut it out to continue the pattern. Even that was too much to ask of her distracted mind.

Standing, she stretched and then moved across the room to the window. Scraping away the frost with her finger, she looked out over the top of Sherwood Forest, normally a verdant blanket stretching as far as she could see. It now lay black.

She had been trapped here for three weeks, and longed desperately for freedom. The masons who built the castle long ago had cemented bars across the opening to keep the tower’s occupant from tumbling out. Installed for safety, they simply reminded her that she was a prisoner.

The scrape of an iron bolt made her turn toward the door. Chastity bustled in carrying a tray with Marian’s supper on it. She was early, and she had an air of furtiveness about her. Leaving the window, Marian met her in the middle of the room.

Voice hushed, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“There is a visitor here to see you.”

“No one is allowed to visit me here,” Marian replied, and her eyes closed to slits. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know,” Chastity said. “He wears a monk’s robes.” The young woman turned her eyes to the floor, and added, “but he keeps his face hidden inside a hood.”

“A monk?” She wondered if it was Friar Tuck, with news from the outside. As unlikely as it seemed, it was as good an explanation as any. Marian looked down at the dressing gown she wore. “I’ll need to change.”

Chastity nodded, mouth pulled into a tight line.

“Give me a few minutes to prepare, then bring him in,” Marian instructed. Chastity turned to go, and Marian caught her arm. “Is there any word from Robin?”

The younger woman shook her head, strawberry-blonde curls bouncing. “That gives me a bad feeling,” Marian admitted as she shivered, struggling to dismiss the thought. She shook her head, putting it away. “For now, however, there is a monk awaiting me in the hallway.”

“Get dressed, milady. I’ll bring him in shortly.” Chastity turned and slipped out the door, leaving it unbolted.

They were both taking a huge risk. Marian wasn’t allowed to have visitors, but if the monk had come to her, it must be important. From the wardrobe she pulled a demure dress, one she always reserved for mass. Before the tower, when she was permitted to go. She slipped it over her head, and it hung where it used to fit. Adjusting it as best she could, she stepped into well-worn boots.

She picked up the shawl her mother made when she was a wee child, and draped it over her unbrushed hair. By the time the door swung open, she was at least presentable.

The monk entered, walking with a stooped, geriatric shuffle, folds of simple brown cloth draping him from head to foot. He trundled in, head bowed, face hidden in the shadow of his hood, a shadow made darker by the flickering candlelight.

Chastity stayed at the door. “I’ll keep watch, milady.”

Marian nodded and the serving girl stepped out, pulling the door closed for privacy.

Marian held her arms out in welcome. “Well met and God bless, Father. I am glad to see a servant of God,” she said. “What brings you to the castle?”

The monk did not move. He did not speak. He simply stood, bent nearly in half, for a long moment. He appeared to be… listening.

“Father?”

Marian was about to speak again when the monk straightened and pushed back his cowl.

Silver hair shone in a tonsure, a halo around his head. Their eyes met, and her heart locked inside her chest. This “monk” was the cardinal himself. There had to be a pressing reason for him to take such a risk. Her thoughts flew to Robin, filling her with fear that maybe something had happened to him.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The cardinal closed the distance between them and his hands gripped her shoulders. He looked down at her with eyes as green as Sherwood and still clear, despite his age.

“It is good to see you looking well,” he said, and he smiled. “We knew that you had been imprisoned, but beyond that…” He let go of her, and stepped back.

“You’re risking everything by being here,” she said, suddenly realizing that she was shaking. She stopped herself—just barely—before giving in to the temptation to lecture him.

“Just listen,” the cardinal said. Marian tilted her head and he continued. “A very important time is upon us. I bring a mission from God to lay at your feet, a task that will require much of you, but it must be done.”

“I’ve proven before that I will do all that I can, give all that I have,” she answered, “but as you see for yourself, I’m useless now, trapped here in this tower.”

“You might be trapped at the moment, but you shall not be much longer here. It is dark days in Avalon, and you have been chosen for a time such as this. Your role is to be much changed… and will become much greater than what it has been.”

Her heart began to beat faster.

“What do you mean?”

“Our rebellion is not working,” he said, sadness appearing in his voice. “The darkness is flooding in faster, and our efforts to staunch the tide are quickly becoming futile. There is more that can be done, though, that
must
be done. The Lord Almighty chose you before you were born.”

He paused, but she didn’t know what to say.

The cardinal stepped close.

“Do you know the story of your parents?”

Marian nodded.

After all the years that had passed, the thought of them still made her chest tighten.

“In your veins runs the blood of the original people of this isle, and the blood of their conquerors. You are the perfect embodiment of England—a true Celt with the bloodline of conquest. You are the truest heir to the kingship of Avalon.”

“Me?” She was taken aback.

His hand touched his chest. “I have been destined for the church since I was a child. My father was a priest before me, and his father before him, but grandfather
converted
to the truth of the church, from a life as a druid, the holy people of our ancestors. They foretold this day, and the crisis in which we find ourselves now.

“I had my suspicions about you, always, and recent events have made things clear. My family has been looking for you throughout the ages. The darkness is falling and you are our only hope.”

“Cardinal Francis, I’ve been trapped in this tower for three weeks,” she said. “How much worse have things become?”

“The season is fully upon us, and the poor are starving to death,” he said. “We are doing everything we can, but they are too many, and we who would help are too few. The winter is bitter, the worst any of us—even the oldest—has ever known.

“John and the Sheriff are growing bolder even as evil gathers around them. The people are oppressed, treated as chattel and slaves. Abused and robbed, they turn on one another. Desperation drives them to avarice, for the arms of sin always open widest to the hurting and the betrayed.

“Across the land sorcery begins to rear its ugly head as witches and wizards and devil worshipers grow bold.” He took a deep breath and shook his head sadly. “Children have started to disappear in the night, and the signs show that if things continue unchecked, the Devil himself will walk the earth. It’s as if that day at the southern harbor was some kind of unleashing of all manner of evil.”

Marian gasped in horror. She had heard him speak of the prophecies, the darkness they were facing, but it made her dizzy to hear how bad it had grown in such little time.

“What can be done?”

Reaching deep inside his robes he pulled out a dark square small enough to fit in his palm. It was a book covered with holy symbols and bound shut by a braided leather cord.

“This is the only thing that can stop John’s reign of terror and
you
are the only one who can use it.”

He pressed the book into her hands.

The effect was electric.

Energy jolted from her fingertips as they encountered the hard, bone plates that made the book’s cover. It sang up her arms, tracing crackling power in a rush of blood set afire in her veins. Her heart beat inside her chest like a bird trying to escape a cage. Numbness swept across her lips, and the strength poured out of her knees like water.

The cardinal’s hands locked around her elbows, keeping her from falling to the floor. He studied her with a narrow eye.

“You feel the power of the relic in your hands,” he said, as if to confirm his own observations. “God truly
has
marked you for this task.”

She nodded, but was unable to speak.

“Then you must take this book to the Heart of England before the next full moon,” he continued. “The portents indicate that soon John will reach the height of his power, and he will make his gambit for the throne. What occurs next will determine the destiny of this land.”

“The next full moon?” she said, her wits returning. “But that’s—”

“Yes, it’s the solstice, but not just
any
solstice. The druids named it the Gateway Solstice. It occurs once every hundred generations.”

“And where is the Heart of England?” she pressed. “How can it be found? Is it here, in Richard’s castle?”

“No child,” he said, taking her arm. He led her to the window and pointed. “
There
is the Heart of England, protected round about by the mighty Sherwood Forest.” He turned to her, “You must take the book to the center of the forest and find the ancient Oak of Thynghowe. There your course will be revealed.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When logic fails you must go on faith.”

“But how will I get there?”

“There is another whom, I believe, has been prepared for such a time as this. Robin must take you. Only together can you do this. Your task is fraught with peril. There are guardians that must be passed, tests to be endured.” He sighed deeply, shaking his head at the thought. “Robin alone has the strength, cunning, and integrity to keep you safe and deliver both you and the relic to your appointed destination. He has already faced and defeated some of the forest guardians, so only he can understand what you will be up against.”

“I will gladly do this, but how am I to escape?”

As if to punctuate her words, footsteps echoed from the hallway, followed by the sound of voices.

Panic lashed the cardinal’s voice.

“Hide the relic, child!” he hissed. “Do not allow the book to leave your possession until you are in Robin’s hands—and remember, you must go to the Heart of England
before
the next full moon. If you miss the appointed time, then all will be lost, and England will fall.” He pulled the hood over his head again, and resumed the stooped appearance of an older man.

Clutching the tiny book in her fist, fighting her own panic, Marian looked left and right for a place to hide it. She turned from the cardinal and pulled up her skirts. Fingers working swiftly she tucked the book into the garter tight around her thigh, then dropped the skirts with a silent prayer it would go undiscovered.

The door banged open and she turned.

“Well, what do we have here?”

King John shoved Chastity before him. She stumbled and fell to the ground, scrambling instantly to her feet, moving out of the way of John and the two soldiers who were following him.

The two were masked, harsh iron helms covering their features, only black slits through which they could look out. They loomed behind him, impossibly broad. They were far taller than any men she had ever seen, the tops of their covered heads nearly brushing the ceiling. Yet their backs were stooped slightly, and humped. Deadly curved blades that looked to be stained with blood swung from thick leather belts. A stench emanated from them that made her involuntarily press her hand to her face.

There was something wrong here—something terribly, dreadfully wrong—and she struggled to comprehend what it could be. All she knew for certain was that fear was creeping through her, threatening to paralyze her.

Looking away from them, her eyes fell on the usurper.

He had changed.

John wore a mantle of midnight, inky shadows that seemed to move and slide over one another, like a slithering ball of snakes. On his head sat a crown built from the skulls of small creatures. Their empty, fragile eye sockets stared at her.