The War of the Grail (5 page)

‘You know, sir, me and all the lads back Sonali. Others might think different, but as far as we’re concerned, she’s one of us.’

‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear that.’

‘Perhaps you could talk to her. Convince her to stay.’

‘I’ve tried that. Believe me. Her mind’s made up.’

‘It would be a pity to lose her.’

‘Aye.’ Jack looked away into the trees. He felt tired. ‘But she’s a Rajthanan. This isn’t her place. She was always going to have to go back to her people one day.’

Mark nodded solemnly. He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘Perhaps Kanvar will come back.’

Jack looked back at Mark. The young man was doing his best to stay hopeful. He was dedicated to the small force Jack had assembled, to the point where he seemed to have no life outside of it at all. He’d once told Jack he was an orphan, so perhaps he really did have nothing else. Perhaps the House of Sorcery and its pupils was all he’d ever had.

Jack rubbed his chin. Kanvar had left nine months ago, saying he would be back soon. He’d never returned and never sent word. Perhaps he’d never intended to come back, or perhaps something had happened to him. There was no way of knowing.

Jack gave Mark a firm smile. ‘Yes, perhaps he’ll come back. We can only hope.’

Jack sat in the dark, his legs crossed, his back straight and his hands on his knees. On the other side of the hut, Saleem shifted on his straw bed and muttered in his sleep. The lad had been living with Jack for the past seven months. Jack had found this irritating at first, but now he was so used to having Saleem around that it would seem strange if the lad moved out.

Jack closed his eyes. Outside, the wind stirred the trees and shook the window shutters. Further away, he heard people talking – it was only ten o’clock at night and some of the villagers were still up.

He took a deep breath, felt the cool air flow down his nostrils, hit the back of his throat and fan out into his lungs.

The Lightning yantra. He would try it one more time. He’d been attempting to use it for months, without any success. Of course, that was understandable as he was a blocked siddha. But on two occasions now he’d broken the law of karma and developed new powers. His guru, Jhala, had told him this was impossible. Kanvar had told him no one had ever done that before. And yet, miraculously, he’d achieved it.

Only he couldn’t do it again.

The Lightning yantra wouldn’t work. The lesser yantra Sonali had taught him – Find Water – wouldn’t work either. He’d memorised both of these designs in the space of seven months, a daunting task.

But he couldn’t use them.

He brought the Lightning yantra to his mind’s eye. The image circled before him, white on black. He concentrated on each tiny detail, each line, curlicue and angle. He had to hold the entire shape still in his mind, without any other thoughts intruding, in order to use the power.

But his mind was troubled. It was like a rippling pool and he couldn’t still it.

Images harried him.

For a moment he saw the dead ewe with the diseased leg, then Lord Fitzalan lying in his bed, then flames and war and hordes of circling crows …

Was England truly cursed? Was the land truly sick?

An explosion burst in his mind and he saw Folly Brook burning, saw villagers fleeing. Saw Elizabeth screaming …

He quickly forced the visions from his head. But now further memories flooded over him …

He was back in Ragusa, standing in the trench with his old friend William. Dawn was hovering on the edge of the sky and the guns and mortars had fallen silent. The conch-shaped horns began roaring. First one sounded far off in the distance, then others responded, the blaring flickering along the trench.

The hair stood up on the back of Jack’s neck.

It was time.

Captain Jhala strode along the trench, bellowing at his men. He stepped up on to the fire step and raised his scimitar above his head. He looked back at his troops for a moment, then shouted ‘Charge!’ and clambered over the top. The men gave a joint cry and swarmed up after their commander. Musket in hand, Jack scrambled over the edge and bolted across the muddy field with his comrades. Gunfire rumbled. A storm of bullets and shot shrieked about him. Men screamed as they tumbled to the ground.

Jack kept running. William was sprinting along to his left and up ahead he could make out Jhala’s scimitar glinting in the dawn light. The captain was out in front of the company, leading the way, even as his men toppled over behind him.

Jack focused on the blade. It was like a beacon leading him along a dark path. He would follow Jhala wherever he led …

Then the boom of the guns suddenly vanished.

And now Jack was sitting cross-legged in the gazebo at the estate where he worked as head guard. It was four years ago and Jhala sat before him, looking old and tired as he related the news that Elizabeth had been captured for helping the crusade. And then Jhala offered Jack a terrible choice – help to capture William, now a rebel leader, or see Elizabeth hang …

Jack felt his breathing quicken at the memory. He’d trusted Jhala all those years, only to be betrayed when the rebellion broke out.

His hands twisted into fists. He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness.

Jhala was in Worcestershire. He’d risen to the rank of general, and was now commanding the forces threatening Shropshire. Jhala was the one who would lead the invasion …

Jack forced himself to close his eyes again and drive the thoughts from his head. If he were going to master Lightning he had to forget everything but the yantra …

Breathe deeply. Step away from the material world, the world of pain and illusion.

He struggled to hold the yantra steady. Then, finally, it locked into place and burst into dazzling light.

But nothing happened.

Nothing.

He opened his eyes. He was breathing heavily. He’d managed to hold the yantra still, but no power had come to him.

Damn it. Once again, he’d failed.

He rolled on to his back and felt his breathing slowly ease.

He’d learnt three powers during his forty-three years of life. Europa, which he was still able to use. Great Health, which he’d used in Scotland and then discovered could only be used once in a lifetime. And the yantra that held back sattva-fire injuries, which he no longer needed now that he was well.

That, surely, was to be his lot. That was as far as he would progress as a siddha.

He’d spent seven months trying feverishly to gain a new power. Now he had to give up.

J
ack gazed ahead to where the road curved out of sight behind a hill. They had reached this point so soon.

He gripped his horse’s reins tighter. ‘So, this is it.’

Sonali didn’t reply as she rode alongside him and instead cast a look across the wide, shallow valley. To their left, the hills crowded close to the road, but to their right, open fields stretched away to the more buckled countryside in the distance.

‘Once we’re round that corner we’ll be at the border,’ he said.

Sonali clenched her lips and gave him a small nod. There was a knot in the centre of her forehead and her eyes were moist. She was dressed in Indian clothing once more, wearing a red shawl and a green sari that was gathered between her legs to form a pair of loose pantaloons. The sari allowed her to mount and sit astride her horse far more easily than any woman Jack had ever met before. She didn’t have to sit sideways or even hitch up her clothing.

Jack had asked her about the sari once, and she’d explained that her ancestors were from the land of the Marathas, a region that bordered Rajthana in India. ‘This is how we Maratha women dress,’ she’d said. ‘Even when we’re born and brought up in Rajthana.’

The curve in the road drew closer. The horses’ hooves clopped steadily towards it.

Jack and Sonali had ridden along this valley twice in the past few months – the first time to allow Sonali to send a message on the sattva link to her aunt, the second time to collect a package the aunt had sent to the Leintwardine post office. Sonali had been delighted to find powders, oils, perfumes and a bottle of lime juice inside the parcel. Apparently these were necessary for her survival even in the wilds of Shropshire.

Certainly, they were necessary for making champoo.

For a moment, Jack’s mind drifted to the last time Sonali had massaged champoo into his head. She’d joked with him about his filthy hair and he’d told her to mind her own business. Then she’d gone silent for a moment as she pressed her fingers more deeply into his hair, rubbed his scalp more firmly … He could still feel her fingers even now as he thought about it.

‘You know,’ he said, ‘you don’t have to go. You can change your mind.’

‘Jack-ji.’ Sonali’s voice was husky. ‘Please. Don’t.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He stared ahead at the road. ‘I had to try.’

Sonali wiped her eyes, then fumbled behind her in one of her saddlebags. ‘Here. You should have this.’

Jack looked across and saw an envelope in her hand. ‘What’s that?’

‘The letter from Rajiv.’

‘You sure you don’t want it?’

‘It was addressed to you.’

Jack leant across and took the envelope. He studied the coiling handwriting scrawled across the paper. He couldn’t understand any of the letter, but Sonali had read it aloud to him.

It was from Captain Rajiv Rao, who’d accompanied Jack on the journey to Scotland. Jack hadn’t expected to ever hear from Rao again, but the captain had tracked down Sonali’s aunt and had written letters to both Sonali and Jack. Sonali’s aunt had included them in the package she sent to Leintwardine.

‘Strange fellow, that Rao,’ Jack said.

Sonali smiled. ‘You remember how that Scottish woman wanted to marry him?’

Jack grinned. It was good to see Sonali smiling again. ‘I remember. He was so worried about it.’

Sonali gave a small laugh.

Jack had been pleased to hear from Rao, and even more pleased to learn that instead of going back to Rajthana, Rao had ended up in Andalusia. Apparently his sweetheart, Reena Chamar, had fled Rajthana for Europe. Now Rao and she had met and were planning to marry, in defiance of Rao’s father and jati.

The letter had ended on a strange note, though. Rao had hinted that he might soon be travelling to England and that he hoped to see Jack again. He said that he had something of great importance to tell Jack, but he didn’t give any indication what it was.

Mysterious.

Jack tapped the envelope against his hand, then folded it away into his side pouch.

And now they were at the bend in the road.

Ahead, the valley narrowed and the hills loomed higher to their left. Several carts and wagons trundled along the road in both directions. In the distance, Jack could make out the smudge of the town of Leintwardine, smoke twisting up from its myriad of chimneys and vents. Closer, about a hundred yards away, a collection of striped pavilions clustered to one side of the road. Pennons bearing the cross of St George and the gold lion of the Earl of Shropshire flickered atop the tents.

Jack frowned. The pavilions would be for those guarding the border with Herefordshire. The last time he’d been here, there’d only been two guards slouching beside a tree. But now he could count perhaps fifty tents.

His eyes drifted up to the hills and he noticed dark spots bristling over the summits. Amongst the specks he made out several flagstaffs and a winking light that could only be a heliograph.

He felt a tremor of foreboding and shot a look across at the far side of the valley. There he spied gun emplacements and a second heliograph blinking back in reply.

Sonali followed his gaze. ‘What is it?’

‘Troops.’

‘Who, though?’

‘Not sure yet. Let’s find out.’ Jack nudged his horse into a canter.

Sonali did the same, and in less than a minute they reached the pavilions. Around thirty soldiers wearing crusader surcoats stood beside the road, eyeing the carts, riders and pedestrians passing by.

‘Greetings.’ Jack tipped his head as he drew up alongside one of the guards. ‘The road ahead safe?’

The guard wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Safe enough.’