Witchfall (29 page)

The skies opened above us and rain hammered down like the violent deluge which took the Ark. I was soaked within seconds, my wet gown clinging to my skin, my teeth chattering. The charm-stone was heavy beyond human endurance; I could not hold it aloft any longer. It was like the weight of a mountain on my chest, cracking my spine, crushing me to death.

My knees buckled under the strain of resisting him. I staggered a few steps forward, my arms dropping to my sides, drawn by those eyes, the vicious stare, the black wind sucking at my gown, my hair. Even the silver crucifix and chain about my neck had lifted like a dowsing stick, pointing at the shadow-king, almost dragging me towards him.

‘Don’t break the circle, Meg!’ Richard cried in alarm, dropping the knotted cord and leaping to his feet. His hand clutched for and missed my shoulder.

There was a blinding flash of light, then I fell into darkness.

My eyes focused on chill daylight, rough grey stone under my feet, a curious sensation of height. When my head finally stopped spinning and I was able to raise it, I looked about myself. A mist surrounded me, its thick dew wetting my skin. As I stared, the mist rolled away, showing me damp hillsides in the distance, a barren ravine, gnarled and twisted trees far below.

From the winds blowing my hair, I knew at once where I was. Back in my vision, on top of the tower. I heard the rush of air about my ears, the sound of wingbeats, then a hawk screamed furiously above me.

Which meant . . .

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the man with the axe in his hand. Only it was not Marcus Dent this time. It was the shadow-king, half-smoke, half-man, his bearded, heavy-jowled face glaring down at me from the heart of darkness.

The King raised his axe. ‘Kneel for thy death, witch!’

I fumbled for a spell that would send me back to the woodland circle, back to Richard, to the world of the living. But my mouth had been sealed by some magickal charm, and I could make no sound, only shake my head. I tried to raise my hand to bind my attacker with a gesture, then found my wrists had been sewn to my sides with invisible thread, a mischievous spell I had used on my nurse as a child, only to
be threatened with a whipping by my aunt if I ever showed off my power like that again.

So I stood, effectively gagged and bound, before the gloating fury of the dead King.

‘You see how weak you are, witch?’ The spirit-voice hissed in my ear as the cloud rolled over me, enveloping me in its terrible clammy darkness. ‘You are nothing. You dared to summon me? I do not answer to a woman. No, nor to any man either. I am Henry Tudor, King of England.’

How could any spirit have such power over the living? I did not understand how it was possible. It seemed to break all the rules my aunt had ever taught me about the boundaries between worlds.

Yet what could I do? My neck was bare, my hair blown to one side by the wind so the fragile nape of my neck was exposed – almost as though I was being prepared to meet the axe.

But I refused to die. Not here, not today.

I conjure you, depart!

I thought my spell at him instead, thinking so furiously it felt as though my head would burst with the effort.

You are a spirit, not true flesh. By the breath in my living body, by the blood in my living veins, I conjure you – depart!

Untouched by my silent spell, the shadow-king snarled at me, ‘Your magick cannot touch me, witch. I shall have your head this night. Then I shall return to my daughter’s court and have hers too, for she is but a woman and weak-minded.
I shall consume her heart and rule through her, and this disobedient land shall come to suffer such a burning and a darkness as it has never known before.’

The triumphant power of his voice was like a hand, thrusting me to my knees. My hands bound by his spell, my mouth sealed, I found myself kneeling on the cold top of the tower, unable to save myself. Was this real or merely a nightmare? If I was killed here in my vision, would I die back there in the woods? It felt real enough. The air was cold on my face, the stone hard under my knees, and my heart was beating so loudly . . .

I looked up in sudden terror as his axe swung. The sun glinted evilly off the blade, dazzling me, the whole world a blur of shadow and light, with death waiting for me beyond it.

Too late I realized the face behind the axe had changed. The shadow-king had vanished, and Marcus Dent stood in his place.

‘This was always your destiny, Meg,’ he cried, his voice ringing with triumph. His scarred face turned towards me, one sharp blue eye fixed on my face, the other a dull and empty socket. ‘Now die!’

The axe came down before I had a chance to move. The whole world shuddered sideways, then turned black.

My body was soaring like a bird’s, flying above dark woods. Below, I could see the trees in incredible detail, each reddish leaf glinting in starlight under heavy rain. It looked as though the treetops were bristling with jewels. The rain fell about me, wet pinpoints like hundreds of thousands of thin silver pins hurtling past my body. Yet I was not wet, and the bright narrow rain passed straight through me as though I was not there.

I looked down, catching sudden movement between the trees on the dark ground. I was following someone who was running below. An odd limping figure, crashing noisily through the woods, carrying a burden in his arms: it looked at first like a dead swan, her long graceful neck dangling back over his arm, her body limp and lifeless.

Then the man running came clear of the trees, staggering across the waterlogged grass under the downpour, and I saw at last what he was carrying. No swan, but a dead girl.

As he approached the entrance to the great house, the studded door was flung open and Alejandro ran out into the rain, fully dressed as I had last seen him, his head bare, but with a sword hanging from his belt.

‘Meg!’ he cried out, seeing my limp body in Richard’s arms. ‘
Madre di Dios
, what have you done to her?’

‘She stepped out of the circle,’ Richard gasped, shouldering his way past Alejandro into the house.

Suddenly I was inside too, floating just below the rafters, looking down at them in the Great Hall. The fire was dying, a soft glowing light that lit up their faces as Richard carried me to the table and lay me down there as gently as though I had been alive. The old hound jumped up from the hearth and began to bark, no doubt sensing something was badly wrong.

‘Is she . . .?
Dios mio!
’ Alejandro took my wrist and felt for a pulse there, then put his fingers to the side of my throat. I had never seen him look so sick and haggard. ‘No, no, no, no,
no
!’

Richard smoothed back the wet hair that was stuck to my forehead, staring down into my face, then stepped aside for Alejandro.

‘It was raining so hard. There was a lightning strike. I think she was hit. I can’t be sure, it happened so fast.’ Richard shook his head, wiping the rain from his forehead. ‘Meg had summoned him, King Henry. He was strong though, so strong. I didn’t think she would be able to exorcize him, and I tried my own spell to help her, but I was too late. He held her in some kind of trance. She took a step out of the circle and the bolt of lightning struck her where she stood.’

‘Lightning?’

‘There was a great flash of light, then I heard the thunderclap. The ground was on fire all around our circle and she was lying there dead, her shoes gone, her bare feet blackened and burnt. The creature was gone. I picked her up in my arms and ran for the house.’ Richard ran a hand through his wet hair, his face flushed, his dark clothes sodden. His voice was hoarse. ‘I was there to protect Meg, and I failed her. Forgive me.’

‘Forgive you?’ Alejandro choked. ‘Forgive you?’

He spun from my body and dragged the sword from his belt. It shone between them, lethal and naked, pointing at Richard’s heart. Dee’s apprentice stepped back, though there was no fear in his face – only a wariness that told he had half expected this from the Spaniard.

‘I shall kill you for this night’s work,’ Alejandro ground out, his eyes hard and glittering. ‘She was in your care, dog! Now she lies dead, and all you can say is, “Forgive me?”’

Richard sank into a defensive crouch. There was anger in his voice too. ‘I told you, it was not my fault. But kill me if you can, novice,’ he snarled, his dagger suddenly in his hand. ‘You are not the only one here who knows how to fight. I shall not make it easy for you.’

‘Put up your weapons! How dare you brawl in my house?’

There was a stirring on the dark stairway. Elizabeth was descending the stairs in her cloak and nightshift, staring down into the Great Hall. Beside her came Blanche, holding
aloft a burning torch, and Alice at their backs, rubbing her eyes, sleepy and confused.

The hound continued to bark hysterically. But the two young men turned, falling back from each other. Neither put away his weapon though, still watching each other with furious eyes.

‘Hush, Rufus. Lie down, boy.’ The Lady Elizabeth shooed away the barking dog, then halted beside the table, seeing my body stretched out upon it as though I were sleeping. Her face froze. ‘What is this? What has happened?’

‘My lady—’ Richard began, his voice croaking, but Alejandro interrupted him.

‘Meg Lytton is dead, my lady. She served you too well and has died for her loyalty.’ Alejandro sounded half demented with grief and rage, yet somehow he was controlling himself. His face was taut, his bare sword still in his hand – though he had lowered it now, with an effort. ‘Dee’s apprentice reports that she achieved her end though. The spirit that haunted your house has been banished back to Hell – and taken your servant with him!’

Blanche began to speak angrily, but the Lady Elizabeth held up her hand. ‘No. Señor de Castillo is a passionate man and must be allowed to speak his mind. There is no fault in the anger of an honest man.’

She approached my body on the table. She stared first at
my bare feet, blackened by the lightning strike which had killed me, then at my hand, hanging down from the table, palm open.

I saw true regret on her face. ‘Poor, poor Meg. I would not have had this happen for the world, I swear it. If I had known how dangerous . . .’

William, who had been sleeping in the stables since our arrival at Hatfield, appeared from the passageway to the kitchens, rubbing his eyes and stretching. ‘What’s all the noise? I heard shouts, and that blasted hound barking . . .’

My brother frowned at Richard, standing silent and defeated to one side, then saw me lying on the table. His face grew pale and he staggered forward. ‘Sweet Jesu, is she—?’

‘A lightning bolt,’ Richard muttered. ‘It came out of nowhere. She had no chance.’

‘Oh, Meg,’ William gasped. He seemed stunned, averting his horrified gaze from the terrible black marks of scorching on my bare feet. ‘My dear sister.’

The Lady Elizabeth laid a hand on his shoulder, comforting him. ‘She died bravely, William, as she lived,’ she murmured. ‘You should be proud.’ She bent over me as though looking into my face, perhaps searching for signs of life. I watched from above as she seemed to tremble a moment, then turned away, straightening. ‘Not a magickal death, then. I had hoped . . .’

Briefly, I saw Alejandro close his eyes, and wondered if he
too had hoped my death might prove magickal – and therefore reversible.

Perhaps noting his pain, Elizabeth continued more gently, ‘The new priest should be called to administer the last rites. And the coroner must be summoned to bear her body away. Let one of the servants ride with a message for them at first light. Meanwhile, poor Meg cannot lie here in the Great Hall. Nor should her body be left unattended. It is not fitting that she should be alone tonight.’ She glanced at William, who was crossing my arms gently across my chest, then raised her small dark eyes to Alejandro’s face. ‘Señor, you are the closest we have to a priest here. Will you light the candles and keep vigil over her body until dawn?’

Alejandro managed a bare nod. ‘I shall carry Meg to my chamber and light the candles for her there. My Bible and prayer books are there, it is a quiet space.’

‘I will help you,’ William muttered, tears in his eyes.

‘I need no help,’ Alejandro said harshly, then checked himself, holding out his hand to my brother. ‘Forgive me. She was your sister . . . but I have as much cause as you to mourn her death, William. We had not announced it formally, and I beg your pardon for keeping such a secret from you, but your sister and I were betrothed to be married.’

Stiffening at this revelation, the Lady Elizabeth’s face grew cold. She looked hard at Alejandro, but said nothing. No doubt she found the very idea of a Catholic novice in
love offensive. But to be in love with one of her own servants . . .

For once paying the princess no heed, Alejandro turned, looking stiffly across at Richard. ‘You must forgive my temper too. I know Meg’s death cannot be laid at your door. We will talk in the morning, when . . . after—’

Seeing that he could not finish, Richard limped forward, thrusting his dagger back into his belt. He held out his hand, palm upwards, and offered Alejandro what was there: a thin chain from which hung the silver crucifix, still wet with rain.

‘Here, this is yours. It must have fallen from her neck when the lightning struck.’ His face was grim. ‘I found it on the ground beside her.’

Alejandro took the crucifix, staring down at it broodingly. ‘So she was wearing it. When I didn’t see it around her neck, I assumed—’

‘She was wearing it,’ Richard agreed wearily. ‘And she had her charm-stone too. Though they availed her little in the end.’

Alice, who had been sobbing quietly into her hands all this while, her head turned away as though she could not bear to look on my body, came haltingly forward. She embraced both Richard and William, then came to Alejandro, her eyes full of pity.

‘I cannot believe she is gone. She was the sweetest friend . . . my dearest Meg . . . Oh, I cannot bear to say her name, it is too horrible.’ Alice dried her eyes with the back of her
hand, whispering aside to Alejandro, ‘Would you like me to keep vigil with you over her body, señor? I shall not speak except to pray.’