43

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

Candle stared at Rasmus's body, her breath ragged as she waited for him to rise. She watched carefully, but he stayed on the ground, unmoving. His eyes were open and glassy, staring sightlessly at the darkness of the cavern roof. The white of his hair was stained with his own blood. His body, once so strong and vital, lay crumpled like a wet rag.

Outside the Keep, the twilight was fading, as the sun rose with the dawn. The surges of energy dulled to whispers and Candle breathed out, taking a tentative step towards the edge of the pool. She needed to take the opportunity to escape while she was alone, so she hurried to pull herself up on the rocks. However, shock and fear made her clumsy and before she could climb out, Rasmus's thugs returned with Locryn and Delen escorted between them. The group came to an abrupt halt as they took in the scene of devastation before them - the sprawled bodies, and the single, defiant girl standing waist deep in the water. Delen and Locryn looked at her with wide eyes while the man with the short, squat demon on his shoulder, whistled. The other men muttered, their eyes darting to the bodies. They said something to the leader that Candle didn't catch.

"Fools," he replied. "It doesn't matter." He reached out, grabbing Delen by the arm, pulling her towards him. He and his demon turned to glare at Candle. "Get out of the water, girl," he said as Delen squirmed in his grasp, but he held her fast. "I don't have time for games. Get out now or I'll snap her neck."

His grip moved to Delen's throat and he lifted her up so her feet left the floor. She whimpered in pain and Locryn thrashed in his bonds, earning himself a punch to the gut that had him doubled over and gasping. Candle gathered the whispers of energy to herself desperately, but she was afraid she would hurt Delen if she released a rune, she was so close to the man who held her. She hesitated, but Delen was choking and she couldn't bear it. Candle opened her mouth to tell him to stop-

"Well, isn't this an unexpected turn of events," said a clear voice, from the passageway on the other side of the cavern. The Mester stood framed in the doorway, hoisting one of the barbarian weapons on her shoulder. Behind her grim-faced members of the Own waited, armed to the teeth, and dressed in full battle gear. Candle caught a glimpse of Jory and Pasco in the crowd and her heart lifted. A wide grin split the Mester’s face but her eyes were like agate as she took in the scene before her. "Put her down, Cadan. I will only ask once."

"Or what?" asked Cadan, shaking Delen, who was clutching at her neck, her legs kicking the air. A loud bang reverberated around the cavern, and everyone flinched. Candle stared up at the remains of Cadan's forehead. Bits of his brain splattered across the rock as he toppled forewords, dropping Delen from limp hands. She fell to the ground, gasping.

"Who's next?" The barrel smoked gently as the Mester swung the weapon towards the remaining men. She raised one eyebrow, her face composed. Moloch appeared in the passageway behind her, filling it with his darkness and glaring hungrily into the cavern. The last remaining moonsilver addict looked up at him, his mouth falling open. He could see the demon, Candle realised.

"Please don't hurt me, syr," he said, falling to the floor in front of the Mester. The rest of the men exchanged glances, then, giving Locryn a vicious kick in the back that sent him sprawling, ran down the passage back towards the cells.

"After them," said the Mester, and the Own who had come with her rushed down the passage, weapons at the ready.. Jory and Pasco stayed back with the Mester, who looked around at the cavern with calculating eyes.

"Thank the Ancestors," exclaimed Locryn, dropping down next to Delen who was still lying on the floor, her hands at her throat. "Are you alright?"

She nodded, blinking as Locryn helped her up. Jory pulled her into a hug, and then dragged Locryn in with one arm, wrapping his arms around them both.

"Everything's fine now," he said into the top of Locryn's hair.

Pasco crouched next to the pool and looked down at Candle, his face concerned.

"It's safe to come out," he said, offering her his arm. She took his hand, which felt reassuringly warm and let him heave her out of the water. After setting her carefully on her feet he wiped his hand dry on his cloak.

"It's been a while since I've seen you," he signed, his lips twitching as his fingers spelled out the words. "You've been busy, I look forward to hearing the whole tale. Are you going to be alright?"

Candle nodded, but her eyes were on the Mester who was crouched down next to Rasmus' body. She held her breath as the older woman pressed two fingers against his neck. After a minute the Mester straightened and shook her head.

"He's gone," she said, and crossed over to Cadan's body. "These two need to be burned and sent to the Night immediately. Will you take care of it for me, Pasco?"

Pasco nodded, grim faced, while Candle breathed out in relief. She felt very strange inside -tightly wound, like a vibrating string about to snap. Rasmus was dead - her brother and tormentor was dead. He was dead, and she had killed him. She belonged with the Ancestor's Own now, she had earned her place. The Sages would demand the rest of her life in payment but the thought didn't bother her as much as it once might have done. She knew, if her Ancestors were watching, that they would forgive her.

"Jory, will you escort Cleder back to his old cell," said the Mester, looking down at the moon silver addict who was still prostrate on the floor in front of her. "And I suggest you three go up to the dormitory to rest while I take back my castle." She hefted the barbarian weapon over her shoulder. "None of you look like you are in a state to help. You should be safe enough up there in the meantime."

"I want to fight," said Locryn, standing up straight. "I have some debts I need to settle before the sun goes down."

"The Sages' wouldn't approve," said the Mester, but she smiled as she threw him a spear.

"Do the Kenning know?"

"I no longer answer to them," said the Mester. "I am here without their consent and without their approval."

"About time!"

"First things first," said the Mester. "Let's clear the detritus out of the castle and restore some semblance of order. Then we can get started on those barbarians, and wrap up any loose ends." Her gaze drifted to Candle, who was standing, forlorn and dripping, next to the pool with her hair plastered to her head. Her head snapped back as the sounds of fighting echoed down the passage.

"Come on," she said, "plenty to do!" And she swept down the corridor. Locryn looked down at Delen and Candle with some concern, and then after the Mester.

"You go," said Candle, "I'll look after Delen."

"Go," said Delen, "We'll be fine."

"We'll catch up soon, young one," said Jory, clasping Candle's shoulder as he went passed, herding the forlorn moonsilver addict ahead of him with the point of his spear.

"Go on," signed Pasco, "I'll take care of Rasmus. Go. We’ll catch up later.”

It was with great relief that Candle left Pasco saying the last rites, as she and Delen made their way through the hallways and back up the stairs to the upper levels of the Keep. The sounds of battle echoed up the hallway from the courtyard and muffled sounds of fighting reverberated through the halls.

"Do you think we should hide?" asked Candle, looking over her shoulder, as they entered the empty dormitory, "until it's over? Until we are sure everything's alright?"

"The Mester is here," said Delen, crawling onto a bed and lying down with a sigh. "Everything will be fine now. It won’t take long.”

"I hope you are right."

Delen closed her eyes and Candle perched on the end of the bed. She wished she had Delen's faith that everything was fine, but she couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't over. A sound at the door made Candle jump and she tensed as Ia came bustling into the rooms, her chains clanking. She let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding in when she saw the old lady was alone, and carrying nothing more unsettling than a pile of linen.

"What did I tell you, sweetheart," Ia beamed at Candle. "The Mester will sort everything out! That's what I said and here she is."

Ia didn't seem to care that they were out of their cells and set about tidying the dormitory, and arranging the fresh linen, as if it was a normal day at Gwavas. As if there weren't bodies lying down stairs right now. Candle wondered if she really knew what was going on, but then, she considered that Delen's faith in the Mester was also unshakeable. Candle had a suspicion that the majority of the Ancestors' Own would follow the Mester to Night and back if she commanded. Ancestors knew, she had doubts about the Mester but she would much rather have her in charge than Rasmus.

"Lord Enys is dead," Delen was saying to Ia from under her pile of blankets. "Candle killed him."

"Probably for the best," said Ia, as if it were inconsequential. She examined Delen with gentle hands, tutting at her bruises. She shuffled off to fetch salve and fresh clothes for them, returning minutes later with the items and two steaming hot mugs of sweet tea which Candle and Delen both took gratefully. They sat side by side on the bed, drinking their tea and listening to the fading sounds of battle.

After a while Candle got up and pushed open an iron shutter trying to see what was going on in the grounds below. She couldn't see anything useful so she turned back to Delen who had climbed back into her bed.

"I'll be fine," said Delen, noticing her look. She closed her eyes and Candle wondered if she had fallen asleep, but then she spoke again. "Sooner or later someone will be able to heal me anyway. But what about you? Do you feel any different?"

"What do you mean?"

"You know," said Delen, from the edge of sleep. "The Ancestors, your magic - has it come back now he's dead? Now you brother is gone."

Candle blinked.

"I don't know - I feel...strange but so much has happened. I don't know what to feel."

"What about...what about the demon? His demon? Has it gone with him?"

"I don't know."

Candle twisted her fingers in her lap. There was one simple way to find out, but she didn't want to do it in front of Delen. She didn't want to do it in front of anyone. "Try and get some rest," she said, pretending she wasn't that curious, pretending that it wasn't important.

She sat on the end of the bed until she was sure Delen was asleep, then got up and crept out of the room. Someone touched her on the shoulder, and she nearly screamed, but it was only Ia, come to tell her that the Mester had full control of the Keep once more.

"The survivors, such as they are, are being locked up as we speak," she said. "I must go and sort out the kitchens; everyone will be hungry-"

"So it's over?"

“It's over."

Ia went off, and once she was safely gone, Candle made her own way down the wide stone stairs, treading on light feet. No one marked her passing; those members of the Own she did see were all too busy with their own tasks to notice her. She stole a candle and flint from a supply cupboard and crept down the last flight of stone stairwells towards the oppressive darkness waiting at the very bottom of the Keep. She gave the spring a wide berth, wondering if Pasco had burned Rasmus's body yet or whether it still lay in the cavern. She was too afraid to go and look.

She found her former cell without difficulty. It was blessedly unoccupied, and from it, she was able to retrieve the crumpled pages of the Devotions she had made the previous night. She held them in one hand, staring at the drawing of her sleeping friends. Swallowing, she set the precious papers down in front of her and looked over her shoulder, straining her ears to make sure she was alone and unobserved. The lower levels were still and quiet. Nothing stirred in the darkness, nothing disturbed the peace except her own breath.

Carefully, her hands shaking, she struck her flint and steel together, lighting the corner of the paper. She started with a prayer for her parents, and for Ishbel, her voice catching in her throat as she spoke their names. She hoped her words would guide them in the Night, for she was their only living descendant. The thought nearly undid her but she pulled herself together and with slow reverence, spoke the names of her Ancestors. Havi and Lochlanach names both, starting with her grandparents and working her way back to the limits of her knowledge. She offered the gift of her Devotions to them and watched in tense anticipation as the papers crumble away into ashes and soot.

When the parchments were all burned, she set the unlit candle out before her, and focused on the stub. It was barely visible in the dim light of the cell.

"Burn," she whispered, "burn for me." She touched a finger to the wick and willed it to be hot. She waited, her face tight. The seconds ticked by, and the candle remained unlit. The dungeon remained dark. She tried again. "Burn," she commanded, putting all the force she could muster into the command. For a few seconds nothing happened. Then, like a waking nightmare, liquid blackness coalesced in front of her. It pooled on the floor, rising upwards into a smoking pillar, bleeding into the distinct form of a shadowy man. Or something like a man. Candle screamed as Belias appeared before her, bowing to her, his hungry eyes locked on hers. His hideous mouth twisted into a grin, his mouth so wide it threatened to swallow her whole.

"Mistress," he said, and his voice was louder, clearer and more terrible than she had ever heard before. It rang like a tolling bell in the dark recesses of her mind and sounded with terrible clarity in her ears. "How can I serve you, mistress? Who do you want me to burn?"