44

Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

Candle ran down the passage, fleeing that terrible shadow, but her legs gave out just a short while later. She collapsed in a heap against the door to one of storerooms. Maybe she had imagined the demon. She was distraught; she was tired - perhaps it had been her imagination, a waking dream brought on by the terror of the last few days? But no - the demon appeared once more in front of her, an absence of light that leached all the happiness and colour from the air.

"Mistress," he hissed in her ear, and she could feel the foul stench of his breath on her cheek and smell his peculiar scent of rot and rust. It washed over her, making her stomach heave.

"Leave me alone!”

"Mistress? How can I serve you?"

"I said, leave me alone! If you serve me, then do as I say and go away!"

Belias said nothing, waiting with the patience of the dead. Candle wondered if she was losing her mind. She ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. When she opened them again, Belias' ink-black face was floating inches from her own. She bit down her scream.

"Rasmus is dead," she said, her back pressing into the wall, but she could go no farther. "Why are you here? Why are you haunting me?"

"His soul is mine now," said the demon, every word a sibilant hiss. "As yours will be, mistress."

"Why? I never gave you anything."

"A Gift does not have to be freely given," he whispered, moving restlessly from side to side. "But think - think what I can do for you. Alone you are pathetic - weak. We can do many things together. Name it, and it shall be done. I can give you whatever you desire. Power, love, acceptance..."

"Then leave," she said, desperately. "If you can give me anything I want, I want you to leave forever."

"I will leave," said the demon, his gaping maw widening into a hideous mockery of a smile, "if you give me a gift..."

She stared at his hideous face, seeing the trap. What was she going to do? What could she do?

"Just - leave me alone," she said, thoughts turning over in her mind. She needed to talk to Jotham. Maybe he could help her. Maybe he could explain what was happening to her. Or the Mester - but no, that was too risky, she thought, looking across the dark passageway at the cells built to hold the demon-possessed.

"You are not listening to me," said Belias. "Let me show you how it could be."

He came very close to her, and she couldn't get away, her head thumping against the wall. He was going to swallow her whole and she was overwhelmed by darkness. But then, suddenly, like a storm clearing beneath the rays of the sun she was standing in her parents garden in Hanternos. The air lost its foul stench and became sweet and fair. The grass was green and fresh, and a soft spring breeze tickled her cheek.

"Candle!"

Someone was calling her. She turned to see Ishbel was running across the garden, her face flushed and her eyes bright. "Candle, I'm so glad you are home!" Ishbel swept her up in a hug, and Candle felt her arms around her, warm and loving. It had been so long since anyone had hugged her, she realised, and it felt so wonderful.

"Come for supper," Ishbel said. "Mother and father are waiting."

They walked, arm in arm across the lawn to the manse, which was freshly painted, with the iron shutters pulled back and the ground floor doors thrown open. Ishbel chattered on about her plans for the evening and her plans for the upcoming Spring festival.

"That sounds lovely," said Candle. "I wish I could come."

"Of course you are coming," laughed Ishbel. "Mother's made you a new dress. It's blue and will bring out the colour of your eyes-"

"Blue-" said Candle. Something wasn't quite right, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Ishbel had once had a blue dress...what had happened to her blue dress? But their parents were waiting for them in the big dining room, in the east wing. Lord and Lady Enys looked up, smiling, as Ishbel and Candle walked into the room. They were both dressed in their favourite evening clothes, and supper was waiting on the table, which was set for four. Candle frowned at the table. Someone was missing but Candle couldn't remember who. She tried to remember, but then, it didn't seem all that important.

"My two beautiful daughters," said Lord Enys, handing Candle a plate of food. It was her favourite stew, and she inhaled the spicy scent with great satisfaction. "Have you had a good day, Candle? What have you been working on? Tell us about your latest project - your mother and I are so proud."

"Really?" said Candle, her stomach rumbling. She felt like she hadn't eaten properly in days. She picked up her silver spoon and looked across the table at her mother, who was indeed smiling at her. For some reason seeing her mother smile at her made her feel uneasy, but she couldn't think why. Surely it was perfectly natural? Candle shifted restlessly in her seat and looked over at Ishbel, who was also smiling. Ishbel, when had she last seen Ishbel? Something was wrong, she knew something was wrong, although her brain kept trying to tell her otherwise.

"Eat your food, Candle," said her mother, "I asked the cook to make it especially for you."

"Thank you," said Candle, lifting her spoon towards her mouth. She caught a faint whiff of a foul smell, and wrinkled her nose, wondering where it was coming from. She put her spoon down and her mother's eyes narrowed. The expression jogged something in Candle's memory, and she looked around at her family, as the feeling of wrongness intensified. It was as if someone was shouting at her from a great distance, from beyond a great fog, but try as she might she couldn't hear the words.

"It's delicious," said Ishbel, and Candle picked up her spoon again. "There's custard tarts for dessert."

"Eat it up," said Lord Enys, "and afterwards we'll tell you the story of how we met, far away in Lochlanach." He glanced fondly at his wife. "I know you've always wanted to know that story. It’s a good one."

"Go on, dear. Eat it all up," said Lady Enys. She smiled at Candle but her smile did not quite reach her eyes. Candle looked at her mother across the table, and then down at her food. Her fists clenched, as the feeling of wrongness intensified.

"No."

Lady Enys stood up, pushing her chair back from the table in anger, her face contorted with rage. The foul stench grew, and Candle gagged as her mother's right eyeball popped out of her head. It fell into her stew with a plop. The beautiful, smooth skin of her mother's forehead cracked and shrivelled, splitting open to reveal the skull beneath. Candle stumbled back from the table and fell over, her chair. When she landed on the floor her hands hit the smooth cold stones of the Keep's dark passages.

She was holding something in her right hand. Something warm and squishy. It looked suspiciously like human flesh. She hurled it away from her in disgust, and fell backwards, shutting her eyes, trying to shut the vision out. She was at Gwavas, and Belias was lying. He was lying, he couldn't bring her family back.

"I can. I can bring them back," said Belias. "I can bring them back and make them love you. It would be easy."

"No."

"I can rebuild Hanternos for you," he said, "and you can live there as the Lady of the Eastern Reaches, and do as you please."

"No."

"You can do magic," he whispered, from behind her left shoulder. "You can glamour your eyes and be just like everyone else. Or I could bring you new eyes - any colour you desire."

"No."

"The Ancestors won't answer your prayers but I will. I will make everything right. We will punish everyone who ever doubted you. Let me show you what can be. Let me show you how it can be."

Water, she had to find water. She staggered to her feet and for the second time in as many days, fled down the passage towards the spring. To her intense relief her brother's body was gone. The cavern was empty, and only traces of soot and blood remained in testament to his end. With a shuddering sigh she sank her feet into the blessedly cool waters of the spring.

To her intense relief Belias winked out of existence and she lay staring up at the rocky ceiling of the subterranean cavern. Her mind was racing, her heart thudding against her rib cage. How close had she come to eating human flesh? Her mind skittered away from the implications and she lay on the rock with her feet in the cool waters for as long as she could bare, staring up at the cavern ceiling.

Once she had calmed, she sat up, studying the still waters of the spring. The runes that had proved her saving grace had vanished, as if they had never been. All was quiet and dim. She rubbed her hand along the smooth rock where they had so clearly been visible. There was not even a trace, not a single glimmer of moonsilver left to see. For some reason they must only be present at twilight. Perhaps, she thought, they only existed in the Night Nation, but what was their purpose?

She was cold, and she was so hungry her stomach was twisting in knots. Sitting in the water was only prolonging the inevitable. Staying here would only weaken her and so, rubbing her aching feet, she slipped into the pool, wetting every inch of her clothing and hair. That should keep Belias at bay for a while, long enough for her to get some help. At least she hoped so.

Shivering, she made her way up to the main keep, turning over different ideas in her head. Candle drew some strange glances from the members of the Ancestors' Own that she encountered. She was sopping wet and the colour of her eyes was visible for everyone to see, but she found she didn't really care. She would eat and then go to find Jotham. It would be a long walk without her wings but hopefully she could do it, before she dried out. She needed to find a bottle with some urgency. She couldn't live with Belias whispering in her ear, that was a certainty.

The castle was already returning to its usual brand of organised chaos. Candle roamed like a soggy ghost through the mess, and settled in a an empty corner with a plate of food which she ate as fast as she could. Her teammates appeared as she was starting on her second plate and slid onto the benches next to her.

"I thought we'd find you in the mess," said Locryn.

"Ancestors, girl, are you alright?" asked Jory, and moved a bit further away from the damp spot Candle was creating on the bench.

“What's wrong?" signed Pasco. He looked at Jory when she didn't reply. "She's clearly not alright. We shouldn't have left her alone."

"Let me get you a towel," said Jory, standing up.

"No!" said Candle. "I'm fine, really. It's just - it's been a strange few days. A lot of ...death."

Jory squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and they all nodded, their eyes understanding.

"It has been a strange few days," said Jory. "But now the Mester is back, things should get better."

All of them looked tired, and were sporting wounds and bruises. Locryn had his arm in a sling, although someone had healed the burns on his face. Candle looked at Pasco.

"Did... you say the rites for Rasmus?"

"I did," signed Pasco. "He has gone to the Night."

"I should have done it. I'm his sister."

"You've done plenty. And you are safe from him now."

Candle smiled her thanks at him, but she knew her smile was unconvincing. Hopefully he would just think she was in shock. She was fairly sure she was in shock.

Locryn brought over some tea and they all sat with their hands round the mugs, inhaling the sweet scent of sugar and mountain leaves.

"We should call you Lady Enys, now," said Locryn, thoughtfully, after a few minutes.

"That's true," said Jory, and Pasco elbowed him in the ribs, shaking his head.

"The Lady of Ashes and Ruin," said Candle, putting down her crust, her appetite disappearing. It was a strange thought. She wondered what the Kenning would do if she showed up at the Lizard to claim her seat on the council.

"Does the Kenning still exist?" she asked Jory. "What happened with the Mester anyway, do you know?"

"Yes, it exists" said Jory, "and they are most seriously displeased with the Mester."

He took a sip of water, grinning. "But to be honest, there is nothing they can do about it. The Own are the enforcers of law in Havi, and the Own answer to the Mester."

"A bit of an oversight there," said Locryn, not looking in the least bit sorry.

"I don't think the Kenning could conceive of defiance on such a level, but then there's never been so much bloodshed,” said Jory. "Not since the border war six hundred years ago. Anyway, they've commanded that the whole of the Roseland Peninsula and most of the Eastern Reaches is to be evacuated - all the way up to Boragweyth and Jolling. They are going into hiding in the interior until such a time that the Lochlanachs decide to leave..." Locryn snorted. "...Or until they will let us live in peace."

"Just like they left Hanternos in peace. That's their plan? We should hide in the mountains until the Lochlanach go away?"

"Exactly," said Jory, folding his arms and leaning back. "Which is why we need the Mester to organise the defence of the realm. She sent out a proclamation an hour ago."

"Do you think people will come?" asked Locryn. "After all we are just a bunch of criminals. Criminals and violent upstarts. Doubly so now we are defying the Kenning. You know what the aethelings think of us."

"Some will come," signed Pasco, "The survivors of Crow's Rest have already sent word, and there is a sizeable group already arrived from Jolling the Tinkers."

"They would probably be next," mused Locryn, "if no one stops the Lochlanach."

"And there are others who will not sit idly by and watch their homes destroyed by barbarians. Not everyone believes we should just roll over while our lands are taken from us and our homes destroyed."

"Even if it means they have to fight?" asked Candle. She could feel her clothes drying, and surreptitiously spilled a cup of water on herself under the table.

"Even then," signed Pasco. "Although there are plenty of ways people can support us without actually swinging a weapon. What we really need is more blacksmiths."

Locryn and Pasco got into a lengthy argument about the best way to drive the Lochlanach out of the country and Candle sat, staring at her hands, half listening. She knew she needed to go before she dried out, and before anyone asked her any difficult questions about why she kept chucking water over herself. She could already feel Jory's kindly and concerned eyes watching her.

However, the thing that concerned her the most was that no one had asked her how she had killed Rasmus. It seemed unlikely that they just didn't care. She needed to go and find Jotham, before someone asked her some difficult questions.

She stood up, and to her intense confusion the rest of the mess rose to their feet a moment later. The reason became apparent a second later as Candle saw that the Mester had walked into the large room. She nodded to everyone, and they all sat, conversation resuming at a low rubble.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Candle sat with the rest of the Own, but to her alarm the Mester made a beeline for their table. The woman looked as well-rested as if she had just risen from a good night of sleep, rather than being fresh from a gruelling battle. Moloch drifted at her shoulder as she greeted them. Jory and Pasco made room for her the Mester on the bench, and she sat, looking around at them all cheerfully, her gaze settling on Candle.

"My dear," she said, without preamble, "or should I say, Lady Enys? Just the person I have been looking for. I wanted to ask you, as the sole and rightful ruler of the Eastern Reaches, if you have any objection to my occupation of the castle at Dawn Watch?"

"Are you serious?" Asked Candle, looking at her mug, embarrassment blooming in her cheeks.

"Well, it's just a formality, really," said the Mester, "but it might give me a slight edge next time I go to see what remains of the Kenning. So do you object?"

"Of course not."

"Do you think we have a chance?" asked Jory. The Mester tapped a finger on her cheek.

"To survive? Yes. To drive the barbarians from our shores? I'm not sure. They are not afraid of violence, and their weapons are extraordinary. But I have some ideas, many ideas of how we can protect ourselves ... a little more aggressively. I will not run away like a coward and watch our culture be destroyed from a distance. Now your ladyship," said the Mester, leaning towards Candle with a wry smile. Candle kept her face carefully blank, but tensed her legs, ready to run. She felt trapped already - pinned by the Mester's gaze on one side and Locryn's body on the other. "I'm just trying to tie up some loose ends-"

Candle rose, stepping over the bench in one quick movement but the Mester was faster. She put one hand on Candle's shoulder, and she was so strong that one hand was enough to keep the girl immobilised. It didn't hurt, but the Mester's grip was as firm and unyielding as metal. Locryn and the others stood, their faces wary. Conversation dropped off in the rest of the mess, leaving Candle and the Mester at the centre of a bubble of silence.

"I have some questions to ask you about the events of the last two days or so?" The Mester's voice remained calm, and her manner casual as she looked down at Candle. "Locryn and Delen have told me some rather interesting, albeit confusing things. And I am very interested to hear exactly how you managed to kill your brother."

Candle glanced at Locryn, who shrugged, unable to meet her gaze, but Candle didn't blame him. There had never been any point trying to hide anything from the Mester.

"When the three of you were locked in the cells," continued the Mester, "both of them said you used some kind of magic."

"What kind of magic?" asked Candle, as if she had no idea what they were talking about. Locryn's frown deepened and he looked up at her, his eyes troubled.

"When Rasmus came in the door," he said, his voice gruff, "you knocked him back with magic."

"Did you use the Ancestor's gift?" asked the Mester.

"No," said Candle, truthfully. The Mester glanced at her demon for confirmation, but Moloch didn't comment. The Mester frowned, and Candle had a brief moment of hope. Perhaps she would be able to pass everything off as a misunderstanding.

"Have you tried to use the gift since your brother died?"

"Yes."

"Did it work?"

"No."

Candle dared to hope that she would ask no more, but the Mester was tenacious, and Candle could feel the trap closing around her.

"What happened to your brother's demon?" asked the Mester and Candle stilled. "Have you seen it since your brother died?"

They all watched her, waiting for her answer, but she couldn't bring herself to reply. She tried to wrench her shoulder out from under the Mester's grip, but she might have well have tried to move a mountain. Jory reached out and grasped her hand, his eyes sorrowful.

“Tell us, Candle.”

“Yes,” she whispered, and there was silence. Locryn glared at the floor, while Pasco and Jory exchanged glances

“I know it’s not your fault,” said the Mester, after a pause. “It's just a tragic set of events. We'll take good care of you. We won't lock you in a cell; I'll find you a nice room in one of the towers, with a view of the mountains. You'll have to wear chains, but we'll make sure you are kept busy, that you can have a meaningful life, for the time you have remaining."

Candle stared at the Mester, then over at Pasco. He met her gaze, his dark eyes hooded. No one ever beats a demon, he had once said to her. He nodded once, as if he knew what she was thinking.

"That's not fair," said Candle.

"Only children think that life is fair, " said the Mester.

"I don't want to be locked up again-"

"I'm afraid," said the Mester, "that for your own safety and that of everyone around you, you don't have a choice in the matter."

Candle opened her mouth to protest but was interrupted by a commotion near the doorway. A ripple of movement disturbed the stillness of the great room as Jotham came stalking up through the tables with all the grace of a large, feral cat. He came to a stop in front of the Mester whose already pale skin had turned moon-white at the sight of him.

"Hello, my love," he said, his voice hard and his golden eyes fixed on her face. "Just who are you trying to lock up now?"