A Thousand Glass Flowers (The Chronicles of Eirie 3) (33 page)

He followed the grassy track
and realized he had a choice.
He look
ed back up the shrouded river. That way was the Gate.
He could go back to the insidiously welcom
ing arms of Fahsi and be free.
Of Lali
ta, of Isolde, of choices… of life.
The idea tantalized him – so much temptation, so much to ease the loneliness and lack.

His eyes fell upon a feather as it floated past him
in the other direction
downstr
eam, becoming lost in the fog. H
e could go
that
way.
Back to the cold shoulder and guilt and
the death of his grandmother.
And the chance to meet a brother who may choose not to know him.

What choice?

He followed the feather.

He walked along the defile at the edge of the rivulet, the water chattering beside him, wa
shing over pebbles and stones.
He tried to think of nothing, but images alternately unsettling and co
mforting ran through his mind.
He longed for peace, where the flow of thought would run clean away but it was not to be and thus aggrieved, he threw a stone far across the rill, his only idea that it had landed being a misty plop as it sank beyond sight.

‘Did that help your sore mood, Finnian?’

He swung aro
und, his hand on his stiletto.
A Siofra with abundant chestnut hair and a verdant hunting costume stood close by leaning on a perfectly proportioned long bow.

‘What would you know about my moods, Siofra, that gives you the right to comment?’

‘Hoity-toity, aren’t you? Come on, let’s walk.
My cousin said you were an edgy man – like a springloaded crossbow.’

‘Your cousin?
Ah, of course, let me guess, the magni
ficent Primaflora.’
Finnian was suddenly glad of any diverting badinage.

‘Indeed.
She told me of your distrait and suggested if you came my way that I should help if I could.’

He studied the lov
ely Other who walked with him.
There were none of the sharp edges
of her glossy Venichese cousin.
She glistened but her persona was like so mu
ch of the forests of Trevallyn –
enchanting, promi
sing much in enigmatic depths. ‘How did you hear so soon?
Veniche is far from the Barrow Hills.’

‘Birds.
They fly messages hither and yon for us.’

Finnian recalled the moment in Fahsi when he wondered if the Raji Others knew of him thr
ough Primaflora and the birds.
‘Then I am guessing you don’t hunt your feathered friends wi
th that,’ he nodded at the bow.
‘Perhaps you hunt more interesting creatures.’

She laug
hed, that familiar avian trill. ‘Oh indeed – mortals.
Siofra have the reputation of mischief and nuisance so it
pays to enhance such an image.
I take an arrow,’ she
nocked one into the bowstring.
‘And then,’ she pulled the bow taut, arching her lithe back and sighting a far point across the rivulet through the mis
ts, her slender arms stretched.
‘I fire.’

The arrow
sang away over the busy water.
There was a sharp cry and a slap and footsteps hurrying away, but they could see nothing.

‘A mortal,’ the woman said.
‘You see, mortals think it is a bee or a mosquito as my enchantment vanishes the arrow, and they are di
sturbed and do a little dance.
But it be
comes quite boring over time.’
She gave him a crafty sm
ile.
‘Better when I dip the tip in this,’ she undid a pouch a
nd pulled out a little bottle.
‘They will then, upon piercing, fall in love with the next living th
ing they see – bird or beast.’ She laughed.
‘Only yesterday, a damsel fell in love with an ass.’

He smiled and she tapped him
on the arm as Primaflora had. ‘That’s better. Just a bit too grim before.
Life’s too short, dear handsome man.’

‘Possibly,’ he agreed.
‘What are you called?’

‘Botanica.’

‘And like your cousin, a perfect label for a paragon of a lady.’

‘Ah Finnian, settle my dear. I am wed.’
She nosed
the air with a delicate sniff.
‘Jasper has us al
l swathed in gauze these days.
It does well enough, for they say Isolde swears and schemes and is angrier than a mad snake and more
death-dealing by the hour. But,’ she looked up at him.
‘I te
ll you nothing you don’t know.
Where do you go?’

‘I thought to find a lake, the old man calls it the Lake of Mists.’

‘Well,’ said the Siofra, sweeping her bow in front of her as they pushed through shrub
bery of yew and wild rosemary. ‘There you are.
You have found it.’

The lake stretched in front of him
as far the mists would allow.
A mass of water with the intimation of banks in the distance, weaving and wavering in the haze that rose from the pearled surface.

‘What is it you seek?’  Botanica stood beside Finnian as he stared intently at the waters.

‘I don’t know.’
But it resonates.
He lapsed into quiet, trying to grasp a feeling drifting around him, as if a hand stretched out across the wa
ters but couldn’t quite reach.
Such a bittersweet sensation.

‘Do you think this is where the reckoning shall be?’

Finnian didn’t answer, wondering if she meant the destruction of the paperweights
or the reckoning with Isolde.
The lake and its surrounds were so beautiful he could barely imagine them burned lifeless after
a battle with his grandmother.
A shiver undulated across his neck and Botanica must have noticed his discomfort because she spoke again, quite kindly.

‘Would you like to spend the
day with me, Færan?’
She shifted her bow.

‘I
think I would, Botanica, yes.
Tell me about your woods.’

The day passed with Botanica telling him of wights and wonders, both good and bad and they laughed together, Finnian not unaware the pretty woman did her b
est to push the darkness away.
Not unlike Ibn either, almost as if Fate once again took pity on him and sent the occasional
lightness to leaven the load.
He didn’t mind.

Chap
t
er Twenty One

Lalita had walked around Jasper’s beautiful walled garden, casting glances at the strange mists at its farthest reaches.

‘Just a protection, Lalita.
Not to worry.
Go about your day and forget about it,
’ Jasper had said.
But it was claustrophobic, pressing a
t the outer edges of her fear.
She tried to
push it back along with the panic, out of reach, hidden.
But the grey mist remained, a reminder of what Finnian ha
d told her of a mad old woman.
Su
ch thoughts ushered in others. Of Kurdeesh. The Ganconer. The Strigoi.
She found she was holding her breath and she let it go with a gush and walked to a bench in
a tranquil part of the garden.
The maple shielded her and the leaves danced in the tiniest breeze as s
he curled her legs underneath.
But her feet shifted restlessly so she jumped up and walked with haste to the potager where she found Margriet and asked to be shown to the library.

The smell of vellum and parchment filled her
nostrils and her body relaxed.
As the tension eased in her limbs, so did her thoug
hts and she could look around.
The room stretched along the front of one wing and had tall windows with squ
are, regimented panes in each.
The fenestrations stood open and the burble of Jasper’s paunch-bellied doves drifted in to make a symphony of sound together with the quietly base tick of a casement clock and the whirring of one o
f Jasper’s celestial machines.
Books climbed to the ceiling, a ladder reposing ag
ainst one of the many shelves.
A thick volume of florilegia lay on a table, opened to a finely de
tailed botanical illustration.
Lalita gazed at the tooled book spines, turning her head sideways to read the gilded titles, eventually settling on a slim volume of Færan poetry
that was heavily illuminated.
She found some blank paper, a quill and some ink and sketched ideas to add to those of her own designs catalogued in her mind, scattering sand
across the surface to dry it.
Then she began to scan the text in more detail.

Purity laced the words and it
struck her as such an anomaly.
Excluding Jasper, her experience of the Færan
mind was utterly the opposite.
She recalled the lean blackness of Finnian.
A liar, a thief, a murderer.
But then a tiny part of her conscience reared up, sitting on her
shoulder like a voracious imp.
She almost wondered if it were the afrit as the voice spoke to her.
But then, Desert Flower, are yo
u not also a liar, a thief…
a murderer?
Yes, but…
But nothing,
it is yes or no. Unequivocal.
She slammed the book shut and walked along the shelves until she found a copy of
A Thousand and One Nights.
Opening it she was moderately impressed with the illuminations and text, but did it compare?
No, of course not
.
Her own was a collector’s piece and she settled back to read.

Finnian had absented himself from dinner that evening and she was glad a
s his presence rubbed her raw.
She had been unwilling to relay her potential plans to Jasper at breakfast that morning purely because she
hadn’t wanted Finnian to know.
It was none of his business and she suspected he would ma
nipulate it to his own purpose.
But now Jasper w
ould not be put off so easily.
‘Your plans,
muirnin,
now that we seem to be alone – what shall you do?’

A blush spread over her face, its warmth a response to the knowing look the old man gave her.
Well, I despise Finnian. So what?
‘That I am well is obvious and I
am
grateful,’ she played
with the platter at her place.
‘I am of a mind to leave, Jasp
er, and soon.
I am d
esperate to see Kholi’s child.
It is all I can think about, what motivated me to do what I did, as foolish as it no doubt sounds.’

‘Not at all, my dear.
It was courageous, indeed
you
a
re courageous in the extreme.’
Jasper patted her hand.
‘
It is an excellent plan, child, to go to
Maria Island to see Isabella.
But I must advise
that you delay for the moment.
It is dangerous to leave at this time.’

‘But surely
I
am in no danger.
Not now
that the paperweights are out of my care
.’

Jasper moved in his seat.
‘You k
now why the mists are present.
Outside my dear, beyond our little protective fog, there is a neveren
ding night of Isolde’s making.
She does it to shield her approach.’

‘Then I see no problem.
If Finnian goes away, so shall she.’

‘Maybe, maybe not.
She is unreadable and reactionary.
Ev
en if Finnian
took the charms with him, you should know that even then, we shall never be safe from the crone.’

Lalita thought back on the charms that she had been bringing to Jasper.
Damn it.
She turned he
r mind with deliberate effort. She had to.
Sometimes thoughts snapped at her heels as if she were quarry and they were the huntin
g pack meant to bring her down.
‘H
ave you seen Isabella, Jasper?’ It was a desperate query, born of need and intent. ‘
What is she like?’

‘A little bundle of such beauty she could
almost be an Other princess.’ He laughed.
‘She
’s not unlike you.
You shall see.’

Lalita bent her head, the warmth in her cheeks an ackn
owledgement of the compliment.
‘Shall I like Adeli
na?’

‘How could one not like her?
She is as glorious as an autu
mn forest, all gold and umber.
And
her manner?
She can be as sharp or as soft as the occasion demands and she is an excellent
mother whose friends love her.
She has a Hob who is glued to hers and the infant’s sides and I th
ink you will like him as well. Let me see, what else?’
He ran a veined hand up
over his forehead to his hair.
‘Well, Phelim’s mother is Ebba the Carlin and she and Adelina
are like mother and daughter.
She took
the young woman under her wing
as she had been sorely treated
before reaching Maria Island.
As for Phelim, Adelina is his shining light.’

‘I am intimidated already.
Has she any weak points?’

‘Beyond foolhardiness and stubbo
rness like yourself you mean?’ But he admonished with a smile. ‘None that I can think of. You are of a kind.
She is creative and headstrong – I think all of
that should resonate with you.
Have you heard of the robe she embroidered?’

‘Raje
eb the Djinn told me a little. You know Rajeeb, don’t you?
He told me about the night of Carnivale
and about Severine di Accia.’
She shook her hea
d and venom spiked her tongue. ‘How I hate that foul woman!
She deserved her death, payment for my brother’s own, le
t alone for the paperweights.’
But then she sighed as
if she were infinitely tired.
Infinite, infinity, illimitability.
‘But you as
k if I know of the robe?
It is displayed in the Venichese Museo, isn’t it?’

‘It is.
Ah my dear, I am sure you and Adelina shall have so much to talk of and even more in common than you can imagine.’

‘Then it almost makes my experiences with Finnian wor
thwhile.’
She recognized the distaste in her voice and under other circumstances, would have despised herself.

Jasper put down his goblet at this last and an impatient frown etched deeper lines across his forehead.

‘I must defend him, Lalita,’ he said shortly, ‘as he
isn’t here to defend himself.
He had reasons for doing what he did and
he saved you from the Strigoi.
That you live is due to him.’

‘That I was wounded at all was due to the necessity to chase him when he stole from me.’

‘Immaterial, my dear
.
You wanted the other paperweights so you would have gone to
Killymoon with or without him.
Whether you like it or not, his action in killing that Strigoi saved you.’

‘
He
killed the Strigoi?’ She frowned, sifting through her recall. ‘I don’t remember.
I remember a smell and pai
n…
and then nothing.’

‘You were ill near to death my child, it is one
of the vagaries of such things. You may remember in time.
I thought he would have told you.’

‘No,’ she whispered.
‘But you must.’

‘I think not.
It is for him to impart such a
thing.
But you should keep it in mind whe
n next you think badly of him.
No
w,’ he stood up and stretched. ‘I’m off to my chamber.
There are charms and paperweig
hts that require my diligence.
Good night,
muirnin
.’

‘Good night, Jasper.
And I thank you for your hospitality.
’

Lalita met Finnian and Jasper in the hallway the next morning, having tossed and turned all night in
a fit of guilt and indecision.
The old man bid her good day but she avoided Finnian’s eye, knowing full well she must confront him at some point.
Back down perhaps?  Apologise?
Be grateful for a life that was saved?
She sensed him behind her – his impressive height and breadth of shoulder.

‘Mar
griet has set breakfast in the walled garden, shall we go?’

Under heavy bracts of wis
taria, they sat quietly.
Finnian kept to himself, speaking only when spoken to and Lalita
felt chastened, less strident.
Birds twittered quietly, as though the ever-present mists required peace and Jasper sat bac
k, surveying his surroundings.
But then a cry filled the air, lifting the hairs on Lalita’s neck, making even the dour Finnian sit up.

‘The Caointeach.’
Lalita grabbed at her throat.

‘Indeed. It has been a while.
It’s a sign
of doom for some poor soul.’ J
asper’s brow creased as the mournful sound reverberated through the orchard.

‘You mean someone
out there will die, don’t you?
An Other?’

The cry echoed and re-echoed and in response the garden had fallen silent, allowing the ghastly resonance to fill every space.

‘The Caointeach only ever
cries for a mortal. It is well-known in Trevallyn.’ Finnian spoke sourly.

‘A mortal shall die and you sit here as if yo
u are passing the time of day?
Aine help you.’  Lalita jumped up and faced the two men.

‘We can do not
hing,’ Finnian snapped at her.
‘Once the Caointeach cries, the deed is almost done.’

‘What deed?
Do you mean a mortal is to be murdered?’

‘The mortal c
ould die in any number of ways. Not necessarily murder.’
Jasper stood and walked to her side, gazing out over his garden walls to the mists beyond, his arm sliding around her shaking shoulder.

‘Then Jasper, did the Caointeach cry ou
t for my brother when he died?’
She turned to him,
her voice begging as she asked.
‘When he was murdered?’

‘Most probably, my dear. It’s the way of it.
Please come and sit down, there is nothing to be done.’

She eased herself into her seat, wr
apping her arms about her body. ‘There must be something. Shouldn’t we look?
No one deserves to be alone when they die.’