Druids Sword (62 page)

T
hey stood under the dome of St Paul’s. About them wandered members of the cathedral Watch, uneasy and vigilant as the air raid above intensified; they did not see the man and woman standing so close together.

Jack and Noah stood facing each other, cheek to cheek, touching in myriad different places, taking comfort from each other’s warmth. They were dressed as Kingman and Mistress of the Labyrinth, wearing little else save their white linen wraps. In her left hand Noah dangled a large spray of early spring columbines.

They were peculiarly still, their eyes downcast, their breathing slow and deep. Even the marks on Jack’s shoulders were quiescent.

They were waiting for the moment when they might start, and the other two pairs with them.

They were communing, both with themselves and with the other two sets of dancers: Weyland and Grace at Southwark, preparing to step onto the labyrinth lit by the water sprites, and Ariadne and Silvius atop the ancient Keep within the Tower of London, where they could draw on the power of the ancient God Well far below the structure’s foundations.

Jack and Noah were deepening themselves with the land, preparing to pull behind them all their powers as Ringwalker and Eaving.

They were making peace with each other, marking both a start and an end. For almost four thousand years they had battled with each other and with the world about them. Now they would battle no more.

At precisely the same instant, each lifted their right hand and slowly, caressingly, ran it up their partner’s left arm to the shoulder.

At Southwark, Weyland and Grace lifted their hands to their partner, and at the Tower, so also did Ariadne and Silvius.

Catling was deep in the dark heart of the Troy Game. She watched Jack and Noah above her, as if all the layers of rock and stone in between were transparent, and between her fingers the red wool twisted and frayed into complex patterns.

Catling muttered as she wove the wool, the words tripping unintelligibly from her tongue.

High above, on the marble floor under the dome of the cathedral, Noah and Jack turned slowly away from each other, their hands dropping reluctantly from their partner’s shoulder, walking—a movement so sensuous, so lyrical, it was more dance than walk—to opposite sides of the dome. As they had in late December, Noah moved to the eastern sector of the dome, Jack to the western.

Again, as in December, once they had reached their places, Noah stood still, her eyes on Jack, as he raised the labyrinth from the depths. Five months ago this had been difficult work for him, but now Jack had the six bands—and something else, Noah thought, although she couldn’t quite define that “else”. Jack had somehow grown in the past few months—not just in power, but in…

Serenity,
Noah thought. He has grown in serenity and contentment. When they’d tried this in December, Jack had been distraught and agitated…unsure.

Now, he was at peace with himself, and it showed in every movement, and in the ease with which he handled his power.

On the banks of the Thames at Southwark, Grace and Weyland mirrored precisely Jack’s and Noah’s movements. As Jack and Noah turned away from each other, they moved onto the water, over the labyrinth surrounding the crypt of St Thomas’, their feet supported by the hands of thousands of water sprites who hovered just below the surface.

When Weyland had moved to the western sector of the water over which they danced, he raised his hands at precisely the same time as did Jack in St Paul’s, and as the labyrinth rose under the dome of St Paul’s, so the labyrinth rose from the depths under the water, lit by the eyes of the sprites.

Power flowed smoothly between Jack and Weyland; although it was Weyland standing on the water opposite Grace, it was Jack’s spirit and power which acted through him.

Atop the ancient Keep in the Tower of London, Ariadne and Silvius did not move. They remained close to each other, locked in contemplation as they continued to draw power from the God Well deep under the Keep.

Their time was yet to come.

Deep in the dark heart of the Troy Game, Catling abruptly stilled.

“Something is wrong,” she said.

J
ack and Noah (shadowed by Weyland and Grace) danced about the perimeter of the labyrinth, their movements slow, fluid, seductive, their eyes not leaving the other. As she danced, Noah (and, in turn, her daughter, Grace) allowed single columbines to flutter downwards from the sprays they each carried.

They marked the external perimeter of the labyrinth, the head of each spray of flowers turning so that it faced towards the dark heart in the centre of the labyrinth.

In St Paul’s, a seething blackness arose from the labyrinth which showed glimpses of something red and twisting in its heart.

At Southwark, as Grace and Weyland danced about the perimeter of the labyrinth, the waters opened over the crypt of St Thomas’, twisting downwards in a motionless vortex.

In St Paul’s crypt Catling rose to her feet, her face ashen, her eyes glittering between incredulity and anger.

“
How?
” she whispered as she saw before her a vision of the labyrinth rising under the Thames. Catling had expected many, many treacheries from Jack and Noah, but not this.

Not a
new
Game.

High above Catling, under the dome of the cathedral, and at Southwark, over the buried crypt of St Thomas’, the flowers which the Mistresses had scattered about the perimeter of the labyrinths now slowly started to slide towards the entrances of each labyrinth.

Each pair of dancers now moved towards the entrance of their respective labyrinth also, their movements still seductive and measured, their eyes still on those of their partner.

As they came to within ten paces of each entrance, the flowers slowly began to rise, weaving themselves into a gate.

“Grace? Grace?” said Catling. “What is this you do?”

Catling had finally, devastatingly, realised what was happening—
there was another Game
…
how? How?
—and all she could think of was Grace. Not what Jack and Noah might be doing, but what Grace was doing.

Dancing the
closure, damn it,
of a new Game, one meant to trap Catling.

“You think to trap me?” Catling said, her voice stronger now. “You really think you can do
that?
”

Then, in her next heartbeat, Catling knew they could, for the Shadow Game sent forth the first of its irresistible, deadly siren calls, twisting its hooks into Catling’s soul.

Tugging gently for the moment, but Catling knew all too well how soon those gentle tugs would turn into an agonising wrenching.

And all Catling could think of was Grace.
Grace
was dancing this Game.

“Don’t you know what I can do to you?” Catling said, and she raised her hands, the deadly tangle of red wool between them.

As the two Flower Gates began to rise, Ariadne and Silvius finally moved. In their minds’ eye they could see Grace as she danced with Weyland, and they concentrated on her with all their power. At the same time they began to dance. Although the rhythm of their movements were similar to those of the other four dancers, the dance they executed was strikingly dissimilar. They did not dance about a gigantic labyrinth, but instead executed a tight dance directly over the God Well, their hands constantly touching as they wove back and forth, and in and out, as if they were acting out the weaving of a gigantic basket.

In St Paul’s Noah caught Jack’s eyes.

When, Jack? When?
How much further should they allow their Flower Gate to grow? How much longer should they give Ariadne and Silvius to build the devising Noah had taught them?

Soon,
he whispered back into her mind.
Very soon.

She knows, Jack. Catling knows. I can feel her seething.

Jack did not reply to that. Aye, Catling knew. He could feel her anger as Noah could, coiling under his feet and through every fibre of his being.

He could also feel the direction of that anger. Not at him, or Noah, but exclusively towards Grace.

Every instinct screamed at him to move now, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to wait, wait until they were all ready, until they were all attuned, until they were all at the peak of their dances.

He had to wait until Ariadne and Silvius were ready, and that would not be for a minute or two yet.

Meanwhile, the two Flower Gates continued to build, the Shadow Game increased its pull on Catling, and Catling…

All Catling seemed to be doing was channelling every ounce of malevolence she had towards Grace.

Jack hung on for as long as he could. Then, finally, he sent his senses scrying for Ariadne and Silvius, to make sure they were ready, then he looked at Noah, and with both mind and physical voice, said to her, “
Stop!
”

Several things happened at once.

J
ack and Noah stepped back from the Flower Gate, withdrawing all their power from it.

The Flower Gate crumpled, the columbines scattering over the floor and blackening, as if they had been burned.

The next instant Jack’s form glowed, distorted, and suddenly it was Weyland standing there. He blinked, then reached out for Noah.

“Quick,” he said. “We need to get out of here.”

At Southwark, Jack appeared where, but a heartbeat earlier, Weyland had been standing. He reached out his hand, grasping Grace’s tightly, and they continued the dance.

The Flower Gate of the Shadow Game, before which they stood, shuddered slightly as the transfer was made, but then strengthened, its flowers forming an even tighter weave than previously.

About them came the sound of a thin wail.

Catling, perhaps, or the power of the Shadow Game drawing her in.

Catling was now concentrating everything she had on Grace. She was fully aware of what was happening—somehow a new Game had been made, its only purpose to trap her—but she also
knew that she could concentrate on only one thing: either try to extricate herself from the clutches of the new Game, or to make sure that Grace would be pulled in with her. She couldn’t afford anger now; better to leave that for later when she wasn’t in so much danger.

Of the two Catling preferred the latter course of action. She wasn’t entirely sure she could escape the clutches of the new Game (it was so powerful! From where had they discovered the knowledge to make something this powerful?), but she was certain, absolutely certain, that if she pulled Grace into the Game’s dark heart with her then Jack and Grace (who Catling realised was partnering him in this Game) would not complete the Game.

Grace might continue her dance, but Catling was
certain
that Jack wouldn’t. He couldn’t bear to think of Grace trapped with Catling for eternity. Jack may have convinced himself that he’d be able to close this new Game out…but Catling knew Jack better than he knew himself.

She knew he would never do it.

I have you, Grace,
Catling whispered, very, very glad that she’d put the extra effort into strengthening the hex that bound them.

But no need to close the hex just yet. No. Why alert anyone? Catling decided to wait just a little bit longer. Let them think they’d succeeded…then pounce.

As Grace and Jack concentrated everything they had on completing the Shadow Game, Ariadne and Silvius put their entire beings into the devising meant to protect Grace. While the building of the devising took concentration and skill, and not a little effort, the critical factor was timing. It was better that Grace stay in sight of Jack,
with
Jack,
for as long as possible before they spirited her away into the Idyll, but leave her there too long, and the chances that Catling would snatch her first increased by the second.

Ariadne and Silvius could push Grace from the Shadow Game into the Idyll, but they did not have the power to push her from the Game’s dark heart into the Idyll. If Catling got her first, then Grace was lost.

They could feel Noah’s power behind them. She wasn’t interfering, but she was lending them all the power and support she could. Weyland was there too, opening the Idyll for them, preparing the way.

Almost,
Ariadne whispered to Silvius.
Almost
…

Then Catling struck.

The Shadow Game had been drawing her closer and closer to St Thomas’ crypt. Catling had been resisting, and had slowed her approach, but she could not halt the movement.

If she didn’t do something soon, then she’d be pulled into the Game’s foul dark heart.

It was on the approach that Catling became aware of Ariadne and Silvius atop the Keep. She didn’t know the precise nature of their enchantment, but she was well aware of its purpose: to protect Grace.

Thus, at precisely the same moment that Catling tightened her hold over Grace, she attacked Ariadne and Silvius.

The attack was not physical, but Ariadne and Silvius suddenly felt their power rock, as if something had slammed against it.

Then again, but more powerful this time.

The devising they had been building began to shudder.

Jack and Grace felt it at the same time. Jack saw Grace’s eyes widen in fright, and he fought to keep himself calm.
Ariadne,
he commanded,
send Grace into the Idyll now. Now, damn you!

It is too early,
Ariadne said.

You have no choice. Do it now!

A heartbeat, a single heartbeat in which Jack stared into Grace’s terror-filled eyes, and then she vanished.

The Flower Gate rocked, stabilised, and then, achingly slowly, the flowers kept on building.

Wherever Grace was, she was continuing the dance.

Ariadne knew that Grace had managed to get to the Idyll, and she could sense that Grace was continuing her part of the Dance of the Flowers there, but at the same time she realised that she and Silvius could not close out the devising. Somehow Catling had got her clutches into their dance, somehow her power was reaching into the Idyll as it had so many years ago when first she had hexed Grace, and Ariadne knew, with a deepening sense of horror, that Grace was not safe.

Jack,
she screamed,
finish the Game now. Do it now, gods, do it now!

Before she could say or do anything further, Ariadne felt her power tear apart completely.