Once In a Blue Moon (59 page)

There was a long silence. No one had expected such an open renunciation from the famous Sombre Warrior. Everyone looked at King William to see what he would do.

He laughed harshly. “So, they’ve got to you too.”

“You should never have threatened the Princess, William,” said the Sombre Warrior. “You should never have put your own daughter’s life at risk. There are limits, even for men such as us.”

The Forest Court disappeared, gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by the dark shadowy reaches of the Redhart Court. King William turned savagely on Van Fleet.

“Get them back!”

“I am afraid . . . I cannot, Sire,” said the sorcerer. His face was pale, and slick with sweat. He didn’t look at all well. “The connection was broken from the other end, by the Necromancer, and without his cooperation I am unable to reinstate it.”

“But Raven wasn’t even there!” said King William.

“Oh, he was . . . present,” said Van Fleet. “He just didn’t choose to show himself. Raven is a surprisingly accomplished sorcerer. I could not hope to overcome his will. Not yet . . .”

“Are you saying this Necromancer is more powerful than you?” said King William in a quiet and very dangerous voice.

“His sources of magic are very different from mine, Sire,” said Van Fleet. Which everyone present could tell wasn’t really an answer. The sorcerer didn’t want to look at the King. “His true capabilities have yet to be determined, your majesty. Give me time to prepare myself properly, and then . . . we shall see what we shall see.”

King William turned away from his sorcerer and fixed his gaze on his Prime Minister, Gregory Pool. Whose large face had set into hard and dangerous lines of its own.

“What was the Sombre Warrior talking about there, Sire?” he said. “Did you really . . . ?”

“Of course not!” snarled the King. “They’ve got to him! Same as they did with my daughter! You all saw, you all heard! Did that even sound like them? Leave me now, all of you. I must think on this.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Sire,” said Gregory Pool. “You can’t just declare war on the Forest Land unilaterally! Parliament has to discuss this first!”

“Let Parliament talk all it wants,” said the King, leaning back on his throne. He was smiling that cold, implacable smile again. “I will not leave my daughter in the hands of those barbarians. When the country hears what has happened, the people will rise up and demand that I go to war, to rescue her!”

“And we shall finally have an end to the border problem,” murmured Prince Christof.

“Go,” said King William. “I’ve said everything I intend to. I’m sure you all have much you want to say to each other. Leave. Now.”

And they all bowed and left, because there was clearly nothing they could say to the King that would change his mind, and because there were a hell of a lot of things they needed to say to one another that they wouldn’t have felt at all comfortable saying in front of the King. When the great doors finally closed behind the four men, only the sorcerer Van Fleet remained in the Court with the King.

“Open a door for me, sorcerer,” said the King. “One that will deliver me directly to the Standing Stone, in my ornamental gardens.”

“Sire,” Van Fleet said carefully, “I have invested many hours searching through every old book and scroll and manuscript in my possession, trying to divine some spell or magic that might let me discover what, exactly, lies within the Stone, but . . .”

“It doesn’t matter,” said the King. “I can’t wait any longer. Open the door.”

Van Fleet bowed briefly, muttered under his breath, and a door appeared, standing directly before the King on his throne. Just an ordinary, everyday sort of door of old, stained wood, standing unsupported on its own. The King rose from his throne, stretched his aching back for a moment, and then stepped down to stand before the door. He looked back at Van Fleet.

“Is it always the same door? It always looks like the same door . . .”

“It isn’t a door at all, Sire,” said the sorcerer. “It just looks like a door, because if it didn’t, no one in their right mind would agree to step through it.”

The King shrugged, and stepped forward. The door opened silently before him, and he passed through. The thing that only looked like a door closed behind him, with a quiet, satisfied sound.

•   •   •

T
he great ornamental gardens stood open and empty, silent and deserted, under a full moon; and blue-white moonlight fell heavily across the wide-open lawns. King William looked slowly about him. The gardens felt even less familiar, and certainly far less friendly, at night. He was directly before the Standing Stone, that ancient thing, with its almost human shape, that might or might not have been the remains of a sculpture. Older by far than Castle Midnight itself. The basic proportions in the Stone suggested a human form, but not on any scale a living man could be comfortable with. It too seemed even more forbidding in the cold quiet of the night. Some of the peasants still referred to the Stone as The God Within, and King William hoped they were right. Nothing less could help him now. The huge stone shape certainly seemed much more than human. More powerful than any human King. William smiled briefly. He wasn’t the type to feel intimidated.

“Who are you, in there?” he said, and his voice seemed a very small thing in the empty night garden. “What are you?”

A voice came to him then, in answer. Just a whisper, like a breath of air. “What am I? Older than your Castle, King William. Older than your country. Older than your human kind. I am the rock on which Redhart is based. I am the heart of Redhart. And I have been waiting for you to come to me.”

“Some say you’re an ancient pagan god,” said the King.

“They flatter me,” said the voice. It seemed clearer, nearer, now. “I am the source of the Unreal, which once powered the whole of Castle Midnight like a mighty engine. The Unreal has slept for many years, but I can awaken it for you.”

“And the price?” the King said steadily. “What do you want in return? I am not a fool; I know there is always a price to be paid in bargains such as this. I am not afraid. I will do what I must, for Redhart, and the Royal line.”

“I will give you power,” said the voice. “And all I ask in return is that you use it. Is this agreeable to you?”

“It is necessary,” said King William. “I agree.”

“Then all you have to do is call me out of the Stone,” said the voice. “I just need to be asked . . . You are all descendants, my children . . . I am in your Blood. And I want you all to be strong again.”

“I know the real price,” said King William. “And I don’t care. I pay it gladly, to make my Kingdom strong again, and maintain my line. Come out, old monster, old god. Whatever you are.”

The Standing Stone seemed to flex and shudder, dark shadows rippling across the ancient corroded stone surface, and King William fell back several steps despite himself. A new, or perhaps more properly, a very old presence beat suddenly on the air, something so big, so overwhelming, as to be unbearable. King William had to raise a hand to cover his eyes. The Standing Stone cracked and broke apart, jagged pieces flying to every side, and Something came out. At first it looked like some monstrous red weed that had grown up through the Stone, penetrating it from within and forcing it apart. It rose into the air in sudden spurts, growing larger all the time, writhing and crackling as it spread and showed itself before King William, twisting and turning high in the air above him. The King slowly lowered his hand to look at what he had called forth. A huge bloodred growth, sprouting crimson flowers that unfurled slowly to soak up the moonlight. Finally, it stood swaying before King William, where the Standing Stone had been: a massive scarlet organism in a roughly human shape, some twelve feet high. And King William knew its name without having to be told.

The Red Heart.

The tall, swaying shape leaned down over King William, and two great red arms reached out. Scarlet hands unfolded, with long fingers thick with thorns, and both hands slammed down on the King’s shoulders. The thorns sank deep into his flesh, and he gritted his teeth against the sudden vicious pains that shot through him. No blood flowed from any of the wounds. The pain disappeared almost immediately, and in its place William felt new strength and new power racing through him, through his flesh, through his Blood, awakening an old magic buried deep within him. He felt younger, stronger, invigorated, and he laughed aloud. And the sound his laughter made in the empty gardens was only partly human.

The Red Heart withdrew its thorny hands from the King’s shoulders. Still no wounds, and no blood. The King was still laughing, just a bit breathlessly, glorying almost drunkenly in his new power.

“Return to your Castle, King William,” said the Red Heart. “And call forth the sleeping power of the Unreal. Not destroyed, not banished, only sleeping. Waiting to be called back to where it has always belonged.”

King William turned away from the tall, swaying bloodred thing and headed steadily back across the green lawns, towards Castle Midnight. He didn’t look for the door he’d arrived through, courtesy of the sorcerer Van Fleet; it never even occurred to him to look for it. There was ancient ceremony, and purpose, in his walk.

The King walked through his gardens, and though he never spoke a word or gave any command, everything in the garden changed around him. Just his presence was enough to transform his world. Where he walked, the grass blazed up in a vivid emerald glow, the individual blades of it writhing and snapping at the air with new vitality. Flowers and plants burst up and out with sudden growth, becoming huge and glorious and monstrous. Strange new growths sprang out of the rippling earth, heaving and howling, taking on shapes never seen before. Some of them called out to the King, hailing him by name and promising him all kinds of awful obedience, and he answered them calmly, though afterwards he would claim not to remember what they promised, or what he said in return.

He strode steadily towards the massive stone Keep that gave entrance to Castle Midnight, and the guards on duty saw him coming. They saw the look on his face and the light in his eyes, and they turned and ran for their lives. They didn’t recognise their King. The thousands of carvings etched deep into the old stone, of heroes and villains, poets and priests, and all the old stories of the land . . . just crumbled and fell away in long, dusty streams as the King approached, leaving only a blank slate behind. The great iron portcullis, always lowered at night, rose of its own accord to let the King through.

King William went walking through his Castle, a terrible smile upon his lips, and a terrible light radiated from him, touching everything, changing everything. Statues that had stood in corners and niches for long decades, of human shape and sometimes less than human, cold and lifeless for years beyond counting, now took on flesh and warmth and new vitality, and came happily alive again, looking around with eager eyes. Old, half-forgotten gods and goddesses danced together, free at last from the embrace of stone, singing songs that no one had dared sing for years. Old paintings on shadowed walls became living vistas to other worlds. Old carpets were suddenly new again, all damages undone, blazing with new colour and detail. Cracked walls repaired themselves, and everything seemed suddenly fresh and new again, untouched by the ravages of Time. A great power beat on the air around the King, and nothing could stand against it. His every footstep slammed down with the impact of an earth tremor; and everywhere he looked, the Castle changed.

People spilled out into the corridors from their rooms, some of them still in their sleep attire, crying out in shock and surprise, at strange faces seen in mirrors, or strange shapes that came walking through the walls. All of them fell back from the King, from the power walking relentlessly through the Castle. Voices rang out everywhere, asking questions that no one could answer. Guards came running from every direction, attracted by the general outcry, only to fall back, helpless and bewildered, as the King turned his unbearable face in their direction. King William walked through his Castle, and laughed aloud to see it come alive around him.

Doors appeared that no one had seen in decades, giving access to old rooms and halls and galleries long thought lost. Ghosts appeared, blinking suddenly into sight like forgotten memories, drifting absently through walls and structures that hadn’t been there when they were still alive. Some of them walked along beside the King, for a while, whispering their thanks, before drifting off on long-delayed business of their own.

Strange lights came and went in oddly shaped windows, and inhuman voices spoke deep down in the earth beneath the Castle. Things came and went that had no business bothering the waking world, many of them thought safely banished long ago. Mirrors showed reflections of the wrong people, and windows looked out onto places no one would ever want to visit. The King broke into his own Armoury, smashing through the locked doors with just a look, and all the swords and axes and weapons of war glowed supernaturally bright on the walls, and spoke to him of old dreams of power and revenge. He went into his Castle Library, and it was suddenly so much larger than it had been. And wherever he looked, new books appeared on the shelves, full of old knowledge and secrets deliberately forgotten.

The King walked on, through the upper regions, his power beating so hard on the air now that everyone could hear it, could feel it in their bones and in their souls . . . sounding like some great iron bell pealing in the depths of Hell. King William walked on, and new corridors opened up before him that no one had walked in centuries. He made his way up onto the battlements, and from all across the great grey-tiled sea of a roof the gargoyles came scurrying forward, to fawn and frolic and rub their heavy heads and shoulders affectionately against him, and pay him homage.

King William stood at the very edge of the battlements, looking out over his Land, and his eyes were full of tears.

“King Viktor!” he cried out, his voice full of a terrible joy. “Queen Catriona! I’ve done it! I’ve brought back the old magic, awakened the Unreal! Redhart shall be great again! Are you proud of me now? Have I proved myself a worthy King at last?”