The Secret of the Emerald Sea (10 page)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Blake sat at breakfast with his father, Lord Stirling. They always ate in a formal dining room, at opposite sides of a long, wooden table covered in pristine, starched linens. His father was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit and waistcoat, and servants fluttered around them, filling teacups and then silently retreating back to the huge kitchen.

His father had always made him feel nervous and ill at ease. This morning was no exception. Lord Stirling had not witnessed his performance at the pageant, but he had heard of his son’s performance and his words...and he was deeply unimpressed. Blake remembered their heated exchange as he spread marmalade onto warm toast.

“A proper young Lord should be concerned with matters of business alone, my son...with the running of an estate!” he had told him afterwards. “How could you expose yourself like that, like some young thespian? It simply is not done, Blake!”

“I want to be an actor or a poet,” Blake had protested, his face growing hot in his father’s study where a peat fire had burned aromatically in the corner.

“No, you will not be either of those things,” his father retorted brusquely. “You must face reality, and conduct yourself accordingly.”

His mother had simply stayed silent while her husband and son had this argument; she retreated into meek silence.

“Why can’t Blake accept his place?” Lord Stirling asked her as she bowed her head. His father was exasperated by his rebellion. “He should be riding, learning how to manage the staff, learning how to take my place when I am gone!”

His mother rarely tried to sway his father from any point of view. He had such a strong will, and was accustomed to getting his way.

“He’s different from you, my lord.” She had finally gathered up the courage to speak in his defense, and Blake had cringed as she had been rewarded with sharp words and anger.

“He must be brought to heel,” his father had hissed at his mother, and Blake’s heart ached because he could not be everything his father wanted.

“He’ll change in time,” was all she said, and Lord Stirling stared at her with an accusing glare that froze Blake’s heart.

“You’ve spoiled him with all your books and plays and your talk of mythology and art,” he spat. “Now he is weak and he cannot see past all this false glamour to what really matters, which is our place in society and the future of our estate.”

After this, Blake noted the distance that grew between Lord and Lady Stirling. It made him feel guilty. His parents moved like ghosts, always loving their son, but for vastly different reasons. They had no common ground any longer. For Blake, it was as though the sun had disappeared behind a great, dark cloud, and he accepted responsibility for the rift between his father and mother, both of whom he loved so much.

And so this morning’s breakfast was much like every other morning lately, quiet and filled with uncomfortable silence. Occasionally, Blake would attempt to ask his father about their farm and their accounts, and all of the other things he knew he should care so much about. But it was all an act, and not the sort of performance he preferred.

Later, in his room, he would lie on his soft bed and think of the lovely blonde girl with the emerald eyes who seemed to understand everything. She was his only comfort, his only protection against the chilly atmosphere of his stately home.

He would recite poetry to her in the darkness. He
must
see her again, but he was certain that his parents would disapprove of her, as they disapproved of everything else that truly mattered to him. He sighed and tried to read and study, but he only felt weary, and the words soon swam on the vellum page.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Liesel knew that she needed money and she needed it quickly. She had to present herself to society, and she could not be seen as lower class or as
anything
less than a lady. In order to make the beautiful boy in the crystal ball love her, she must be everything he wanted.

She stayed on the road near the town, thinking hard about the best way to get the resources she would need to buy proper gowns and all the other accoutrements of the higher classes. She was still a witch, after all, and much was possible.

She stepped off the roadway, working her way through the dense trees that flanked it. It was too soon to be near the villagers, and she mustn’t be seen looking like this, in an old crone’s cloak, with dirty boots and a face streaked with the dust and grime of traveling.

She thought of the other quiet travelers she had seen on the roadways who passed her without so much as a nod or a smile. They looked down upon her, for she was only a poor girl traveling without money, horses and a carriage, or a proper chaperone. How she hated them as they sat so stiff and upright in their fancy broughams! They had not even glanced at her face, but now she knew that it was better that they hadn’t.

She smiled evilly into the night, walking faster, though she was weary and cold. She whispered old spells she hadn’t used in years. She silently practiced incantations that would help her get the money she needed so badly.

Liesel would walk along until she saw a likely victim, and she would rob him or her of everything; money-purses filled with coins, and anything else she could use, anything that could not be easily linked with its owner. She would be careful. Careful and quick. If she needed to, she would leave her victim stranded on the roadway, or dead. She did not care if she killed.
Dead men tell no tales
...

Then, she could go to the larger town of Allanshire and get everything she needed to act out her part.

“It will be easy, as long as I use the proper spells and I leave no witnesses,” she said aloud, fighting the fatigue that made her mind scream out for food, for a roaring fire, for sleep. “Just a little longer, not too long, and I will be ready.”

She walked along the roadway, just waiting for night, and waiting for her first victim, all the while chanting the spells that would bring these things to her. It would have to be full dark before she took action. She grabbed for a hunk of stale bread within her cloak and chewed it listlessly.

Life could be hard, it was true, but she was ready to do what had to be done. There was
nothing
worse than living all alone in her cave, waiting for villagers to come and beg her for glimpses of the future. Futures that were filled with love, with children, with happiness.

When they left her cave, excited about their lives and what was to come, she would take their money and curse them as they turned their backs! She’d become a witch because, at bottom, she knew she was filled with hate, and hate was the most powerful force in the universe. She truly believed that. Dark magic relied on hatred, which she carried in abundance. Pluto
smiled
at hatred and rewarded it tenfold.

When she had given herself over to the darkness she found at the River, she had done it with a completeness that made her willing to kill. She knew her time was short, and she would do murder to live out her dream.

Perhaps you needn’t kill anyone
, a little voice in her head intoned as she schemed and trampled her way through the forest. She pushed the thought aside instantly, clearing it from her mind.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Blake’s father sat up in the carriage as evening came on, his back ramrod-straight, as always, as his wife and son waved goodbye to him from the door of their manor. The carriage was cold, but his overcoat was soft and warm. Tonight was the night he would leave for his twice-a-year journey to Allanshire, where he would meet with his bankers and lawyers. Two times each year, he planned to venture into the city and deal with his many accounts, and bring back supplies that were hard to come by in the little village where they now lived.

Lord Stirling always looked forward to going to the city, where he would sip sherry or brandy in wood-paneled offices and chat with men of his own class. He was always treated with deference in Allanshire, and he tended to enjoy the city where he could put aside the tensions of his home for a week or two.

It was winter, and it would be beautiful there. The city seemed to belong to the wealthy, and it offered up all manner of luxurious meals, private clubs, and other entertainments. Lord Stirling smiled at his family as the driver touched his whip to the two horses and the carriage lurched forward. His son looked so tall and handsome, and his wife was beautiful.

In the exhilaration of travel, he forgot his grudges and saw them for what they really were. A lovely, kind family without which his life would be comfortable, yet empty.

His driver turned toward the roadway out of town. Stirling was certain he was also in a happy mood as he imagined all the sights and sounds of the city, which would include merry shoppers and pretty ladies and crowded pubs and restaurants.

* * * *

It was full dark when Liesel heard the crunch of carriage wheels. She walked up to the main road, and then she doubled back and crouched behind a nearby tree.

“Hecate...Goddess of the Underworld, Goddess of the Crossroads...” Liesel whispered, gathering courage that was as cold as the steel blade of a sword. Never before had she killed and never before had her hands drawn human blood. Animals, yes, she had used them for her spells and potions, but never had she crossed this line, this important line, that separated evil thoughts from terrible deeds that could
never be undone
.

She chanted her witch’s spells, ancient and devastating, all the while picturing the flawless face of Minerva in her mind’s eye. The carriage soon appeared in the distance, barely visible in the dark night. She heard the whinny of horses and the clattering sound of the carriage’s wheels.

Already, the dark forces were gathering, hearing her call, assisting her in her time of need. It had not taken them long to come to her assistance.

It’s time,
she thought, feeling the adrenaline rush all through her body. She raised one hand to stroke her smooth, now-youthful face. She raised her weak chin, squared her broad shoulders and drew herself up, staring down the road with the cold detachment of an executioner. In her cloak was a vial of powder that she had consecrated in her cave before she began her journey. The powder was a mixture of many things, many
bad
things, and it was powerful,
so
powerful.

The night was so dark. The moon was only a crescent in the black sky as Liesel hid, waiting for the carriage to come closer. She spoke the words of her spell, her voice growing rougher and more guttural as the carriage wheels grew louder in her ears.

“Blind the eyes of he that drives the horses, and his animals, too,” she hissed into the winter air. “Let their eyes see the truth, and then see nothing.”

A flare of light rose up as she stepped up onto the road. Her whole body seemed to glow as white and gossamer as a ghost’s. She lit up the dark earth all around her as the driver screamed and pulled his reins. The horses, spooked and terrified by the apparition, tried to rear up and run away, but they could not. They quieted as she went and touched their quivering flesh, rendering them silent. They were frozen instantly from the mere touch of Liesel’s hand. Their eyes were blind now, and their bodies were utterly still.

The driver screamed no more, but threw down his reins and ran away. He stumbled through the night, his vision growing worse and worse until he was totally blind. She did not need to touch him, for her binding spell has already taken its effect, but she had not wagered that he would try to escape, even as his vision left him forever. She turned to go after him, and then turned back suddenly, knowing her real prey lay inside the fancy brougham where some fancy person cowered. There was no time to waste.

* * * *

Lord Stirling shook in the darkness. He had just been awakened from a nap by the terrible cries of the horses.

Bandits
, he thought,
there must be bandits on the road, waiting to rob me, perhaps to kill me.

The lord watched his driver stagger off into the forest, his arms outstretched against any obstacles. Lord Stirling stared in stark terror from the small carriage window as his chauffeur abandoned him.

His servant disappeared from view as the young woman made her way to the carriage door and pulled it open. Lord Stirling stared at her in amazement, in horror. She was young, but her skin was glowing pale greenish-white, like a witch from a fairy tale, and her eyes were so
hard
. They were utterly devoid of compassion.

She shook out some powder and blew it toward him as Lord Stirling drew his small folding knife, which he always kept hidden in his waistcoat. The powder sparkled and danced in the air, then settled on its target. Lord Stirling’s mouth contorted and then froze, and his eyes were wide with fear.

* * * *

Liesel waited, muttering the spell under her breath over and over again, closing her eyes for a second to summon all the power inside of her, and all of the magic. Then, the binding took hold, and Lord Stirling turned to stone, his whole body stiff and hard and smooth as gray marble. Even his dagger turned to stone, clenched between his fingers. Liesel ran her hand over its blade and smiled.

She closed the carriage door and sat across from him, touching his stone face, running her fingers over his eyes. There was no noise from the horses and no other travelers on the road. The night was completely silent.

Liesel was now free to do her work. She knew the rich always traveled with money, and now his wealth would become her own. She felt under the seats for a case or trunk, and pulled out a silver box that was fastened with a padlock. Whispering a spell, she grabbed the lock and watched it closely. After a moment, her incantation took hold, and she pried the padlock loose, feeling hope mingle with the excitement that surged through her body.

The silver box was
filled
with banknotes and coins. There was more money than she could hold in her two hands. She dug out the money and hid it within her cloak, euphoria rising in her breast. The stone lord stared in horror as she tossed the box aside and searched the brougham anew. She found nothing else that could not be traced back to the rich man. She closed the carriage door, staring once more at the person she had destroyed.
Who are you?
Liesel asked herself as she gazed at him.