The Swan Kingdom (12 page)

“Lady?” Anne’s voice quavered on the word. She stood behind me on the staircase – once again she had followed in my steps. My eyes widened as a new thought struck me, and I turned to look at the little maid.

“Come up to the library, Anne.”

“Lady–” She cast a troubled look backwards, obviously guiltily aware of the tasks she had been ordered to complete. She had probably only come after me to try to persuade me to do what my aunt said.

“Don’t worry about that,” I said impatiently. “We’ll start in a minute. Come on!”

I raced up, with Anne following reluctantly behind me. I entered the quiet of the library – a restful silence that welcomed me, rather than the dead stillness blanketing the rest of the house – and waited only for Anne to step reluctantly across the threshold before I firmly closed the door and leaned against it, cutting off her escape.

“I need you to grant me a favour, Anne. It is very important,” I said carefully. “They’re taking me away tomorrow, and I don’t know if I shall ever come back. But there’s someone I’m supposed to meet tomorrow night someone very important to me. There’s no way I can see him, I know that, but I must get a message to him, Anne. You’re the only one I trust to do it.”

Anne flushed a pretty pink at the compliment, but the troubled look didn’t leave her face. “But …
him
? Who? And how?”

I understood her meaning well enough, and rushed to reassure her. “He’s a friend. I met him walking on the beach, ages ago; you know I often walk by the sea in the evenings, Anne. He’ll be there tomorrow evening, expecting to see me. I only want you to say that I am all right – that I’m going home and he shouldn’t worry about me. And … and tell him that I won’t forget him. That’s harmless enough, isn’t it? Will you do it? Please, Anne.”

Her worried look faded a little as she realized she wasn’t going to be asked to memorize any impassioned speeches.

“Well … I will try, Lady.”

“Thank you, Anne. He’ll be there at sunset.”

I didn’t want to fluster her further now that I had got my own way, so I turned quickly back and opened the door. “I suppose we had better go and start packing.”

She sighed with relief. “Yes, Lady Alexandra.”

My heart was lighter as I went down the stairs again and walked along the corridor to my room. At least now Gabriel would know that I was all right – and that I had thought of him before I went.

While Anne went to fetch Hodge the footman, I began taking clothes out of the wardrobe and laying them on the bed. I looked at the finely made gowns of heavy wool and light silk, the velvets and the linens. The seamstress had eventually convinced Eirian to allow me one green gown, so dark it was almost black, but most of them were still dove grey, black and dark blue. I remembered, long ago, telling myself that when I left this place I would leave all the new clothes behind. I snorted quietly. I had no choice but to take them now. Not one of the shabby gowns I had brought with me fitted any more – they barely covered my shins or wrists, and the seams strained at my hips and chest while bagging at the waist.

So much had changed since I came here. My hands left the soft cloth and lifted hesitantly to the coiled weight of my hair, then back out, so that I could look at my freckled, stumpy fingers. Had I changed? Yes – oh, yes, in more ways than the physical. In ways even I did not quite understand. It was too much to hope that the Kingdom and home had not also changed. What would greet me when I returned? My father, the Hall… I frowned, feeling as though I had forgotten something. Something wasn’t right … there was something important…

Blood roared in my ears; my vision crawled with silver things that seemed to nibble at the edges of my eyes, like tiny insects. I swayed and slumped down on the edge of the bed.

Slowly the dizziness faded away, along with the thoughts that had triggered it. I blinked, surprised to find myself sitting on my own clothes. As Anne came back in I got to my feet and shook out the rumbled dress I had crushed, and we worked together in silence to pack everything I would need for the journey.

In the months since I arrived at my aunt’s house, the tides of Midland had grown strong. That last night, the ebb and rush of enaid was stronger than ever – strong enough to lull me to sleep even though worry gnawed at my stomach. I was not entirely grateful for the favour. My slumber, while deep, was restless.

I had dreams that were both strange and vivid. I saw the great birds again, silhouetted black against the sun. The beating of their wings seemed to echo that of my heart, stirring something inside me that struggled to wake even as I slept. It was a memory, buried like a shell in the sands. The ever-present movement of the tide swirled and tugged at it until it was partially uncovered, and the beating wings of the birds overhead urged to me to dig … to look, look, look…

Yet somehow, as often happens in dreams, I could not do what I desperately wanted – I could not see what lay in the sand. It seemed to shimmer with silvery swirls, and my sight would not focus. Eventually the birds flew away, and the dream faded. When Anne came to wake me, just before dawn, my eyes were already open, staring at the ceiling.

As the sun lifted its fiery crest over the horizon, I sat in my room, pushing the last pins into the braided coils of hair at the nape of my neck. All my worldly possessions were neatly folded and packed away. Aunt Eirian, Isolde and Rother waited for me downstairs. In a few minutes I would leave the house, probably never to return.

I looked down at my dark green velvet gown. The rough calluses on my palms caught at the soft material as I lifted the skirts and stood, walking slowly out of the room. Anne followed behind me, holding my soft grey woollen cloak and muff. I seemed to be drifting as I moved along the corridor. From the moment I had awoken that morning, a sense of unreality had enveloped me. It was as if my dreams had knocked my mind out of its proper order. I imagined I could feel everything changing … the world shifting as I moved through it.

I stopped by the window at the top of the stairs and looked out. The two carriages, each with a matched quartet of horses, stood laden with luggage, waiting for me. I thought the images were warped by the thick, bubbled glass of the window, but as I turned to look away, I realized that it was not the glass warping my vision. There was something wrong with my eyes.

I put out a hand against the window frame to steady myself – then quickly withdrew it as the wood shuddered under my touch, like a restless animal. What was happening? What was wrong? I shook my head, turning to look for Anne. I had to tell her I was ill; something was wrong … I couldn’t travel like this…

But you’re going home.
The thought was so clear, it was as if someone had whispered in my mind. I blinked again, relaxing. Of course. I was going home. Everything would be all right there.

I had to go home…

The strength of that longing swamped me. I
had
to get home. I took a deep breath and turned from the window to walk carefully down the stairs.
Home…

Silvery things darted across my eyes as my aunt stepped forward to give me a hesitant embrace. The warmth of her hold against my skin made me a little less dizzy; I was able to bid her farewell and return her hand clasp.

Then she released me and I was ushered away. The dizziness came back, bringing the silver swirls at the edges of my sight. Cool air … the sudden light that made me flinch … more movement – a firm hand under my elbow, helping me into the carriage … blessed darkness…

I have little memory of what came next. This may be as well. I know my vision was clouded with wavering silver that turned all I looked at into a dim muddle of shapes. The world still churned and twisted around me, probably made worse by the jolting of the carriage.

Things gradually became darker. Finally the lurching movements of the carriage stopped.

I was left there in the back, in the dark and cold. I was uncomfortable, twitching fretfully. The silver fog was surrounding me and pushing out all the air until I could hardly breathe. My own restless fidgeting had exhausted me, and I was so tired. Slowly I slipped into an uneasy sleep.

I opened my eyes to the dawning sun, glowing like a milk opal behind a wash of golden clouds. A tree arched overhead, its branches fluttering with spring foliage; the light rippled over my face like rain. The familiar twisting boughs and knots of bark reassured me. This was the old oak that presided over the gardens of the Hall. Blinking, I sat up, still looking at the sky. Springy flock moss crushed under my palms, filling the air with an astringent scent.

The luminous early-morning gold of the clouds was unblemished, save for three shapes flying in the distance. As I watched, the creatures grew larger and more distinct. They were swans, their snowy feathers shining in the pure light, great wings beating the air in a strangely familiar rhythm. They came closer, closer, until their enormous bodies shadowed my eyes; they wheeled and soared above me, as silent as clouds themselves save for the slow, deep throb of their wings. I craned my neck to look, laughter rising in my throat at the sheer beauty of them.

Remember.

The voice chimed in my head; a voice I knew. Laughter clogged in my throat.

“Robin?” I whispered, eyes straining to make out the shapes of the birds against the glowing light.

Remember… Remember

“David? Hugh?” I cried, lifting my hands up imploringly to the pale birds. The wind of their movement fanned my hair back from my face. “What’s happening? Where are you?”

Danger… Remember, Alexandra… Danger.

“I don’t understand! Please!”

Remember.

Images flashed through my head. I saw Zella, smiling triumphantly at the centre of a pulsing silver fog. I saw the Circle of Ancestors at night-time, its crown of stones outlined against the full moon, somehow seeming to beckon me. Then the voices returned. This time they were loud enough to make me wince.

Remember. Escape. Awake!

The light snuffed out like a tallow flame. I opened my eyes to darkness.

The clarity of the dream was gone in an instant. My mind fogged as quickly as my vision. I could feel – very dimly – that my throat was parched and my lips cracked. I was weak and shaky. Something was very, very wrong. I was ill. No – this wasn’t illness. This was a Great working, a spell. It was killing me.

Yet I couldn’t focus on that knowledge. Terrifyingly quickly the dream, my brothers’ voices, began to dim in my mind. Even the physical discomfort of finding myself lying on the floor of the carriage, jammed between the seats, was distant and fading. I struggled to hang on to the memory, to my brothers’ voices, but the spells on me had been wrought to repel memories of my brothers. The twisting, silvery fog grew deeper. The gritty carriage floor rippled under my cheek and softened like flesh. I struggled for breath, feeling claws tighten around my chest until I could barely breathe, even as the sensation floated away from me. I could not hold on to the pain. My awareness of my body sank down into the mists.

In desperation I searched for something – anything – to anchor myself to. The Hall; Aunt Eirian; the oak tree; my mother’s hair; the dawn sky – images flashed through my mind. But the fog knew them, and stole them away. I was losing everything. I was losing my mind.

I was dying.

Then, as clearly as if I stood before it, I saw an image of the sea. The rolling, ever changing sea, now grey-green, now golden, now blue shot with orange. It was never still; never the same … even Zella could not know all its faces. I saw the sea … heard it licking at the shore, the calls of the gulls, tasted the tang of salt in the spray … and at the water’s edge, a tall figure in a black cloak waited. His hair blew wildly about his face, and the sprinkling of freckles on his tanned face stood out in the sun. His silvery eyes – such a warm silver, compared to the dark cold of the fog – smiled into mine.

The fog ate at the edges of the memory, trying to envelop it, absorb it. But Zella knew nothing of Gabriel – no one did. The spell could not take what it did not know.

I clung to the sight of his strong hands, the pattern of sand decorating his boots, the way his eyelashes curled. The more details sprang out at me, the clearer he became – and the more the blurring fog shied away.

The tiny dimple in his cheek, the faint scent of lye soap that came from his clothes. Each new memory drove the fog further back. There was a clear space in my mind now, a shining place where my thoughts could gather. I wound all of myself into Gabriel’s image, drew his face, his voice, his smell, his tangled hair and freckled nose, into a sword point of blazing certainty and thrust it forward through the swirling blanket of the spell.

The mist parted like an ancient piece of cloth ripped up for rags. I thrust again – the sound of his laughter, the grip of his hand – and it tore. I slashed and hacked at the disintegrating silver – the warmth of his lips against mine – until, suddenly, it was gone.

My mind expanded into the clear space with a roar, like a fire drenched with oil. Everything rushed back. The grit against my cheek, my hip forced painfully against something sharp, my fingers and toes numb with cold. Eirian’s house, Isolde and Rother, the trip back to the Kingdom, Zella. The voices from the dream: danger, danger, danger… For an instant I lay gasping as I realized how close I had come to returning meekly home, into the arms of my enemy. How close I had come to death.

Then I was up. I had my woollen cloak in one hand and the other was on the handle of the carriage door, shoving it open. I tumbled out into the night. Wind tore at my hair and clothes as I stumbled, muscles cramping. Clinging to the open door, I managed to keep to my feet, barely. The wind howled through the clearing, almost knocking me to my knees. I was weak and trembling, faint with hunger and thirst. I wouldn’t be able to get far like this.

I didn’t know where I was, but I did know that I had to get away and put as much distance between myself and these people – Zella’s people – as I could before they realised I was gone. Once I was away, there would be time enough to plan. Unfortunately I was not in any condition to flee into the night. My hands shook and I hardly had the strength to stand.