Arrival (22 page)

“I was here by your side night and day for a good part of my life. Then, something happened to make me compromise my position. A boy named Harry appeared in my bedchamber one night. He claimed that he had crossed over from another world. I had a suspicion.” She paused for a moment so that Leostrial could come up with the same thought she had.

“The six?” he said quietly. Satine nodded. “Continue,” he ordered.

“I fled with Harry and we arrived at Gaddemar’s castle. But it was not enough, what I had done. They wanted to burn me. They didn’t share my views as to how to best use the Bright Ones. Gaddemar has never believed in the prophecy, and was convinced that they didn’t need the help of the six. I think it had a lot to do with his pride, and the idea that he should need the help of children from another world. But I have long held faith in the prophecy, and knew that this would be the only possible way to rid the land of evil.” Satine stopped and stared into his eyes.

“I let my emotions, guide my belief. I ignored everything you’ve told me about what you’re trying to do—I listened to my anger. I know now that you are no more evil than I, and that you strive for something bigger than what we have in Paragor. Something different. I don’t know what, but the truth is, my lord, the simple truth is that I trust you. I didn’t even realise until right now, until simply looking at you. I came here with the hope of spying on you again. But even if I did want to do that, I couldn’t. I couldn’t do it again ... Not to you.”

Leostrial held up a hand for her to stop. Ambrosius made a choking sound of disbelief and horror. The guards grabbed him roughly and held him in silence. Guilt surged through her as if it had a life of its own, a life set to destroying her, but she ignored it because she knew she was doing the right thing. Leostrial peered closely at her and she brought her attention back to him.

“There is another reason, isn’t there?”

She felt her face colour and cast her eyes down to the ground. “Yes,” she said. What hope was there in lying? “I loved a man there, but he ... betrayed me. I love him no longer.” She paused, and her next words came out in a whisper. “If you will let me, I could finally give myself to you, and to this country.” Satine began to cry.

There was one thing left to say, really. And it was the hardest. The most true. The most important. “You could choose not to forgive me,” she murmured, “and it might be the wisest thing to do. There is a lot to forgive, after all. But if you are having trouble, my lord, think on what I have had to forgive.”

The words hung heavily in the room. She was at his mercy—had put herself there. But she would not give in without finally, here at the end, bringing her own truths to the surface. If he loved her, the real her, then he would understand that she could not just banish her own emotions, and would at least acknowledge the size and difficulty of this thing she was doing.

She waited, knowing that she had done all she could. And at last she saw something through the blurring of her tears. Something so small, so slight that she couldn’t be sure it was there, but it was a flash of something in his eyes. More complex than love, and more complex than pain, but at least it was not hatred, and that was so important.

“What do you expect me to do?” he asked her.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “I cannot expect anything. If you truly want it, then I will tell you everything I know, and you can kill me.”

“You traitor!” Ambrosius hissed from between the men restraining him.

Satine turned to him, trying to stop the tears. “I’m sorry, Ambrosius, but you cannot understand this. It does hurt me, you know. I do not do this thing lightly.” A look of disgust on Ambrosius’ face caused Satine to falter momentarily, but she turned back to Leostrial.

“The Bright Ones are here for a reason. I don’t know what that is, but I don’t believe that it’s to destroy you.”

In silence, he gazed at her, then nodded and asked, “Who is your friend?”

Ambrosius stared fiercely at Leostrial; Satine admired his courage.

“He is no one, Leostrial. Just a servant who was made to accompany me.” She hoped her lie might stop Ambrosius from dying.

Leostrial shook his head and sighed. “You truly wish to be a part of this court again? You will give your loyalty solely to my people and I—as a true princess should do—and you will work with us to achieve whatever ends I decide upon?”

Satine nodded.

In a low voice, Leostrial said, “And you will do all of this, knowing full well that if you ever betray me again, I will punish you with all the strength I possess?”

Satine’s hands began to shake. “I will,” she whispered honestly, her new path unfolding before her.

Jane’s tears faded away as the sun rose, her body aching with exhaustion. His eyes haunted her, but she didn’t want the memory of them to fade away. She needed something to cling to.

All she could think about was how alone she felt. Fern had looked after her, right from the beginning.

She could remember, with startling clarity, the words he’d spoken when first they’d met. “I’ll keep you safe.” Even then, she realised, they’d been laced with more than just politeness. He had looked at her, and he’d smiled that smile, and she’d taken it all for granted.

Luca found her on the beach not long after sunrise. He didn’t say anything but sat down next to her. She didn’t look up.

After a while she managed to speak, in a voice that shook. “You know what the funny thing is?” she asked him. “I’m not even allowed to grieve for him. Not properly. He was getting married to someone else.” She stopped speaking because all of a sudden she couldn’t breathe.

Luca put his arm around her and she let herself fold into the warm contours of his body.

“How do I...?” she whispered, and it seemed she could cry again, for there were yet more tears seeping from her eyes. “It’s not fair! It’s so utterly ridiculous! How can it be real? How can he possibly be dead? Oh, God, what do I do, Luca?”

“Jane,” Luca murmured, holding her tightly.

“What do I do? I knew before that I would never be with him. But ... for him to be dead ... It’s not, it’s not even ... God, it’s not the same. Do I have to ... How do I tell all those people? He was so loved here. How do I tell them...? And Athena! Oh God, how do I tell her?”

“You don’t have to,” Luca said firmly. “That job is anyone’s but yours. And, Jane, don’t feel guilty about grieving for him. I could see the way he looked at you. He was ... yours. And it doesn’t matter if only the two of you knew that.”

She covered her eyes and cried.

It wasn’t right. This girl he had grown up with was the strongest person he knew. A person who never put her own problems ahead of her friends’.

Once, several years ago, he had gone to visit her on a summer evening. Her front door had been left open because of the heat, and through the screen Luca had been able to hear the crying. Jane’s mother.

Luca had charged into the house, to find Jane crouched over the sobbing form of her mother, trying to comfort her.

“Jane,” Luca said and she’d turned to him, stricken. Taking his hand she’d led him outside.

“What are you doing here, Luca?” Jane had asked him.

“What’s going on? Are you okay? Why is your mother crying?”

Jane had only been fifteen then, but she’d looked at Luca with calm acceptance. “Dad just had a bit too much to drink. I’ve got it under control.”

She’d refused to say anything more about it. Several days later, when Luca had been able to find some time alone with her at school, he had asked, “Does that sort of thing happen often, Jane?”

Jane shook her head, smiled sadly and said, “You don’t have to worry about us. I told you—I can handle it.”

Never again had she spoken about the incident, or given anyone the slightest indication that something might be wrong at home. Luca had never met anyone as strong. But now here she was, weeping with all the sorrow in the world, over a man she’d only known a week or two and who hadn’t truly given her anything real.

A sweet bitterness swept through Luca at the thought that she would never weep like this over him. But even after so many years of loving Jane, Luca knew that he would gladly put up with never having her for himself, if only he never had to hear her cry like this again.

“Luca,” she cried softly, “I don’t know what to do.”

Luca didn’t know either, but he said, “I’ll look after you.”

She held onto him for a long time, and eventually stopped crying.

The rest of the group found them as the morning grew old. They were all pale and tired and sad and frightened.

As everyone prepared to board the ship, and it came to be Jane’s turn to climb into the long boat, something threaded its way into her mind, gently but persistently.

Never give up hope.

“Wait!” she cried suddenly, and they looked at her. Her heart pounded. The others turned to look at her.

“Jane, we have to leave, we have to get the book back,” Luca said gently.

“But I think he’s alive!” Jane said.

Luca looked confused. “Jane, you saw him die. Fern’s gone.”

“He isn’t dead,” she said, her eyes bright.

“Jane—he is. There’s no way he could have survived. You have to accept it,” Harry said. They looked at her uncomfortably, pity in their eyes.

“No, listen to me! He said something and I didn’t realise until now what it meant.” Jane said desperately.

“What did he say?” Blaise asked.

“He said to never give up hope. It was a warning.”

“When did he say it?” Blaise asked.

“Just before he left. When he knew what he had to do.”

“Jane, maybe he thought he was coming back, but then he couldn’t.” Ria said. She looked empty, as if a bright light had gone out inside her.

“He’s alive, and I’m going back to get him,” Jane said fiercely.

Blaise nodded, “I will come with you.”

Jane let out a sob of relief.

“Are you mad?” Fey asked. “You will be killed.”

Jane turned on the Amazon. “I don’t care what you think. I’m going back to get him.”

“Very well,” said Fey. “If this achieves nothing else, then at least we might claim his body and give him the burial he deserves. We will wait a day. If you are not back, we will leave.”

“We’re not leaving without Jane!” Harry exclaimed.

Fey was unmoved.

“It’s all right,” Jane said to Harry. “We’ll be back.”

Blaise handed Jane a sword and they mounted their horses. She galloped harder and faster than they had the night before. She heard his name in every hoof beat.

It was late evening when they arrived outside the hellish camp. Peering through the bushes, they couldn’t see Fern anywhere. There were fewer Phaeries in the camp now, but those that remained looked agitated.

“What should we do?” Jane whispered to Blaise.

Blaise lifted his face. He seemed to be sniffing the air. He looked back at the ground and bent over to peer closely at the dirt. Finally he whispered, “There are new tracks heading west. I can smell blood.”

Jane shivered.

They crept around the outside of the camp, past the tree that Blaise had climbed, and to the path that continued on the other side of the clearing.

“Do you know where he is?” Jane asked, once they were out of earshot.

“He must have got away. They have followed him out of the camp, and off to the west.”

Jane and Blaise rode their horses at a quick trot down the path. Jane’s heart faltered suddenly when a big black shadow loomed from the trees in front of them. It was Nuitdor.

She took a breath of relief and reached over from her horse to pat Nuitdor’s nose fondly. Fern’s horse turned and led them back into the jungle, drawing them towards something barely visible—a crumpled figure on the ground.

Jane jumped from her horse and stumbled twice as she ran to Fern. Kneeling at his side, she saw a deep wound in his side. Blood pooled around him.

A second wound in his shoulder had been ripped open again, and it oozed blood.

His breathing was shallow and fast, and Jane worked quickly to stem the flow of blood, ripping material from her shirt to tie around his wounds.

“Blaise, help me,” she hissed over her shoulder, and he hastened into action. They struggled to lift Fern onto his horse, but Nuitdor knelt to help them, and did not let him fall.

It was noon the next day before they arrived back at the temple of the priests. They took Fern inside, still on his horse. A grey-robed priest gave a screech of dismay at the sight of the big animal in the temple.

“Get it out!” he shrieked, flapping his hands at the horse.

“Please, we need your help. This man is dying, he needs a bed, and someone to heal him,” said Jane.

“No!” the man thundered. “I shall not help those who would be so disrespectful as to bring a horse into the temple!”

“Be quiet you old fool!” Blaise snarled.

It silenced the priest for a moment, but then he said, “No. I cannot help you.”

Jane stepped forward and slowly drew her sword from its scabbard. She pointed the tip at the priest’s throat, then looked into the man’s frightened eyes. Jane’s face paled and her sword clattered to the ground. She took a step back. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. He’s dying, and there’s no one else who can help us. You’re his last hope.”

The priest looked at Jane for a moment, then gave a quick nod and motioned for them to follow as he made his way through the back of the temple, finally coming to a small room with a bed. He looked at the horse again but said nothing. Blaise carefully lifted Fern onto the bed and stood back.

“I’m trained in healing, but do not know if I can assist with wounds such as these,” the priest said.

She looked at Blaise. “Do you have any idea what to do?”

He frowned. “I know you have to clean the wounds and sew them up, but I’ve never done anything like it before. ” He looked at the priest and said, “You are our best chance.”

The man looked at Fern’s ragged body and sighed. “I’ll need tools—hot water, and lots of cloth.” He left the room and returned a few moments later with the items.