Fire Dance (49 page)

"I smell the smoke again," said Dougal.

"Aye. This tunnel takes us back close to where we were, before turning again."

"'Tis the smell of burning flesh," said a knight.

"Take care that it is not yours as well."

Not until this moment did she allow herself to think of the horrible way Fyren had died. The worst possible for him, who had feared fire since his childhood.

She had not known. She had only bluffed. Never had she expected something so immense as the flames that had burst forth and engulfed Fyren. Though it was Fyren who had discovered the secret to Greek Fire, to his own destruction, guilt would haunt her forever, despite Father Hardouin's absolution.

And what if others died for her grand experiment? An innocent villein, caught where he could not escape? A child asleep who no one noticed until it was too late? What if all above were trapped in the hall while the molten lead rained down on them and flames from the burning rock rose up from below?

It was all her doing. All of it.

But nay. Just as she had called for trust from her husband and the king, so she must also give her trust to them, and to God. They would save the people of her hall.

A scream echoed behind her.

"Catch him! Help him!" shouted Dougal.

Two knights scrambled to save the man who slid on crumbling rock. His torch tumbled downward, down, sizzled out in the water below. The knight clung to jagged rock, his legs swinging for any purchase. Another man lunged and grasped the knight's wrist as his meager toehold slipped and crumbled into descending gravel. The second knight's weight shifted against him toward the chasm.

Another leapt forward as the second man fell to his knees, held him back, and then another grabbed the arm that flailed helplessly. Together, the three men pulled upward until their companion rose to safety.

Melisande had not realized she held her breath until she heard hers mesh with Dougal's in a great sigh as it was released.

"We are fortunate," she said. "Do not forget where you are. We have only one torch now to light our way. Test every step before you make it."

The four men still breathed hard, and all took their turns embracing the one who had slipped. She had not thought. Just because she knew few of them did not mean they were not dear to each other.

"Come."

Melisande led them upward, around and through a curve, back within the layer of putrid smoke that hovered near the top of the cavern. It was growing. And they must climb still farther. The lone torch in the middle of the line gave too little light to all of them, yet they now must sidle past the deepest pit. None would make it without the light, for the narrow ledge was not continuous. She stopped, staring at the cavern wall where they must pass.

"What is it, lady?" asked Dougal.

"You cannot see it from here. Ahead of us, the cavern is very deep. We cannot climb down into it and back up, so we must find our way around. There is a ledge, but it does not go all the way. You will cross it with your backs to the wall. Then you must turn to your right, reach out and up with your left hand, where you will find a good hand hold. Pull yourself up, and at the same time, find the ledge for your left foot, up about as high as your shin. I will hold the torch so that each man can see as he goes. If you do as I say, it is not so hard. I will go last."

"But lady, who will hold the torch for you?"

"None. I will lay it down. After that, we will have no light."

"Then how will we find our way out?"

"When you find the second ledge, it will lead you to a level tunnel that will take you out. Wait there for me. I know the way beyond."

"But if we lose you?"

"I said you would live, Dougal. You will not lose me."

"This place is from Hell," said a knight behind Dougal. "Better to be cut to ribbons on a battlefield than die in here."

A low chorus rumbled through the men.

"Do not talk yourselves into fear you do not need. Only do as I have said."

Dougal led as Melisande stood at the pit's rim with the torch, holding it far from her body so that she could light his way yet clearly see his progress.

"To your left, Dougal. Up, just a bit more."

"Aye, I found it."

Only the man beside her could see Dougal's path, enough to determine his own way. Dougal sidled along the second ledge by the cavern rim.

"Now, feel ahead of you. The tunnel should be about a little higher than your chin."

"Aye. It is here. It is not so hard."

"Beyond that, you have only darkness, Dougal. Wait for us, and make room. But make no move before you have tested it."

"Aye."

The next knight edged along the shelf, following her directions, while another watched each move. Soon he climbed over the ledge, and disappeared just after the next man began.

Melisande watched and directed each man along the rim. The torch burned low. It had been low enough when they had begun. Still more men waited to pass. She dared not hurry them, and instead encouraged each to take his time, be sure of each move before making it. But at this rate, not enough light would be left for the last ones. And none for her.

She turned to the remaining men behind her.

"We must extend the life of the torch. Take off your cloaks and tear them into strips. Tie loose knots along them so they will burn longer."

The knights eagerly complied. As the torch grew dim, she set the strips afire, a few at a time, and carefully tended the little blaze as she shepherded the last men along the ledge.

All the Saxons had climbed onto the ledge into blackness. Melisande arranged the few remaining strips so that each would set the next on fire, and the greatest number of them would burn last, when she was farthest away. They would not last long enough. But she could waste no time, now.

Nothing in this world terrified her like this pit. Whenever she had balked against Fyren's will, he had forced her down into its bowels by rope, where she had sat for endless hours, seeing nothing, feeling nothing but the cold rock and its moisture that she had licked off with her parched tongue. Never moving for fear of falling, never reaching out for fear of touching the corpse of one of the murdered girls. In the end, she had always given in to her terror and given Fyren what he had wanted.

And Fyren was dead. At last, truly dead. She should have known it was Fyren's destiny to die by fire. Or would he rise again? Did he bleed and burn, only to be born again? The son of Satan, like the Son of God? Would he come forth from this hellish depth to grab her as she passed?

The light was dying. She wasted time to court her fears. But haste was an even worse enemy than enervation. With each step deliberate, tested, she edged along the rim, her back carefully touching the wall without pressing against it. Then the end.

The flame died.

CHAPTER 26

Blackness engulfed her. The old terror swept through her the way a raging storm tore branches from trees and ripped roofs bare of their thatch.

Below her, the pit. The great murky depth of penetrating cold and mind-numbing emptiness. Where she would fall and be left in aching, echoing, lonely silence, for all eternity. Where she could not tell up from down, night from day, life from death, or know if there was any sanity left in her at all. If Fyren's destiny had been to die by fire, then surely hers was to tumble into the eternal hell of this pit.

Nay. You know the way.

I cannot.

You can. Follow your own directions.

I cannot see. It is so dark and cold. Don't leave me.

I am always with you. Reach out, Melisande.

Along the rock face, Melisande's hand ran like a caress, trembling, then touching, finding what it sought.

Reach out, Melisande.

Using her hand for support, Melisande found the second ledge with her foot, and pulled herself up.

"Lady?" It was Dougal's voice, querulous, shaking.

"Do not bother me, Dougal. I am busy."

But his voice gave her direction in the unforgiving darkness. Up and to her left lay Dougal and safety. Again she moved, tested the rock ledge, found its edge, felt and imagined where the right foot would go after the left one. Took the next step. Then the next. The rock crumbled, her foot slipped. She cried out as her balance quavered.

A strong hand latched tightly on her wrist.

"I have you," said Dougal.

She leaned against the vertical rock, her breath trapped and trembling inside her chest. The tunnel. And safety.

"Come, lady, do not fall now. We need you. How would we fare without you?"

As Dougal and another lifted her up by her arms, her strength fell away from her like water from a bath. They found her a sure, solid place to sit as she slowly collected herself to prepare for the last leg of their journey.

"I cannot see how you did that, lady. It was hard enough with the light."

You knew the way.

"I knew the way," she said.

"Dougal!" called a voice from the black corridor. "I can see light. Night has fallen, and the moon already shines."

"Can you help us now, lady?"

"Aye. He is right. The entrance is small, but it is very close. Only be careful not to stray into a side tunnel."

Melisande crawled, feeling her way along the cavern wall, going toward the voice she had heard. Speak out again, sir knight, so we may follow your voice."

"I stand at the entrance. The moon rises above the fells, full and big, red as harvest. Can you hear me, lady?"

"Aye, we hear you. Speak again, and give us our bearing."

The knight's voice poured forth, resounding through the cavern. Melisande groped ahead, moved, then reached behind her to touch the man who followed, knowing he also reached behind himself after each move.

The dim, yellow glow of moonlight touched her eyes as painfully as bright sun as she climbed past the last barrier and saw the outline of the man who had called to them.

"You should not have gone without me," she said.

"Nay, I am glad I did. Come, Lady Melisande, here is the moonlight as you have never seen it before."

She saw it, the moon as it rose in the sky, slowly growing smaller, paler, brighter, spreading its silver mantle over the dark dales and fells. As the knights crawled out from the cavern, she counted them, and smiled as the last left the bowels of darkness. The real world, the world of sanity, lay before them. The demons of darkness burned in the cavern left behind.

A new voice spoke to her now. One that did not feed on her fears. One that gave to her instead of taking. Mayhap she would dare to talk of it to Father Hardouin.

Mayhap not. She was not yet so sure of the Norman priest.

"Do you know where we are, lady?" asked Dougal.

"Aye. It is not so far as you might think."

Melisande picked her way down the hillside where a tiny beck coursed like a silver ribbon, slipping beneath black silhouettes of trees and sparkling over rounded boulders and beds of gravel. The vale that was scooped out between the fells flattened, and they walked easily across moonlit pastures.