The Place of Dead Kings (6 page)

Elizabeth nodded and sniffled. ‘It was Mother’s.’

‘She gave it to me before she died. Now, if I go, you take it, you understand?’

Elizabeth shook her head, as if to drive away a nightmare. ‘No, Father.’

‘You take it, Elizabeth.’ He held her hand urgently. ‘Promise me that. You take it. And then one day, you pass it on to your child.’

Elizabeth’s face creased and she sobbed.

‘Promise me this, Elizabeth.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice came out strangled.

He lay back, sighed as if he were dying, but then managed another breath. He placed the cross down on top of his tunic and let go of Elizabeth’s hand. ‘I need to rest.’

Elizabeth nodded, swallowing down tears.

He shut his eyes. ‘You go.’

‘No. I’ll stay here.’

A bolt of pain slammed into his chest and he gasped and opened his eyes. Elizabeth trembled and put her hand over her mouth. But then the pain subsided and he closed his eyes again.

Slowly, sleep enveloped him.

He woke at different times, often as the bells tolled the canonical hours, dividing the day into orderly segments. He sensed rather than heard the brothers shuffling behind the walls, cleaning, cooking, chanting, working in the gardens and marching to prayer at the allotted times. The monastery was like an enormous heart beating softly.

Occasionally, orderlies came to clean his face and hands and twice Brother Michael bled him, cutting his arm and draining the blood into a bowl. Jack doubted this treatment would help, but there was little point in objecting.

He was aware that Elizabeth was nearby sometimes, and sometimes Brother Michael or other monks visited. He saw Godwin occasionally, standing behind Elizabeth with his hand on her shoulder.

He didn’t know how long he’d been lying there. Perhaps it was hours, perhaps days. Sweat plastered his clothes and hair to his skin and each breath was a small victory.

He was surprised he was still alive at all, but knew the end must come soon. He was forty-two, which wasn’t a bad age to reach, considering how many battles he’d been in and how close he’d come to being killed during them. It was cruel to be torn from Elizabeth when she was pregnant, but if that was God’s will, he accepted it.

No doubt he was due punishment for what he’d done three years ago in London. He’d betrayed his old comrade, William, and now he was getting what he deserved.

He clasped his limp hands together in front of his chest and whispered, ‘Forgive me, Lord, for my sins. Forgive me for what I did.’

He heard movement near to him and peeled open his dry eyes. His head felt swollen, twice the size it should be. The wound burnt like a hot coal in his chest.

His eyesight was blurred and at first he had trouble making out the figure standing at the foot of the cot. Gradually the shape solidified and he saw an orange, knee-length tunic and a peaked turban.

It was Kanvar – the Sikh who’d given him the ‘mystery’ yantra.

Questions stirred like ancient dust in his mind. He tried to sit up.

‘Father.’ Elizabeth was suddenly at his side. ‘It’s all right.’ She put her hand on his shoulder and eased him back down.

Kanvar pressed his hands together and bowed slightly. ‘Greetings.’

‘What are you doing here?’ Jack said.

Kanvar removed his riding gloves. He was still as gaunt as the last time Jack had seen him and his eyes still had a way of boring into you as if all your secrets had been laid bare. Jack had never known the Sikh’s exact age, but he looked to be in his late twenties.

‘I came when I sensed your illness,’ Kanvar said.

‘Sensed?’ Jack said.

‘Through a power. It’s not important now.’

Could he trust Kanvar? The Sikh had given him a yantra, and was an enemy of the Rajthanans. But all the same, Kanvar was an Indian – and Jack didn’t trust Indians any more. ‘What do you want?’

‘To help, of course.’

‘Why?’

Kanvar shot a look at Elizabeth.

She rested her hand on Jack’s shoulder and gazed at him with her brow creased. ‘He says he can treat you.’

‘You haven’t used the yantra I gave you?’ Kanvar asked.

‘No.’ Jack took a rasping breath. Should he even tell Kanvar anything? ‘I tried. Many times. It didn’t work.’

Kanvar pursed his lips. ‘I see. I thought . . . you would be able . . .’ He frowned and stared into the distance, muttering in an Indian language Jack didn’t understand.

‘Kanvar,’ Elizabeth said.

The Sikh looked at her, as if startled from a dream.

‘You said something about a treatment?’ Elizabeth said.

‘Oh, yes.’ Kanvar sat on the end of the cot and leant forward to stare at Jack more closely. Dim light angled from the windows and silvered one side of his face. He placed a hand on Jack’s chest, shut his eyes for a moment and then opened them again. ‘The fire is very severe now.’

‘My power doesn’t hold it back any more,’ Jack said.

Kanvar nodded slowly. ‘The wound is too great. Your power is no longer strong enough.’ He sat back. ‘But I have another power that could help.’

‘Will he be cured?’ Elizabeth asked.

‘Maybe.’ Kanvar replied without turning. ‘But it is dangerous. There is a complex ritual that takes many hours. He could die . . . I could die.’

Elizabeth tightened her jaw. ‘Will you do it?’

‘Of course.’ Kanvar stood. ‘I must.’

‘Stop.’ Jack’s voice was cracked. ‘I forbid this.’

Elizabeth frowned. ‘Father, why?’

‘I don’t trust him.’ He squinted at Kanvar. ‘Why have you come now? After three years. Why would you want to help me?’

‘You need to trust me.’ Kanvar slipped on his gloves. ‘I must leave now. We will perform the ritual tonight.’

‘I said, I forbid it,’ Jack said.

Kanvar stared at him. ‘You must live, Jack. It’s important.’

Then the Sikh turned on his heel and slipped out of the hall.

Jack looked at Elizabeth. ‘The answer is no.’

‘It’s your last chance.’

‘I forbid it. You understand?’

‘Yes.’ Elizabeth put her hand on his chest. ‘Lie down, Father.’

Darkness crept across his vision. He shut his eyes and black water seemed to pour into his head, swill around and drown out all thought and feeling.

‘I forbid it,’ he managed to rasp before he passed out.

Moonlight through clouds. The glow like breath on glass.

Jack blinked a few times. He was lying on his back, staring up at the night sky and moving along with a jiggling motion. The cold air chilled the sweat on his face and threaded painfully through his lungs. The wound in his chest burnt and throbbed constantly.

He managed to look around and saw he was on a stretcher being carried along a rough road by four men. Dark hills loomed about them and stands of trees were visible beside the track.

He tried to speak but then felt soft fingers touch his hand.

‘Father.’ Elizabeth was walking beside the stretcher, a cloak over her shoulders and her eyes shining in the pale light.

‘What’s happening?’ Jack asked, voice thick.

‘We’re going to the village.’

‘Why?’

Elizabeth looked away, and then Jack noticed Kanvar loping nearby with his hands behind his back, staring up at the moon, lost in thought.

‘No.’ Jack tried to sit up but could barely move. ‘Take me back.’

‘We have to try.’ Elizabeth glanced at her feet as she walked along. ‘The monks wouldn’t allow it in the monastery. Said it was black magic.’

Jack tried to speak, but his voice was too weak and all he could do was feebly raise his hand for a moment. The men bore him on across the moonlit landscape as if he were bouncing gently on air.

The black hillsides steepened and drew closer together. Soon Jack recognised his surroundings. He saw glimpses of the white-walled cottages of Folly Brook and the stone cross near the edge of the village. And then they were passing through the entrance to his hut and the stretcher was being placed on the earth floor.

There was no light in the hut, save for a smoky tallow candle in each corner of the room. The wavering glow turned everyone’s faces gaunt and spectral. Incense burnt somewhere and tinted the air with spice.

‘You must all leave,’ Kanvar said to the small group gathered in the chamber.

The men filed out, but Elizabeth bent beside Jack and grasped his hand again. ‘Father, I’ll see you soon.’

Jack opened his mouth. He wanted to protest, but when he moved his lips only a faint wheeze came out.

Diamond tears crossed Elizabeth’s cheeks.

Feelings surged in Jack’s chest. Was this the last time he would see his daughter? For a second he remembered when she was born, when he’d first held her in his arms.

He wanted to say something but couldn’t make a sound. All he could do was grip her hand a little tighter.

Elizabeth stifled a whimper, then rose and rushed out of the hut, sobbing.

Kanvar slung his coat from his shoulders, revealing his orange tunic beneath. He shut the door, crouched beside Jack and stared with his fish-like eyes. ‘We’re ready to start.’

Jack croaked weakly.

‘You have to help me with this,’ Kanvar said. ‘You must not fight it. This is a dangerous ritual. We could both die if something goes wrong.’

Jack tightened one hand into a fist. There was nothing he could do. He was virtually paralysed and on the brink of death. He wanted to live, wanted to protect Elizabeth and her child from whatever the world threw at them. But what was Kanvar up to? Why would an Indian risk his life for a European? It made no sense.

‘When I begin,’ Kanvar said, ‘you must meditate and get yourself near to purusha, the spirit realm. You must leave the world of matter, prakriti, behind as far as possible. But do not focus on a yantra and do not use a power. That would be very dangerous. Concentrate on something important to you and move towards the spirit realm.

‘Focus on whatever you choose and hold on to that. Do not let your mind wander. Otherwise there is a danger one or both of us will not survive the night.’

Kanvar rose and took two measured steps away from Jack. He then sat, crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees, touching his thumbs to his index fingers. He looked once at Jack, his features grave and sad in the candlelight. ‘Now, Jack. Focus on something important to you.’

Jack swallowed, his throat dry as gravel. He shut his eyes. There was no point in fighting against it any longer. Kanvar was going to go ahead with the ritual regardless and it would be better to help the process rather than hinder it. He would follow Kanvar’s instructions as best he could.

What to focus on? In the army he’d always meditated before the regiment’s standard, the three red lions running in a circle on a blue background. But he’d given up his allegiance to the army. The Rajthanans had betrayed him – Jhala had betrayed him – and he would no longer meditate before their emblems.

Elizabeth emerged from the mist of his thoughts. He saw her pale face, surrounded by long black hair, with the fire in her eyes that had been there since she was a child.

That was it. He would focus on Elizabeth.

Kanvar began humming and singing words Jack didn’t understand. Jack knew Rajthani well enough, but Kanvar was using some other tongue. The language of the Sikhs? The secret language of the siddhas?