The Swan Kingdom (17 page)

Zella’s verbal blows glanced off me; I had faced my own failings and my father’s long ago. Unmoved, I studied her carefully. She seemed to be revelling in this opportunity to explain her own cleverness. Perhaps I had a chance… I began to run through spells of deflection and attack in my mind.

“Why did you send for me?” I asked carefully.

Her face hardened. “This land. It will not yield to me. It defies me –
me!
– hoarding its power in places like this.” She cast a look of loathing at the hill looming behind me. Did it make her nervous? “Still trying to reward the efforts of the vile farmers, wasting power on filthy fields and base crops!” She stopped abruptly, fingering the jewel in her left ear while the anger on her face transformed with frightening speed into pleasant sweetness. When she spoke again her voice was level.

“As your mother was neatly disposed of, I eventually realized it must be you. Somehow your life was giving the land the will to resist me. I could feel the growing strength in Midland, reaching out to the Kingdom. Did you think I would not notice? You don’t even know enough to hide your presence. I decided to bring you back and end your connection with the land. I know the ways. It might not even have killed you – you could have been useful to me, stripped of your will and under my control. Unfortunately those incompetents I sent did not cast my spell net properly, and you escaped. Perhaps you thought yourself clever, but you have gravely miscalculated in returning here. I have gorged on the life of the Kingdom while you were pouring yours into Midland. I am stronger than you now, stronger than anyone you have ever known. It is time to rid myself of you once and for all.”

She flung up her hand in a lightning-quick gesture and a burst of sickening red light exploded before my eyes, blinding me momentarily. I felt the death spell she had been constructing while she spoke leave her fingers. It bubbled towards me, growing into a boiling wave of blood red that would drain me and leave me a desiccated husk.

I stood fast, opening my mind, calling on the enaid that coursed through and around me, on the land beneath my feet and the sky above.
I am a wise woman. Answer me … answer my call…

Power surged through me, sluicing down my arms like a waterfall as I lifted them. There was a burst of light; my dazzled eyes saw a swan spreading its great, glowing wings through the mist before me; and the two spells collided with a sizzle like burning meat. The light of the swan’s shape shone through the blood red, as pure and brilliant as the new moon on the sea. Zella’s spell evaporated, curling off in wisps of oily brown smoke. Slowly the glowing light faded away.

Zella’s round cheeks had gone pink with rage. “What is this?” she spat. “You’re nothing! You can’t do that!”

Her hand whipped up, shining with livid red power – but this time I struck first. All my anger and anguish and the dangerous feeling of euphoria engendered by my first victory combined in a bubbling wave of power. I felt it rise up within me like a tide, seething and roaring, almost lifting me from my feet. It burst into the air with a noise like a thunderclap. Before Zella could move it had enveloped her. Thunder sounded again, rumbling and resounding through the mist until it almost deafened me. The light flickered and brightened, and I flung up a hand to protect my eyes. Then, with a sort of sigh, the light dimmed and the spell died into darkness.

Zella was on the ground several feet away, her draperies and fine furs crumpled and singed around her. She lay still, and I felt a terrible thrill of joy – the joy a hunter feels when he sees the blood of his kill.

Then the bundle of material stirred, and she sat up slowly. I saw immediately that I had not managed to do her any real harm. Her expression was not of pain, but of shock and annoyance.

My heart sank, but I spoke calmly, forcing my voice to steadiness. “It seems you’re not as clever as you’d like me to think, Stepmama. You’ve had your time to speak; now you can listen, and I advise you to mark my words. I’m going away now, because I have a task to accomplish, and I don’t know how long it might take. But one day, Stepmama, I will return, and when that day comes, all your spells and tricks will count for naught. I will rid this land of you and avenge my family if it takes the last breath of my body. So enjoy your reign here; it will not last for long.” I stopped, astonished at my own eloquence.

“
You
threaten
me
?” she growled incredulously, her voice cracking and deepening as she spoke. “Threaten
me
? You?”

The black eyes opened wide, their darkness spilling over onto her face until the delicate features sank back into warped shadows; twisted and re-formed into something … different. She bared her teeth, gleaming white incisors growing visibly as I watched. The chestnut streaks in her hair began to ripple down, spreading over her lengthening face like veins, carrying bristling, fox-coloured fur with them. Her body bowed and stretched as she dropped onto all fours.

A belated stab of alarm penetrated my anger, and I backed away. She was taking her natural form – the form that had bested Mama – and the change was almost complete. There was no time for further thought.

I turned and ran.

Sucking up power from the land under my feet and the air around me, I flung myself forward. The first step was almost impossible. It was like pushing through another bubble, but this time the bubble pushed back. Rushing air plastered my gown to my body and threatened to rip the hair from my scalp. I concentrated on getting my foot down, ignoring the screaming pain from the bones in my leg as they protested against the strain. My arms, forced behind me by the speed of the movement, felt like they were being ripped from their sockets. I gritted my teeth, clenched my fists, and pressed forward.

I can do this. I am a Wise woman.

My foot hit the ground with a jolt that nearly knocked me over, and I was out of the fog into weak sunshine. I lifted my other foot, risking a brief look over my shoulder. I saw Olday Hill rising up behind me, still wreathed in fog, and a dark blot, low to the ground, moving through the mists towards me with incredible speed. Then I shoved forward again and the hill was torn away. Trees and fields whipped past on either side in a greyish-green blur; before me there was only a narrowing point of light.

Touching the ground once more, I slipped down damp grass on a steep slope, tumbling head over heels to land at the foot of a little hill. The hard objects in the leather packs jabbed painfully into my spine before I managed to scramble to my feet and push myself on again. The world disappeared into rushing air and lines of undulating colour, the light ahead growing brighter. Then something shifted inside me and I knew I had travelled far enough. I felt a flare of warmth and something like welcome. It was as if an old friend had reached out and taken my hand. This was the right place to stop.

The jolt as I halted was enough to drive the breath from my lungs and send me toppling onto my face. I lay still for a moment, winded, then sat up, shoving the bags of provisions off my shoulders with relief.

I had landed in a large clearing in a forest – a bright, healthy green forest, filled with the cheerful chatter of birds and animals that continued undisturbed by my arrival. Real blue-yellow spring sunlight dappled through the trees and sprinkled over the forest floor like carelessly dropped coins. A few steps away, its slate roof almost hidden under the canopy of a vividly green beech, was a tiny stone cottage. It was tumbledown and obviously abandoned; the door was nothing more than a few splinters held together by the iron hinges from which it hung crookedly, and a climbing hops plant had grown over most of its face and through one of the windows. The outer walls looked solid, though, and it would provide a lot more shelter from wind and rain than the cover of trees alone.

Best of all, sending my mind down into the rich soil, I could feel a tremendous rush of power. I let it take me, ebbing and washing through the land, up into the trees and plants, adding a gleam of gold and warmth to the air and following the silver paths of rivers and streams.

Suddenly my skin shivered and covered in goose pimples, as if in response to a touch – a loving caress, alien and yet familiar. I caught my breath.
Gabriel.
For a split second I thought I could sense his presence; could almost imagine his warmth against me, smell his hair, hear his breath. Then the feeling of closeness was gone; but the sensation of rightness, of welcome, remained. I sighed. Perhaps it was only my imagination, but I was sure I knew where I was now.

Midland.

I stared around me, my brow wrinkled in thought. What was it that John had said to me when we first came here? That Midland had never recovered after its wars; I had felt the truth of that myself. Now the land seemed to have healed. Gone was the tired wistfulness that had saddened me so. This place sang with happiness and love, of the joy of new things growing and being born. I had felt the tides gaining strength at Aunt Eirian’s house but I had not realized the healing had extended so far. What could possibly have brought about such an amazing change so quickly, after so many years of illness?

Zella had said she had felt a growing power here. She thought it was mine. Could it be? Had
I
done this? Was this what Angharad had been trying to tell me in the Circle? That if I trusted myself, if I managed to … I swallowed, but forced myself on … to free my brothers, then I might also have the power to heal the Kingdom?

Surely not even my mother had been able to generate enough strength to replenish a whole land. I shook my head. However Midland had come to be healed, and whether I had anything to do with it or not, I had other things to concentrate on now.

I got to my feet and went to inspect the little cottage. It really was tiny, with no dividing walls inside. The outer walls were well put together and solid. Despite all the mess, the place could not have been deserted for more than a year. On the right there was a small hearth, which was full of soot and debris. I knew the chimney must have a bird’s nest in it – and sure enough, when I investigated, a family of starlings had made it their home. Asked nicely, they agreed to leave, if I would remove their nest without ruining it and carry the still flightless chicks to a new home. I couldn’t help but laugh at the high-pitched shrieking the babies made and at the little crowns of feathers that stuck up haphazardly from their heads. Gabriel would have loved to see this. I sighed as I tucked the last chick into the nest, now relocated to a tree near the cottage, then I went back to work.

The floor was thick with dirt, leaves and rubbish. The two tiny windows at the front had lost their shutters and the door disintegrated as soon as I touched it. There was a little alcove to one side of the fireplace. It held a tall besom, a wooden bucket with a piece of soap stuck to the bottom like a fossil, and, on a shelf, some folded rags and a rusty cooking pot. I carried all these out and shook the dust and cobwebs off them, then took the bucket and went searching. There must be a well or spring near by, or no one would have been able to live in the cottage. After fighting my way through the overgrown remnants of what had once been a herb and kitchen garden, I found a stone-lined pit with low walls and a peaked wooden cover. The metal crank to bring the water up was so stiff that I almost had to stand on it to get it to move, but the water, when it came up, was sweet and clean. I poured it into my wooden bucket and left it in the sun, hoping that the soap would dissolve. If not, I’d have to go looking for some plants that would lather up. In the meantime I took the besom and attacked the floor and chimney.

By evening I was tired, sweaty, sore and covered in dirt and soot. But the little cottage was sparking clean, the floor scrubbed and scattered with sweet-smelling herbs, the fireplace and chimney in use to burn the rubbish I’d swept out, and a cosy bed of leaves, grasses and moss made for me in one corner.

My stomach’s loud growl interrupted my satisfaction. I hadn’t eaten since Olwyn’s generous breakfast that morning – good Ancestors, had that only been this morning? – and thought of the leather packs I had tucked neatly into one corner of the cottage. The generous woman had stuffed them with what I was sure was every bit of food she could spare, but a great deal of that might now be crushed beyond recognition. I had not been able to protect the packs during my morning’s adventures and I’d squashed them while falling more than once. In any case, it would do me no harm to forage for my supper.

I went searching for good things to eat, gathering wild cress and onions, and horse mushrooms from the forest floor, collecting my bounty in my skirt. A little way from my new home there was a tall granite formation, the remains of a long-eroded cliff perhaps. As I looked up at its mossy top, I saw the giant golden stacks of the mushroom called chicken of the wood on account of its meaty rich flavour growing layer upon layer in at least a dozen of the trees around it. Half of one of those mushrooms would feed me for a whole day. Gently I laid the contents of my skirt in a hollow on the ground, then kilted up my dress and petticoats and found a foothold in the pitted surface of the stone pile.

My old skill at climbing came back to me, and I clambered up the side with ease. With a grunt of effort, I pulled myself onto the overgrown top of the formation and looked around. There was a lovely big, golden mushroom just within arm’s reach, and after a bit of leaning and near toppling I managed to detach a large chunk of it and tuck it into a fold of my tied-up skirt.

I looked down past the moss-and ivy-covered ledge on which I was perched. The side I had climbed was very nearly vertical, but through the thick cover of leaves and small saplings on the other side I thought I could make out a gentler slope. I manoeuvred myself around and began backing down the incline. Sure enough, the gradient was much gentler. What I hadn’t realized was that the carpet of damp moss and loose soil would also make it much more slippery. I had only made it halfway down before my reaching foot slid off an unexpected deposit of wet leaves and I lost my grip on the granite wall. Crashing through self-propagated bushes and saplings, I slithered down, scrabbling vainly for a hold and dislodging loose rocks and vegetation as I went. Eventually my feet hit the bottom and I fell off, landing hard on my backside.