The Wind of Southmore (19 page)

“
Robbie, this will all be new to you. Girls, some of this you
will be familiar with. Some has faced you and fought you already,
some is yet to come. And some, although not physically brought
before you, has touched you inside and marked you with the hard
finger of inheritance.” He stopped, and gazed at the three solemn
faces before him, then he sighed, his eyes bright with pain, and
began his story.

“
Have you seen the beast that guards the village fountain,
girls?”

They both
nodded.

“
It was said for years that the golden serpent, the symbol of
the Penmorvens, was the protector of the town. There are many
stories still whispered behind the frightened shutters of the
villagers, of hopes for its return to save their home, this one
strange spot on the sea. They have been a long time waiting. And
they have never forgiven Lord Penmorven for its
disappearance.”

Alice
gasped slightly, and Arlen’s face hardened.

“
Do you know of the alchemist, girls?”

They
nodded again.

“
Then you will know that he was your ancestor, and lived within
the walls of Penmorven Castle nearly five centuries before you,
when the towers were still proud and tall, and the lights could be
seen shining like the sun, the whole way along the coast. The
Penmorvens then were a generous bunch, and their home was open and
bright, and there was often to be heard singing and music from the
parties they held.

“
Yet Lord Penmorven had a deeper side to him, and, late at
night, after the torches were extinguished and the guests departed
or put to bed, he would mount the winding stairs to his secret
room, high in the north tower which no longer stands, and pursue
his studies. Like many noblemen and students of his generation, he
was seduced by the glinting whispers of alchemy, the science that
was said to turn metal into gold, and to open the gateway to
eternal youth. You may have heard about such hopes.

“
But it was a far higher and more generous ambition which
gripped Lord Penmorven. Being of a philanthropical nature, he
desperately wanted to offer something to the world that would do it
some good, for people have never really been happy with the world
in which they live. People who yearn for days gone by would find
themselves just as or more unhappy as those of a previous era. And
so his great mind set up a scheme which would bring happiness to
his fellow kind. Unlike many of his contemporaries, his hopes were
magnanimous, although his art itself did require the same
painstaking patience and meticulous approach. Also, most
importantly, was the use of stones and metals to achieve his
purpose, and his wealth was able to supply him with these necessary
tools.

“
Night after night he worked long hours, sometimes straight
through to the next evening, and his large brain often ached with
the fear of failure and disillusionment. It perhaps may have been
better if he had failed, for success certainly brought him nothing
but disillusionment, as well as centuries of suffering for the
people of his village.

“
The alchemist had two daughters, identical twins, like you
two. I can remember your grandmother showing me an old portrait of
them in days gone by, and the resemblance is quite frightening. And
yet – I think – perhaps because you may also have inherited their
strength – you will succeed where others before you have failed,
and failed tragically.

“
Isobel and Imogen were young and lovely and, like their
father, of a magnanimous nature. Their hands were much sought after
by young noblemen from all corners near and far, and yet none of
them were able to win either of the girls over in marriage. Whether
this was because they did not wish to be parted, or that they
didn’t want to leave their family home, or because they just did
not like any of the young men who sought them, I do not know. But
life went on at Penmorven Castle, until one day there arrived a
tall stranger out of nowhere, to beg for shelter at the castle
gates.

“
His name was Penvynne, and he had been washed up from a
shipwreck along the coast further west. He was returning home, he
said, after many years away travelling, and spoke affectionately of
the Penmorvens, although certainly neither Lord Penmorven, nor his
daughters, nor their servants, had heard of any family by that name
down by the tail of the land, from where he claimed to
originate.

“
Nevertheless, it was obvious that he was a young man of
breeding and good taste, and, like Lord Penmorven, he shared a deep
interest in the possibilities of alchemy.

“
It would have done Lord Penmorven better if he had been more
cautious, far more cautious, than to open his doors to a stranger
whose story was yet unopened, and who seemed to already know so
much about the household that it was not long before he ingratiated
himself there almost as one of the family. Suddenly long held
friends were turned away, as the Penmorvens were too busy to
receive them, and the hall now sat dark and quiet, while the
strange blue light burned feverishly upstairs in the small tower
room, two heads bent ceremoniously over the flickering
flame.

“
It is to be wondered that Lord Penmorven did not sense his
guest’s true nature at those times, for stories circulated through
the lower quarters and the village that when the light burned on
Penvynne’s face, his skull was to be seen beyond it, and his eyes
would redden and glow with an unearthly fire. Perhaps he was held
under some sort of spell – it is only left to us to wonder at
now.

“
And what of the twins, meanwhile? Both unhappy with their
father’s interest in the stranger, they were nevertheless prevented
from speaking with him, as strange illness after illness seemed to
break out in the village, and the girls were busy tending to the
sick. And often could be seen, as they hurried out into the mist of
morn or eve in their dark cloaks, the face of Penvynne watching
them from the dark tower, and his expression was one of greed and
covetousness.

“
Many whispered that the alchemist had gone blind with desire
for knowledge and success. He could not see that Penvynne’s motives
were not as altruistic as his own. However he must have sensed
something, for the lights in the north tower room began to burn
less brightly and less often than before, and the rage in
Penvynne’s face went not unnoticed. It was then that he pursued his
courtship of the twins with even more fervour, bribing even the
seagulls to spy on them, winning their scavenging natures over with
promises of dead, white flesh.

“
It was at this time that rumours began to circulate around the
village claiming that Lord Penmorven had met with some success. The
alchemists believed that by transforming the metals they worked
with, they could transform themselves. Much of this was concerned
with the single human being – the alchemist himself. But Lord
Penmorven dreamt of greater things, benefits that would go beyond
the individual, to affect humankind. One of his projects, Dr Jekyll
fashion, had been an attempt to separate the good and bad of human
nature. For many nights he poured over the crucible, testing the
metals in a tiny ocean as they bubbled fiercely above the burning
flame. And eventually the mixture congealed and formed into two
round stones, like large pearls – yes, my dear?” for Alice had
gasped slightly. But she shook her head after a fierce look from
Arlen, and Mr MacKenzie continued. “Two perfect spheres, miniature
worlds of their own. He had managed to capture negative reactions
in one them – the black pearl, which burned and boiled to the
touch. He hoped to destroy this pearl somehow, in the belief that
it would improve the lot of the world. Yet he was unable to realise
this hope, for the black pearl proved resistant to all kinds of
destruction. Furthermore, he could not dispel the attraction of the
the pearls for each other, a sort of magnetic force, which caused
them to roll together continually.

“
Poor Lord Penmorven had become so divorced from the outside
world and the people of his community, that he failed to realise he
himself was upsetting the balance. One cannot separate good and
evil, because one cannot exist without the other. The very mention
of one suggests its opposite within the same breath. Life is not
that simple, as, no doubt, you will find.

“
Penvynne had been witness to some of these experiments, and it
may have been the covetous gleam in his eye which finally raised
Lord Penmorven’s suspicions. Whatever it was, the jewels were swept
away from under Penvynne’s nose, and the alchemist entrusted their
protection to his daughters. What he hadn’t counted on though, was
Penvynne’s relentless pursual of the girls, and he had certainly
not anticipated that with one of them, he would be
successful.”

Arlen
felt herself draw breath sharply and so suddenly that her chest was
swelled with pain and her eyes smarted with tears. Was this, then,
going to be what she had seen, as if a spectator standing before
actors, on the long coastline by the walls that no longer existed?
Mac threw a keen look in her direction, and she lowered her eyes
and lifted her hand slowly to the charm. The delicate coils felt
like fire to her touch, and she thought that she would almost burst
as she waited for him to finish the story.

“
Who can say how it happened? Penvynne was, and is, still
capable of many tricks. What is certain, is that Imogen began to
change. Suddenly resentful of her sister’s company, she would
disappear for long instances, and return, flushed and windswept,
but would not say where she had been. Seemingly resentful, too, of
their previous closeness, she would refuse to answer Isobel’s
questions, or even to speak with her at times, and she suddenly
became fond of engaging Penvynne in long conversation, which he was
only too delighted to encourage.

“
Isobel was frightened of his growing power over her twin, and
she seemed unable to reach any part of her sister’s mind. Imogen
was becoming opaque, her reflection muddy, and Isobel sometimes
felt that she was a stranger to her. It soon became clear that
Imogen was no longer to be trusted with guardianship of the secret,
and, one night, the pearls vanished.”

Arlen
shuddered suddenly. It was happening again, and she felt nauseous
as the room began to sway and dissolve and blacken around her, as
if she were travelling through a tunnel, and then before her the
particles seemed to swirl and grow, until she was standing on the
cliffside again. Only this time she was not watching. She was
taller somehow, and dressed in a deep wine gown of velvet, and long
strands of hair covered her like a cloak in the breeze. Alice was
opposite her, similarly attired, except that it wasn’t Alice, it
was Isobel, and she seemed at that moment to lose her identity
completely and to become that girl of so long ago.

They were
engaged in a fight, and she suddenly knew the spiteful words that
had issued from her own mouth only a few minutes earlier, and they
wrenched at her like talons. Isobel was near to tears, pleading,
cajoling, and yet still, there was a gentle strength and a serene
beauty which shone through the pain she seemed to be
feeling.

Such
pain. And yet how could she know about pain, that starry faced
girl, so like herself and yet so obviously free of the torment that
gnawed at her own insides. She had never been in love; she did not
know what pain was. She felt her face twisting into the harsh,
passionate hatred of some ancient, mythological goddess, and she
knew then that she and Isobel could never go back. How could she?
What did Isobel know of the fear and all consuming desire that
seemed to well up from the very core of her soul and tear through
her body like red hot pincers? She couldn’t understand it – she
didn’t think she even liked him – and yet, he had made it so she
couldn’t live without him. What has he done to me? she cried
inwardly, and the mirror in which she had always seen herself
compared to Isobel cracked and splintered suddenly, and she felt
the jagged shards of her own self strike at her like knife
blades.

Pain tore
through her like a spear, and her face contorted again with the
wrenched hatred of her passion. He had told her things, promised
her things, and she had wanted to believe him. She had wanted to be
herself. And yet – was this herself? Or was this merely his voice,
prodding, poking at her, relentlessly, mercilessly. She raised her
hands to her face and screamed suddenly, long and anguished, a
creature under torment, and Isobel gazed at her with tears
streaming from her eyes, yet still she stood firm.

“
Tell me,” she begged, and she felt herself dropping to her
knees, the velvet wine crushed in dirt and sand. “Where are they?
He will leave me alone, if you tell me.
Please
.”

“
I cannot,” Isobel answered again, and her gaze was
sorrowful.

“
Then I have no other choice,” Imogen replied, and her face was
white and defeated. With hot tears and bleeding lips, she raised
the call for the serpent. Isobel uttered a heartbreaking cry, for
she could see the treachery that was to follow. But it was too
late. Penvynne appeared from beyond the wall, and, as the creature
circled the castle, its golden rays dazzling, he raised his hands
and uttered some words. From his fingers shot a fine, strong rope,
which wrapped around the dragon’s wings so tightly that they broke,
and the beast came crashing to the ground, taking half the castle
with it, its roar of pain belching smoke and fury as it struggled
futiley against the cords.