Winter's Light (28 page)

Chapter 45

Winter woke with a start, dislodging Sam’s notebook from her chest. A melodic chiming seemed to follow her into consciousness, a ghost of a sound ringing in her ears. Had she been dreaming about bells?

No. She’d been dreaming about the doors again. Hearing Blake’s voice calling to her as she moved down the hallway.

Her phone said it was only seven minutes past midnight. She’d been asleep for nearly three hours. Reaching over, Winter picked up the notebook from where it had fallen onto the floor. Jasmine grumbled beside her, the bedsprings squeaking as she rolled away from Winter.

Despite sleeping on the plane and in the car, after some more nervous chatter about the castle and Sam’s peculiar aunt, Jasmine had slipped quickly into a deep slumber. She and Sam seemed to be experts at sleeping. The circumstances or environment didn’t matter. In truth, Winter was a little grateful for the opportunity to read in silence. She was desperate to feel something of Blake again. She had turned the pages until the words began to blur and tears filled her eyes.

It had been both wonderful and deeply painful to relive that moment in the clearing outside Pilgrim’s Lament. The image of Blake looking down at her as she lay cradled in his arms was so clear, so bright that Winter felt like she might conjure him into existence just through will alone.
I’m coming, my love
, she’d promised, closing her tired eyes when the tears had finally stopped.

What had woken her? Bells? Above the mournful wind whistling outside, she suddenly heard the sounds of men shouting. Climbing out of bed, shivering as her feet touched the cold stone floor, Winter crept quietly to the window. No point waking Jasmine unless there was a reason to.

At first she couldn’t see anything, the view from the bedroom only afforded a partial glimpse of the wall. The storm was still raging. There was the ring of fixed torches along the parapet, but no men. Where were the Bonnaires standing watch? Suddenly, a series of tiny blue lights darted into view along the parapets – crossbow torches. A dozen or so of them. More inarticulate shouting rose above the wind before the voices were snatched away. The crossbow lights darted back the way they’d come, disappearing behind the section of castle that blocked her view.

Unsettled by what she’d seen, Winter retreated from the window. She looked across at Jasmine lying in the shadows of the window’s lattice. There was no way she could go straight back to sleep. What were the watchmen doing out there? What was on the other side of the wall that had prompted such a flurry of activity? Her body thrummed with nervous energy. It was either lie awake and wait till morning or . . .

The ringing of bells somewhere nearby gave her pause. A funereal sound. Each gong elongated, stretching until it was too thin to be heard and then the next one sounded. This was what had awoken her, not the Bonnaires.

There was no way of her knowing for sure, but Winter had the strongest intuition that the tolling was coming from the chapel. The place where that green light had shifted and danced.

Normally, traipsing through the dark hallways of a spooky old castle wouldn’t be the sort of thing Winter would find very appealing. Pulling the covers up over her head and waiting for dawn was much more her speed. Which is why she was entirely surprised at her own actions as she slipped on the blue woollen coat over her pyjamas, took the lamp off the bedside table and tiptoed to the door.

Chapter 46

Holding the lamp ahead of her, Winter started down the hallway. She was afraid, but the fear was small and manageable – especially next to the restless curiosity that even now urged her forward. Besides, the Demori couldn’t enter the castle so what did she have to fear? Winter realised she couldn’t smell any elderflower in the air. Not a trace of it lingering in the damp, cold atmosphere. Whatever magical barriers kept the Demori out must not have required the strange herb.

The castle was silent save for the rain outside and the soft rustling of the velvet curtains as they caught rogue gusts. She couldn’t hear any voices or sounds of movement behind the doors she passed. Except for the guards on the wall, everyone seemed to be sleeping soundly.

Reaching the end of the hallway, Winter paused. Frowning, she swung the lamp around in the gloom, looking for a familiar feature to orient herself. Was this the path they’d taken with Radermire? All these curtained hallways looked the same. She was just about to give up when the tolling began again. It was much louder now.

With renewed vigour, Winter started off after the sound, letting it guide her through the twisting corridors. She saw the wide chapel doors and felt a surge of jittery excitement. Yes, the noise was definitely coming from within! Winter hesitated outside, hand hovering over the door handle. Her gaze dropped down to the light spilling through the crack under the door. The unnatural shade reminded her of another radiance – one she’d seen while flying over a dead city. The light of Krypthia.

Winter wasn’t so sure she wanted to see what lay on the other side anymore.

Abruptly the tolling stopped, and the heavy silence which rushed in to fill the space made Winter feel even more apprehensive. It was like the whole castle was holding its breath, waiting to see what she’d do next. Chewing her lip nervously, Winter reached for the door handle.

At first the handle didn’t turn, slipping beneath her sweaty palm. She felt a glimmer of relief that maybe the door was locked, and then whatever obstruction was keeping the handle from turning fell away and the door gave.
Of course
, Winter thought unenthusiastically,
I’m the Key, remember? Locked door, schmocked door.
She stepped over the threshold into the chapel.

The shining object in the centre of the room momentarily dazzled her eyes. Shielding them, she squinted until her pupils adjusted. Slowly the bright object resolved into more detail, changing from a mass of swirling green colours to something she could make sense of – or not make sense of as it turned out.

Sitting on a white marble column in the centre of the room was a mechanical device unlike anything Winter had ever seen before. Four gold rings spun at a moderate speed around a tiny, glowing green orb no bigger than a snooker ball. Each ring was a slightly different diameter, so they could spin and pass through each other without colliding. There was something beautiful and distinctly otherworldly about the device; the way it pulsed and glowed like it was alive.

‘It is called the Fatelus.’

Almost screaming in fright, Winter whirled around to see Magdalene crossing into the room, her face still obscured by the veil. A black silken bag dangled from her hand, the fabric moulding to the shape of the spherical object within.

‘I couldn’t sleep and —’ Winter began, nervously taking a step backwards.

‘You do not need to explain,’ Magdalene replied in that soft, ethereal way of hers. ‘You heard the sound no doubt?’

Winter nodded, grateful she wasn’t in trouble. The old woman scared her. ‘What . . . what was it?’

‘A warning system,’ Magdalene said, pointing upwards to a cavity in the ceiling where Winter could just make out the shape of a bell. ‘The bell tolls when the light has nearly run out.’

Magdalene reached into the black bag she carried and withdrew another orb, identical to the one at the heart of the Fatelus; save for the fact that this one didn’t glow. It was just a smoky green crystal ball. Something you might buy at an antique store. Holding the crystal in the palm of her hand, Magdalene lifted it towards the spinning rings.

Winter’s eyes widened in astonishment as the orb started to tremble, then rose from Magdalene’s palm as if by magic. It hovered in the air for a second before floating slowly towards the Fatelus. Without breaking momentum, the orb passed deftly between the spinning rings and collided gently with the other orb, knocking it out of place. This orb immediately sputtered out like a blown light bulb and fell to the ground. It rolled along the stone floor, bumping up against Winter’s right foot and coming to a rest.

The usurper globe started pulsing brightly, its intensity much stronger than the previous orb. The rings hummed faster around it as emerald light radiated outwards in rippling waves, filling the chamber.

‘If you will,’ Magdalene said, nodding towards the orb at Winter’s feet.

Nodding dumbly, Winter tore her eyes away from the hypnotic sight and bent down to pick up the dead orb. Just before her fingers made contact, she hesitated, fearing it might burn her.

‘Don’t worry, it will not hurt you.’

Winter still wasn’t convinced. She brushed the orb with her fingertips and was surprised to discover it was cold. Icy cold, as though it had just been removed from the freezer.

Magdalene stepped towards her with the black bag open and Winter dropped the orb inside.

‘Thank you,’ Magdalene said, tying the bag with a drawstring. ‘Now we are safe once more.’

‘Safe from what?’ Winter asked, her throat clicking as she swallowed. She was still trying to process the spectacle of the orb flying magically through the air.

‘All the bad things outside the castle wall.’ Magdalene tilted her head to one side inquisitively. ‘You’ve seen them haven’t you?’

‘The Demori?’

‘No, the others . . . the Skivers.’

‘How do you —?’

‘You are not the only one with the Sight, my dear.’

Winter was momentarily too astonished to say anything.
Magdalene could see the Skivers
. ‘What . . . what are they here for?’

The old woman remained silent. Instead, she slowly reached up and lifted the black veil. The spectral radiance of the Fatelus washed over her face, pale and gaunt, heavily lined, but not unbeautiful. Winter could imagine that in her youth, Magdalene had been lovely.

‘They are here for me,’ she said quietly. Her words chilled Winter to the bone. Almost reluctantly, Winter called upon the Sight. The tingling began at the back of her eyes, spreading outwards, sharpening her vision, allowing her to see the invisible. Crimson flames twisted and curled in the depths of Magdalene’s pupils – the red Occuluma.

Chapter 47

‘It happened during a Demori hunt with my father, thirty years ago,’ Magdalene said, locking the chapel doors behind them. ‘The creatures ambushed us, my father was killed and I too would have been if not for the intercession of Caleb. My brother was able to drive them back. It wasn’t until later when I returned home and I saw my reflection – my eyes – that I realised he should have let me die.’

They started off down the hallway towards Winter’s room. She held her lamp ahead of them, though Magdalene’s confident step suggested she didn’t need its light. Winter supposed the old woman had walked these shadowy hallways for many years and could probably do so with her eyes closed.

‘How long have you had the Sight?’

‘Since I was your age. As you doubtless know, it’s more of a curse than a gift. There is little pleasure in seeing when your loved ones are going to die. In seeing the Skivers.’ She paused a moment before continuing. ‘It is because of my gift that the Skivers have licence to take me. You know of the rules that govern their behaviour in this world?’

Winter recalled what Blake had told her of the Skivers. ‘Yes. They can’t make physical contact with a marked soul, unless —’

‘Unless they have been seen by one with the Sight. Then the contract is broken,’ Magdalene grimly finished for her. ‘Do you know, Winter, what the Skivers do with the souls they harvest?’

She nodded. ‘Take them back to the Dead Lands. To the Malfaerie.’

‘Yes.’ Magdalene’s voice took on a contemptuous tone. ‘There it will be bargained for and sold to the highest bidder. Everything I am, my eternal spirit, reduced to a recreational drug for the immortals. It might not be hell as the Bible describes it, but I can imagine nothing worse. Being consumed, absorbed into another being. Losing yourself completely.’

She paused at a window, drawing back the heavy red curtain to reveal the parapets in the middle distance, sheets of drifting rain caught the orange light of the torches.

‘That is why I need the Fatelus. To protect myself from the Skivers. When I die, my soul will ascend to heaven. They won’t be able to touch me.’

A staccato burst of lightning threw the storm-lashed landscape beyond the wall into bright relief. Winter could see the ring of Skivers hovering in the air, suspended in space like terrifying marionettes. Magdalene let the curtain fall back.

Winter’s voice trembled as she asked, ‘Does it keep the Demori out as well?’

‘Yes, a pleasing side benefit. Nothing from the Dead Lands can breach the wall as long as the light burns and the rings spin.’

‘Where did it come from, the Fatelus?’

‘You are not the only one to have been favoured by a Demori. In my youth, I too was briefly courted.’ Her voice grew softer, barely rising above the winds outside. ‘He built the Fatelus for me, and showed me how to use it. Told me it would keep me safe forever.’

They paused outside her doorway, Winter’s brow furrowed. ‘But how can you hunt them then? This Demori saved your life. Surely that must be proof that they aren’t all monsters.’

‘They
are
all monsters,’ Magdalene said bitterly. ‘In the end he lied to me. Romance is a game to them. They haven’t hearts as we do. They cannot love.’

Winter shook her head. ‘You’re wrong. Blake loved me.’

Magdalene held up a hand, silencing her protest. ‘Rest well, my dear. Tomorrow is an important day. You will need your strength.’ And with that she was gone, retreating back into the darkness of her castle.