Autumn (44 page)

             
It is only this strange place, with its incapacitating drugs and dark spells, Arabel thought, that is leading me to question matters I normally would not even ponder.

             
The furry creature was still busy at Arabel’s feet and Arabel was free to try to pick again at the knots of her wrist bindings. The rustling within the room was getting louder and Arabel wondered that nothing had flown by and hit the two of them yet. The wind was howling and footsteps now ran in pairs outside of Arabel’s prison. Shouting was heard and the footsteps ran unrelentingly past Arabel’s door. She wished she could make out the words being yelled, but she could not. Whether it was the din of the windstorm or the evil head-as-sand-spell she’d been doused with, Arabel couldn’t tell, but the normally easily intelligible shouting was now gibberish to her ears and her frustration at the situation mounted.

             
The little creature broke through the last bit of rope binding Arabel’s feet and with a cry of joy Arabel’s feet were free. Arabel graciously patted the furry helper in thanks. The creature immediately began to work on the rope around Arabel’s wrists and Arabel’s spirits rose as she began to believe again that freedom was a goal within reach, and that there were forces aligned with her that could assist her. She was not alone, in the dark, left to rot in an unmarked grave with the murderous Dorojenja overpowering her with terror and subjugation to their evil will.

             
And then, the door burst open.

             
A bright light shone into Arabel’s eyes, blinding her momentarily. The little rodent scurried off into the shadows, its work on her bonds forgotten in its hurry to escape from the figure in the doorway.

             
Arabel could see nothing, due
to the bright light shining in
her eyes, but she could feel the powerful energy field of the figure in front of her. It was dark and it was heavy and it immersed Arabel in its web of evil; it throbbed with the vibration of old power and obvious cruelty. The impressions came off of the person in undulating waves of black and amber and distorted, muddied yellow. Arabel felt bile rise up within her throat; she felt her body constricting, she was choking on bile and she could neither swallow nor spit.

             
The figure laughed and Arabel could see its form now. It was a man, a rather stylish looking man with jet-black hair and coal-black eyes. He had a heavy and serious brow and wore a good suit of charcoal with tiny stripes of black. Well buffed shoes of charcoal and socks of black adorned his feet.

             
Dark eyes of hatred peered unrelentingly at Arabel, staring vast holes into her soul.

             
“Saul Porchetto,” Arabel whispered and the figure smiled in the dark, white teeth glinting.

             
“Arabel Spade,” Saul replied, his voice a soft and subtle hiss of menace.

             
Arabel shivered, though it was no longer the chill of the room which urged her skin to shrink back into her bones.

             
Saul Porchetto was tall and fit and he filled the room with his particular brand of evil. Arabel noticed now that he had not come alone to see her. Behind him, Saul was flanked by an army of at least fifty foot soldiers and one of them approached Arabel now and roughly grabbed her arm, lifting her onto her feet.

             
Saul Porchetto leaned in close to Arabel. He leaned in so far it appeared he was about to kiss her, their faces and lips were mere fractions apart. Arabel held her breath in horror. She could not move; a soldier now held her bound arms on either side and she was pinned in place.

             
Saul’s breath tickled Arabel’s lips. His cold, good looking mouth moved toward hers decisively.

             
Arabel shrank back as far as she could, but there was no way to evade him.

             
Saul smeared his lips against Arabel’s with a hot violence that brought instant tears to her eyes. The contact was brief and Saul pulled back with a derisive sneer as he surveyed Arabel appraisingly.

             
“It will be a pleasure to take care of you, Arabel Spade,” he announced with a harsh laugh, before turning away and gesturing to his soldiers to bring her along. Arabel realized dully that Saul’s laugh was the laugh which had been plaguing her; here was the laugh behind the hostile grey energy. Saul had finally come to claim Arabel for whatever dark purpose he had in mind.

             
Arabel was pulled forcibly into line as the soldiers assembled quickly into formation. Arabel saw she’d been in some sort of tool shed with open rafters in the ceiling, hence the drafts, and that she was now outside in the elements. Arabel was dismayed to see that hail had begun to fall.

             
In a great sheet, the hard white balls fell onto the ground and against all objects and humans who braved the outdoors with a mad, frenetic force. The wind whipped the tiny shards sideways and against Arabel’s unprotected cheeks. Her eyes smarted from the wind and the cold and the sensation in her hands was fading fast. She was being pulled along with the soldiers at a furious pace and Arabel feared her legs would stumble and she would be crushed if she fell by the sheer volume of soldiers rushing at her back.

             
Ahead of the foot soldiers, Arabel could see Saul Porchetto astride a magnificently dappled black and grey war-horse. Saul turned back to survey his men and his clear black eyes found Arabel’s.

             
She shivered. She could hear his voice within her mind.

             
“You are with me now,” he said.

             
Arabel knew now what real terror felt like.

             
Terror was cold and it gripped your belly and your body so hard that you could barely move, barely breathe, and your thoughts were as frozen as your faculties and your ability to problem solve might just never return to assist you. But you can’t even form this thought when terror has you in its grip. You become a dumb pit of horror and this leaves evil unconcerned because it knows what plans it has for you. Your agreement is not required, but your participation is.

             
The hail and the wind whipped at Arabel mercilessly and her bonnet flew off of her head so her hair became frenzied in the overwhelming gusts, slapping at Arabel and blinding her and generally making her way harder and colder than it had just been. One of the soldiers, seeing Arabel’s hair flying wildly around her face, took a bandanna and wrapped it around her eyes, so that now her hair could not whip into her eyes, but neither could she see anything.

             
Arabel was blindfolded, bound, and running headlong into further, imminent disaster. Her thoughts were blank as she ran blindly forward with Saul’s army of evil.

             
Arabel was now well and truly in the dark.

             
Arabel could not be located anywhere within the Copse.

             
Eli and Ira had looked everywhere they could think of and both were becoming more worried and dismal by the second, as it had been hours since Ira had relayed Arabel’s last frantic message. Eli had dissected the cryptic images as many ways as he could but all he knew was that Arabel had fallen into the hands of a great evil. Eli tried to link with Arabel’s mind, again and again, but there was nothing to link to. Eli could not find Arabel anywhere.

             
Hail was falling with a violent force and Eli took shelter with Ira momentarily in an abandoned cabin deep within the Copse. The bird flapped about inside of the cold room, agitated, unable to settle. Eli was no better. He cleared his mind as best as he could. He sent messages to his parents, asking for their assistance, and he sent a message to Francesca de Lorimar. Eli struggled not to panic; the worry was eating him whole, but he knew this would not help him to find his beloved.

             
I must remain clear, Eli admonished himself sternly, if I am to help Arabel return safely.

             
Ira re-sent Eli the last pictures he had of Arabel, those taken at the hidden side of the Governs’ caravan, in the hopes that something they’d missed earlier would now come to light. Eli wondered about the tunnels. They continued to puzzle him, as he’d never seen them before, and when he and Ira had looked for Arabel where she had last been seen, the bird had been stymied by the disappearance of the underground network. But Eli knew there were many ways to magically hide entrances and exits and he vowed to seek out Xavier immediately, as the Gypsy leader would know all of the ways to re-manifest such hidden locales.

             
They’d travelled to the far side of the Copse in their search for Arabel but Eli realized now that her interests would best be served by their returning to camp as soon as possible to seek out the assistance of the other Gypsies. The hail continued to pummel the ground with its wintry fury and Eli hoped Arabel was not out-of-doors, unprotected
, prey to
the elements.

             
Fear clutched at Eli, a sharp uncontrollable pain that cut him inside his very heart, wounding where the hurt could not be seen. The wind blew and howled and it sounded like a tormented beast. Eli felt a chill run down his spine. He sent a wave of protection to Arabel, not knowing if it could reach her or not, but needing to send it, all the same.

             
“Come on, Ira,” Eli said briskly, attempting to buoy their spirits with action. “Let’s have at this storm, shall we?” He pulled the door open and he and the bird once again began to tramp through the cold and hostile woods.

             
Ira flew upward, searching, looking for any clue, sign, or sense of Arabel. The bird cawed furiously, sending his own messages to his fellow corvids. Eli had never seen the bird in such a state. He marvelled at Ira’s endurance and the unrelenting strength of his cries as he called for assistance from the feathered realm.

             
Eli’s mind was numb and his fingers were starting to follow. He’d been a fool to come out searching without even a horse, he readily admitted to himself. But he had panicked and taken off on foot immediately with Ira as soon as the word had come to him that Arabel had been taken. Eli hadn’t wanted to waste even a moment securing a mount, although in hindsight he realized he could have covered so much more ground, looking for her, had he a horse.

             
It was almost as if he’d been unable to make his own decisions, Eli realized now, as if his mind had been purposely scrambled, thrusting him into confused incompetence. Now it was night-time and Arabel was still missing and all Eli knew was that she was being held against her will, somewhere unknown, an innocent captive to the darkness.

             
Heavy steps brought Eli back to the brightly lit camp. The torches withstood the biting wind and the pummelling of the hail stones to cast their yellow glow reassuringly over the Gypsy lands and ease Eli’s way in the storm. Eli moved quickly to the Lodge, where he knew many would be assembled this evening. Xavier would be there, he was certain, and Eli assured himself that the Gypsy leader would be able to locate Arabel, even if he, Eli, could not.

             
Or at least he hoped so.

             
The sound of music permeated Eli’s despair. A guitar and a fiddle duelled within the Lodge, their bright fervour seeking to dispel the grey landscape of his brain. Dimly, Eli registered that the Lodge was full to capacity. Dully, Eli noticed that the guitar and the fiddle were playing themselves, magically rendered able to produce music without musicians. Normally, this sort of magic would have pleased Eli and brought an enthusiastic smile to his handsome face, but now, all Eli wanted was the assistance of the most skilful of magical Gypsy practitioners to uncover the hidden underground tunnels and he couldn’t care less about musical instruments who could play themselves.

             
A hush fell as Eli stumbled up to the front of the room with Ira cawing loudly over his head. The music stopped abruptly. Eli spied Xavier moving toward him, a concerned expression upon his face. Eli felt Xavier within his mind, gathering information, and as he did, a deep frown appeared on the Gypsy Council leader’s forehead.

             
Xavier laid his hand briefly upon Eli’s shoulder, grounding him, and then he turned to the assembled Gypsies.

             
“There has been a kidnapping,” Xavier intoned gravely.

             
She could see the man in front of her, he was walking briskly. She struggled to keep up. She was carrying a large bag and it was heavy, so heavy that she wanted to put it down and forget about it. Leave it behind and continue on, faster, faster, and catch up with the man. She was losing him! He was running, his legs so much longer than hers. And then someone else, coming up from behind to drag her down. On the ground, the russet leaves a faint cushion, the earth cold and unyielding. The second person, choking her. Hands on her neck, tighter and tighter.