Cobweb Forest (Cobweb Bride Trilogy) (5 page)

“How did I do what, pumpkin?” Grial was grinning at her, and the torchlight danced in her liquid black pupils. “Why, it is all your own doing, you know! I’m just standing here watching all three of you do it yourselves!”

And Marie smiled back, and for the first time forgot to tremble. “Will the magic now keep Letheburg safe, Grial?”

“One should certainly hope so, at least for the rest of this night!” said the older woman. And then she lowered her hands and stuck the torches into the piled up snow, extinguishing them on the stones underfoot. The girls followed suit.

“And on that note,” Grial said, “who’s up for some apple pie?”

“Me! Me!” Niosta and Marie replied.

Lizabette’s brows went up archly. “I thought there weren’t any more pies left!”

Grial snorted. “I certainly beg to differ! Let’s go down and look in those baskets!”

T
hey got back to Rollins Way by the time the moon was high up in the partially overcast sky, and everyone was more than ready for bed.

As Betsy and the cart pulled up to the corner near the little alley and the house, Niosta was still wiping her mouth and her pie-stained sticky hands against her dingy coat, and smacking her lips. “Oh, that was darn good! Best apple pie ever!”

She was so busy picking her teeth with a wood splinter that she never looked to see who was waiting for them at the door of Grial’s house.

One of the two small shadows leaning near the doorway separated from the wall. And then, “Sis!” cried Catrine. “Jupiter’s balls an’ entrails! You’re alive, Niosta! An’ so am I!”

It was indeed Catrine, and next to her, somewhat shyly silent, Faeline.

“Grial!” Catrine exclaimed next, while her sister whooped and came hurtling down the cart to hug her.

“Oh, goodness!” Grial said, halting Betsy and grabbing on to her brimmed hat with one hand in a slap of surprise. “Is that another of my favorite Cobweb Brides? So glad to see you, girlie! And I see you’ve brought a friend!”

“I’m Faeline, Ma’am,” said the blond girl bashfully, stepping away from the wall, and wiping the back of her nose with a mitten. “I’m from Chidair Keep and town. We’ve escaped the dungeons, and floated on the magic river with lords and ladies, and then got to see Death Himself!”

“Well, gracious be!” Grial smiled, giving her an intent look-over. Meanwhile Lizabette and Marie waved and everyone exchanged greetings and jumbled chatter.

Catrine told them the whole story in a breathless torrent. Grial listened thoughtfully at the same time as she guided Betsy into the pitch-black alley around the corner and the back yard, with only the two torches on the cart to light the way, and the girls walked alongside in excitement, everyone having forgotten sleep.

Betsy was unhitched, rubbed down and placed in her warm stall, and still Catrine was talking, occasionally interrupted by Niosta and the others.

At last they made it indoors, and were in the cheerful front parlor of Grial’s house, seated on the sofa and the chairs.

“. . . An’ so, there was this nasty-creepy disappearin’ water from the River Lethe that makes you forget stuff worse’n a drunken sailor with a bashed-in head, an’ turns out everyone’s drank it, even some damn fool Gods!” Catrine was saying. “And then the blasted fools drank it again, or should I say the Ladyship who
thought
she was the Cobweb Bride drank it again, and suddenly, smack as anything, there she was! She remembered she was this big ol’ golden Goddess, by the name of Dimmeeter! An’ then
she
told stink-for-brains Death to drink, an’
he
did—good thing too, since all he remembered was no better than a steamin’ bowl of poo—and so he went all black as soot and became this big ol’ God of the Underworld, none other than Hades himself! And then, and then—oh, oh! And
then
there was all this stuff about another rotted Goddess by the name of Persephone, who’s none other ’an the blasted Sovereign of the Domain! And then, Percy Ayren was there too,
and
the Black Knight, who, it turns out, is not all that bad, an’ not too bad lookin’ if you know what I mean—”

Niosta and Lizabette and Marie all exclaimed variously at the mentions of the latter.

“—and finally, Hades told us he’ll take us anywhere we wanted, so Sybil an’ Regata an’ Faeline an’ me all decided, what the hell, to come here to Letheburg! So we tell the ol’ goat where we wanna go, close our eyes, an’ next thing we know, we’re on a street in Letheburg! Sybil an’ Regata took off home to see their folks, and me an’ Faeline, we just came here! An’ so, here we are! Been waitin’ for you for hours! Can’t feel my arse from the cold!”

Catrine stopped talking, took a big breath and let it out. She then folded her arms in satisfaction and looked around her with barely contained pride and excitement. Everyone was looking in rapt amazement, while Faeline, who already knew the events, just picked her grimy nails.

Grial had been listening to the tale with interest as she bustled around the parlor adjusting furniture and closing shutters for the night. And now as soon as Catrine was done, she came to a stop in the middle of the room. There was something very unusual in Grial’s very dark eyes, and in her intense expression—more unusual even than her normal eccentric mannerisms.

Grial looked at Catrine, then gazed around the room, and exhaled what felt like a long-held breath.

“At last . . .” she said softly, and her face was transfigured.

The seated girls looked up at her.

“At last . . .” Grial repeated, this time in a louder voice. “It is done. At last my lips are
unsealed
.”

“What do you mean, Grial?” Lizabette stared at the older woman, for some reason straining to
see
her, to see her strangely set-in-motion visage and her chameleon face with its familiar frizzy mane of unkempt hair. . . . Indeed, for a moment there, did it only seem so, but was it
moving
like snakes?

But Grial was not to be properly seen, not any longer—for now she was
changing
before their eyes.

The cheerful room around them, lit by a few candles, was suddenly thrown into deep shadow. And the nature of the light dimmed a few degrees from golden candle glow to cool silvery moonlight. There could be no moon indoors naturally, and indeed the window shutters have just been closed
 . . . and yet it felt as if the moon
was
here—
she
rode the sky and somehow shone through the roof and ceiling of the little house, and filled the parlor with her cool radiance. . . .

As this uncanny sense filled them all, Grial appeared to stand taller and straighter. And her patchwork dress with its filthy apron began to dissolve around her, to be replaced by a fine noble cloth of flowing darkness, a classic long chiton that came down in folds around the statuesque woman, to lie at her sandaled feet. Grial’s hair was now a perfect ordered crown of curls, symmetrical and severe. And her face was abysmally beautiful.

The strangest thing was, she was still Grial, with her same ancient-young, very black, very wise eyes. The same intimate expression filled them, as she gifted each of the girls with her profound gaze.

And yet she was now someone else.

“Oh . . .
Grial!
” whispered Lizabette.

“You know me as Grial, and it is my mortal aspect,” said the familiar stranger. “I have taken the greatest Oath upon the sacred waters of the River Styx, to keep my silence and be diminished and live in the mortal world among you—until the reasons for the Oath are no longer. It has come to pass and it is done now, and my lips are unsealed at last, so that I may speak freely and resume my true aspect.”

“What—who are you?” Niosta muttered, while Marie’s eyes opened wide and she started to tremble.

“My beloved children, you may now know me as I truly am,” said the goddess. “I am immortal, and I preside over Crossroads and Choices and Doorways and all the things that linger Between. I am Hecate.”

A
s Percy opened her eyes, she felt a powerful cold breeze and the contrast of sudden unseasonable brightness of the dawning sun on her cheeks. She held Beltain’s hand, as though he were her last anchor in the world, and he in turn squeezed her fingers tight, fighting a moment of vertigo. And she heard Jack’s startled neigh, as the great black warhorse was pulled along with them into whatever supernatural vortex that had brought them here.

They found themselves in a strange place. Neither of them had ever seen the sea up close, but they recognized this was a beach. A vast expanse of vibrant blue-green water lay before them on one side, stretching to the haze-filled horizon where it paled into mauve silver, and on the other, a strip of darkened wet sand upon which they now stood, defined the boundary between water and land. Beyond the strip of sand was more sand, piled up in dunes, and they formed a general incline rising inland, dry and crumbling, and the powder that comprised them was of a bleached cream hue.

Wherever this was, Death—who was Hades—had brought them here for a reason.

Somewhere in the vicinity was the Lady Leonora D’Arvu, the Cobweb Bride.

And her death shadow hovered above the sand right next to Percy and Beltain, obediently having followed them also.

“Where are we?” Percy said, hearing her voice sound faint and small and blown about by the crisp salty wind from the sea. Her woolen shawl ballooned with the wind and filaments of her hair were swept wildly up in the air, so that she had to hold the shawl down with one hand under her chin.

“Are you all right?” Beltain examined her intently with his clear slate-blue eyes. He still held her hand, gently moving his fingertips against her palm in a calming manner he might use with a wild creature, and the warmth at the point of contact between them served to give her an immediate focus.

Percy blinked, narrowing her eyes at the rising sun that floated on the eastern horizon directly over the strip of wet sand, so that it appeared to rise halfway between land and sea. “Yes
 . . .” she said in a dreaming voice. “And you?”

“Everything seems to be intact,” he replied, with a touch of relieved amusement, letting go of her hand to tuck away his brown wisps of wavy hair at his forehead and adjust the tight coif hood that was part of his chain mail hauberk over his head. And then he glanced behind him to observe that Jack was equally unharmed.

The wind was very strong here—coming in sharp gusts then relenting, then sweeping them again, full body, so that they were bathed in sea air, inhaling spray and the scent of seaweed and salt.

“This far south, at the edge of the great sea.
 . . . What a wonder this is!” Beltain inhaled deeply and stared at the boundless panorama of water. “I believe we must be in the Domain once again, very likely the Kingdom of Tanathe. It alone touches the sea. Or maybe not—Solemnis too might share some of the southern shoreline. In any case, we are very far away from home.”

Percy took in a deep breath of sea air also, feeling it sting her lungs, and looked out into the distant horizon. “I no longer know where home is,” she said. “I don’t think it’s Oarclaven.” And then she turned back to look at the black knight, her earnest gaze meeting his.

He gazed back at her, intense and serious, and completely open to her. She noticed how, most recently, his eyes seemed to turn darker-colored than normal when he looked at her, the pupils expanded and deep, overtaking the surrounding slate-blue irises. With such deep dark eyes he looked, rarely blinking, and so very
intimate
.

Percy realized that it was for
her
alone that his eyes became thus, different, deep, vulnerable. And the awareness of it brought a peculiar heat to her cheeks.

“It does not matter where home is now,” he said. “Since the land itself is uncertain, and places can fade away and disappear at any moment.”

“Oh!” she said. “Yes, I did not even consider—for a moment I’d forgotten. Oarclaven may no longer even be there! And what of my parents and sisters? Where would they be? But—you’re right, it doesn’t really matter, not any of it, not now. First, I must finish this task given to me.”

And Percy turned to glance at the death shadow, and she spoke to it. “Go,” she said, both with words and with thoughts. “Go find her who is yours alone.
 . . . Go!”

And the death shadow billowed then started to drift softly along the strip of wet sand in the direction of the sun and then turned inland.

Percy and Beltain followed, choosing to walk on foot for the moment, their winter-shod feet sinking in the sand as it became dry and lost its resistance. The black knight led his warhorse behind him.

T
hey emerged about a quarter of an hour later past the sandy beach and found a path leading up a chalk-white line of low cliffs punctuated with ravines, onto more fertile land, and then gentle rolling hills. The earth here was an even mix of red clay and rich black soil, and the pale cream sands gave way to grassland. Tough heather and weeds grew in abundance, shrubs covered with leaves—a thing unheard of in Lethe during winter—and there were strange obelisk-like shrubs that were neither tree nor bush, but something that Beltain called “cypress” for he had read of it in books that his mother had given him to study, so many years ago.

Percy watched him talking, and thought with new admiration how this man who was known to all as a warrior was also someone who did not eschew learning, and actually read and studied. Not many other such military men were inclined to read a bit of parchment much less entire volumes—as he described his mother’s library. Indeed, Percy would have very much liked to meet this woman who had borne and raised such a son as Beltain, and regretted with a strange pang of sorrow that she never would, since the Duchess Chidair was long since deceased.

After another half hour of walking, they encountered a small roadway, and here Beltain lifted Percy up onto the saddle and mounted after her, wrapping his arms closely around her with pleasing protectiveness, and letting Jack take them forward the rest of the way.

The death shadow of the Cobweb Bride moved before them steadily, and Percy often reached out to it with her
death
sense and tested its bearing, and kept it on a reasonable path in the general direction where it
wanted
to go—such as this road.

When the sun rode the clear cornflower-blue sky close to noon, the road meandered northeast and finally started to climb up another gentle hill.

On the topside of the hill began a plateau, filled with verdant trees and fruit orchards. And in the middle of the plateau rose a prominent castle of white stone surrounded by a town settlement. Bright white square houses with roofs of the same chalk as the cliffs filled the vista on both sides, and greenery was everywhere.

At the same time the road finally had traffic. A few peasants dressed in light shirts and jackets moved along in carts pulled by donkeys and occasional draft horses, some covered with wide-brimmed hats, and the women in colorful kerchiefs.

The sight of the black knight in his imposing suit of armor, and his giant warhorse caused quite a few stares. Indeed, pitying eyes followed Percy who was seated up in the saddle before him, seemingly locked in the circle of his metal-clad arms. Likely they thought she was his victim and prisoner. . . .

“What town is this? And what castle?” the black knight inquired of one pedestrian.

The peasant raised his head hidden by a wide straw hat, and his wrinkle-surrounded eyes widened with alarm at being addressed.

“I mean you no harm,” Beltain said, wondering for a moment if maybe his language was unrecognized. “Tell me, good fellow, where are we?”

“San Quellenne, Mi-Lord,” the peasant replied in a heavy foreign dialect.

“Ah
 . . . so we’re in Tanathe?”

“Yes, Mi-Lord.” This was obviously a man of few words.

Beltain then pointed at the castle. “And what is this?”

“San Quellenne, Mi-Lord, San Quellenne
Castille
.”

“My thanks.” Beltain nodded, seeing that not much more could be gotten from this conversation, and the peasant raised his hat, and was again on his way.

Percy meanwhile observed that the death shadow moved steadily in the direction of the white-roofed town and castle. “I believe,” she said to Beltain, “that the Cobweb Bride is in there.”

He nodded, and they continued on the road, past growing traffic.

It was interesting to note that there was no sense of war here, no soldiers marching, no urgency; nothing to indicate that this part of the Domain was engaged in military conflict. Indeed, it felt the opposite—such overwhelming serenity, a gentle peace and lack of tension. If anything, the black knight on horseback was likely the most threatening thing these people had seen for days.

And as for the local dead, Percy could
feel
a few of them in the vicinity, but nothing out of the ordinary. Apparently the peasants of Tanathe had resigned themselves to the situation as best they could, at least for the moment. Occasional dead old men and women sat on the side of the road and were calmly ignored by everyone. Percy even saw one practical pedestrian leading an overladen
dead
donkey bearing a heavy load of baskets, its poor quadruped death shadow plodding just a few steps behind.

They reached the edge of town in a few minutes, and soon enough moved past whitewashed houses and cheerfully strung laundry lines flapping with bed linen and coarse shirts and pants, past back yards overflowing with green trees and climbing vines.

Percy was starting to grow very hot, bundled as she was in her winter coat and shawl, which she slipped from her head to her shoulders and over her coat, letting her head with its plainly gathered braided hair breathe in the pleasant mid-noon air. And as for Beltain, his dark armor attracted the sun—even if it was the merciful sun of winter—and she could see streaks of sweat sheening his forehead and rolling down his cheeks. She had long since removed her mittens, and he his heavy gauntlets, and both longed to divest themselves of the rest of their unsuitable attire.

“I would think the Count D’Arvu and his family would either acquire a house in a better part of town, or maybe find themselves a place in the castle,” the black knight reasoned.

“There!” Percy pointed down a small side street from the main road, leading into a large affluent courtyard covered in forest green ivy and a house that had three stories and appeared finer than many of its neighbors.

Because the death shadow of the Cobweb Bride was now
pulling
at her, pulling strongly in this direction, Percy was certain. . . .

Beltain said nothing, merely guided Jack into the smaller street. Soon they stopped before an archway of closed double gates of wrought iron, beyond which could be seen a long approach-way with a gallery of cypress on both sides, and then a fine façade of a building in the distance, framed with tall trees.

Beltain picked up a small metal mallet and struck the brass bell that swung from the top of the gates.

The sound of the bell chime had a high soprano cadence, beautiful and echoing into the distance. They waited for several moments then Beltain struck the bell again.

At last, a man appeared far among the greenery, walking hurriedly to the gates along the approach-way. He was dressed simply and wore a straw hat similar to many of the peasants they had seen on the road and in town. Up close he was revealed to be an older man with a dark weather beaten face and a grey beard.

“Is this the residence of Count Lecrant D’Arvu?” inquired the black knight.

The man stopped on the other side of the gates, squinting his eyes and peering at them through the grillwork, and did not reply immediately.

“No such here,” he said curtly after a long pause, his face retaining a blank expression, and turned to go.

“Wait!” Beltain said. “I am a friend of the Count. Please inform him that Lord Beltain Chidair of Lethe together with Percy Ayren is here to see him on an urgent matter.”

The man paused, considering. Then he nodded and said, “Wait here.” And he turned around and half-ran, half-walked back to the house.

Having paused before the gates, the death shadow of the Cobweb Bride billowed in a fine grey smoke stack in Percy’s supernatural vision. It was straining to move forward now, like a bird caught in a net. . . .

T
he Count D’Arvu received them inside the great house within minutes.  The same servant returned, this time with a completely different, friendly demeanor, and they were taken through the gates and up the walkway into the house—leaving Jack in the purportedly trustworthy care of two stable-hands—and then, past the cool columns of stone up a dramatic staircase and into a small but elegant and comfortable parlor with furnishings upholstered in faded cream silks and brocade.

Count Lecrant was a middle-aged man with a dark complexion, his face lacking vanity and his dark hair lacking the artifice of a wig worn inside his own residence. He was still vigorous for his years, dressed in plain clothing hardly different from that of his servant. The moment he saw them, he walked spryly toward Beltain and Percy, his face taking on a warm expression.