Taming the Beast (26 page)

 

Once he had come to a swaying halt before the altar, Roderick did not know what else to do. He'd not had any plans for coming to the chapel, and did not know why he had.

Small oil lamps to either side of the tabernacle gave a glow to the gilded surfaces and threw in shadowed relief the enormous crucifix suspended above. The very stones of the ornate room breathed old incense, and for a moment, Roderick was lost to two years ago, to the long hospital room in Constantinople, where another enormous crucifix had lorded and the smoky cologne had choked his raw throat.

Roderick gagged at the memory of incense-tinged blood in his mouth, of the ringing in his ears and the throbbing of his face, the way his leg had felt as though it was continuously on fire without being consumed. And then there was Hugh's gaunt, pale, worried face, seeking to champion Roderick's cause when all Roderick wanted was to slip away into death, away from the incense and the pain and the mocking crucifix. To a place where he might at last see his mother, and where he was sure to never see Magnus Cherbon again. How he had prayed before Heraclea! How he had begged God to spare his men and lead them to a righteous victory; and yes, to finally make his father proud of him, to praise him and say, “Well done, my son! Well done!”

But God had answered none of his prayers. His men had been starved, ill, and then slaughtered. When Roderick had sought to save some of them—any of them—he had nearly paid with his own life. And all the sacrifice had earned him was the loss of his leg, his manhood.

Would that he had just damned died!

At least Magnus had not been alive to receive him at Cherbon once more, the ultimate failure, now.

Roderick threw his walking stick at the high tabernacle with a roar. “Why could you not just kill me outright? Why give me this suffering first? Why saddle me with a boy not of my flesh, who does not know it and who looks to me as his father? Why place before me the one woman I could love for the rest of my life and then leave me unable to be the man she deserves? Why?
Why, damn you!
”

Then Roderick dropped to his right knee, his left leg held out straight to his side, and he toppled sideways, catching himself with his right arm. His sobs shook him and he let his ragged breaths echo in the tall, quiet chapel, his pathetic keening. “Have I not suffered enough? Have I…have I not loved and then lost enough for your greedy wishes? Must you punish me yet? Punish the only souls on this earth I could bring my dead heart to open for? Aag-ghhh! I hate you, you bastard! Come on—come on then, and finish me off!” he gasped, feeling his tears and snot running down his face. “You can do no more to me now—send me on to hell, if you would! Only set the rest of them free of me!” His last words came out a choking, trailing sob, and he let his head fall to the cold stones before the altar, his shoulders shaking violently as he wept, purging himself of the poison in his wretched soul.

And then it was if the candle flames in the chapel were guttering to their ends at last, the golden glow fading, fading to soft, cool black. Roderick's sobs were dying with the light, and in the buzzing chaos of his brain, gentler memories called out to him.

My most cherished possession
, his mother whispered.
I love you so very, very much, Roderick…as God loves you. Wholly. And perfectly. You are strong of heart…that sort of strength can change the whole, whole world.

And Hugh:
I owe you my life, Rick, and I will spend the rest of my days trying to repay you for it. You will never have a more steadfast friend, this I vow.

And Leo:
You love Papa? Me too!

And finally, Michaela:
You promised to protect me. And I believe you will. I love you, Roderick. You are the man I want as my husband, in every way.

All those he loved, and who in return loved him. Their unique memories grasped hands and danced circles teasingly around Roderick's brain, confusing him.

Why, why could he have not returned from Constantinople whole? Why, if their pilgrimage had been such a holy one, had his company perished, sending him back to his home, defeated, a half man?

Had you not been so injured, would you have ever seen Aurelia again? Taken Leo away from his inevitable poverty and death?

Would you have returned to Cherbon with Hugh at your side?

Would you have been forced to hold contest for a bride, finding no woman in all the land brave enough to pursue you save Michaela Fortune?

Roderick knew the answer to each question was no. Had his and Hugh's company been successful at Heraclea, they would have gleaned their spoils and returned home, Hugh able to pay his debts and regain his lands, Roderick eager to show Magnus his reward. Hugh and Roderick would have parted ways in Constantinople and likely never seen each other again.

No midnight drinking binges, or sarcastic comments about the poor state of Roderick's life—mocking him, then defending him, encouraging him. No crimson calfskin boots, clicking into his line of vision, demanding he get up and about. No one to share the worst of the memories with.

No dark-eyed scamp, dashing about Cherbon, his laugh ringing carelessly as he threw himself upon Roderick as if seeing him each time for the first time.

No Miss Fortune, her angel's voice bringing a soft femininity to Cherbon's black walls, her clumsiness so endearing, so entertaining. Her shapely body boldly pressed to his, making a virgin's love to him to bravely prove her true heart. How she loved Leo, and sparred with Hugh, and stood by Roderick's side against Tornfield, against Heartless, against the storm of memories that haunted him here at Cherbon. She had brought magic to him, in more than just the old worn boot still strapped to his right leg.

None of these people—the only people, save his mother, whom Roderick had ever truly loved—would be in his life now, had he not lost his leg and nearly his life on that fatal pilgrimage. The most remarkable individuals that he would have likely ever known, with or without his injuries.

Would he trade one of them for his leg? To have his scars magically healed? Was just one of their lives worth one short length of flesh and bone?

“No,” Roderick cried hoarsely from his prone position on the hard, stone floor before the altar. The light was returning now, slowly. “No,” he repeated.

Roderick raised his head and he felt a final tear jump from the corner of his eye as he raised his gaze to the towering crucifix, but it was not a tear of self-loathing, or of regret as the others had been.

It was revelation.

“Forgive me,” he whispered, awestruck.

And then Roderick heard the crash of the chapel doors behind him, and the rapid clicking of heels on stone.

“Rick!” Hugh cried. “Rick, thank God! What in holy hell are you doing hiding in—I thought I was mad to check, but—” Hugh broke off as he dropped to one knee beside Roderick and began pulling him to his feet. Roderick could feel Hugh's tremble. “Are you injured? Where is your cane? Hurry, hurry!”

“What is it, Hugh?” Roderick asked, taking in Hugh's lined and ashen face. He braced himself with one hand on the stone railing while Hugh scrambled behind the altar for Roderick's discarded walking stick.

“Alan Tornfield returned to Cherbon—his daughter ran off again, with Harliss, and we have reason to believe they came here.” Hugh slapped the walking stick into Roderick's hand and jerked him forward. “Leo's missing from his room.”

Something in Roderick froze just then, and the coldness seemed to radiate throughout his entire body. He jerked to a stop. “Leo?” he repeated hoarsely.

Hugh swallowed hard. “Yes, Leo. Now, do come on, Rick—Tornfield and Miss Fortune have already gone into the storm, and we must hurry to join them.” He pulled Roderick forward again.

The old fear gripped Roderick once more. “Hugh, how can I—I can't walk—”

“Yes, yes!” Hugh barked irritably. “Don't you think I know that by now? Pathetic cripple, no leg—
I understand, Rick!
But you got on well enough to mount a horse the other day, so please do shut the fuck up now and let's go—Leo's life is in danger, and likely Miss Fortune's as well, if Harliss is involved.”

Roderick said not another word, only shook off Hugh's arm, leaned into his cane, and lurched from the chapel more quickly than he ever had.

This was his test, then. Not a test from God—Roderick felt he had already survived that trial—but a test for himself.

It was time for Roderick to prove himself,
to
himself.

Alan was almost to the item he sought—Michaela saw it now, too: a long, once pale blue ribbon, now dark with rain—when his right foot slipped on a loose rock and sent him sliding down the side of the cliff.

Michaela screamed, thinking that in a moment, Alan Tornfield would meet the rising, crushing sea and be no more, leaving her alone in the storm on the trail of a madwoman.

But he did not go over into the sea. Instead, he landed on his side on a sliver of a shelf only ten feet below Michaela. She picked up the ribbon and crushed it together with Leo's shoe, not wishing to let one item of the precious young people out of her sight, and then carefully scrambled farther down the treacherous path to Alan's side.

“Alan! Are you all right?” There was not enough room to crouch, so she leaned into the rock and over him, the sea mist sliding over them like frozen slush. The tide was just below them now, and in moments the breakers would sweep them both from the cliff face. “Alan, you must get up! The water—”

“I think I've broken my arm,” he groaned, and began to struggle to his feet.

Michaela held out the hand not clutching Leo's shoe and Elizabeth's ribbon and the slick rock for vain purchase.

“Get back, Michaela,” Alan shouted. “You'll have us both drowned!”

Michaela scrambled back up the path, to where the ribbon had been found. Alan joined her in a moment, his face as white as the lightning striking the sea, and cradling his right arm. He looked to a small overhang where the ribbon had lain. A narrow, black opening sheltered underneath.

“Is it a cave, you think?” Michaela asked.

Alan nodded. “I can only hope. Either that or…” He glanced over his shoulder at the crashing waves that were ever advancing on them both. “I can't go in—with my arm, I'd be useless to fight off Harliss or bring the children out. We'll have to wait for Hugh and—”

“I'll go,” Michaela said immediately, shoving the tiny shoe and slip of silk into Alan's chest. “There's no time to wait—look at the rocks, the tide mark. The water will invade the cave as it rises and they could all be drowned. Go back up, Alan, and make sure Roderick and Hugh see where we are when they come.” Michaela crouched down and readied herself to enter the cave, but Alan held his uninjured arm before her chest.

“Michaela, no! What if—”

“Just go, Alan!” She pushed his arm away and ducked inside the pitch-black throat of the sea cave.

The waves were louder inside than without, pounding against the cliff and vibrating through the hard rock as Michaela crawled down the tunnel, narrow and sloped toward the heart of the land. Once the tide rose, the sea would rush inside like a river, filling up the cave. Her heart beat so fast in her chest that she could not discern the rhythm, a riffling of blood at once. She could hear nothing but the waves, and her heart.

“Leo!” she called as she crawled. “Elizabeth! Answer me!”

“Mike-lah!”
the precious little voice called, sounding scared and weak and frantic, and Michaela threw herself down the slick slide of rock toward it.

A flicker of meager light heralded the opening of the passage just as Michaela splashed onto the floor of the bottlenecked cave. She scrambled up to a crouch and what she saw nearly caused her to vomit.

Leo was indeed inside, sitting in Elizabeth Tornfield's lap, both children clutching at each other in a depth of stagnant, murky water. And standing hunched near them was Harliss, a long blade in one hand and an even longer, thick torch in the other. Michaela knew in that moment that the woman was truly mad. The gray cloak she'd worn earlier was gone, revealing the costume beneath: an intricate and costly-looking gown and robe, soaked with water now, and her thin, gray hair was done in a clumsy, sweeping plait around her head, as if she were playing the part of a noble lady who would hostess a grand feast. The ensemble was much too short for the tall, bony woman, and hung on her skeletal frame like a bad jest.

“How lovely that you would join us, Miss Fortune,” Harliss cackled. “But where is Roderick? It is him I want.”

“He's not here. 'Tis only I, and Alan Tornfield. He's just outside. He's…he's hurt his arm.”

“My papa?” Elizabeth choked.

“Shut up!” Harliss shrieked at the girl, and then turned her eyes back to Michaela. “Roderick knows, though, doesn't he? That I have them.” She jerked her head toward the children, huddled together in the water on the floor.

Michaela nodded. “Hugh was calling for him as I left the keep.” She took a step toward Leo and Elizabeth. “Are you both all right?”

“Stay back!”
Harliss screeched, and splashed through the water at Michaela with the dagger outstretched, coming to stand between her and the children, the point of her blade dimpling Elizabeth's cheek. “Take one more step, and I shall cut her throat. I don't need her alive—either of them. Roderick will not know until he is arrived, and then it will be too late.”

“All right,” Michaela tried to answer calmly, and took a step back. “All right, Harliss, I won't move. But why not let them leave? I'll stay in their place until Roderick comes.”

Harliss laughed, a frightening little giggle. “Oh, of course. So that you could try to overpower me once they've gone? No. As a matter of fact, my lady, I've changed my mind.” Harliss gestured toward the children with her blade. “Please, won't you take a seat next to the girl?”

Michaela did not like the look in the woman's gray eyes, but felt it was far better to be close to Leo and Elizabeth than not, and so she dropped into the icy water at Elizabeth's side, wrapping an arm about them both and drawing her knees up to make as much of a barrier between the children and Harliss as she could.

“Lovely,” Harliss crooned. She leaned the torch against the wall of the sea cave, and the flame spluttered and spat at the damp. Michaela prayed it would not go out. Then the woman picked up a coil of rope lying in the water and advanced on the trio. She threw it at Michaela's head and it stung her cheek where it slapped wetly.

“Wrap it around yourselves—all of you together, tightly, now—and then give me the ends. I'll not have you trying anything clever once his lordship arrives.”

“You want me to tie us up?” Michaela asked.

Harliss blinked. “Why, yes.”

“No!” Michaela protested. “That's mad! If the tide comes in, we won't be able to get loose quick enough.”

“I…know!”
Harliss screamed, her eyes bulging from their sockets. “You'll either do it, or I'll start letting blood—the littlest snot's first!
Do it!
”

“All right, all right!” Michaela shook out the rope and looped it loosely around them all.

“Tighter,” Harliss commanded, and gestured with her blade. “And once more. Now, one end to me.”

Michaela was forced to hold the other end of the rope while Harliss made a pair of knots. Of course the snare would not hold the three of them should they try an escape, but it would entangle them and slow them down just enough that Harliss would have time to use her blade, perhaps fatally.

And if the cave flooded…

Michaela stopped the thought before it could blossom, and pulled the children closer to her.

“Ee-oh scared, Mike-lah,” the little boy whispered, his head tucked under Elizabeth's chin. The two seemed to have completely overcome any animosity they'd once held toward each other. “Papa no come?”

“Yes, Leo,” Michaela whispered and tried to smile. “Your papa will come for us. Just wait. He'll come.”

Harliss backed against the wall and grabbed up the torch once more, her eyes on the tunnel leading to the cliff, and smiled her mad smile. She began humming a soft tune.

Please come, Roderick.

 

Roderick was terrified as he dragged and lurched over the stormy swells of land between Cherbon and the sea, Hugh never breaking pace with him, encouraging him wordlessly.

What if they could not find them—any of them? What if Leo and Michaela were taken from him forever by Harliss? Perhaps it was to be his punishment for his refusal of their unconditional love, for his damned vanity.

Then he would truly know what it was to have lost all.

The lightning flashed and Roderick saw the black outline of a man on the horizon of the cliff ahead, waving one arm madly, then running toward him and Hugh. His voice called out, shouts that were no louder than a whisper in the roar of wind and rain and surf.

“—here!” his voice called. “We're over here!”

They met Alan Tornfield, and he spun on his heel instantly, leading them back toward the edge of the cliff, his face chalky, his arm cradled across his stomach.

“Have you found the children? Where is Michaela?” Roderick demanded, his words coming out as gasps.

“We think they've taken shelter in a sea cave—Michaela—”

“A sea cave?” Hugh shouted. “You fool! The tide will—”

“I could not stop her!” Alan shouted back just as they met the head of the treacherous path. “She would not wait, fearing that they would be trapped. I would have gone in her stead, but I think my arm's broken.”

“I'll break your fucking neck!” Hugh screamed.

Roderick felt as if all the blood had drained from his body, staring down at the brutish waves pounding the rocky cliff. He ignored Hugh and Tornfield—Hugh could kill him if he wished, for all Roderick cared. He braced his cane between two jagged boulders and slid awkwardly down onto the path.

“Rick, wait!” Hugh scrambled after.

Roderick inched along the path, his back to the sea, leaning into the cold, slick rock.

“It's just there!” Tornfield called from beyond Hugh. “Right before you, Roderick, under the ledge!”

Roderick saw the canopy of rock over the narrow opening just as a wave washed under his useless left boot and it slipped from its hold. Roderick cried out, grasping for purchase, and his cane fell from his left hand, tumbling away soundlessly into the surf now at his toes.

He could not go into the cave with his boot. It was weighty, unwieldy. Roderick turned his face against the rock to look back at Hugh.

“Undo the boot, Hugh.”

“Rick, no! You mustn't try to—Jesus! You'll all be drowned!”

“They are my family!” Roderick roared against the screaming wind. “Hurry, Hugh!”

After one brief, painful look, Hugh bent down, his dagger drawn, and slashed the thick straps of leather hidden above Roderick's knee and down his dumb calf. Roderick stepped out of the boot, feeling two stone lighter, and hopped a careful step closer to the cave.

Hugh attempted one final plea. “I'll follow you in—you may need help getting—”

“No,” Roderick said. “I know this cave from when I was a boy. The tunnel is small—we cannot risk a jam.” Then he called past Hugh. “Go above, Tornfield, and call to anyone you see.” It was an empty hope, the storm having likely driven everyone indoors, but Roderick wanted Tornfield out of the way.

The waves were splashing up his right calf, now, causing him to sway with the sea. In moments, the water would breach the slot in the cliff. He looked at his best friend again. “Hugh, try to stay as close as you can without being washed away. I'll send them up, one at a time.”

“What of Harliss?” Hugh asked, but when Roderick gave him no answer, Hugh's throat convulsed, and he handed Roderick his dagger. “I shan't move until I see your face again, Rick, I swear it. Godspeed.”

Roderick crouched down and squeezed into the opening of the cave, like a cold crypt, a rocky, watery coffin.

 

The cave swallowed the first small wave with a gulp, sending a splash of cold, salty spray over Michaela and the children burrowed into her side. Elizabeth screamed, and Leo began to whimper.

Michaela looked to Harliss, still hunched against the dripping wall with her sputtering torch. She had not seemed to notice the first invading wave, staring at the mouth of the tunnel and muttering low under her breath.

“Harliss,” Michaela called. “The tide is coming in—we must go now, else we'll all be drowned.”

“You'll not go anywhere, Miss Fortune,” Harliss said distractedly. “Shut up.”

“Surely there must be some other way to gain what you desire,” Michaela persisted, her panic increasing as another trickle, then a belching wave washed into the cave. The water was perhaps twelve inches deep over the entire floor, and would rise quicker and higher with each successive flow. Soon, it would be a continuous river of sea, choking the cave, drowning them all. “The children are innocent—I beg you, let them go while there is still time.”

“Michaela!” Roderick's voice boomed into the close space from the tunnel.

“Roderick!” she screamed with all her might. “Harliss has a blade!”

The gray old woman rushed to Michaela and hit her with the back of her fist, gripped around the hilt of the dagger. Michaela felt her lips split against her teeth and warm blood flow around her gums.