Second Night (40 page)

Jemima jumped down and came back to earth with a jolt as her feet hit the ground. She leaned against the mare's side to catch her breath, laughing with relief.

‘I love you, Freyja,' she gasped. ‘I'll love you forever for doing this. Just don't even think about going home without me. Okay?'

She knotted the reins and loosened the girth, and turned the mare away to drink at the spring. She took off her skullcap and fetched an armful of broken twigs and brushwood from the shelter under the trees to arrange between the firestones. Daisy had been a diligent instructor.

‘You keep the big stuff for simmering when you want the fire to draw through slow and steady. Go for small, dry twigs for a fast burner when you need a good hot flare for the pot.'

I need a good hot flare,
she thought,
but this time it's not for the pot.

She sorted through the contents of the backpack while she was waiting for the wood to heat through. The hidden eye in the ash tree zoomed on the old hat pin and the pinch of fine, white hair laid out on a green silk scarf next to the hearth. It noted one of Daisy's smallest flagons of mead, a selection of dried herbs and a miniature beeswax figure of the Goddess.

‘This is a lot different from last time,' said Caz.

Sir Jonas nodded. ‘And no coincidence that it has been timed to coincide with the day of the full moon.' He gasped with astonishment. ‘Oh my goodness!'

‘What's that?' exclaimed Caz abruptly.

Jemima had unfolded the cloak and put it on.

‘It's the Goddess cloak!' cried the old man. ‘It was my grandmother's! I thought she'd been buried in it! And the amber brow band!'

‘Where did Jem get them?'

‘They must have been hidden all this time up in her room! I thought we'd cleared it out! Wonder of wonders! What a day!'

It was a short autumn day that was already coming to an end. When she was satisfied that the fire was burning fast and bright, Jemima picked up the hatpin. She tested the point and pricked a finger, but the scratch wasn't deep enough to bleed. The second, much deeper attempt brought tears to her eyes and made her gasp.

‘Ouch!'

The blood splashed over the figure of the Goddess and dripped freely into the flagon before the wound began to granulate. Chanting the invocation she had learned from Lady Christina's book, she walked clockwise three times around the fire, sprinkling drops of bloody mead to seal the circle.

‘Hail to Thee, bright Queen of Heaven,

Mother of Seers and the Far-Sighted;

Cast thy cloak upon my shoulders,

Lend thy wings that I fly fearless,

Into the far-flung heights,

and the dread-drawn depths.

Let fire flame and cloud cluster,

Let wind sing and earth mutter,

Let thy tears fall from my eyes,

And guide my sight that I see truly,

Into the far-flung heights,

and the dread-drawn depths.

Hail to Thee, bright Queen of Heaven,

Ever thy servant shall I be.'

She stood before the fire to make the offering. The cats' hair was first to fizzle into the flames, and then the herbs – rosemary and thyme, mint and marjoram. As the sweet, white smoke curled around her, Jemima held up the figure of the Goddess and dropped it among the flaring stems. The wax spluttered and burned with a bright, blue-green flame.

She drank a mouthful of mead and sat down, arranging the cloak to cover her knees. Making a great effort to put the pain in her finger to the back of her mind, she concentrated on the rose-coloured glow in the centre of the sacrificial fire. But it was the dark space wavering over the melted wax that drew her into clear vision... where horses gathered and lifted their heads at the sound of the horn... where shadow hounds bayed and leapt among them.

A spray of fine sparks shot up from the wax. The vision narrowed and shrank. Desperate not to miss whatever the Goddess might want her to see, Jemima forced herself not to blink as she gazed at the final image – small and remote, a carved figure on a woodcut in the likeness of a mighty tree.

The fire collapsed. A hawk called out in the forest. The Goddess had spoken, and the vision had been strong and powerful. Jemima closed her eyes.

I will remember today as long as I live,
she thought.
People are always nasty about things they don't understand. They don't understand strong and special places like Thunderslea. Perhaps they will never understand strong and special people like Caz and Sir Jonas, but it doesn't matter. This time Andy will be okay. He'll go to a hunting yard, Sir Jonas will live for years and years, and Caz will be okay too.

The ceremony was over. The afternoon was golden above the treetops and she must attend to putting out the fire and riding home before the sun disappeared. Freyja came up behind her and nuzzled at the starry hood. Jemima turned and kissed her nose.

‘Yes, it's time to go,' she agreed.

She sprinkled the last of the mead into the flames and spread the glowing twigs out to the edge of the firestones. Her finger was still throbbing where the flesh was bruised and ragged around the wound. She went to the spring and plunged her hand into the blissfully cold water, watching the blue light gather around her fingers. The throbbing eased. She filled the silver jug and drank. She was content.

Sir Jonas sat back and breathed a long sigh of relief. Caz stood up and stretched the tension out of his arms and shoulders.

‘How did she find out about all this stuff?' he asked. ‘I haven't said anything. Have you?'

‘Not at all,' the old man replied. ‘I can only conclude she has had access to my grandmother's book on the subject. Lady Christina exhibited some ability as a seeress, particularly in her youth, and consequently undertook to make a study of the rites of Frija. She believed that Frija, or Frigga, the wife of the High One, and Freyja, in her role as the fertility goddess, were dual aspects of the same Great Mother deity. It was her particular area of research, for which we must always be grateful. Without her foresight Mista would never have been sent to stud as young as she was. The bloodline would have been lost and Brynhilde and Valkyrjan would never have come among us.'

‘But how did Jem get hold of the book? Was it up in her room?'

‘No, it has always been kept in my study.'

‘Is it still there now?'

‘Yes, and I find it curious that I have never missed it. She would have been obliged to keep it for a least a day in order to gain sufficient knowledge to conduct the rite. I am convinced no other copies were ever made. My grandfather kept a list. I have it in the desk in the study. It's very odd, very odd indeed.'

Caz guessed what had happened.
The old man has no idea what computers and digital cameras can do together, or how quickly they can go about it.
He looked down at him, eyes narrowed. ‘So are you going to have it out with her? That cloak should be under glass in the exhibition room.'

The blue eye was benign. ‘I have no intention of taking any action for the present,' said Sir Jonas mildly. ‘The Goddess commands and we are her instruments. We must maintain our silence and wait.'

They turned back to the screens. Jemima was already mounted. Freyja cantered out of the clearing. They followed their progress out of the labyrinth and back through the checkpoints towards the manor house.

Long before they reached the paddock, Kyri lifted her head and called out. She leapt over the rails into the copse. Seconds later Caz heard Freyja scream, as he had never heard her scream since she stood chained for sacrifice at World Tree. She careered out from under the trees, rider-less and panic-stricken. There was no sign of Kyri.

He bolted out of the room, shouting, ‘Watch the screens!'

Sir Jonas trembled all over, moaning, ‘Are we invaded? Is this the hour of our reckoning? Are we undone? Are we finally undone?'

White-faced and shaking, he scanned the screens in fearful anxiety, his hand quivering on his sword hilt. His heart was banging so hard he feared he would faint as he watched Caz vault over the gate and race across the paddock into the copse.

Five agonising minutes passed before Kyri reappeared and galloped to where the mares were clustered around the colt under the beech tree in the farthest corner of the paddock. Caz climbed over the rails, carrying Jemima, and headed towards the house. Sir Jonas hastened upstairs to the study to collect the shotgun.

CHAPTER 69

By the time Maddie arrived home late after a long and delightful day working in London with Charles, she was more concerned about Jemima being out of school than worried about the accident. Sara and Daisy had already assured her that the cut on Jemima's lip, although deep and bloody at the time, would heal without scarring and the doctor was satisfied that she would soon be on the mend.

Caz was feeding her soup when a woman they barely recognised swept into the room. Her long black hair had been cut short and sharp into a bob at ear-level, making her neck seem even longer and her eyes larger than ever, emphasised by the fringe cut to sweep away from the centre point between her brows. She looked absolutely stunning – perfumed and elegant in her smart new clothes, and very tall in her high-heeled shoes.

Maddie regarded her wayward children with suspicion. As far as she was concerned the spectre of the truancy officer was merely put off and might be back to haunt her with a vengeance at any moment. Charles had been very understanding when she had talked it through with him over lunch, and very complimentary about her new haircut.

‘Why weren't you in school, Jem?' she demanded. ‘What were you doing riding in the forest on a weekday afternoon?'

Jemima was propped up on the pillows, looking very battered and very small in Lady Christina's enormous bed. Her chin was bruised and her cheek was badly scratched. The cut on her lower lip had been stitched and taped. She whispered. ‘They sent me home. I had a headache.'

‘Then why didn't you stay at home and rest?'

‘I thought I could ride it off.'

‘On Freyja? What on earth possessed you to even attempt to ride her?'

‘It wasn't her fault. She was really good. She wasn't angry or cross. I only fell off at the end when she jumped the fence into the paddock.'

Maddie sat down beside her and stroked her forehead. ‘It seems I can't turn my back for a moment.' She looked directly at Caz. ‘Was this your idea?' she said coldly. ‘Have you been putting her up on Freyja without discussing it with me?'

Caz returned the look. ‘I didn't know anything about it until I picked her up in the copse.'

‘Is that true, Jem?'

She nodded and began to cry. The whisper bubbled through barely parted teeth. ‘He didn't know, he really didn't. You can't blame Caz or Freyja. It was my idea and my fault, no one else's. You have to believe me.'

Maddie melted, but only at the edges and not as much as Jemima wanted. She did smile. ‘Well, perhaps I've got something that will make you feel better. Maybe much better.'

‘What?'

‘Charles took a call from the agency just before I left. You've got your wish, Jem. Andy will get his chance to be a hunt horse.'

Jemima's eyes sparkled. Smiling pulled the stitches. Laughing was out of the question. She whispered instead. ‘I told you he would. I was right. I knew I was right.'

Maddie kissed her wounded daughter. ‘Yes, you were,' she conceded, ‘at least about Andy at any rate. Try and get some sleep now. You can stay here tonight but you're banned from the yard and the house until that cut has mended. I'll be taking you home in the morning before I start work.'

Jemima looked solemn. ‘How long am I banned for?'

‘Until the end of next week. You will go back to school on Monday and I will see that you work until then. I will liaise with Mrs Gerson about extra homework. In future she will see to it that I am informed when you are ill and I will collect you myself. You're gated for two weekends. No negotiation.'

Jemima was horrified. ‘But what about Jas's party? I can't miss that! And how am I going to say goodbye to Andy?'

‘I said no negotiation and this time I mean it. I'm not having the truancy officer after me for
two
miscreant children. You can say goodbye to Andy in the morning before you go home.'

This time Jemima's tears didn't work at all. Her mother swept out of the room, leaving her to dab gingerly at a drop of blood oozing around one of the stitches through her lip.

‘Ma didn't believe us, did she?' she said miserably.

Caz shrugged. ‘No.'

‘I've never been gated in my whole life.'

‘There's a first time for everything.'

‘I'm sorry I got you into more trouble with Ma.'

‘Nothing that wasn't there already.'

‘But I couldn't tell her all the truth, could I?'

‘Neither could I.'

‘So you knew I'd taken Freyja?'

He nodded. ‘I knew when you left.'

‘Why didn't you come after us?'

‘Because I knew she was going okay and I guessed you were going to Thunderslea.' Caz picked up the bulging backpack and shook the shining cloak out onto the bed. ‘Now you're going to tell me what really happened in the copse, all of it. You don't have to worry,' he added quickly, seeing the look of consternation in her eyes. ‘No one's going to be mad with you. I think you did really well with Freyja but I need to know what spooked her, because she was spooked, wasn't she?'

‘Yes.' The whisper blurred. ‘Will Sir Jonas take the cloak away?'

‘Not as long as you keep your mouth shut and you let Daisy help you look after it.' He sat down on the bed. ‘Take your time. I know it's hard for you to talk but, for Freyja's sake, I have to know everything that happened before you forget any of it.'