The Master of Heathcrest Hall (5 page)

He glanced at the pale woman. She met his gaze, then nodded and passed into the gap in the trees where the people had gone.

Layka wanted to follow after her, to see Nesharu and tell her what it was like to speak to the trees. Even now Layka could hear
them, though their voices had settled into a whisper. They were pleased. Now they knew what it was they must do, what it was they must fight. No
gol-yagru
, no Ashen-thing, would ever be allowed to pass the edges of the forest. Layka could not help feeling pleasure herself as their satisfaction thrummed in her.

Then the magician took her hand, enfolding it within his own, and it was a different kind of pleasure that fluttered in her chest. How tall he was, and how brilliant his blue eyes.

“Come.” He led her away from the trees, and she did not resist.

It was easy to find their way in the red moonlight. They hurried up the stony slope toward the mouth of the cave. As they entered, Layka detected a faint rotten scent on the air, probably from some animal that had perished in there during the years the people were away. The crimson stone still glowed within the fire ring, filling the cave with ruddy light.

The man glanced out the mouth of the cave, then turned toward her. “It might be good to wait until we fight off more of the Ashen, to be certain you are capable of bearing it.” He shook his head. “But no, it has already taken me too much time to find you. I cannot wait any longer.”

Layka didn’t understand these words, but the idea that he had been searching for her gave her a thrill. As a wise woman, one strong in the
wayru
, it would be up to her to name the man who would be her mate.

“But I don’t know your name yet,” she said.

“I am called Myrrgon.”

“Myrrgon,” she repeated the strange name.

He lifted his hand, touching her cheek with a thumb. “You were very brave tonight, Layka,” he said, his voice low. “But you will have to be braver still. This was but the first of them. Even now, as their world draws close, they are constructing more gates. This night will be long—longer than any you have ever known. But this will not end in a night, or even a year. You must keep teaching the trees to fight the shadows, just as you did.”

This idea was terrifying. But then Layka thought of the way she
had felt when she spoke with the trees, and she realized she was excited as well.

“Will you be with me?” she said.

“I will.”

She pressed her own hand over his. “Then I am not afraid.”

He smiled, his teeth white and straight. “Yes, I understand now how Gauldren did this.”

Layka did not comprehend these words, but she quickly forgot them as he removed the gray wolf fur from his broad shoulders and spread it upon the floor of the cave. His bare chest gleamed in the crimson light. Having dwelled in a tiny hut with her parents all her life, it was no mystery to Layka what men and women did beneath the furs. Nor was she in any way afraid—though her heart had quickened all the same.

His hands were gentle as they stroked her hair, her throat, her shoulders. Then they became strong as they lowered her onto the wolf pelt. He laid himself down beside her. Their leathers had fallen aside, and she could see he was ready. As was she.

“Layka,” he said, and her name seemed beautiful from his lips. “Through you, I will truly live again.”

Once again she did not understand his words, but it did not matter. All that mattered was his touch upon her body. His fingers roved over her breasts, her stomach, and below.

“There will be a pain,” he murmured in her ear. “But only a little.”

It was so. But it was a joy as well. Their limbs entwined around one another, like the coiling branches of trees. She cried out his name. And as their bodies became one, Layka knew that they were making a child this night.

That they were making a son.

I
VY KNEW AT ONCE that something was terribly wrong.

She pushed herself up against the pillows, then groped a hand toward the nightstand, fumbling with the brass shield that covered the candle. The shield fell aside with a clatter, and a gold illumination welled forth.

At first she thought the commotion would wake Mr. Quent, but then the light burned away some of the fog in her brain and Ivy recalled that he was not in the city at present. He had gone to County Engeldon south of Invarel to meet with several of the inquirers and hear their reports regarding the state of the Wyrdwood in that part of Altania.

When Mr. Quent first made these arrangements, the intention was that Ivy would accompany him. She had not been out of the city since the events at the Evengrove several months ago, and a longing had been steadily growing in her to see clear skies and fields and—perhaps from a distance—feathery trees standing behind old stone walls.

There had been no opportunity for such a sojourn previously, as the destinations to which Mr. Quent’s work took him were not usually the sort of places that one would go for a holiday. It was the matter of the Wyrdwood that occupied the inquirers, and—other than the Evengrove—the majority of the remaining stands of Old Trees were in the north and west of Altania. And these were precisely the parts of the country that were in the greatest upheaval at present. It was hardly safe enough for Mr. Quent to make the journey in the company of soldiers, let alone take his wife along with him.

Ivy did not know if it was strictly necessary for Mr. Quent to travel to County Engeldon, or if she had done a poor job of concealing her longing for a trip to the country. Either way, she had been delighted when Mr. Quent had proposed the excursion, and she had quickly agreed to the plan. Not only would it be an opportunity to see the countryside, but there was a chance they would be able to call on Mr. Rafferdy—or Lord Rafferdy, as he was now known to everyone else. His manor, Asterlane, was located in County Engeldon, and Ivy knew he went there when time allowed to make a survey of his estate—and, she presumed, to remove himself as far as possible from Assembly, where he sat in the Hall of Magnates. Given the grim affairs that consumed the nation at present, frequent respites from the workings of the government were likely a necessity.

Arrangements for the trip were soon made. Ivy wrote to Mr. Rafferdy, who replied that he would make it a point to be in Asterlane while they were in the vicinity. Mr. Quent agreed that this was excellent news, and a pleasant anxiousness filled Ivy as the day approached.

At the same time, however, a different sort of anxiousness arose. A regular event did not occur at its usual time. A quarter month passed, a half month and more, and still things did not proceed as expected. In addition, Ivy had begun to find it increasingly difficult to rise after sleep, and she was often gripped by a violent illness when she did.

By the time a doctor was summoned, few in the household had any doubt what the diagnosis would be—and indeed, his declaration that Ivy was now afflicted with a most tender and precarious condition was greeted with little surprise, though much interest. The doctor at once restricted her to the house and grounds for the majority of her time, with no more than one brief outing per day. And even that was to be discouraged, for she was to have only rest and quiet until she was well again.

A trip to the country, of course, was out of the question.

“He speaks as if I have contracted some grave malady!” Ivy had
exclaimed after the doctor departed. “I am sure I am able to go to the country. Despite what some might say, it is all perfectly natural. It is not as if I am actually ill.”

“I don’t know, Ivy,” Lily said as she played a mournful air on the pianoforte. “I thought you looked rather green this morning.”

Ivy frowned at her youngest sister, though she could not deny she had felt rather poorly that morning.

Rose shook her head. “No, she’s not just green anymore. There’s a spark of gold to her now.”

Ivy was curious at these words. It was not the first time her middle sister had mentioned seeing a light around Ivy, or around others. But before she could ask Rose about it, Mr. Quent said that he would stand by the doctor’s prescription. Ivy would not accompany him to the country. Nor, by the look on his craggy visage, would he accept any argument on the matter.

“Do not be forlorn,” he had said after her sisters departed the parlor. “Will not any disappointment you feel now be more than offset by the great happiness we will enjoy some months from now?”

Ivy could only concede it was true, and had kissed his bearded cheek. “But do not hold me so lightly,” she admonished. “I have not become suddenly fragile. You will not break me!”

So encouraged, he enclosed her within his strong arms, and her disappointment was thus ameliorated.

A half month later, she was less sanguine when it came time for him to depart for the south. For his sake, though, she kept her expression brave.

“Be careful,” she told him. “And do not feel you must interrupt your labors to return with great haste.”

“On the contrary, I will be as brief as possible,” he said, his brown eyes sober. “Indeed, I would not leave at all had Dr. Lawrent not recently arrived.”

Dr. Lawrent was an acquaintance of his from County Westmorain, who had been a frequent visitor at Heathcrest Hall during the years when Mr. Quent resided there with the first Mrs. Quent. When Dr. Lawrent wrote that he was coming to the city to perform
some work at the university, at Carwick College, Mr. Quent had invited him to take up residence at the house on Durrow Street during his tenure in the city.

“I am sure I will have no cause to disturb Dr. Lawrent and distract him from his research,” she had said, “but he is very welcome here, and if it eases your mind, then I am doubly glad for his presence.”

So Mr. Quent had departed again, and the quarter month that followed passed without incident—save for those that were reported in the broadsheets, which every day had another story of some violence perpetrated by rebels on the border with Torland, or up in Northaltia.

Yet distressing as these events were, they were far from Invarel. And while shortages of various goods had led to raised prices as well as tempers, the government had taken matters firmly in hand. Affairs in the city proceeded generally as they always had—as long as one made an exception for the many companies of soldiers that patrolled the streets, and which were gathered in great numbers around the Halls of Assembly and the Citadel.

Having a guest each evening at the supper table was not only diverting, but helped Ivy to bear Mr. Quent’s absence—especially as Dr. Lawrent was able to provide interesting conversation regarding his work at the university. His research concerned the methods by which traits might be inherited between generations of animals, and Ivy was always eager to listen to him describe his theories. Though, given Lily’s frequent sighs or Rose’s yawns, Ivy was perhaps alone in this. What was more, Dr. Lawrent had been able to concoct a restorative for Ivy that did much to alleviate the sickness she felt upon rising. Save for the lack of Mr. Quent’s company, the time passed in a pleasantly unremarkable manner.

Until she began having the dream.

It had started several nights ago, when she woke in the middle of an umbral from a dream that was unusually vivid. Yet even as she attempted to recollect the events of the dream it seemed to break apart, like a tattered letter that fell to pieces even as one tried to unfold it. She thought she remembered looking for shells
along the seashore, and then huddling in some cold, dark place. That was all.

The next lumenal turned out to be long—not that this was a fact which any almanac had predicted. The new planet, Cerephus, had fundamentally altered the movements of the celestial spheres. As a result, the once infallible timetables in the almanac were now all in error—unlike the old rosewood clock on the mantelpiece in the library, which somehow kept perfect time no matter how wildly variable the umbrals and lumenals were.

In the light of that long day, Ivy quickly forgot about the peculiar dream. Fifteen hours later, when it became obvious that weariness would overcome them long before the sun set, they shut the curtains to make the house dark. This caused it to become hot and stuffy as well, but Ivy laid down, eventually falling into a fitful sleep.

And the dream came again. When she woke, a cool night had finally fallen, and she remembered more than she had the last time. She had been with other people who wore not silks and satins, but garb made of animal skins, walking across the land away from the shore. She remembered looking up at the sky and seeing the red spot of Cerephus. Only it was larger than she had ever seen it—a crimson circle as big as the moon.

Each time Ivy slept over those next lumenals and umbrals, she found herself caught in the same dream. And each time she recollected more and more upon waking. While she did not remember everything, what she did recall was peculiarly clear, as if she had really been present. She remembered the soft feel of the doeskin she wore, the smoothness of the shells in her hand. The dark space she and the others huddled inside was a cave. They had gone there to flee from something.