Part 15 (1/2)

”Deacon!” Cedrik called and hurried after him. The pursued continued as if deaf and did not respond. ”Deacon, wait! I need to speak with you!” Cedrik reached out and took hold of his arm.

Deacon, still wrathful, turned on his cousin abruptly. ”Will you cease to follow me about like a wretched beggar!” He tore his arm free, then continued at a solid pace down the street, losing himself among the crowd.

A stone path, cold and wet, led up to a depressing structure that was the mage's guild. Magenta went to her father's study to give him the books he had requested. Her visits with him were never pleasant. It was a mystery to her why he ever insisted on her society. He seemed to take little delight in her company, yet she was somehow still duty-bound to visit him.

The study was scrupulously organized. Her father sat at an impressive writing table, working over some old scrolls. The moment she entered he said, ”You may put them there.” He did not lift his eyes, and with his quill indicated the corner of the table. He did not embrace her in welcome, nor did he clutch her in his frustration. With a careful and decided manner, he set down the quill and laced his fingers, looking over them to his daughter. He was boiling with temper, though one less acquainted with him would never know it.

”Unpleasant occurrences have come to my attention,” he said in the deep-vibrating voice that so many feared. Magenta knew he was not speaking of the many infamies to which the priestesses could lay claim, but of the interference on her part. He knew of the abominable things they engaged in, the unjust ecclesiastical power they a.s.serted, yet did nothing to hinder them. He required the a.s.sistance of their knowledge and was careful never to injure his accord with them. ”Do tell me,” he said fiercely, ”that you have not so far forgotten all principles and obedience as to compromise my relations.h.i.+p and subject all I have worked for to failure.”

Magenta placed the books where instructed. She was softly spoken yet undaunted. ”I would not intentionally subject anyone to peril,” she stated, cryptically. ”And should it be within my power to prevent it, I shall.” For only a brief moment did she lift her gaze to his.

”There are discretions and delicacies we must practice in order to protect those who may be misjudged in their choice of sanct.i.ties,” he said in a precise, unwavering tone. ”You know well as any what it is to be persecuted for a different choice of faith. We have, you and I both, formed an agreement, entered into a sacred covenant, and every dictate of reason and of fidelity impels me to honor it.”

”And you do not feel it is depraved and empty, honor that is paid to those with contaminated moral sense?”

The alacrity, intensity, and sureness expressed in her reply amazed him for a moment. He regarded her, perfectly collected and free from excitement, then exclaimed in a voice as severe as he could command. ”Do not pretend to understand the inherent complexities of moral certainty, or the distinction between truth and impression. There will be strict observance of promises made. The high priestess has spoken in depth with me and requests that all obligation be honoured at the appointed hour, and nothing shall, I a.s.sure you, without my consent, interfere with these duties.

”She is your superior and, next to me, has the first claim upon your obedience. I have invested her with this authority, and so long as she remains accountable for your education, you will have the goodness to obey. I have always found you a dutiful and obedient child and expect no other conduct from you. I will make certain you have no chance for excommunication.”

”You will not give me a chance for life, you mean,” she answered, saddened, yet full of challenge.

”Be content-there are those worse off than yourself,” he said, hard and uncomforting. ”Surely your eyes have often seen the beggars in the street, the degradation and obscenities that lurk in hidden corners, forced by the hand of necessity, those that pa.s.s their days and nights in the agony of want, existing merely for death? Do you truly believe yourself marked by deprivation? They would think you mocked them if you told them such thoughts. Who shall say what reproof they will not call down?”

She could give no favourable answer and so remained quiet, painfully aware how numb her heart seemed to grow under his gaze. She had learned long before not to argue with her father; he had taught her that confrontation only resulted in him subduing her by any method accessible to him.

”There is no need to wander about, seeking diversion or galavanting off with men. You serve a higher purpose and will receive higher rewards.” Orsious lifted his quill as if to continue work, but a tense sensation in his throat prevented him. His cheeks were blanched, mottled with excitement, and something like a scowl was blackening his hard, insipid face. ”If you insist on making trouble for me,” he said. ”I shall be forced to make moves to ensure it is no longer possible.”

That was all he said on the subject, returning to the scrolls he deciphered, but there was something so hideous in the cold venom with which he presented the prospect that as soon as he spoke, there returned to her that agony of heart which the stimulus of her pa.s.sion had thrown off for a time. His face bent down, he seemed little conscious of her presence. She lingered only a moment, then started for the door.

”Where are you going?” He looked up from under stern brows. ”You may remain here for a time.”

Magenta took herself over by the window and looked down into the streets below. Seldom did she glance toward her father. He was unapproachable and impenetrable. The bond they should have shared between them was wholly absent. She wondered if he had ever taken her into his arms, but she could remember no such time and doubted even whether she had ever once loved him.

Chapter26.

Dark Grove -he sun had sunk so low as to fill the woods with sombre shadows. The trees, tall and straight, had a spectral, miserable appearance, a listless beauty in which nothing stirred. The air, half-mist, was cold and thin. Magenta drifted at leisure, walking with sweeping grace. In her aspect was the majesty of night and all that is best of the dark.

In a grove Deacon sat upon a fallen tree, a book balanced on his knee, deeply absorbed. It was a place where few ever seemed to venture and had quickly become a favourite haunt of his. He was not long here before he glimpsed the maiden through the gloom. Slowly he raised his eyes to watch her. In the mist she looked faded and beautiful. He thought she might come to him, but she remained there aloof. When she spoke it was in a low and pleasant voice.

”How long within this wood do you intend to stay?”

”Why do you ask?” he said, regarding her with some suspicion.

”The night will soon be drawing in,” she replied. ”It is not wise to linger after dark.”

”I have seen what lingers here after dark,” he said. ”They fear me.” In recognition of her concern, he spoke with a gentler tone, ”If it will ease your mind, I'll stay only as long as there is light enough to read.”

Nothing more was spoken in words, yet silent communication pa.s.sed between them. Magenta gave a curious, lingering gaze before she moved on, her train following behind.

Rain gently pattered down on the cottage roof. At the kitchen table Cade and Derek played cards, while Cedrik, next to the old woman, dried the dishes she washed and handed to him. ”I don't know how you city lads usually play the rules,” began Cade, in an accusatory tone, ”but in my books that's considered cheating!” With both eyebrows raised, Derek looked indignant and guilty at the same time.

”That is cheating,” confirmed Cedrik, watching the game as he dried a dish vigorously. Derek threw him a discouraging glance; he thought his brother a traitor.

Cade leaned across the table. ”Which would you prefer,” he said, his raised palm poised to strike, ”your left or your right?”

Derek shrugged audaciously. ”Both are fine choices-” He had only got the last word out, and took a rapid-slap to both the left and right cheek. ”Can we move on now?” he asked, unscrunching his face.

”Proceed,” said Cade, sinking back to his seat, content to have had some retribution.

They paused in their game. They had heard the front door close. A moment later Deacon pa.s.sed without so much as a glance. His hair clung to his neck in dark wet strands.

”Hey, where have you been, then?” Cade shouted, still holding his cards in front, listening.

No response came.

”You will catch your death, boy!” the old woman called after Deacon from the doorway, reproachfully. She saw him make his way up the stairs. She knew he had heard. Cursing him for his obstinance, she returned dutifully to the dishes.

”Did you see how guilty the devil looked?” suggested Cade. ”Probably he's been off with one of those black-hearted women.” Fear of Deacon prevented him from speaking in stronger terms. ”I'd want to kiss one, too, if their lips weren't poison!” He separated a card and slapped it down on the table, not conscious of his choice. ”Wait, that's the wrong one.” He stretched out a hand to retrieve it, but Derek slapped the hand aside.

”Once it's down, it's down!”

The night pa.s.sed in tortured unrest. In his bed Deacon was haunted by images of the priestess. Tormented in a half-sleep, he dreamed of her. Beneath black water, cold and dark, she was trapped. The surface was frozen over. Forlorn hands pressed against the frosty cover in a vain attempt to break free. With a sense of hopeless resignation she sank, sinking, sinking, into darker depths, her white arms raised above as if reaching for something unattainable. Deep beneath, all became still and calm. No longer did she struggle. Suspended there, abandoned in a dark, weightless world, among feeble streams of luminance, she was so helpless, so beautiful. Her swaying tangle of long, dark hair, concealing gentle features, drifted free, and her face emerged, pale and depleted of spirit. Her clear-seeing eyes were set on him with despairing, mute appeal, as if she could see into the very heart of him.

Almost he felt as if he was there with her, that if he reached out he could touch her. Always she was just out of reach. He wanted to hold her. He could sense her profound loneliness, but it was as if he didn't exist. There was only her and her pain. In hopeless desperation her pale lips moved inaudibly, forming words he could not read. Instinctively Deacon knew it was him she called for. He would break the surface for her, but he was as if weighed down by some unbearable weight. He watched, powerless, as her tortured, withheld breath became intolerable to her. For a moment she writhed helplessly, turning away her face, her cries drowned. Again her gaze settled on him. A deep silence throbbed between them. She was white and still. Her hair floated about her face and shoulders, haunting and ghostly, her breath almost gone. The wavering light trembled over her pale, dying features. With an effort of great will, Deacon drew as close to her as he could. He wanted to place his mouth upon hers and give her his breath. As he reached for her, almost touching her, she, with startling suddenness, began to struggle, so violently Deacon was startled awake.

He was relieved to find it morning. He lay flat on the bed, the blankets kicked aside. His hands trembled slightly.

”Night terrors? said Cade, from the far side of the room, sitting hunched over, only just awakened. ”You thrashed the d.a.m.ned bed.”

Deacon glanced at Cade as he got to his feet.

”Go to the window if you're going to be sick,” said Cade, seeing Deacon's complexion pale notably. He himself blanched under the look he received, half-expecting the mage to lay hold of him again.

”Where is Cedrik?” asked Deacon, noting the empty bed.

”He's gone into town to buy food.”

Deacon nodded absently. Then, unexpectedly, he said, ”We are fortunate that you allow us to stay here.”

”Don't mention it,” said Cade, in bewilderment at the mage's change of att.i.tude toward him.

The moment Deacon stepped outside, the morning air sobered him. The pitiful wailing of a distressed child came to his ear. As he rounded the cottage and went down the side he saw at the steps of a dilapidated house, a woman in a wretched state of poverty. A baby was cradled in her arm and a small child on her hip. She was trying to balance the distraught children while struggling with an ungainly tattered bag. She appeared unwell, coughing as if in the early stage of a serious illness. Deacon stood a moment, watching to see if she required his a.s.sistance. The distress of the woman overshadowed his own pain.

Magenta, who had only moments before departed the boat which bore her across the water, also heard the desperate wailing. The cries led her down among the cottages where she halted, drawing back slightly so she might observe unseen. She watched as the poor woman made her way up the broken steps and into the house. Deacon followed close behind with the two children. He held the baby in one arm and lifted the child in the other, her head resting on his shoulder. Deacon bowed his head, whispering to the baby, which then cried no more.