Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
K it’s legs wobbled.
‘Oh, God, no!’ He clutched Valentin’s hands, pulling him close. ‘I’m so sorry, I was as quick as I could be.’
He tailed off, seeing laughter bubbling in Valentin’s eyes.
‘You’re joking, aren’t you, it hasn’t been that long?’
‘Not quite a full day,’ Valentin admitted, laughing. ‘I just wanted to see your face when I told you that.’
‘You wretch, that wasn’t at all amusing,’ Kit snapped. ‘I had dreadful worries about that halfway back through. It was like torture to imagine you’d think I’d abandoned you.’
Valentin stopped laughing immediately, his humour replaced with an earnest look.
‘I’d never think that, and I would have come every day to wait, if necessary,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m so glad you’re back. I did wait here the whole time.’
Kit drew him into a hug and Valentin’s hands snaked around his waist. Kit rested his cheek against Valentin’s and his heart began to beat faster. Something was different in the way they held each other but he needed time to ponder exactly what had changed.
Unfortunately, Silas galloped into the clearing on a black horse, Adelaide behind him.
‘You’re back,’ Silas said, dismounting and lifting Adelaide down. She looked over at Kit and Valentin embracing and her eyes narrowed. She walked over to the gateway and Kit hastened to her side.
‘We can go through it and go straight home,’ he said.
‘You know I don’t want to,’ she replied.
Silas waved his hand and the gateway stopped pulsating.
‘I got what we need,’ Kit said. He reached into his pocket for the walnut. The wax he had sealed it with had turned brown and the shell looked like it had been through a fire, but the two halves were still together. Silas and Valentin drew back, reminding Kit that what he’d brought had the potential to kill them. He hurriedly put it back.
‘I don’t want to bring this into the camp because of the danger to you all. I’ll stay here and do what I need to do. Adelaide, do you think you can bring me three arrows? I know you’ll be safe while I work.’
Their eyes met. It would give them the privacy to hold the difficult conversations he’d been putting off. She obviously realised that too because her lips turned down but she gave a brief nod.
‘Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She took Silas’s arm and he lifted her onto the saddle and swung himself up behind her. They trotted away.
‘Three arrows?’ Valentin looked at Kit sharply.
‘That’s how it works, isn’t it? I don’t expect the first one to work, or the second,’ Kit said.
Valentin’s mouth twisted. ‘I hope the first works because once Caul Gilling knows what’s happening his defences will be up.’
‘Go now,’ Kit instructed. ‘I don’t want anybody near me while I work with the iron. Once I’m done, I’m going to make my way down and try join the human workers. No one will notice one more sleeper shuffling around.’
He pulled Valentin into his arms, conscious of the walnut in his pocket and the damage it could do. ‘You’ll be free soon, I promise.’
‘I believe you,’ he said, and kissed Kit full on the lips. He stretched his arms and transformed into the bird, taking to the skies and flying ahead of Silas. Kit rested, relishing the solitude, until he heard the rustle of Adelaide trotting back into the clearing on the horse. She’d brought her baby, wearing him strapped to her chest with a length of wide silk. She dismounted and handed Kit a felted cloak with a rabbit fur collar and large hood, a bow and a quiver that contained three arrows fletched with greyish purple feathers.
‘Valentine asked me to tell you she charmed them herself,’ she commented as he examined them. ‘That was Valentine before, wasn’t it?’
‘Sort of,’ Kit said. He tried to ignore the expression of distaste on Adelaide’s face.
He broke open the walnut and set to work binding the chips of iron to the tips of the arrow with silk thread. Adelaide unwound the baby from her front and spread the sling on the ground and sat on it. The baby began to whimper so Adelaide put him to her breast. It was the first time they’d been alone and the silence was uneasy.
‘Did you see me while you were home,’ Adelaide asked eventually. ‘What about Mother and Father?’
‘Your father has gone back to Halifax. Your mother looks as well as she could, given that her daughter is in an unnatural sleep,’ Kit told her. He sat back on his heels. ‘You’re right, you are younger back there. The family think I’m going mad, and I’m not sure they’re wrong.’
He sighed at the mention of the family, wondering what was happening back in Meadwell now that he’d left again, and how soon he’d be able to take Adelaide home. That was why he’d come here, after all. ‘I’m not sure what they’ll think when we turn up with a baby. We’ll have to think of an explanation.’
‘Of course.’ She shifted the baby to her other breast and gave Kit a brittle smile, perhaps contemplating how she’d explain his existence. She gestured to the grass at her side and Kit sat, transfixed for a moment by the scene of maternal happiness; Adelaide’s quiet stillness brought to mind a painting of the Virgin Mary and infant Jesus. This was not the woman he had known. The Adelaide who had longed for the theatre and nights of dancing would never have been content living in a tent, however luxurious, or feeding a baby in a forest.
‘What happened to the woman who didn't want babies and who declared a life without trips to London wasn't worth living?’ he asked, then immediately winced at what sounded like an accusation.
Adelaide looked at him. ‘I changed. People change. Besides, I never said I didn’t want babies. I just didn't want them too soon.’
Kit hung his head. ‘You mean you didn't want them with me?’
‘No. I would have wanted them with you eventually. If we got married. I’ve discovered a lot about myself since I’ve been here.’ She looked down at the small head nestling against her, white hair in a dandelion clock shock, then back up at Kit. Her lips turned down. ‘And about you.’
‘I’m sorry you heard the confession I made to the unicorn.’ he muttered, remembering the look of revulsion on her face.
‘Did you make it to the unicorn or to Valentine? Or is it Valentin?’ Adelaide said with a barb in her voice that caused Kit’s cheeks to flame. He glanced up and saw her eyes were filled with tears. ‘I’m furious at you! How could you not have told me what happened to you while you were in France. To keep all that from me, your closest friend since we were little!’
‘How could I tell you?’ Kit turned his head away, unwilling to see the hurt in her face. ‘I’ve lived with my shame ever since and it has been eating me but I accepted that as my penance.’
He rubbed his eyes. Adelaide’s outline danced in red and gold. ‘I told you I never wanted the medal. Now you know why. I wasn’t the great hero.’
‘Kit, I don’t give a – a damn about whether or not you were a hero. Besides, you came here to rescue me and you went back through the pathways alone. That’s quite heroic, you know. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to do that. That’s not what hurts. I always assumed there would be other women when you went off to war, but to discover you loved a man! That’s so humiliating for me!’ Her face twisted with distress.
‘I know you must see me as an abomination.’
‘Kit, you could end up in gaol. It’s criminal. It’s just – wrong!’
‘It’s criminal but it isn’t wrong,’ Kit snapped. ‘At least it shouldn’t be. It isn’t here.’
He pushed himself to his feet and folded his arms, staring down at her angrily. ‘You’ve been here for years, surrounded by people with tails and horns, who change between men and women, and you haven’t learned to accept that a person can fall in love with anyone! I’m surprised you can’t wait to get back to the real world.’
‘If it comes to that, I’m more surprised that you would want to!’ Adelaide glared then dropped her eyes. ‘In an odd way this comes as a relief. If you wanted a man, you could never want me.’
‘Yes, I could.’
It had been so easy to explain the distinction between body and, for want of a better word, soul, to Valentine, but that wasn’t important now. Kit reached for Adelaide’s hand but withdrew it.
‘I’m sorry. For everything.’
She shook her head. ‘Silas will be wondering what’s happening. I’ll go back to the camp, and you do what you need to do.’
She stood and walked to the horse which had been waiting patiently.
‘Tell Silas I’ll be listening for his signal in the morning,’ Kit told her. ‘Make sure you stay safely back in the camp when everything starts.’
‘That’s up to me.’
‘I didn’t come here to see you put yourself in danger.’
Adelaide narrowed her eyes. ‘I’m not really sure why you came here at all.’
Kit turned his attention back to the arrows, grimly wondering the same thing.
* * *
It was easier than he anticipated to shuffle his way into the throngs of people working on the land surrounding the castle. He mimicked their slightly dreamlike, confused state and soon managed to get closer than he expected. The arrows were small enough to stow in his rucksack and the iron must have had an effect on the guards because they avoided him, possibly without knowing why.
He kept his eye out for the small child who had fallen asleep at the sack race, but there was no one he recognised. He watched the sun as it moved overhead, remembering the details he had worked out with Silas. When night fell, he followed the sleepers into the closest camp to the castle walls. The camp was similar to the one Silas was living in, except everyone here was a human. There appeared to be no guards. Kit joined the line for a bowl of stew and hunk of bread and found a place at a fire. He didn’t eat, knowing that the food most definitely came with obligations.
He was hungry so he munched a couple of the ginger biscuits he’d brought, which caused a stir of interest from the people nearby. He offered them round, assuring everyone there was no obligation, and was delighted that the men and women who ate seemed to awaken slightly more. What magic did ginger contain? He’d have to ask Merelda.
‘This isn’t Kent,’ one man said, looking around and blinking.
‘Wo ist Stefan?’ asked a short woman.
German? The enemy. Though perhaps not under these circumstances. He quickly surrendered the remaining biscuits to everyone close enough, and once he had gathered around a dozen people who seemed to be aware of who they were, he set about explaining what had happened to them.
‘My name is Kit Arton-Price. I’m from the human world and I’ve come to free you.’
‘I know you!’ A young child pushed through the crowd. ‘Mr Arton-Price, I’m from the village. I want to go home. I want my mother.’
Kit recognised the child, who crumpled in tears as he stood there. It was the boy from the sack race. He lifted him onto his lap.
‘And I’ll take you.’
The boy’s sniffles subsided. He looked shyly at the onlookers. ‘He’s from the big house. He’s a war hero. He got a Military Cross. He’ll do it.’
For the first time, Kit heard those words without the sense of shame pulling at his innards. The medal would serve a better purpose and perhaps he’d finally earn the description.
‘I hope it can be achieved without bloodshed, but be ready to run if it looks dangerous. I promise you this, every one of you will be returned to your real life when Caul Gilling is defeated. You will have Silas Wilde’s assurance on that.’
There were a few cheers but not as many as Kit imagined there would be, and he wondered if he hasn’t made himself clear.
‘I mean you’ll all get to go home,’ he said. ‘Back to your bodies and your real lives.’
There was a shuffling in the ranks.
‘What if we don’t want to?’
The speaker was a squat, solidly built man, aged approximately forty. His hair was tightly braided in long plaits that fell halfway down his back. Both arms were bare and his deep brown skin was covered in intricate tattoos.
‘I have nothing to go back to. Even though we’re all free and supposedly equal now, too many white men seem to struggle to remember that. Here no one has called my race into question. Why would I want to return to that life?’
‘I like it here better too,’ another voice chimed in and Kit had to search to see this speaker. It was a young man. Barely a man, really, because the fluff on his cheeks and chin was still as downy as a duckling’s first attempt at feathers.
Kit was starting to feel out of his depth. He hadn’t suspected anyone would willingly stay.
The youth gave a giant sneeze. His body snapped and he vanished, replaced by a small boy who couldn’t have been more than five. He looked very much like the boy on Kit’s lap, but he was clearly undernourished and both arms were covered in bruises.
‘Me mam and dad beat me. What chance do you give me of even making it to six? I’d rather stay here and work in the fields. I’d never seen the outside of Gateshead before I came here.’
Kit sat back on his heels. ‘I didn’t think of that.’
‘Why would you. You’re rich and grown,’ the boy asked.
Kit looked at the child. Didn’t he deserve to grow into the fine youth he’d chosen to be?
‘I understand,’ Kit said.
The braided-haired man curled his lip, though not unkindly.
‘Not everyone has the privilege of growing up in a big house like you did. You will have a full life of luxury surrounded by those who care for you. A celebrated war hero.’
Kit couldn’t meet his eyes.
‘There is nothing here that could bind you?’ a tall woman asked.
Kit stared at her. She was beautiful, with long sweeping hair and an olive complexion. Was that how she appeared in the real world? Was she even a woman?
‘We’re not talking about me,’ he replied. He glanced at the child who looked dejected and physically small, holding a large wooden mug that was now too heavy for him. What better life did Kit have waiting for him? He had his affection for Valentine to hold him to this place, though he had no idea how one-sided that was. At home, he had a future wife who loved someone else and a father he disappointed. He had the knowledge hanging over him of years of duty and the secrets he had shared here, but which would forever have to remain concealed.
The child squeezed his eyes shut and gave another great sneeze, which saw him return to his chosen shape. He saw Kit looking and shrugged.
‘I’ve got my own shoes and my own blanket here,’ he said, before ambling off, presumably to take advantage of it.
The mood in the camp was sombre that night. Kit recognised it as the familiar, almost tangible solidity to the air that came before a battle. The anticipation of something that would change, and the knowledge that some would survive, and some would not. Different groups had gathered together around various campfires, bonded by some common ground known only to themselves. A small woman with short auburn hair and skin so pale it could have been carved from porcelain sat with a bald man whose black beard was woven into thick strands that reached to his waist. The manner in which they leaned against each other suggested an attraction that, if it had not already been consummated, would surely not be far away. Their affection raised no eyebrows, any more than the union of the tall woman dressed in a kimono and her lover whose hair stood in blonde spikes across his head. It gave Kit a pain in the stomach to see acceptance here that he could not imagine England allowing in fifty or even a hundred years.
He accepted a cup of warm, sweet wine after asking the usual assurances that he would be under no obligation, which seemed to surprise the young woman in charge of the barrel.
‘We were told that to ask was rude,’ she explained. A burst of fury blasted him. That’s why there was no need for chains or walls to keep them in; the people here didn’t know that their meals were keeping them trapped in slavery. They’d been tricked into surrendering their freedom.
He sipped it, tasting cloves and cinnamon bark, then found an empty space beside one of the fires.
‘Your speech was very good,’ said the woman he sat next to. Her hair was piled high on her head in a style that his grandmother might have worn. She stretched out long legs that were clad in laced boots and fawn-coloured trousers of soft leather.
‘I suppose you’ll be staying here, too,’ he said.
‘Why is that?’
He gestured at her trousers, and she laughed.
‘Freedom is tapping at our window. I plan to return to Scotland and do my damnedest to ensure that women in our world can wear and do what we like. If we can in this world, just think what we can do in ours.’
They clinked cups and drank then Kit settled down to sleep, wrapping his cloak around him. The signal would come just after dawn, when Silas had judged the castle would be at the most vulnerable and he needed to be ready to play his part.
* * *
Kit woke early and was already waiting, arrows and bow in his rucksack, when the smallest sliver of sun began to appear from behind the lower of the two mountain ridges. He made his way towards the moat that surrounded the castle and took up a position. The booming of Silas’s voice took him by surprise, even though he had been expecting it.
‘Caul Gilling, I am here to claim my birthright. Show yourself to me.’
Some magic must have been in play, because the voice echoed as if through a loudspeaker.
‘Usurper. False ruler. Your time is done. I come to this place with the blood of my kin and yours. Surrender and you might live.’
Kit winced at the lie. Silas had instructed that he was to shoot Caul Gilling whatever the fae did. He looked towards the forest and saw Silas emerge, leading the procession of his followers. The band of men, women and creatures from the camp carried weapons but were dressed in fine robes as if they were about to enter the House of Lords. It was a definite message to Caul Gilling that they viewed themselves as the rightful rulers. Silas himself wore a cloak of deep blue edged with ermine, flung back to reveal a polished breastplate. Valentine was on one side of him and Adelaide on the other, both wore scarlet cloaks that Kit hadn’t seen before.
Kit swore under his breath. There had been no mention of Valentine being present, though he understood why she would want to witness the downfall of her captor. Adelaide should have stayed safely back at the camp as he’d told her.
There was no time to dwell on the matter, however, as a sound like a crack of lightning erupted from the castle. Kit moved further round. The drawbridge had a gateway with an open walkway above it. Silas had been certain that this would be where Caul Gilling would appear, and he was right.
The air grew heavy and the acrid smell of burning garlic filled Kit’s nostrils. It reminded him of the trenches and mustard gas and he retched. A wizened figure appeared. He looked ancient and although he was physically unimpressive, he wore a white cloak hanging down behind him and a headdress of black gems on his brow. Even if Kit hadn’t known he was important, he was accompanied by a dozen guards dressed in leather and chainmail, all holding bows or spears.
‘I surrender to no one,’ Caul Gilling called down scornfully. ‘You haven’t the means to complete the rite.’
He looked very similar to how Kit imagined Silas would look in a hundred years, but with an unpleasant scowl. He leaned forward, hands on the parapet, and stared at Silas who was still walking closer.
This was Kit’s opportunity. He half closed his eyes and stared at the figure on the parapet. As Silas had suspected, Caul Gilling had a slightly blurred glow around him. Kit notched the arrow, running his fingers over the fletch made of Valentine’s feathers.
‘This is for you,’ he murmured even though she couldn’t possibly hear him. ‘I will be your champion.’
He pulled back the string, took aim and fired the arrow.
It fell short, bouncing off the stone, just short of Caul Gilling’s beringed hand and fell back into the tangle of weeds at the base of the wall. He’d half suspected it would, and having two arrows left, he wasn’t discouraged. The fae looked down to see where the arrow had come from and Kit met his eyes. The irises were milky, almost as pale as the whites, and they shone with malice.
‘What are you?’
‘I am here to free the Gentle known as Valentine,’ Kit shouted, refusing to be cowed.
The fae burst into mocking laughter. ‘One of the humans here to free my bondslave? Really? Can’t you see I’m engaged in a greater matter than yours? Go back to your work and you can make your pathetic appeal when I’m done with my nephew.’
Without hesitation, Kit drew back the string and let the second arrow loose. The aim was better and this time it bounced off Caul Gilling’s arm. The fae hissed and his pale eyes yellowed with fury.
‘Iron? Here? You dare!’
He spat words that lifted Kit off his feet and threw him into the air. He landed painfully on his back with a jolt that knocked the breath from him and it was only with great effort that he managed to hold onto the third arrow and the bow. Through the pain he heard a roar, and by the time he had struggled to his feet he saw that Silas’s company were approaching the gate. Caul Gilling snarled another spell, and a great wind arose, gathering soil and grit. Silas and his followers pushed on undeterred, Silas and others screaming words of their own.
The sleepers had been roused by the noise and were starting to appear. Hundreds of them making their way from the camps. Many looked confused but Kit recognised some of the ones he’d spoken to the night before. They were holding objects that could barely be described as weapons. He groaned. The plan was supposed to stop the need to involve anyone innocent and he’d failed.
Kit crept closer to the wall. Caul Gilling was distracted by Silas and one arrow remained. He gritted his teeth, thinking that he had suspected this the way it was always going to be. Threes in fairytales. Of course the first two had failed, so this one could succeed.
He drew back his arm, took a breath to steady his nerves and concentrated on the figure on the parapet, letting his eyes blur so that the world became grey with Caul Gilling a smudge of oily silver and sulphurous yellow in his vision. He let the arrow fly free, certain that it was travelling to the centre.
Without even looking, Caul Gilling waved a hand and the third arrow span away.
Kit dropped to his knees with a cry, barely able to believe he’d failed. Another cry came simultaneously, this one of triumph and Kit raised his head to see Silas, Adelaide and their followers swarming through the gateway and into the castle.
At the same time there was a fluttering of wings overhead, close enough to whip Kit’s hair, and he saw Valentine flying in the direction of the arrow.
He scrambled to his feet and ran after her, shouting for her to stop, knowing that the arrow tip would wound or kill her if she touched it, but unable to match the speed she moved at. He saw her circle and dive. Saw her rise with the arrow. Saw her turn back towards him, falter and plummet groundward, the arrow still clutched in her claws.