CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
For Deri, one of the joys of his work was that he could share it with his twin sons.
It was, unfortunately, also one of his greatest sadnesses.
His position as concierge and caretaker of the Aurora was one he had inherited from his own father, and one he planned to hand on to the boys when the time came.
This would always be their home. That gave him comfort.
What troubled him was not the practical work his post involved.
As he watched them now, working together to put up a new run of wooden panel fencing in part of the gardens behind the building, he knew there was little they could not do.
They were handy, sensible boys, and knew the job inside out.
They were personable too, calm and courteous with the residents, and organised and hard working.
No, he had not doubts or worries regarding their suitability for the position.
What concerned him, what kept him awake and troubled in the small hours of the night, was their shared burden as guardians not only of the Aurora, but of its most important resident. Of its main purpose, in fact.
Matthew looked up and saw that they were being watched.
Smiling he asked, ‘Are you going to just stand there, Da?’
‘No, I was planning to pick holes when you’d finished.’
David gave a snort as he struggled under the weight of the fence. ‘Nice to know you’re there to help,’ he said, setting the panel down into its proper place. Taran loped forwards to sniff the new wooden installation. ‘At least he approves,’ David pointed out.
Matthew leaned down to ruffle the dog’s fur. ‘Bit warm for you out here today, boy. You need to be in the shade.’
Deri waved towards the garden table and chairs beneath the copper beech tree. ‘Time for a break. Let’s sit for a while.’
Matthew looked up. ‘We can get this finished before lunch if we press on.’
Dismissing this idea, Deri sat down, clearly waiting for them to join him.
The boys exchanged puzzled glances. They set down their tools and went to their father, Taran following.
The hound flopped into a furry heap beneath the wrought iron table.
Deri waited until his sons were seated. He knew they were surprised he had interrupted their task.
He knew he already had their full attention.
He glanced around at the beautifully kept grounds to check once again that they were alone and their conversation would not be overheard.
Not for the first time, he sensed a presence, not close enough to listen to them, but near enough to be detected.
It was an unnecessary reminder of why he must speak with his boys.
It also underlined the fact that he must cease to think of them as boys.
They were twenty-one. Although the age itself really meant nothing, they would need to be men to face what lay ahead.
He wished he had brought out beers for them to share while they talked, but it was too late to organise that now, and the conversation could not be put off any longer.
Now that the moment had come, the moment he had hoped he would not see in his lifetime, he found he did not know where to start.
He was both pleased and relieved, therefore, when Matthew spoke.
‘So, we need to be ready. What do you want us to do, Da?’
David nodded. ‘It’s already gone too far. We have to be better prepared.’
Deri felt himself relax just a little. He had done a better job of rearing them to their destiny than he gave himself credit for. ‘We have shown our weakness,’ he said at last. ‘These terrible killings…’
‘Murders, Da. Let’s call them what they were.’
Matthew agreed. ‘Though Mrs Salinger and Kyle were as much victims as the rest of them.’
‘I shall never forgive myself,’ Deri said.
‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘It happened on my watch.’
‘It was so sudden, the change,’ Matthew insisted, ‘you couldn’t have seen what was coming.’
‘But I should have!’ Deri was angry now, with himself, and with their foes. It was an anger he had damped down for too long. ‘I am a guardian! It has been my life’s work. I am here to protect…’
‘So are we, Da. So are we,’ David said, reaching across the table to take his father’s hand. ‘You are not going to have to deal with this on your own.’
‘That it should have come to this so soon.’ He looked from one child to the other. ‘I had hoped you would never have to face what is ahead.’
‘Don’t worry about us, Da,’ said Matthew. ‘We’re not afraid.’
‘Well you should be!’ he snapped, instantly regretting the sharpness in his voice.
More gently he went on, ‘The shifting is not something you can defeat with bravery and youth, bachgen. The terrible darkness that is visited upon people does so with the stealth of a snake at night time. It creeps and winds and moves towards its prey barely visible, detectable only by those born to see it, and then, sometimes, too late.’
‘You will be ready next time, Da. We all will.’
‘Poor comfort for the Salingers. Or the Richards.’ He let this sad truth sink in before continuing.
‘And now the stakes are even higher. It would be fair to say that all who live here know the risks. That they benefited from being a part of our coven just as much as they stood to suffer for it. Until now. Now, with the shifting so advanced, so powerful, they did not enjoy the protection they could reasonably have expected. Nor could they have known how little they would have been able to do what they were born to do themselves.’
‘But it is what they signed up for. All of us know of the dangers,’ Matthew said.
‘Did you truly have a choice? Did they? You were born here, as was I. As were the Salingers and the Richards.’
‘They could have left. They were always free to choose another path,’ said David.
‘To leave the Aurora, to abandon the coven, would be to cast oneself adrift.’ He shook his head slowly.
‘No, we were ill prepared and our enemies knew this. It is heartbreaking enough to see their evil spreading in the world as it does, but to have it breach our own defences. To have it poison our own brothers and sisters in this our very stronghold… it is pitiful and painful in equal measure. A meeting has been called. It is vital everyone, to the last child, knows how to protect themselves and each other. This new level of threat… we have seen the terrible consequences of our failings.’
‘Surely our lady is protected? Her defences are…’
‘Unassailable,’ his father finished the sentence for him. ‘Can we be certain any more? And, even if they are, as I said, there are other lives at stake.’
‘Lives that are equally important?’ Matthew asked.
Deri nodded slowly. ‘In the case of the girl, yes. Though both are vital to our cause.’
David leaned forward on his seat. ‘Isn’t it dangerous that they know nothing of the shifting? Wouldn’t it be better to tell them? To explain?’
‘That is not our decision to make, bach.’
‘But surely, Da, they would be safer if they knew.’
‘Our lady will tell them when she sees fit. Until that time we must do our utmost to protect both of them, but the girl at all costs.’ He paused and then said, ‘The last battle is near. There have been incidents before, down the centuries, of course, when our own coven members have come under attack. Many have given their lives in the name of what we do. I have to tell you those encounters were nothing, bachgen, compared to what is coming. Nothing.’ As he spoke he felt an unnatural warmth in his hands, as if the arms of the metal chair were conducting heat from somewhere.
He snatched his hands away from the source, glancing about him.
The sensation stopped as quickly as it had started, but it confirmed what he already knew: they were being watched, and the watchers were close enough to do them harm.
Mediterranean Sea, 1191
The storm had worsened. Not for the first time during that terrible voyage, Tudor thanked God and his luck that he had been able to travel through France with Philip’s forces.
Had he begun his journey with Richard’s men, he would have had to endure weeks more of the torture of being at sea.
As it was, he had been assured they would make landfall within two days.
Still, such news was of little comfort when the ship was being thrown about like a dice shaker, with himself, his horse, his servant Tan, and his fellow knights the hapless dice.
He was a good sailor, in as much as he did not suffer the debilitating sickness that assailed most of the passengers, but he felt no affinity for the sea.
He missed the feel of the earth beneath his boots, missed galloping his horse at speed over firm ground.
More than this, he feared for his horse.
It was the first time his mount had been aboard a ship and the animal was clearly suffering.
All the horses were corralled on deck, which at least spared them the airless heat of below.
Their pens with canvas roofs offered a little shade, but scant protection against the rain and wind that now beat at the ship day and night.
In addition, the violent motion of the vessel forced all the horses to constantly shift their weight so as not to fall.
Hour upon hour of this unnatural exertion was exhausting.
All Tudor could do was stay with his horse, speaking gently to it, reassuring it, hoping to at least lessen the terror the animal must have been feeling.
He hoped, too, that the sweeter air might aid his sleep when night fell.
For many nights he had been troubled by incoherent dreams. The glimpses of green wilderness and whisperings in unfamiliar voices meant nothing to him and yet seemed almost to call to him.
He often awoke confused and unsure of where he was.
Better to be awake and with his horse, reminded of his duty as a knight and his mission. Things he understood well.