The cauldron effect, p.36
The Cauldron Effect, page 36
Atalie jumped to Mary’s shoulder again and cried piteously as she looked out the back window.
Lady Flint banged on the roof to signal the driver to stop. “Something must be wrong with Hugh for her to be this upset.”
The carriage sped along without hesitation.
Mary reached for the squirming feline but the cat determinedly resisted and hung on to the seat’s back.
Her ladyship’s maid murmured the Lord’s Prayer repeatedly while Joan whimpered.
Caden took to barking again while Atalie’s caterwaul made Mary’s ears ache.
“We have to go back for Hugh.” Lady Flint’s tears now flowed freely. “He needs me, us.”
The staunch lady’s emotional collapse surprised Mary. Lord Flint might be mistaken in his estimation of his mother’s affection for him. Mary did, however, agree that her son was in trouble and they must assist. How? It was difficult to think with all this noise.
“Everyone, silent,” she said.
All, including Atalie, surprised her with instant obedience. Silence descended but the horse and carriage, with hoofs pounding and wheels whirling, never faltered in its forward motion.
This situation was reminiscent of her warlock’s attack back in Maidford. Then, too, Mary had been helpless. Another glance out the window showed their pursuer back on their trail, but not the second rider, whom she assumed was Flint. That did not bode well for Mary and her companions. For without his lordship’s magical assistance, how could mere humans withstand a warlock attack? What of Flint? Was he still even alive? The cat seeming more scared than devastated, suggested he was alive but in trouble.
Mary abandoned all hesitation to talk of warlock matters and asked, “Is Atalie Lord Flint’s familiar?”
“Yes,” his mother said in a defiant tone. “What of it?”
Mary glanced at her ladyship with a critical gaze. “What is a familiar’s role?”
“This is hardly the time for ...oh, what’s the use, we can do naught but talk. A familiar is used for both companionship and to assist with spells.”
“I surmise then that our speed is related to Lord Flint’s spell to help us escape. If so, Atalie must assist with his spell work.”
“Yes!” Lady Flint wiped away her tears and leaned forward. “Atalie, stop the carriage.”
The vehicle continued without any perceptible change.
Mary glanced at Lady Flint and then out the window up ahead. “She may not be able to control the spell, merely support it.”
“Then what are we to do?”
“We’re fast approaching a crossroads.”
“What do you propose?” Lady Flint asked, sounding frantic.
“There’s room there to turn around.” Mary attempted again to bring the cat around to face her. The short black fur was spiky and her tail looked three times its normal size, but this time she allowed Mary to handle her. She kept her gaze focused on the cat’s anxious yellow eyes and hoped she would understand her. “Atalie, your master may be in trouble and we wish to help.”
“Meow.” Atalie’s cry was plaintive.
“Good, then we are all in agreement. Now, you may not be able to stop his spell, but can you alter it a little?”
“Meow?” This time the cry sounded confused.
“We’re almost at the clearing,” Lady Flint said, peering out the window. “We must turn now.”
Mary stayed focused on the familiar. “Can you change our direction, Atalie? Make the carriage follow your master?”
The carriage immediately tilted as the vehicle swerved sharply to the left. Several cases flew off the rooftop and past the window, tumbling to the ground as the lead horse swung around back the way they’d come, swerving the rest of the horses with him, and drawing the carriage behind them
A shout came from the rear. They’d startled the rider who followed them.
Joan smacked into the carriage’s side with a loud, whump.
“Everyone, hang on!” Mary hugged Atalie and braced her feet against the opposite seat.
Soon they were racing back from whence they’d come.
A look out the side window, showed their carriage now aimed directly toward the lone horseman who still road toward them. He swerved to escape and came directly across Mary’s line of sight. As their gazes met, recognition sank in, and Mary’s heart thudded with shock. He was one who’d attacked her in Maidford.
The carriage passed him and changed direction again, this time toward a copse of trees. The ride became bumpier as the carriage horses left the well-paved road and sped over a newly harvested hay field with haystacks piled high at intermittent distances.
Directly ahead were a number of horsemen and some carts. People shouted and waved their hands as if in warning.
“I don’t believe it’s safe for us to go in this direction,” Lady Flint’s maid said in a quivery voice.
“Whatever the danger, if that’s where Hugh went, that’s where Atalie and I want to go,” her mistress said in a firm tone.
Mary couldn’t argue since she doubted they had control of either speed or direction anymore. Given the choice between the warlock out here and the one in the woods, she put her money on Lord Flint as the safer bet. Besides, at this point, she suspected it would be impossible to convince Atalie to turn around again. The feline’s gaze was trained straight ahead.
Before they cleared the line of trees, Mary spotted Lord Flint. Arms raised, much like the villagers, he seemed to warn them away.
“If he wants us to stop, he surely has the power to slow the horses,” his mother said in a reassuring tone. “Since we still move at a fast clip, I suspect he is merely glad to see us. Communication was never his strong suit.”
The horses rolled past the first line of trees and Mary, who still held Atalie, shuddered as a wave of energy swept through her. The cat’s fur, which had already been ruffled, now looked as if she’d been hit by a lightning strike.
Mary’s skin tingled from toe to scalp. Under her bonnet, she suspected her hair resembled the disarray of Atalie’s fur.
Once they crossed the border of trees, their speed quickly slowed and the vehicle came to a gentle stop.
“I believe we’ve arrived.” Lady Flint shrank away from the door. “Miss Bryght, I suggest you step outside to check why my son has brought us here.”
Before Mary could reply, Lord Flint swung open the door. With a scowl to frighten even the burliest fighter, he pointed at Mary. “Atalie, out here, now!”
Oh, thank heavens he doesn’t mean me. Utter relief relaxed her spiked hair. Then her concern for the cat rose. She hugged the trembling feline against her chest. “It’s not her fault. I asked her to change the carriage’s directions.”
His livid blue-gray eyes speared her.
Mary shivered, reminded of the warlock who chased them. Had she truly assumed this one would be safer? What danger had she recklessly thrown herself into?
“Meorrw.” Atalie padded Mary’s chest and those deep yellow eyes looked intense.
Mary’s fear dissipated as each paw pressed on her chest. Atalie’s claws pricked enough to catch her attention but not cause pain.
Flint had a mother who loved him and a cat who apparently adored him.
They were two different warlocks. That they shared a similar race was immaterial. Good and bad examples could be found among Englishmen, too.
Also, Atalie didn’t appear frightened of her master and that finally eased the tension knotting Mary’s shoulder muscles.
Her courage returned and she lifted her chin with defiance. “We thought you were in trouble, my lord. We came to help. Also, the warlock outside is not a good man. I recognized him as the one who attacked me before. I am fairly certain we are better off here with you.”
Lord Flint appeared lost for words. His mouth opened and closed without a word passing those handsome lips. Finally, he held out an imperious hand. “Outside, both of you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Kindly step outside, Miss Bryght. I wish to show you something that will disprove your last statement.”
Lady Flint, who had made a handsome attempt to fade into the upholstery, now tilted her head to Mary and mouthed the words, Go on.
Mary, unsettled by his lordship’s words, shifted Atalie onto her shoulder and lifted her skirts before moving to the door.
Flint’s warm but impersonal hand took a firm grip on her elbow as he supported her descent. His touch was comforting and thrilling, all at the same time. He escorted her toward the clearing.
The place did feel eerie, all overgrown vines and moss on the boggy ground. She gulped in air that was muggy and tasted earthy.
She was grateful for his lordship’s support and for Atalie’s soft purring presence on her right shoulder. Despite the strange surrounding, she was glad to be here with Flint to watch her back instead of out there on the road alone with the other warlock.
A protruding root tripped her and she stumbled. Lord Flint’s hand immediately tightened and held her upright.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Do not thank me, yet, Miss Bryght. Not until you clearly understand the true nature of the predicament we are in.”
His warnings grew more ominous.
She’d never visited the fens before. Her father, however, had on several occasions pursued his native plant studies here and returned to tell Mary and her brother many a tale about this secluded and mysterious region.
None of it good.
Chapter 8
“We have company.” Llyr, the protector of Mandru’s Marsh, broadcast the news to Mandru.
Ensconced in his favorite chair in his underground home, Mandru groaned at the unwelcome report. He’d barely opened the front cover of Toland’s History of the Druids. Since news first arrived of the volume’s publication, he had anticipated delving into and ruthlessly dissecting this presumptuous author’s work. Now, he had a copy in his hands and visitors interrupted?
“Who dares enter my marsh?” His thunderous voice echoed around the empty hall. Even to his ears that sounded autocratic. He didn’t care. He valued his privacy – hence he lived underground. Why the sign above ground clearly stated, “ENTER AT YOUR PERIL.” Illiterates.
“A rude Welsh warlock, master,” Llyr replied in his sedate tone, apparently unperturbed by his master’s temper.
Llyr, a gift from a water god, was notoriously difficult to ruffle. The living barrier’s temper was as serene as a lake at sunset, his emotions rarely disturbing his surface calm.
“Will make a perfect guardian for your territory,” the water god had assured Mandru six hundred years ago.
Perfectly annoying. Llyr never let anything get under his skin. Mandru scratched his right shoulder, as the thought made him itch.
“The warlock is joined by a pretty English lady, five other humans, horses, a dog and a cat,” Llyr continued.
“Cat?” Mandru’s interest overrode his irritation. “What type of cat?”
“The warlock’s familiar. A black cat.”
His interest died as quickly as it surfaced. “The defense mechanisms will take care of them. Save the cat if you like.”
Llyr may be a water god’s offspring, but while under his father’s compulsion, he could be counted on to be loyal, capable and efficient. Best servant Mandru had ever had.
He couldn’t imagine what placid Llyr could have possibly done to so enrage his father that he had imprisoned his son in the services of a druid to teach him obedience. Whatever the deed, Mandru had another three hundred years in which to enjoy Llyr’s services. Thank heavens for rebellious teenagers.
UNLIKE GULLIBLE MARCUS who had eagerly swallowed each story as if he consumed ripe berries coated in sugar, Mary had refused to believe most of her father’s tall tales. Mary preferred fact to fiction and her father’s accounts had held the sour flavor of superstition.
Her current environment affirmed her father’s claim the fen was overgrown with acanthus and moss. As Flint’s caution played on her peace of mind, she couldn’t control a few furtive glances that sought out signs of “greencoaties” and “the strangers” with which her father peppered his bedtime yarns.
Was that mist rolling in?
Flint released his hold.
At that loss of contact, Mary halted. They had arrived where the carriage had crossed the line of trees. Atalie leaped to the ground and went over to sniff at her master’s horse. The black stallion, which had been idly grazing, nickered a greeting.
Ahead, the villagers who shouted earlier looked over their shoulders often as if in concern but kept moving away.
Lord Flint pointed. “Please step over there, to the other side of the trees.”
She glanced from his oddly still stance to straight ahead. The way was clear. Not even a large root to trip her. She took a quick step forward.
He blocked with an outstretched arm. “Slowly, Miss Bryght.”
He removed his arm and waited.
Mary hesitated. What are you trying to show me?
With a deep breath to reassure shaky nerves that spiked up and down her spine like a violinist tuning an instrument, she took a cautious step forward, then another. On the third, she hit a wall. An invisible wall!
Nothing hindered her prospect yet she could no longer advance toward the clearing. She peeled back her right glove to test the concealed barrier. She lay her palm flat against the obstruction. The air vibrated as if she’d touched a living, pulsing being. Then the air pushed into her palm.
She recoiled from that touch and gasped. In three swift steps she was back by Flint’s side. “What is that thing?”
“What did you feel?” His slate gray eyes probed with intent.
“It reacted to my touch.”
“How do you mean?”
She pointed and then dropped her arm, helpless at how to indicate something unseen. “When I touched that...that thing, it pushed back.”
“That’s impossible.”
She looked at him with incredulity. “We are speaking about an invisible wall, my lord.”
He frowned at her and then he pulled off his right leather glove. He had a large hand with long capable fingers. He stepped up and tentatively felt for the barrier. He leaned into it. Glanced at her before he made a fist and slammed the wall.
Light spiked all along the line of trees and then all quieted. He turned back. “See? It’s a thing. Like a brick wall. It is magical but it is not alive.”
He’d barely finished the last word when something reached out, raised him by the back of his coat and flung him over her head.
Mary ducked and then cringed as Flint flew through the air to land with a thump before squishing along the muddy, mossy ground.
Atalie raced to her fallen master with a concerned, “Meow?”
Mary wanted to join her, also anxious about his lordship’s welfare but she hesitated. He was a man, after all, and he had just been thoroughly walloped by an invisible wall.
She had grown up in a house of men. Fragile male egos were easily bruised. From a distance, he looked unbroken, all his limbs pointed in the right direction. She waited to give him time to recover.
He lay there, not saying a word, not moving, not even responding to Atalie’s concerned pats on his cheek. She finally approached and knelt beside him. She petted the feline in sympathy, but did not dare express such an affectionate gesture with him.
To begin the difficult conversation, she murmured, “I fear you may have offended the wall, my lord.”
He raised himself on his hands and knees and in one swift motion, stood with his back to her.
Doesn’t want me to see his mud-splattered face.
Her humor surged and she severely reprimanded herself and hid her smile under a grave demeanor as she, too, stood.
He shook his arms and head like a dog shaking off moisture and then turned about.
She gasped. There was not a smudge on his face. No wrinkles on his clothes. Not even a splatter on his cuffs. Now here was a magical talent that a girl could admire.
After a full day confined in a coach, Mary was decidedly worse for wear and could have used a bath and a change into fresh clothes. Flint looked as if someone had personally sponge-cleaned every part of him.
The image brought a hot flush to her cheeks and she looked away from his thunderous eyes before he got wind of where her errant thoughts led.
“Whether or not the wall has any emotions to insult, Miss Bryght, is irrelevant. We are trapped behind it.”
“If the wall is alive, my lord,” what a concept! “would it not then be possible to influence it?”
“Walls are walls.” He straightened his jacket, adjusted his cravat and spoke with a patient tone. “People are sentient.”
Atalie leaped to his shoulder.
He absently scratched her chin. “Animals, it can be argued, are also self-aware. Stretched to the limit, some say that even plant life has a form of intelligence – they lean toward sunlight; perfume the air to draw in insects. Constructed things are inanimate, made for a specific purpose. Sometimes by hand, sometimes by magic. Neither case produces thought or reason. Only nature, or the creator if you prefer, fashions sentience.”
He seemed so sure and sounded so reasonable that she was tempted to agree. However, her father had taught her to keep an open mind on matters she knew little about, like an invisible wall.
Neither, she would bet, was Flint an expert on such a construction. Though he was obviously vastly more knowledgeable about magic.
“How do you explain its anger?” she asked, hoping to elicit a tidbit about magical workings. The subject fascinated her.
“That was not anger. The wall merely reacted to my touch. Was probably constructed to respond that way.”
“After hesitating? That suggests forethought.”
“A delayed reaction then.” His edgy tone suggested his patience had been bled dry.
Her mood matched his. “What would it hurt to reason with it? At worst, I would look a fool. At best, it might release us.”
He expelled air from between clenched teeth and it came out as a soft whistle. “We appear to have no other viable option for escape.” With a tip of his head, he magnanimously extended an arm toward the wall. His smug smile suggested he looked forward to her making a fool of herself. “Be my guest, Miss Bryght.”
