Bringer of Light (20 page)

‘So he’s just going to keep me in a box for the rest of my life? Ain’t he worried my friends’ll try and find me?’

‘Oh no. As far as your friends are concerned, you died when the avatar did. Bodies will be provided, sympathies expressed, et cetera. But do not worry, you will not be imprisoned in a box. Your living area will be spacious and luxurious, and you will even be able to explore some of the Gatekeeper’s domain, provided you behave yourself. You will want for nothing. Your life will be long, safe and happy.’

Unseen hands lifted Ifanna to her feet. She did not resist. She noticed in passing that the other side of the rocky chamber was dark again. She had a brief glimpse of Hylwen’s shocked expression as the monitors led the two of them from the room.

Ifanna was shoved into another room, this one bare of any amenities, and the door was locked behind her. She felt disconnected, as light as an empty vessel. She held on to the one, impossible, truth: she was not to die – nor was she to endure the lesser fate that Hylwen had spoken of; instead, she was to be freed. This was
totally
unexpected – but the Cariad had not acted as
anyone
expected. Of course, she was a goddess and she could do as she wished, but Ifanna could not shake the feeling that her ruling had amazed everyone.

As time passed she realised what the sensation of lightness was. It was hope.

The door opened, and two monitors returned. She did not want to be bound and gagged again, but she knew better than to resist; at least they left the blindfold off, and only tied her hands. They took her out to Hylwen, who walked next to her, and they were surrounded by a cordon of monitors, with a priest at their head.

The escort led them out of the Tyr, but this time, instead of the stern reverence she’d sensed on the way to the audience with the Cariad, the guards’ chilly demeanour hid a deep unease. And Hylwen was afraid, despite their reprieve. Ifanna tried to get her attention, and after a while Hylwen looked over at her.

Ifanna spoke silently,

Ifanna did not answer at once, for she had been trying to avoid that very conclusion. Surely she should have felt the goddess look into her heart? Yet she had sensed nothing.

A foolish question perhaps, but the alternative was unthinkable.

Knowing Hylwen was likely to remind her of her ignorance, Ifanna added.

Ifanna refused to lose hope so soon after rediscovering it.

Such thoughts were close to blasphemy, yet Ifanna found they came easily to her now.

Hylwen obviously wanted Ifanna to have to ask.

Ifanna wanted to believe the Cariad’s promise, to grasp hope with both hands. Yet Hylwen spoke sense. And her encounter with the Cariad had not gone at all as she had expected.

admitted Hylwen.

Ifanna concentrated on the nearest guard, who held the end of the rope binding her hands. Certainly he was not happy; that much she could tell by looking at his face. To find out more, she needed to get closer, ideally to make eye contact. But that would be neither simple nor wise. She abandoned her plan, and looked back at Hylwen.

They came to a door which the priest unlocked. Outside, night had fallen, though the darkness was partially dispelled by unearthly glowing globes like those in the Tyr, these ones set on high poles to cast pools of white radiance around them. The houses here were as grand as any in Plas Morfren. Ifanna shivered in the chill night air. She half expected the guards to blindfold her now there were no more steps to descend, but they did not, and she soon found that there were steps and slopes to negotiate out here too.

Her bare arm touched Hylwen’s as they descended a narrow stairway, and Ifanna felt the spark of contact.

she thought.

Ifanna noted the use of ‘we’.

Trying not to feel foolishly gratified that Hylwen had finally decided to use her name, Ifanna thought back,

She made it sound so simple. Yet she only had Hylwen’s word for it that they were in danger.

Ifanna had not meant that: she was asking whether Hylwen would go ahead without her anyway. She suspected not: the other girl needed her help. Ifanna’s offence at Hylwen’s manner was replaced by a warm glow of conspiracy. She had an ally, and they were going to fight back.

Ifanna did not have the advantage of Hylwen’s knowledge of the city; wherever she ended up, she would be in unfamiliar territory.

She could trust Hylwen, if only because she needed Ifanna for the plan to work.

Ifanna took stock of their opposition. One guard walked beside the priest at the front, carrying a lantern to light the path where the white globes were sparse. She and Hylwen each had two guards walking alongside them. She looked at the two with her: one was loosely holding the rope around her hands; the other, immediately behind him, carried a loaded crossbow, though he held the weapon pointed down. Two more guards brought up the rear. The odds were not good, but Ifanna had already made her choice. She kept close enough to Hylwen for them to stay in contact.

As they silently refined their plan the streets became narrower and the globes less frequent, until the lights shone only at the intersections of major routes. The few people they met silently stepped aside for the party to pass, though some, openly curious, looked at them.

The streets were flatter and less well-surfaced here, the houses meaner. Hylwen silently warned her they were approaching the junction she deemed best for them to make their escape, then spoke in Ifanna’s head:

Both girls stopped dead and turned. Ifanna caught the eye of the armed monitor, then thought, with all the force of lust and compulsion she could muster:

She saw him begin to raise his crossbow; his companion, in his surprise, relaxed his grip on the rope. She grabbed her end of it and yanked it out of his hand. The guard with the crossbow hesitated, and someone shouted an alarm. Ifanna looked around, desperately trying to spot her escape route; Hylwen had picked this spot precisely to allow the two of them to take opposite alleys, thus splitting the guards. The dark path to freedom lay just beyond the armed monitor.

Someone tried to grab her from behind and she ducked, just as she heard the twang of a crossbow, and a scream. So Hylwen had succeeded. Her own guard still looked confused, standing there with his weapon only half raised, and the guard who had held her rope was going for his knife.

She heard another crossbow shot, and this time the scream was female. Though Hylwen’s cry chilled her heart, Ifanna was already pushing through the gap between the two distracted monitors. She shoved the crossbow aside, which the monitor had not expected; he kept hold of his weapon, but took half a step back as he did so. Ifanna felt the weapon discharge and the bolt skittered across the cobbles. A heartbeat later, something tore her tunic, pricking her flank.

She dodged into the alley, her heart pounding, and heard more shouts – something about a rooftop? – but her only concern now was to escape. The lightness she had felt after the Cariad’s judgment was back, and she expected to float free of the ground at any moment – either that, or be brought down by a crossbow bolt in her back.

She skidded down a side-turning. From behind she could hear the sound of running feet, only one man, but that was enough; she needed to lose him. But her hands were still bound in front of her, and though she held the loose end of the rope bunched in her fists, still this slowed her down. She could never outrun her pursuer, so she would have to lose him. In the dark she ran straight past one alley, and when she spotted another one ahead, she took it, only to find it was a dead end, with a high wooden fence at the far end.

Ifanna looked around in panic. She could hear the monitor close behind; if she retraced her steps, he would surely spot her. There was a large barrel, standing halfway down, and she crouched down and slid behind it, pressing back into the gap against the wall. The wood felt slimy, and her nose was filled with the stink of stagnant water, but it was better than standing in the open, waiting to be caught. She prayed to the Weaver that she would remain unseen.

The slap of boots grew louder, accompanied by the creak of oiled leather and a man’s heavy breathing.

Ifanna held her own breath. The monitor carried on past the end of the alley. She allowed herself to exhale, but made herself stay where she was, though she could feel the beginnings of pain, and a wetness she did not want to consider, just below her ribs.

She started to scan the walls, looking for anything that might help her, and saw something she had missed before: faint light, coming from what might just be a side-turning, a gap in the wall of this apparently blind alley.

She stood, and took a step forward, but she had dropped the end of the rope, which tangled around her ankles, and she fell hard onto the cobbles.

For a moment she lay there, her raw wrists stinging and her head throbbing where she had banged it.
She had to get up, to keep going
. She tried to move, willing strength into her arms, but light danced in her eyes. She tried to blink the illusion away.

It was no illusion. There was light coming from ahead of her: a lantern. She looked up to see a priest and a monitor.

She had tried so hard, only to fail at the last! She might have screamed her frustration, had her mouth not still been gagged.

But wait a moment: these did not look like her escort; they wore dark cloaks, and neither of them were out of breath.

The monitor addressed the priest. ‘Give me the lantern; I will speak to them.’