Company of Liars (60 page)

‘You had no choice and it did seem to bring him to his senses for a while.’

‘Until Zophiel started to taunt him.’

‘Is that really why you killed Zophiel?’

For a long time he stared out over the darkening marshes. I thought he wasn't going to answer, then finally he said, ‘I spoke the truth when I said I wanted to make him stop before he did to Cygnus what he had done to Jofre, but you are right, Camelot, I would not have murdered him to stop him. I would not even have killed him for what he did to Jofre when I thought he was just a man. But when I learned he was a priest…’

Rodrigo's voice took on a hard, bitter tone. ‘I killed him because he was a priest, because it is priests and pardoners and their kind who destroy the young and the beautiful, the innocent and the helpless. Christ showed us compassion. He showed us God's mercy, but they use his name to torment those they should care for. They make them ashamed of what is beautiful. They make them despise their nature and their own body.

‘There are many cruel men in this world, Camelot. Men who rob and kill and prey on the weak, but at least they are honest. They do not claim it is God's will. They do not drive a man to despair and say they are doing it out of love for him. If they torture someone it is only in this world; they do not condemn him to hell to be tortured for all eternity. Only the priests and bishops do that.’

The expression on Rodrigo's face was savage. ‘The priests tell us that a man is born as he is because God wills it so, then they punish him for being that man. They tell us we are made in God's image, then what is God's image? You think God is like Jofre, with the voice of an angel, a man who loves men. You think God is like Cygnus, who once had love and faith enough to grow the beautiful wing of a swan. Or is Zophiel, the priest, the image of God? Zophiel
–it means God's spy, is that not so? I know about Zophiel. The Jews told me about him. He was the angel who told God that Adam and Eve had eaten the forbidden fruit. He is the one who guards the Tree of Life with a sword of fire to drive out anyone who tries to enter Eden. If Zophiel is the image of God, then I do not choose heaven; I choose hell.’

I had seen that terrible look on a man's face before, on the faces of those being dragged to the gallows. Some scream and plead, some swear and curse, some go serenely, convinced that the open gates of paradise await them. But the worst, the most chilling, are those who neither fight nor embrace it, but just accept it, their faces fixed in a look of sheer hopelessness and despair. The eyes stare out at you as if they are already the eyes of a dead man, and not a dead man in paradise, but one who is in purgatory or worse, far worse.

As Rodrigo rose from the rock and walked away, I knew he was not coming back. He knew that he was going to die and nothing I could say would change that. My art was the creation of hope. That was the greatest of all the arts, the noblest of all the lies, and yet I couldn't conjure it for him. His belief in Narigorm's runes and his own fate was stronger than any hope I could create for him, because, like those men who surrender themselves to despair on the gallows, he believed he deserved to die.

I couldn't let him go alone. I had no idea what he intended or what awaited him. I didn't know what I could do to prevent it, but I had to be there. If the wolf was out there waiting for him, I would see it, and if I could not kill it, at least I would finally know what it was.

It was dark by this time. The clouds lay heavy in the sky, obscuring moon and stars. But even without light it was not
hard to follow Rodrigo. He blundered forward, crashing into bushes and stumbling over tree roots, as if being pulled along on an invisible rope. At least he was heading away from the marsh, that was something. Then the noise stopped. I thought I'd lost him, but as I reached the edge of the trees, I saw his dark shape walking across a clearing towards the biggest of the hollows.

The moon slid out from behind the clouds and in the moonlight I saw what I had never seen in daylight. A pearly-white mist lay in the bottom of the hollow. It only rose to the height of a man's knee and as Rodrigo walked into it, it swirled about his legs, but his body and head rose above it as if he was wading in shallow, luminescent water. I glanced about at the other hollows. They too had the same shallow pool of mist swirling in them and yet there was no mist between the trees.

Then I heard it, faint and distant, the sound I most feared – the howls of a wolf. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I gripped my stave so tightly it hurt. The howls were moving closer, but too quickly, too fast even for a running wolf. I stared about me, but the howls seemed to be coming from every direction as they had done that night in the gully. I searched desperately in the darkness for a pair of eyes, the shadow of a movement, but there was nothing. Rodrigo too was frantically turning this way and that, but he seemed chained to the spot in the centre of the hollow, like a goat tethered as living bait. He held out his arm protectively as if he was waiting for it to spring on him as he turned, trying to see from which direction it would come.

Then the sound changed; now it was a singing of wings as if a thousand swans were bearing down on us. But there was nothing to be seen in the moonlit sky. Rodrigo had sunk to his knees, covering his head with his arms and
crouching so low in the mist that I could see only his clenched fists over his head. The noise grew louder and louder. I could stand it no longer. I ran towards the hollow, trying to reach Rodrigo, but as I broke free of the trees something white caught my eye just a few yards away. I hadn't seen it before because the trunks and scrub around me had blocked my view. Narigorm was crouching on the ground among the trees, her white hair gleaming in the moonlight. One hand was stretched over the runes in front of her, the other extended, palm outwards, towards the hollow. Her eyes were closed and there was a look of intense concentration on her face.

I took a pace towards her. The sound of the wings seemed to be coming from her, but that was impossible. The sound changed again, back to the howling of a wolf, and this time I knew beyond a shadow of doubt the howls were coming from her. She was the centre of it. She was the creator of it. But she was not howling.

Her lips were moving. ‘Morrigan, Morrigan, Morrigan.’

The faster she muttered, the louder the sound which seemed to emanate from her outstretched hand. She must have sensed me coming towards her, for she opened her eyes just as I raised my staff and sent the runes flying in all directions. The howling stopped instantly as if it had been severed with an axe.

Narigorm leaped to her feet, her fingers clawing towards my face in fury, but I knocked them aside with my stave. I was too angry to temper the blow and she yelped in pain and surprise, stumbling backwards on to the ground, where she crouched like a cat, her bruised hands clenched tightly under her armpits. Any other child would have cried at such a blow, but Narigorm's eyes were filled with malice, not tears.

‘It was you,’ I screamed at her. ‘All this time, you made us think we were being followed by a wolf, but there never was a wolf, was there, human or animal?’

‘You heard a wolf.’

‘You made us hear it.’

‘Morrigan made you hear it.’

‘Who is Morrigan?’

‘The shapeshifter, the wolf, the swan, the bringer of chaos and death, the destroyer of liars. You only heard the wolf because you lied. You all lied.’

I suddenly remembered where I had first heard her use that name. It was Midsummer's Day, the day we first met. ‘If you lie you lose the gift,’ she told me. ‘Morrigan destroys liars.’

‘But you heard the wolf too, Narigorm.’

‘I made it. I control it.’

‘And you controlled it to drive half our company to suicide and murder. You evil, malicious little brat. How could you do that to us when all we've done is feed you and take care of you? You accuse us of treachery and betrayal, but it's you who have betrayed us.’

‘You did it. You lied. I never lie. I only read what is there in the runes. I only tell the truth.’

‘When I first saw you, your master was thrashing you for telling
your
truth, but if you think that was punishment, you wait until the others find out what you've done. You'll wish you'd never been born, my girl. Your vicious little game is over. You tried to kill Rodrigo, but you failed.’

‘But you're wrong, Camelot. I haven't failed. All the time you've been talking, Rodrigo has been dying. Morrigan has destroyed him too.’

I spun round. Rodrigo was nowhere to be seen.

Narigorm smiled triumphantly. ‘The mist that rises from
the ground in the hollows is poison. Didn't you see all the dead animals? Didn't you guess? Now Rodrigo is dead too. And you loved him, didn't you?’

I stared at her aghast, then, without stopping to think, I turned and ran into the hollow. I desperately tried to remember where I had last seen him. But my feet sent the white mist swirling around my legs, so it was like looking down into a mill race. My heart was pounding and my chest felt so tight I thought it was being crushed. Now that I was in it, the hollow seemed vast. The moon slipped behind the clouds again and all at once I was plunged into darkness. Only the mist still glimmered white. I bent down, trying to grope under it for his body. My senses were reeling. My head ached. I couldn't think what I was doing there. I was exhausted. All those nights without proper sleep were crowding in on me; my limbs felt stiff and numb as if I had been walking for hours. All I wanted to do was to lie down in the soft white mist and sleep, just for a few minutes, surrender to it and sleep. A few minutes wouldn't matter, then I'd be able to think, I'd know what to do. I could feel myself sinking to my knees and I was powerless to stop it.

27. The Sending

I heard Narigorm laughing. The sound was like a stinging slap. I pushed hard on my stave and forced myself to stand upright again. I took a big gulp of air. My head was still splitting, but my thoughts suddenly cleared. The mist hung close to the ground, that was why we had been able to walk through it during the day without harm. Only if your head was below it could it work its poison. If you stood above it, you could survive. I began to walk forward, sweeping my stave rapidly, and then it connected with something. I prodded, feeling my stave trace the shape of a human body. I held my breath, sank to my knees, hauled his arm round my neck and pulled down on the wrist as I struggled to my feet again, levering him to his feet.

I didn't know if he was dead or alive; all I knew was that I had to cross those few yards to the trees before I could let him go. I hauled, but he was taller and heavier than I was and even in my youth I'd have had trouble moving him. It was all I could do to keep his limp body upright without trying to move forward. I dared not lay him down and drag him for I knew I had to keep his head above the pool of poison. I pulled him forward step by painful step. My lungs felt as if they were on fire and my head was throbbing. Only
another few yards, but I knew I was never going to make it. I had breathed in too much of the mist and now my legs were beginning to give way, I couldn't take another step. I stood there in the darkness, the weight of Rodrigo's body crushing me, the white mist swirling round me. I was so dizzy that I was forced to close my eyes to keep myself from falling. I could feel the world spinning round, the ground slipping sideways, shifting beneath my feet. I was pitching forward into the darkness.

Then I felt Rodrigo's weight lifting.

‘Let go, Camelot, I've got him.’

Osmond was heaving Rodrigo's body over his shoulder.

‘Mist… poisonous… get him out,’ I murmured, but he was already striding away. I sank to my knees, but almost at once felt myself being hauled up again as Osmond propelled me forward to the trees. I slid down, leaning against a trunk for support, as the trees spun around me.

I could hear Osmond slapping Rodrigo hard. ‘Come on, Rodrigo. Come on, wake up. Holy Mary, Mother of God, let him wake.’

I felt something roll against my leg. My fingers closed over it and I knew what it was without opening my eyes. I grasped the cold, smooth glass of Michelotto's tear and prayed.

I took several deep breaths and opened my eyes. The ground was still slipping and twisting, but not as badly as before. Osmond held Rodrigo by the shoulders and was trying to flap air over his face. Rodrigo's face was pale in the moonlight and his eyes were closed. I knew if I attempted to stand upright I would fall. I slipped the flask into my shirt and crawled over on my hands and knees.

Osmond shook his head. ‘It's no good. I think he's gone. I came as soon as Narigorm came running for help, but if I'd got to him sooner…’

‘Narigorm?’

‘Yes, she said he tried to cross the hollow, but had fallen. She said the mist in the hollow was poisonous. I did n't believe her at first, until she said about the animals, then it made sense. Poor little thing, she was terrified.’

That wasn't right, but my head was swimming too much to think straight. ‘No, no, it was Narigorm who–’

There was a cough. We looked down and saw Rodrigo's chest give a little flutter. Osmond pulled him up into a sitting position, supporting him against his chest, I pushed his head back to open his mouth and we frantically fanned the air near his face. Then to our relief we saw his chest beginning to heave rapidly, and finally his eyelids fluttered. He rolled over and began to cough violently, then lay back in Osmond's arms exhausted, his chest heaving painfully. He was alive. Rodrigo was alive.