Ghostlight (7 page)
Authors: Marion Zimmer Bradley
She glanced at her watch. Four o'clock. She didn't know what time dinner was at Shadow's Gate, but she was sure it wasn't for a while yet. She thought she'd take a walk around outside; not only was this local shrine to her dear departed father beginning to get on her nerves, but there was no way she could even begin to process the wealth of material it contained in a day or even a week. She could probably get as much done by just interviewing Julian about Thorne Blackburnânow
there
was a dangerously attractive thought ⦠.
there
was a dangerously attractive thought ⦠.
She was loading her tape recorder and unused notebook back into her purse when there was a flurry of tapping upon the double doors. Before she could reach them, much less open them, one of the doors burst inward, bringing with it a bustling white-haired woman draped in shawls and carrying a large tole-work tray.
The woman set it down on the nearest available surface with a rattle and clunkâTruth saw that the tray held a dark blue teapot and a round, golden cake drizzled with glistening white fondant icing. Truth felt a reflexive clutch of craving.
“He's a dear boy, but I swear by the Rood, he hasn't a brain in his head! I told him, see if I didn't, that you'd be wanting your tea, coming in the middle of the day as you did, and he'd have it that you wanted to be left aloneâbut
if you weren't this instant about to set off in search of a nice cuppa, my name isn't Irene Avalon!” the intruder said, flashing Truth a cheery smile.
if you weren't this instant about to set off in search of a nice cuppa, my name isn't Irene Avalon!” the intruder said, flashing Truth a cheery smile.
Irene Avalon was a woman well into her sixth decade. She wore a voluminous caftan in a swirling purple print, and a fringed shawl in a clashing pattern hung from her elbows. Delicate wire-rimmed half-glasses were secured about her neck with a chain and lay, for the moment, upon her ample bosom, and she was wearing a glorious amber necklace in a dark cherry color. Age had turned her hair silvery white; it was coiled on the crown of her head and restrained by hairpins into an untidy knot. She was not a tall woman; Irene stood a few inches shorter than Truth, with the plump softness to her figure that sometimes comes with age. She looked, in short, the perfect figure of anyone's dotty Spiritualist aunt in any of a number of British farces.
“Well, my girl? It's been a long time, I'll grant you that, but no word of greeting for your old Aunt Irene?” And in fact, Irene had the lingering trace of an English accent in her actress-perfect diction.
As she spoke, Irene removed items from the tray onto the table: two delicate cups of blue and white china and their matching saucers; sugar and cream in quaint Staffordshire bowl and pitcher, stiff white napkins of starched linen damask and ornate silver spoons.
“I thinkâ” Truth began, but the words wouldn't come.
I think you must be mistaken; I don't know you
she'd been about to say, but she felt, somehow, that wasn't quite true.
I think you must be mistaken; I don't know you
she'd been about to say, but she felt, somehow, that wasn't quite true.
I haven't been here three hours yet and this place is getting to me
, Truth thought in facetious despair. But the woman was nearly familiar, like something from a half-glimpsed dream.
, Truth thought in facetious despair. But the woman was nearly familiar, like something from a half-glimpsed dream.
“I'm not quite sure ⦔ Truth said hesitantly.
“Well, and you only a toddlerâhow should you remember me? And afterâoh, that was a horrible time,
horrible, and I don't blame Caroline at all for wanting to make a clean break of it, but stillâoh, never mind that,” Irene said, admonishing herself. “You've come back now and that's what matters. But then, I knew you would, once Julian began the Work againâOh, dear girl, I remember standing with you in this very room; you were in diapers then, and probably don't remember. But do have some tea,” Irene said, halting her flow of reminiscence with an effort.
horrible, and I don't blame Caroline at all for wanting to make a clean break of it, but stillâoh, never mind that,” Irene said, admonishing herself. “You've come back now and that's what matters. But then, I knew you would, once Julian began the Work againâOh, dear girl, I remember standing with you in this very room; you were in diapers then, and probably don't remember. But do have some tea,” Irene said, halting her flow of reminiscence with an effort.
“Thank you,” said Truth, since there didn't seem to be much else to say in the face of such effusive friendliness. Her desire to leave was gone; the room could not manage to seem menacing, now that Irene was in it.
Truth seated herself at the table again, and was rewarded with a steaming cup of dark-steeped tea and a generous wedge of red-golden cake. She managed to restrain herself far enough to lighten her tea with a liberal dollop of cream before taking a bite of the cake. The complex resonant flavor of scratch-baking exploded in her mouth; sweet and tart and spicy all at once.
“This is wonderful,” Truth said, swallowing hastily.
“It was your father's favorite,” Irene said serenely, unaware of the reaction her simple statement caused. “Bergamot, whole oranges, and just the tiniest hint of
pure
frankincense, powderedâoh, my dear, you look so much like our poor Katherine; it's simply heartbreaking! You must be quite the grown girl now; goodness me, it'sâwhat?âtwenty-five years and more since we were all here together at Shadow's Gate last! But now you've come, just as the Master prophesied, and we'll complete the Work at last!”
pure
frankincense, powderedâoh, my dear, you look so much like our poor Katherine; it's simply heartbreaking! You must be quite the grown girl now; goodness me, it'sâwhat?âtwenty-five years and more since we were all here together at Shadow's Gate last! But now you've come, just as the Master prophesied, and we'll complete the Work at last!”
Truth sipped her tea and looked longingly at the cake on her plateâwhy did the simple statement that it was Blackburn's favorite turn it to ashes in her mouth? She couldn't give up the entire material world just because he'd once inhabited it!
“The work?” Truth asked, hoping to distract herself.
“The Blackburn Work,” Irene assented, taking another bite of cake. “But my dearâyou're not eating!”
Strangely unwilling to hurt the feelings of the older woman, Truth took another bite of the cake, and felt her foolish aversion to it melt away as if it were the citrus spun sugar of the icing.
“Of course we are beginning the Master's Work again, now that we have nearly all we need.” Irene resumed her chatter as soon as Truth began eating. “We were at an impasseâI was great once, I can say this now without either false modesty or pride, but Those Beyond have thought it meet and fit that my powers dwindle to nearly nothingâoh, I know it happens to nearly all of us whose powers are the gift of Nature rather than the Art, but I was convinced that I, Irene Avalon, would be spared!” Irene said with a self-deprecating laugh.
“At an impasse? Why?” Truth asked.
And what was “the Blackburn Work”âreally?
she added silently, willing an answer from the woman seated opposite her.
And what was “the Blackburn Work”âreally?
she added silently, willing an answer from the woman seated opposite her.
Irene stared at her, startled, then smiled. “Oh, you are so much like Katherine that I forget what a neophyte upon the Path you are! The Work needs a medium, my dearâone whose gift is to act as a conduit between the other world and this one.” For a moment some memory seemed to dim her smile, then it passed like a cloud from the face of the sun.
Truth stopped herself on the point of telling Irene that she knew very well what a medium was, since the Bidney Institute worked with severalâand that she certainly didn't believe in the spirits some of them claimed to conjure.
“I see,” she said instead.
“Oh, you do not,” Irene contradicted fondly, patting Truth's hand. “But you will. At any rate, when Julian gathered us all back togetherâwell, gathered me, at any rate; the others, alas, all came to the Work after our dear Master had seen fit to leave us for a whileâhe hoped to
begin the Work at once, but as I told you, I am not the woman I was when I worked as Thorne's Hierophex. Fortunately he found Light, and I was able to train her.”
begin the Work at once, but as I told you, I am not the woman I was when I worked as Thorne's Hierophex. Fortunately he found Light, and I was able to train her.”
“Julian found the light?” Truth floundered. She hadn't heard so many bizarre pseudo-technical terms flung about so casually since the last time she'd unwarily listened to a conversation between two deconstructionists in Taghkanic's English department.
“Oh, no, Truth dear. Julian found
Light
âshe's a dear girl; you'll meet her at dinner tonightâand now our Circle has an Hierophex again. And we have an Hierolaterâthe Sacred Concubine, you knowâtoo: Our preparations for resuming the Work are nearly complete.”
Light
âshe's a dear girl; you'll meet her at dinner tonightâand now our Circle has an Hierophex again. And we have an Hierolaterâthe Sacred Concubine, you knowâtoo: Our preparations for resuming the Work are nearly complete.”
Irene smiled proudly, and something deep inside Truth flinched away from the hope and trust in those calm blue eyes. She could not bear to say the words that would seem to agree with Irene's beliefs, but just as surely she could not bear to present her own in the face of that kindly fondness.
Truth felt a hard hot pain in her throatâbecause of Blackburn, she told herself, Blackburn who had made good people love him and then had run away.
“Tell me more about the Work,” Truth said, managing to keep her voice steady.
“Oh, well, of course you could read about it,” Irene said, obviously itching to unburden herself, “but I could just tell you a little, shall I? It's the Great Workâattuning ourselves to the New Aeon and then Opening the Way for the
sidhe-valkirie
; the Spirits of the New Aeon who will ride forth into the World of Men to guide them on the Path. Which works out just fine, Truth dear, except that my old memory isn't quite what it once was, you knowâand I did only see the entire ritual once,” Irene protested amiably. “As you know, of course, the Hierophex is not actually
present
during the ritual itself, but in a trance state.”
sidhe-valkirie
; the Spirits of the New Aeon who will ride forth into the World of Men to guide them on the Path. Which works out just fine, Truth dear, except that my old memory isn't quite what it once was, you knowâand I did only see the entire ritual once,” Irene protested amiably. “As you know, of course, the Hierophex is not actually
present
during the ritual itself, but in a trance state.”
“Ah?” said Truth inquiringly. She knew no such thing,
but she did know how to fish for information. The cake was long gone, and now Truth drained her teacup. Irene beamed approval and poured it full again. Truth added more cream, promising to do dietary penance later.
but she did know how to fish for information. The cake was long gone, and now Truth drained her teacup. Irene beamed approval and poured it full again. Truth added more cream, promising to do dietary penance later.
The odd feeling of
doubleness
âof being herself, but also some
other
who knew things Truth Jourdemayne could notâwas entirely gone: Nothing fey could survive in Irene's motherly down-to-earth presence. But, Truth had to admit, Irene had certainly raised up more questions than she'd answered.
doubleness
âof being herself, but also some
other
who knew things Truth Jourdemayne could notâwas entirely gone: Nothing fey could survive in Irene's motherly down-to-earth presence. But, Truth had to admit, Irene had certainly raised up more questions than she'd answered.
“So of course, being ⦠absent ⦠you won't be able to help Julian reconstruct ⦔ Truth let the sentence trail off invitingly.
“The Opening of the Way,”
Irene confirmed without hesitation. “I'm doing the best I can, and of course the first nine Stations are a matter of public record, but without
Venus Afflicted
I don't know if we'll ever have the whole rite back again.”
Irene confirmed without hesitation. “I'm doing the best I can, and of course the first nine Stations are a matter of public record, but without
Venus Afflicted
I don't know if we'll ever have the whole rite back again.”
Â
The watch on Truth's wrist said five thirty, and she was alone in an upstairs bedroom at Shadow's Gate. It was a lovely, old-fangled, blue-wallpapered room that peered out over the back terrace and lawn into the spreading twilight forest beyond. Antique Tiffany-glass sconces burned on the walls, diffusing a lovely pastel light and giving the room a golden
fin de siècle
glow, as if at any moment it might vanish, like Brigadoon, into another age.
fin de siècle
glow, as if at any moment it might vanish, like Brigadoon, into another age.
Irene had been fiercely incensed at Julian's cavalier treatment of his guest, displaying a motherly indignation that made Truth smile inwardly. Once Truth had told her that she'd been on the road since six this morning and gone without lunch into the bargain, Irene'd made Truth give her the keys to the Saturn and sent Gareth out to retrieve Truth's suitcase, then had shown her up to this room so that Truth could “wash up a bit and have a nice lie-down” before dinner, which would be served around
seven thirty. Truth had jumped at the opportunity to change her travel-crumpled suit for something a little more suited to what promised to be a fairly fancyâand fraughtâformal dinner.
seven thirty. Truth had jumped at the opportunity to change her travel-crumpled suit for something a little more suited to what promised to be a fairly fancyâand fraughtâformal dinner.
She ran her hand through her sensibly short dark hair until it stood up in rumpled, spiky dishevelment, then sat down suddenly on the bed and regarded her reflection in the antique maple cheval glass that stood in the corner. A dark-haired woman in her late twenties, dressed in an ecru-colored slip and dark nylons, stared back belligerently.
She'd taken off her traveling suit and hung it on the back of the door to the connecting bathroom with the hangers she'd found in the closet, in the hope that some of the wrinkles would hang out of the thing; silk was supposed to be accommodating. Her suitcase and travel caseâall she thought she would need for the short stay she had contemplated in Shadowkill, New Yorkâstood like silent sentinels of high-impact burgundy plastic beside the bed, awaiting her pleasure.
What am I doing here?
Truth asked herself helplessly. She felt the same outsider's embarrassment she'd feel if she'd been caught sneaking into a mosque. Irene Avalon was a sincere believerâ
Truth asked herself helplessly. She felt the same outsider's embarrassment she'd feel if she'd been caught sneaking into a mosque. Irene Avalon was a sincere believerâ
Sincerely deluded
, a nasty little inner voice corrected. âin Thorne Blackburn and his whatever-it-was. Julian Pilgrim wasâ
, a nasty little inner voice corrected. âin Thorne Blackburn and his whatever-it-was. Julian Pilgrim wasâ
A treacherous heat rose into Truth's cheeks as she contemplated Julian. What Julian was, was exciting, as nothing in her carefully regulated and measured life had ever been nor was ever going to be. He wore an aura of romance and danger like a magician's cloak.
True enough
, the inner voice admitted grudgingly.
, the inner voice admitted grudgingly.
But she recoiled from what else was almost certainly true. She didn't want to think of Julian as a magician committed to the Blackburn Work.
⦠Even though he's obviously bankrolling it, eh,
Truth my rationalist dear? How about some truth in advertising, little namesake? It's all right for a dotty harmless old lady to believe in magick, but you'd much rather that this knight in shining shadows be morally impeccableâ
Truth my rationalist dear? How about some truth in advertising, little namesake? It's all right for a dotty harmless old lady to believe in magick, but you'd much rather that this knight in shining shadows be morally impeccableâ
Truth expelled her pent-up breath in a huff of exasperation. Julian's beliefs didn't matter to her, because Julian didn't matter to her.
Liar.
“Oh, all right!” Truth said under her breath. Julian was as attractive as something out of a romance novelâwitty, handsome, delightfully mysterious, unattainable, or almostâ
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