Mistle Child (Undertaken Trilogy) (33 page)

“How was the tower cursed, cousin Ottoline? Did he bring it down on himself? Was it put upon him by someone else? How did it happen?”

She looked back at Silas, smiled, and twirled her beads about her fingers.

“Why, it was the simplest thing imaginable. We just rallied up all our annoyance, which was considerable at the time, and then we spoke the curse to the tower, sent our stern words into the stones and foundations. We may have cursed the father too, I can’t recall. No, no. I believe, at the time, the
daughter
cursed him. Yes, most vehemently. But it
was
two curses, so the old man must still be in quite a pickle . . . bound up down there with whatever malefaction he had conjured to himself in those final days. That’s it! He offended us, then he put the daughter away, then we cursed him, then the daughter cursed him . . . or did she curse him before he sent her down? Oh, dear! What a muddle it’s become.”

She lowered her voice as the subject was, perhaps, a little impolite. “Of course it might be, that through the fault of the many evils of its owner, that tower might have simply attracted too much bad luck. Anyway, this wretched tower of his
sunk
. So I’d still call it cursed, whatever the circumstances. But if curses make you queasy, little cousin, you may simply say the tower has seen better days, and leave it at that. The curse shouldn’t bother you, in any event.”

“What do you mean ‘sunk’?”

“Dear silly-Silas, I mean, It Hath Sunk. Into the earth. Put low. Made subterranean. Rendered deep. So unfashionable, subterranean dwelling. . . . It’s so . . .
tres Mésolithique
. I assure you it’s quite awful. Just try to open a window, you’ll see. I am sure the father of the sweet thing is still there, moldering among his losses. He’ll be thrilled for company, as it’s been only him and his devil down there for so long. You be sure to give him our best, won’t you?”

But before Silas could ask where the sunken mansion was or what Ottoline meant by “his devil,” someone with a drink in his hand seemed to tell a joke and the entire company of the summer house, even Ottoline, erupted in laughter and could barely be brought back to any sensible conversation. It was as if he weren’t there at all anymore. So he turned to go. After a few moments he heard Ottoline shouting his name and he turned around and walked back toward her.

“Oh, dear, Silas! We can be so tiresome! Do come back soon and we’ll try to be more useful.”

“All right, I will.”

“When dear?”

“What?”

“When will you come back? Evening? Twilight? Easter? When?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“
Tomorrow?
Oh, now who’s being tiresome?” moaned Ottoline. “Silly Silas, Tomorrow has already been, and yesterday sits here among us on the lawn laughing at the stars. What good is time at a party? We change with the season but only for the sake of fashion. Why not just stay with us? What care we for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow?”

“Oh, I can’t. I must get back. But that was lovely,” Silas said, a little enchanted at Ottoline’s turn of phrase.

“What’s lovely?”

“What you just said.”

“Who?”

“You,” Silas said, the enchantment broken.

“Did I say something cleverino?”

“Yes . . . it was quite lovely.”

“Well, there it is. Aren’t soliloquies a bother!”

“Could you say it again?” he asked.

“Oh, silly Silas! I’m sure I already have!”

L
EDGER

If thy daughter is wanton, keep her in straitly, lest she cause thine enemies to laugh thee to scorn. If thy daughter be not shamefast, bind her down straitly, lest she abuse herself or the name of her family, or ought else through too much liberty. Here you see in what cases the parents may seek the death of the children: namely, if they be riotous and disobediently refuse to hear the admonition of the parents. . . . If the daughter curse the father, they must have no pity. They must be stoned with stones, put away in a small place, unto death, or else sacrificed if it can be compassed. Then, in death as in life, bind her straitly that she walketh not and bring neither harm nor disturbance to thine house or domains. But if the profit of her disobedience be born, if the Mistle Child be made and brought into the world, it must be hunted, found, and sacrificed. Yea, and even though you must hunt for it all the rest of your days. And thus, only when the Mistle Child be offered up in fire, shall you have power and peace, and restore dignity and all due authority to thy name.

—F
ROM THE BOOK
A R
ULE OF
D
ISCIPLINE
, 1432, by C
ABEL
U
MBER

Moreover, thou hast taken thy sons and thy daughters whom thou hast borne unto me, and these hast thou sacrificed unto them to be devoured.

—B
OOK OF
E
ZEKIEL,
16:20.
M
ARGINALIA OF
A
MOS
U
MBER

W
HEN
S
ILAS AP
PROACHED THE TOP
of the garden, he found it empty. Lars wasn’t waiting for him as promised. Perhaps he’d returned to Arvale when the weather turned. A chill wind had risen and the earlier warmth he’d felt had vanished from the air. The once bright flowers of the garden had closed their buds against the coming night. The farther Silas walked from the summer house, the colder it got. Thick, ashen clouds covered the sky. Silas wondered if it was going to rain in Lichport, too.

He was eager to be gone from Arvale now. Every time he heard the spirit cry out over the house he felt ashamed, and the desire to run home made the muscles of his legs twitch. He could also understand why his father had turned his back on this place: the reliance on blind tradition, the fact that even members of the family seemed, in their own ways, lost. Arvale was a hiding place. He’d met his obligation to ancestry by returning when summoned, taking the waters of memory, and presiding over the Door Doom. That would have to be enough. Even though he knew there were other challenges waiting at home, he wanted to be
there
, not
here
. He wanted to wrap the Narrows around him like a blanket. He could see himself sitting in front of the fire at Mother Peale’s. There would be warm soup and good people filling the room with gossip. That world felt a thousand miles away now. He had to find the spirit’s name and bring her Peace. Even though she was dangerous—she had cursed her father in life and who knows who else—Silas could not turn away. One way or another, she must be put down. Until that happened, the path home was lost to him.

He pulled up his collar against the wind. Night was coming on.

As if in answer to the dimming of the day, somewhere above him the low wail began again, rising, quickly growing louder. Silas’s mind clouded. The miserable sound tore at his nerves. It was the screaming of a girl and it was full of fury and vengeance. Silas wished he was anywhere else. His mind flew to the edge of the millpond in Lichport. Down below, another was crying and waiting for him. A moan crawled up from his throat. “I’m sorry . . . ,” he said. “Bea, I am so sorry.” The crying grew louder and it seared the air around him. He put his palm to the back of his neck and could feel the burning heat on his hand. It was like an oven door had just been opened directly behind him. Silas turned around, confused, and in pain.

The nameless girl was there.

Hanging in the air before him was a spectral conflagration, as though a small bonfire had been lifted up off the ground. The flames flowed around a human form that seemed sculpted all of glowing embers. The heat coming off her was so intense that Silas raised an arm to cover his face.

The ghost screamed and Silas looked again in horror.

Within the writhing flames, her mouth open and wailing, was a face. Now Silas could make out more detail, could see how young she was. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen.

“Please,” Silas cried. “Let me help you. Tell me your name.”

The ghost opened her mouth again, but only a molten keen poured forth. His ears were going to burst. He stumbled backward trying to cover his eyes.

Suddenly someone was pulling him by the arm.

“Silas, come away! Come away!”

Lars was dragging him toward the house. Silas caught his balance, Lars let go of his arm, and the two of them ran.

Behind them, the ghost ascended to somewhere up along the roofline, her wailing weaving itself among the chimneys and high towers. Bricks and chunks of mortar began to rain down into the courtyard.

Silas opened the front doors of Arvale, and they moved quickly into the hall. They closed the doors behind them, and stood catching their breath.

“Did you see her?” Silas asked, gasping.

Lars nodded, terrified.

“She must be brought to peace, or sent back below. The longer she remains, the more danger we’re in. We have to hurry.”

“Hurry? You’re one to talk of haste. Where have you been? I thought you’d gone home to Lichport!”

“What are you talking about? I saw you just a couple of hours ago.”

Lars stared at him. “Silas, I left you in the garden three days ago. . . .”

Silas shivered. He’d only been with the cousins for an hour, or so he’d thought. Now everything was out of joint. He could feel it: a sickening displaced feeling in his stomach like the moment when, after falling asleep on a train, you awake to find you’ve slept past your stop and now have no idea where you are. He said quietly, “I am sorry, Lars. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“They throw quite a party, eh?”

“Lars, we have to move fast. I think I have stayed here too long and I want to go home. I know what we need to do.”

“Whatever it is, you know I’ll help if I can,” said Lars.

“Listen,” Silas said, looking up at a hole recently torn in the roof of the hall, “she’s coming back.”

The screaming outside picked up with renewed fury, and stones and roof tiles could be heard shattering on the ground just beyond the door. From the darkness at the back of the hall, a voice near the cold fireplace spoke.

“I see you learned gentleman have not yet completed your task. I am not sure what will become of us if she pulls down one of the outside walls.”

“We are making progress, Aunt Maud. I promise you.”

“Truly?” she said, her voice rising in interest. “You have found her name?”

“No,” Silas admitted. “But I know who to ask.”

“Well, that is something, then,” she said, her tone going flat.

“We are, even now, on our way to the sunken mansion.”

Lars looked at him questioningly. “Silas, do you know where that is? For I don’t. I have never heard of such a place.”

Maud rose from her chair and crossed the distance of the floor in an instant. She was smiling. This news pleased her. There was not a hint of surprise on her face.

“This is well,” she said, drawing very close to them. “It seems at last I may be of some use to you. I know where the sunken mansion lies, and I will take you there at once so you may conclude this matter and fulfill the rest of your duties to this house.”

Even though he needed her help, Maud’s eagerness gave Silas pause. There had been harsh words between them. But it was possible she was trying to be helpful now in order to mend her earlier display of anger? And Lars didn’t know where the tower was. Silas knew he had no choice but to put his trust in Maud.

A crashing sound above them brought Silas’s attention back to the moment. One of the roof beams shook as though someone was striking it with a great hammer, and a large carved corbel in the shape of a chimera plummeted to the floor a few feet away.

“Shall we make our way?” Maud said.

Silas and Lars followed her out of the hall and up the stairs.