The Dark Citadel (The Green Woman) (18 page)

Far away on
the broad green plain, Oscar pulled up his mare and
listened. Bán stamped her hooves and twitched her ears. Oscar patted her neck
to soothe her. He too listened for the night sounds of foxes barking, nightjars
whirring. He heard the wind whispering over the grass and the shriek as a stoat
found its prey. Bán stamped again and shook her head.

Oscar
was wondering what was the trouble, when it hit him like the first buffeting
gust of a storm wind. Not the Green Woman, another was calling, and this one
called straight to his heart. Bán felt it too, and without waiting to be bid,
flew like an arrow back to the rath.

Stony desert
flew
beneath them as the demon carrying Zachariah turned away from the green
riverbank. Rock and sand and deep fissures passed with a brown monotony until
the grey light of dawn fell across the Yellow Rock, and Zachariah, already
chilled to the bone, felt the marrow within turn to ice. The demon was tiring,
letting its burden dip sickeningly close to the ground. Its companion rose up
beneath them, and Zachariah felt his legs caught up and held in the same steely
grasp as his arms. Quicker now they sped towards the Yellow Rock and, with a
whistle of compressed air, shot into one of the many openings in the rock face.

Zachariah was dumped on the ground while the two
demons panted like winded horses, and a third scuttled deeper into the darkness
to sound the alarm. A few moments later, two tall figures emerged from the
shadows, and he shrank back in terror. If the creatures that had carried him
from the Great River were simple soldiers, the beings that stood before him now
were generals. To Zachariah they appeared godlike, and in Providence gods were
cold and pitiless.

Their bodies had none of the sinewy, animal-like
appearance of the other demons; there was nothing scaly or deformed about them.
They were tall and well boned, their sliding muscles powerful as a professional
fighter’s, with gracefully folded feathered wings of a lustrous black that
reflected all the colours Zachariah had ever imagined. Their faces were proud
and noble, and at first sight supremely beautiful. But it was a ravaged beauty.
Their brows were furrowed with deep lines, there was a depravity about the
sensuous lips, and in their eyes glowed a fanatical light that expressed
inflexible cruelty.

“Follow me,” the first demon commanded in a low
voice with a rasp-like edge. The second moved behind Zachariah and jabbed him
in the back. He had no choice; he followed.

Deeper and deeper into the rock they went, down
endless stairs and through countless chambers that echoed hollow in the
darkness but were filled with watchful eyes. Finally, when Zachariah reckoned
they must be deep within the earth, the leading demon opened a massive door,
revealing a room filled with dancing shadows and bathed in a cold red light. At
the centre of the shadows was a hooded figure, not hidden by the shadows, but
part of them, so massive Zachariah did not realise it had substance until it
moved.

The darkness unfolded, reaching around to envelop
Zachariah. A wave of horror washed over him, blurring his sight and filling his
ears with the gasping and panting of unspeakable tortures. This was the heart
of evil, he was certain, and the creature before him was its creator. He
struggled, damp with sweat, but the shadows held him fast. The hooded figure
turned and looked down on him. Black-rimmed almond eyes blazed from a long,
fox-like muzzle. The flews curled back, and pointed teeth gleamed dully like
the teeth of a shark looming out of murky ocean depths. The savage face filled
Zachariah’s vision, and his guts melted with fear.

“Well, little man,” the creature hissed, “and what
brought you to the River of Death? Could it be you had an appointment on the
other side?”

“I’m sorry,” Zachariah stammered, his voice
trembling. “I don’t know what you mean.”
 

The creature snarled. “Do not waste my time, little
man. Abaddon knows whom you seek. Who sent you? What is your message?”

Zachariah panicked. “No one sent me, I was running
away!”

The demon’s eyes flared in anger, and though the
mountain of darkness did not move, Zachariah was knocked to the ground as if a
monstrous hand had struck him hard in the mouth. His head swam, and a rank
smell filled his nose. He tasted blood on his lip.

“One last time. Then we will use the old way; we
will read the answer in your still palpitating tripes. What message were you to
give the Serpent Witch?”

Zachariah swallowed, his head ringing, trying to
master his fear, trying to order his galloping thoughts, to find something to
say that would not betray his friends. Out of the fuzz of his spinning vision,
Ezekiel’s face smiled at him, the children bickered good-naturedly, Maeve
turned and held him in the gaze of her deep blue eyes.

Zachariah took a deep breath, and the trembling
left his voice. “I ran away from the House of Correction. I hid in the Ignorant
quarter, and they told me about the Garden. I wanted to find the Garden.”

“You have not answered the question,” the voice
growled, low and menacing, like a roll of thunder thrown back from the shadowy
walls. “What was your message for the Witch?”

Zachariah guessed the creature did not much care
for this witch. “I had no message. I wanted to try and drive her out. The
Ignorants said she was evil and prevented them returning to the Garden.”

“So you set off, my hero, all alone, to fight the
evil witch? Is that correct?”

Zachariah knew his story sounded stupid; it didn’t
even convince him. He floundered, completely out of his depth. “No…I…Yes!”

“Azrael!”

One of the winged demons stepped forward, a tower
of dark muscle, throwing a long shadow in the flickering flamelight. A knife
shone in his hand. Pulling open Zachariah’s shirt, he placed the blade below
his throat. Azrael’s lips curled back in a cruel smile as the knife bit into
the skin. Zachariah’s eyes opened wide in terror and he gasped as the blade
descended slowly, tracing a red line from his throat down over his chest and
stomach. The slit skin burned, and the line blurred as blood seeped over the
lips of the wound.

“The next time,” the fox-headed creature hissed,
“he will cut just a fraction deeper, and you will see the contents of your
belly spill around your feet. Think hard before you open your puling, yapping
mouth again to answer. My patience, unlike Azrael’s cruelty, is not limitless.
Now, would it not be that you were to tell the Witch that the Dananns have her
daughter in hiding? With her daughter in safe hands, were you not to give the
signal that the Witch could move against Providence?”

Confused by pain and fear, Zachariah
stammered,
 
“The Witch’s
daughter...?”

Azrael stepped forward again, and Zachariah pulled
back in terror. But the demon twisted his arms behind his back and thrust him
to his knees.

“The eyes, Azrael!”

The dark angel grabbed his hair in a brutal grip.

“No! Please!”

Taking no notice, Azrael pulled back Zachariah’s
head, forcing him to stare into the smouldering pits of the demon king’s eyes.
He tried to look away, but his eyes were held, forced wider and wider, the
delicate muscles straining.

At last Abaddon turned away in fury. “He does not
know about the girl.” With a bestial snarl, he grabbed Zachariah by the throat,
his stinking animal paws and long black claws squeezed tight. “But you got out,
little man, the Dananns showed you the way. So you can get back in again can’t
you?”

Zachariah struggled for breath. “Yes, sir,” he
whispered hoarsely. “Yes, I can.”

Silently the
pups
emerged from the bushes, their hackles still obstinately raised, grey
shadows on the grey sand. Some shook themselves to throw off their fear, some
snarled at the still dark sky, all avoided the patch of scuffed sand and stones
with its scattering of bright crimson drops of blood. Deborah clutched Jonah’s
hand tightly, feeling his grief and anger through his fingertips and mourning
with him. One pup looked much the same as another to her, but Jonah’s sadness
was more than she could bear. She would have given anything, years, time, a
handful of her dreams, anything to bring back the dead pup and spare Jonah’s
heartache.

Jonah returned the pressure of her hand and
ventured a smile that threatened to squeeze the waiting drops from the corners
of his eyes. “Come on,” he whispered, “let’s get out of here,” and led the way
along the path north. With lowered ears, and tails between their legs, the pups
followed in a tight, silent pack.

* * * *

For the rest of that night and the whole of the next, until they were
dropping with fatigue and faint with hunger, they kept up the same steady
dogtrot. They rested from grey dawn half-light to grey twilight. In between,
they trudged through darkness, straining their ears for the cringing
whisperings, the half-understood mutterings of dead voices. Sometimes they
found a gully and Jonah judged it safe enough to build a fire. Then they ate
hot food, small desert rodents and once, a jackrabbit.

Otherwise the eerie desert night accompanied them,
cold and starless but filled with the startling silhouettes of jagged rock
formations and crooked trees. They took turns watching during the long hours of
daylight. The heat was heavy, and the silence that fell once the night animals
slept was oppressive. Fitful winds flung clouds of sand and grit at them, and
the dull light played tricks with their vision. Shadows played among the rocks,
and strange, silent birds flapped heavily through the clouds of dust.

 
The
desert held its breath and spread out before them as a broad path. Even the
thorn bushes seemed to shrink back out of their way, and no fissures opened up
treacherously before their feet in the dreary darkness. No more demons fell
upon them out of clouds of darkness, and Deborah began to fear it was not
because they had not been seen, but because they were being lured into a trap.

Morning followed morning of watching the same
mournful peaks and gullies take form out of the night shadows, until the day
finally dawned when they looked across a changing landscape. Even Deborah could
see the earth was taking a deeper, more solid colour and consistency, patches
of green were appearing, first as isolated plants, then, about an hour’s march
away, as a solid fringe of living vegetation.

“Look, Princess, the river,” Jonah whispered.

Deborah’s eyes lit up, and she squeezed his hand.
“Will we reach it tonight?” she asked, her eyes shining with hope. He nodded
his head gravely and held her hand tighter.

Throughout the long day, Jonah scarcely slept at
all. His emotions were in turmoil. His cheek still burned with the light touch
of her lips. Without the pups guiding his steps, he was not sure he would have
been able to find the river in his present state. He was confused, awkward. He
picked up one of the pups, Silver, his favourite, and pressed his hot face into
her warm fur. The pup licked his face. The next night they would have to decide
to follow Deborah or stay in the desert where they knew Abaddon was massing his
forces, where their parents were baying for war and whining for their lost
children.

He could never leave the pups; they were his
family, the only family he had left. But leaving Deborah, even if he had led
her to safety and his duty was done, would be to tear himself apart. He didn’t
know how he would bear it.

Deborah strained to pick out the green strip that
marked the river, impatient to be away. She was sure that once they got there,
Jonah would persuade the pups to cross to the other side. She had come to
depend on Jonah and didn’t want to dwell on how she would manage without
him—because she depended on him for more than just survival. Jonah was
the first person she had allowed to get close to her, the first whose opinion
she cared about, the first whose company she preferred to her own.

She thought she had no secrets from Jonah, that
there was nothing she wouldn’t tell him. And in time, that might have been
true. Certainly, the ordeal of crossing the desert had created an intimacy that
made her shiver. Jonah had become a part of her, and she knew she had stirred
something in his feelings too.

The thought made her tingle with excitement; it
also unsettled her. Sometimes she caught him looking at her, and she felt her
guts turn to water. She started wearing the hateful headscarf again. At least
in the desert it was useful, it helped keep the sand out of her mouth, and it
hid her face when his gaze grew too insistent.
 

Deborah had never given much thought to her
emotions. Strong feelings were for making heroic stands, punishing evil,
dealing out justice. She never imagined herself as having needs and desires.
The thought of Jonah, so close she could feel his soft breath on her face, made
her feel warm and safe. She found herself watching him, the confident way he
moved, his long limbs hardened by life in the desert. He moved with the
fluidity of a big cat, supple and silent. There was something else too, deeper
and stronger.

Jonah was part of her, his laughter, the touch of
his hand, guiding her through the darkest moments. He was as much a part of her
destiny as the flashes of Memory or the gentle whispering of her mother’s
voice. She had known it in the cavern where she stepped outside Providence, but
she had not known what that bond meant. Her heart had been unknown territory
then. Then. It hurt to push him aside, but she couldn’t afford to listen to her
heart. There would be time for that later, she hoped.

Right now, the important thing was to get across
the river and to the mountains. If Jonah was to be her guide, she had to
convince the pups to follow him. She clasped her hands around her knees and
thought hard. “Jonah,” she asked. The pups turned their yellow eyes on her and
listened. “Is the Queen powerful enough to destroy Abaddon?”

Jonah considered the question. “With the tree of
life, the Garden would flourish, the cycle would be renewed, and the demon
would be banished to the desert. As long as he didn’t manage to worm his way
back into the Garden.”

“How could he do that?”

“He did it before. Remember the story of the
Serpent?”

Deborah shook her head. “The Elders don’t teach
history, remember?”

“He would have to be invited.”

“Holy Mother, who’d want to do that?” Deborah
brushed the objection aside in exasperation. “So, in theory, if Abaddon is
defeated, the pups get their parents back?”

Jonah’s green eyes were pensive. “That’s the
theory, yes. Those who renounce evil will be free to go, to recover their true
selves. Like Samariel.”

Deborah sprung to her feet and gave him a gentle
kick in the side. “Well? What are we waiting for? Let’s get to Mother, help her
find the tree, and change the course of world history!”

The pups leapt up, yipping in unison, their bushy
tails thrashing from side to side. Jonah grabbed the nearest pup by the ears
and kissed him on the nose. He didn’t need to explain to Deborah what they had
decided.

* * * *

All night they walked, picking their way across a terrain that was growing
increasingly difficult. The pups zigzagged as pools of mud barred the way or
tufts of reeds hid deep water holes. Finally, when daybreak was still some
hours away, they reached the mud flats that marked the river’s edge. Smooth and
still it stretched before them, dark as oil and impassable. Thick grey mists
clung to the water and obscured their view of the far bank. The current dragged
sluggishly at the bank making a dull slapping sound, and the oozing mud gave
off a stink of decomposition.

Deborah shivered in the damp cold and pulled her
shawl tight over her head. The shadows were rising; she felt the pitiless
voices growing louder. The darkness was full of eyes, searching.
  

* * * *

“If only we had a boat,” Jonah sighed. One of the fierce desert winds
sprang up, rending gaps in the river mists and Deborah pointed across the
water.

“What’s that? In the reeds by the far bank. Isn’t
that a boat of some sort?”

Jonah followed her pointing finger and sucked in
his breath. “It’s a boat all right. It belongs to the ferry man.”

“Well, then—” Deborah interrupted.

Jonah motioned to her to be quiet. “Princess! Your
ignorance is exasperating sometimes. The ferryman is Charon. He only brings his
passengers one way. This is the land of the dead, didn’t you know?”

Deborah shivered and shook her head. “And
Providence?”

“When the Queen recovers the tree of life
Providence will have to choose between the light and the darkness. If the
choice is left to the Elders, Providence will open its gates to the king of the
demons and the desert will enter. Abaddon will rule there, and it will become
as dead as the desert. That’s what the stories tell us anyway.” He added
comfortingly, “They may be just a load of me arse.”

“This Abaddon character has a pretty high opinion
of himself if he thinks he can make Providence any deader than it already is,”
Deborah said defiantly. “Personally, I wouldn’t put money on his chances. But
these speculations aren’t getting us across the river.”

They were resigned to waiting until daybreak and
risking the light to see if there was a way across. But after only a few
minutes of peering through the river mists, the mudflats began to appear
sinister and disquieting. Both Deborah and Jonah instinctively crouched back
into the sedge, keeping their heads down, both with the impression they were
being watched. The sense that a trap was closing around them returned.

 
Deborah tried in vain to pierce the darkness to see what lay
ahead, but the shadows shifted, drifting over from the far bank, and gradually
obscuring the surface of the water. Behind, the desolate wastes were cold and
silent, not even the sound of the cruel desert creatures hunting came to them.
She shivered and strained her ears towards the mud flats and the river, almost
sure she could hear furtive sounds beneath the pop and hiss of gas bubbles
rising through the viscous mud.

The pups whined and slunk back into the bulrushes.
The black mist thickened and coiled, and Deborah realised with a shock she
could make out shapes in its depths. She glanced at Jonah expectantly, hoping
for reassurance. But his face was drawn and tense and he licked his lips
nervously.

“They’re not going to let us cross, are they?”

It wasn’t really a question, and Jonah didn’t offer
an answer. A horse whinnied and something reptilian hissed. The water beneath
the banks of black mist began to churn, and fiery red pinpoints of light peered
like searchlights across the mud and swept over the reeds. The red points
became eyes. Horseheads appeared, black and dripping, and horse-like heads,
scaled and hairless.

Jonah moaned. “Kelpies. And lindworms.” His voice
was pale, fearful.

Deborah gulped. She didn’t need to ask Jonah what
they were; she could see them, or at least as much of them as she wanted. “I
take it they wouldn’t be interested in being given back their past?”

Jonah shook his head. “They were never good, those
things, always venomous and crafty and evil.”

“Can they see us?” Deborah could not take her eyes
from the hypnotic red lamps. Jonah shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

“I…I’m not sure. They can probably smell us though.
One good thing,” he made a pathetic attempt at a grin, “they can’t live far
from water.”

“How far?”

“Not more than a mile, I think.”

“Great. We must be all of a hundred yards from the
river.”

Jonah turned suddenly, away from the river, to look
back the way they had come.
 
He
listened. Deborah watched as a look of terror he quickly tried to hide flashed
across his face. She listened and heard it too, the snarl of hunting wyverns
and the baying of hounds.

“The kelpies and the worms, they’re going to try
and force us back,” Jonah hissed.

“I am not going back!”

“It’s a trap, Princess. They’ve caught us in the
middle.”