Quintspinner (9 page)

The Crone withdrew her hand and held the silver band still. Tess’s itch stopped. The old woman lit a candle and stared into its flame for several minutes before speaking. When she began, she closed her eyes, though her lids fluttered. Her voice seemed stronger, much lower in pitch, as though belonging to another. Gooseflesh rose on the girls’ arms as a voice more commanding, its inflection far different from the old woman’s, flowed from her throat.

“The story of the Spinners began from the time when oceans rose, dividing up the land. An ancient brotherhood existed then. It is told that they were skilled in the powers of their minds. This thought-power was weak at first among initiates but always became more effective with practice. The practice was taught among them in many forms. Some called it chanting, some spoke of meditation, some of prayer.

“It is all the same. And it was, and is, made to happen with more powerful results if there is a focal point. Sometimes a flame was used, sometimes scented vapors, but a focal point such as a ring was always with the wearer. Always ready.

“The ancients foresaw that such gifts would come to be scorned by disbelievers; such abilities would fall out of practice and be forgotten and lost to most of mankind.

“Five spinner rings were forged for these visionaries, by masters of the craft, those whose skills have since been lost to us. No other rings other than those five have the ability to spin on themselves.

“Pieces were created from precious metals and gemstones from many different lands. Each band bore that ore of the earth which calls other metals to itself.

“The gemstones and design of each ring enhanced certain abilities and powers of the wearer, each one a spinner. As the piece spins, the power available to its wearer grows. The crystals are a gift to mankind and have inner vibrations made stronger by such motion.

“Five pieces were chosen to be made, each one in honor of the elements of earth, water, wind, fire, and finally, aether. The ancients called this last one Quintessence. It is the fifth element. Spirit. The force which connects and empowers all others.”

The Crone’s voice was, by now, so deep that it seemed not to belong to her at all. Her eyelids fluttered briefly before opening to reveal that her eyes had rolled far back into her head. Her eyelids closed once more, and she breathed deeply and slowly several times before continuing.

“Each of the five pieces enhances the five senses of the wearer–sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch. The pieces were sent out in five different directions, representing north, south, east, west, and to the centre, or the unknown.

“It was prophesized that when the time was right, the energies of the Source would magnify, and the pieces would reappear to seek out each other. A Spinner would appear who could harness such power and bring the pieces together. It is said that when the pieces are once again together, it will signal the beginning of great changes for the Earth and mankind. Changes will occur, the speed of which has never before been seen.

“But this you must know–if such rings were to be worn by one with an impure heart, the power could be corrupted. There are those who will attempt to steal them from you for their own personal gain. But know this, too, that the powers stay strong only when the rings are
voluntarily given.”
The woman inhaled a deep shuddering breath and her eyes flew open as she stabbed a bony finger at Tess and hissed, “The rings will seek ye. Pay attention to your inner voice, Quintspinner.” Her eyes narrowed and she continued in a hushed voice, “It is the only sense to trust.”

Tess sat quietly on the stool, made speechless by the Crone’s story. Cassie, however, spoke first.

“That’s a fine story, it is. A fine yarn for scaring us. Spinner, indeed! Tess doesn’t even have a ring, if you haven’t noticed. And she’s not bloody likely to find one in the marketplace, is she now?”

“She has the mark. They will come,” the Crone said simply.

A sudden loud knock on the door made both girls jump. A wisp of fear flickered in the Crone’s eyes and then it was gone, replaced by a look of grim expectancy.

“Into the back room with ye both!” she whispered. “Hide yourselves so as not to be found.” The knock sounded again, this time louder and more impatiently. The Crone grabbed Tess by her arm. “Ye’ll come to know things, Quintspinner. Do not doubt your inner voice. It will not fail ye, if ye choose to hear it.”

The knock swelled into a fierce pounding. Tess and Cassie barely had time to slip behind the curtain into the small back room before the front door burst open admitting two strangers. In the murky back room the two young women crouched behind a narrow open-face cupboard. Its sway-backed shelves were laden with jars and small lumpy sacks. Other than a few hand tools leaning against the far wall, and a grimy straw mattress lying on the floor, the room was empty.

“Surely you have no reason to keep us waiting out in the filth of your street,” one of the strangers began. His voice was deep and he spoke with the clipped words of an educated man. “However,” he sniffed with great distaste, “it may have been more pure of air than in here, after all.” He sniffed again. “What is that particular scent?”

“Only tea, Sir. An’ perhaps the blend of the herbs an’ roots,” the Crone offered.

“Yes, I suppose there’s no accounting for peasants’ fondness for things from the bog, disgusting as that may be ….” His voice trailed off and although Tess and Cassie dared not look out past the thin sheet separating the two rooms, they could hear the shuffle of the gentlemen’s shoes and the click of heels on the floor as the visitors shifted their weight from foot to foot, obviously looking about the room.

The deep voice spoke again. “You are aware, I am sure, that each time in the past year, when I sought out your debatable services, it was on behalf of George Augustus, Prince of Wales.”

“I’ve not forgotten nor misunderstood Your Sir’s visits to me,” the Crone replied.

“And do you recall your words to me during our last encounter, the one for which not even I, the Prince’s own courtier, could dissuade him from seeking your dubious advice with regards to his newborn son’s safety? I speak, of course, of the delicate matter that arose between the Prince and his father, His Majesty, King George. In fact, I speak specifically of the King’s appointment of Lord Chamberlain, Duke of Newcastle, as one of the sponsors of the child.”

“I am aware of that of which ye speak, Sir.”

“It was a matter in which you advised that although the Prince greatly objected to this godparent arrangement, that such an appointment would result in no harm.”

“I do recall my own words, Sir.”

“But … perhaps not even as great a seer as yourself,” he sneered, his contempt for her plainly audible and barely in check, “is aware of the circumstances which have transpired from that appointment.”

The Crone remained silent. Any reply from her now would only be construed as a hostile challenge by the courtier.

“At the child’s christening, the Prince of Wales and the Lord Chamberlain publicly spoke words of disagreement to one another, leading his Lordship to mistakenly believe that the Prince had issued to him, a challenge to a duel. His Highness, King George became enraged by the Prince’s participation in the argument and he has therefore banished the Prince and his wife from the royal residence within St. James Palace.”

There was an audible gasp from the Crone.

“I see you may be taken aback by the news,” the courtier chuckled, and then his voice became hard and full of malice. “They must now reside at Leicester House,” he hissed, “but His Highness has decreed that their children are to be separated from them and left behind at St. James under the care of the King.”

“Is the male child alive and thus far healthy?” the Crone interjected.

“Alive? Yes. Healthy? For the time being. But how long can a child thrive and flourish without the love and care that only his mother can provide to him? Hmm?” He took a step forward and slammed his fist upon the table. “Safe! You predicted him to be
safe!
”

Tess’s ears began to itch once more.
Can it be? She must be spinning the ring!

Recovering his composure, the courtier cleared his throat and continued. “I see that you are in possession of a piece of jewelry fine enough in appearance so as to properly belong to the Prince himself. I believe that I might be able to obtain the Prince’s forgiveness of you if I were to present him with such a gift from your miserable self–”

The high pitched hum in Tess’s ears had changed in tone, from a pleasant harmonious sound to a shrill squeal that seemed to be stabbing somewhere inside her skull.

“Ye’ll not come to have a spinner in your possession while there is breath in my body!” the Crone cried.

“As you wish, useless old woman!” the man growled. “I had heard it talked about, that your so called power of predictions was gained from a talisman of some sort. I just had no idea that it would have another, more worldly value to me!”

A heavy thud of a stool and that of a body hitting the floor together was mixed with a bitter shriek of agony from the Crone. Blindly grabbing a bag of roots off a shelf Tess sprang into the forward room, a defiant cry escaping from her throat. Swinging the bag overhead, she brought it crashing down upon the courtier’s head. The man screamed in fear and shock as the skin on the back of his skull split open in a spray of blood. Cassie jumped past Tess, screeching with equal volume and slicing the air with a short handled pitch fork.

The unexpected onslaught was too much for the startled men. Clutching his head, the courtier lurched for the doorway, followed quickly and nearly overrun by his companion, the two of them disappearing into their waiting carriage. The carriage bolted away as the perfectly paired horses strained forward in their harnesses under the sting of the driver’s whip.

Breathing hard, Tess and Cassie looked at one another in amazement at the success of their sudden attack. A low moan arose from the floor behind the table.

“Oh my God!” Cassie blurted, “The Crone! She’s hurt!”

Tess knelt by the woman’s body and was horrified to see a spreading blood stain widening on the floor around the woman’s head. Blood seeped from both nostrils and joined another trickle oozing from one corner of her mouth. She attempted to speak but her lips spewed only bubbles of blood and saliva. The Crone motioned weakly that Tess should bend nearer. As she did, Tess’s face hovered close to the dying woman’s.

“The ring,” the woman gurgled softly. “It must be yours now. Find it,” she whispered.

“Find it? What do you mean?” Tess cried.

With great effort the Crone held her trembling hand close to Tess’s face.

“Find it … yours …” she slurred and her hand dropped into Tess’s lap. Tess looked down and screamed.

The Crone’s fourth and fifth fingers were missing. Hacked from her hand. The wound had at first streamed dark blood but it no longer flowed, and the spilled blood was already clotting, as blood does when a heart no longer beats to push it through the vessels. The Crone’s chest rose and fell one last time in a soft wet exhalation.

“Tess! We have to get out of here! They may come back!” Cassie shook Tess by her shoulder. Tess scrambled around on her hands and knees, sweeping the floor with her hands in obvious search of something.

“What are you doing? Didn’t you hear me? We have to leave!” Cassie tugged hard on Tess’s dress collar.

“Help me find them, Cassie!”

Find what?”

Her fingers! The ring! Hurry!”

Cassie dropped to her hands and knees and the two of them scanned the floor.

“They must have taken the fingers with them,” Cassie said. “I don’t see them anywhere!”

“Keep looking!” Tess commanded, but the room was small and it took only a minute longer to prove that Cassie was right. Neither fingers nor ring had been left behind on the floor.

“It’s no use, Tess, we have to go! How are we ever going to explain this, if someone finds us here?”

“We can’t just leave her like this,” Tess sobbed, her panic dissolving into tears. She straightened the Crone’s legs out and arranged the tattered skirt’s hem neatly over the worn slipper tops. Reaching slowly up to the woman’s face, Tess gently closed the eyelids with her fingertips. Finally, she placed the injured hand upon the woman’s chest and reached to place the other over top of the gruesome wound. As Tess pried open the fingers of the second hand to spread them over the first, she gasped. Held tightly in the hand, even in death, were two fingers with the spinner ring still in place.