The Crystal Heart (6 page)

Sitting over our simple dinner that night, with the only light in the room being the flames of the crackling fire, I felt content. We had escaped. We were safe. There was food in our bellies and shelter over our heads. We talked a lot; at least,
I
talked a lot at first and she talked a little. By common unspoken consent, we left aside any mention of the island or what had happened there. Instead, I told stories about the woods, Fish-the-Moon and my family, and funny things that had happened to me as a boy.

‘Being the only boy with two bossy older sisters wasn't the easiest thing in the world,' I said, ‘but they always told me I had it the wrong way round. Being older sister to a painful little brother who had to be taken everywhere – because Mother and Father were so busy in the restaurant – was, they said, by far the greater hardship, especially when that little brother eavesdrops on their conversations and thinks it's hilarious to put snails in their beds!'

Izolda clapped a hand over her mouth in mock horror. ‘You didn't really do that, did you?'

‘Well, only once, not the many times they always claimed,' I confessed. ‘And it was a very small snail. Plus, it had almost reached the floor by the time they found it.'

She burst out laughing. ‘I'm sure that made it a whole lot better!'

‘It was kind of me, I agree,' I said, thrilled that my silly story had made her laugh so much, ‘because after all, it was only payback for them telling Mother and Father I'd kicked my ball through the scullery window!'

Izolda laughed again. ‘Oh, Kasper, you must have been a real terror of a little boy!'

‘I hope I was. Being good makes for a dull childhood, don't you think?'

‘I suppose it does,' said Izolda, sobering suddenly, the haunted expression back in her eyes. I could have kicked myself for being so foolish. She'd not had the luxury of being naughty. Her childhood had been taken from her.

‘I'm sorry, Izolda. I didn't mean …'

‘I know you didn't,' she said. ‘It's quite all right. I – I love hearing about these things. Please tell me more.'

So I did, and so the evening passed. I'd left a little scrap of dinner in the darkest corner of the room to placate the
domevoy
, who I knew would be watching us from his hidey-hole. It's important, with
domevoys
, to make friends with them as soon as you move into a house. Otherwise, there could be all sorts of trouble, as they are famously prickly and easily take offence. But they're also very greedy and can be wooed in that way. I told Izolda about how I'd
brought the resident
domevoy
a gift of fresh honey-cake the last time I'd visited the cottage.

‘What does the
domevoy
look like?' she asked.

‘I don't know. Never seen it –
domevoys
very, very rarely show themselves. Our family has lived in our house for five generations, but our
domevoy
has been seen only twice in all that time. The first time was by my great-grandmother, when she was a little girl. And the second was by me.'

‘What happened?'

‘I was about five at the time. My sisters were fast asleep in the room we shared. I was dozing when, suddenly, in the corner of the room, I caught a glimpse of a wizened, hard-eyed dark face. Almost instantly it was gone, and there was only the flick of a long, thin rat-like tail, whisking out of sight, behind the stove. My sisters and Father said that I'd been dreaming. Or that I had merely seen a rat. But Mother believed me. And I've never forgotten it.'

‘Of course, you wouldn't!' said Izolda. ‘I hope we'll see our one here.'

Our
one. It gave me a tingle of pleasure. ‘I'm sure we will, if we play our cards right,' I said lightly. ‘But tell me, are there any
domevoys
in Night?'

‘Not exactly. At least, they're not the benign sort you have here. We have cave goblins – and you certainly wouldn't want them in your house!'

‘What are they like?'

‘They're carnivorous carrion-eaters who lurk in the shadows, in fissures in the rocks and caves too small and unpleasant to be used by any
feyin
,' she said. ‘They're small and stunted and grey-skinned, with a single fang
that holds enough poison to paralyse a creature the size of a small cat. On their own, they are cowards dependent on the remains of creatures that fall from the upper world into their caves. They also catch bats or other small animals that have blundered too close to a goblin den. Cave goblins occasionally hunt in packs. And then they are really dangerous – until the pack can be tracked down and destroyed by the Marshals, everyone has to take great care,' Izolda went on, her eyes alight. ‘When they are in a pack, they lose their fear and come out of hiding to hunt
feyin
at the very gates of my father's realm, hoping to grab those too weak or unwary to fight them.'

‘Let's hope these Marshals of yours do their job properly, then,' I said.

‘Oh, they do,' said Izolda. ‘They always find the pack. Always.'

I knew who the Night Marshals were, of course. The memory of the crack troops of the Prince of Night lived on in war stories, even though they hadn't been seen for ten years. But I had only ever thought of them in terms of enemy soldiers, not as Izolda saw them – as protectors of their people. And that led me on to an intriguing thought. All the time that Izolda had been imprisoned, the Marshals had not waged war. What had they been doing all this time? ‘Izolda, how many realms are there underground?'

She looked at me in some surprise. ‘My father's realm is really the only one. There's the Outlands, with a few small villages and outstations which are semi-independent, but they are of no significance.'

‘These Outlands, are they ever attacked?'

‘Attacked? By who?'

‘By M– I mean, goblins.'

‘If they were, the Marshals would help them.'

‘Why?'

‘Because they pay tribute to my father, so they are protected too.'

I changed the subject then, for I could see she was becoming troubled by my questions. We talked instead of what we were going to do the next day, and how we'd set about making the house a little more comfortable.

‘I'm so tired, Kasper,' Izolda finally said, yawning. ‘Do you mind if I turn in for the night?'

‘Of course not,' I said, jumping up. ‘I'm sorry – I've kept you up far too late.'

‘Not at all,' she said, smiling. ‘I have enjoyed this evening so much. Thank you – thank you for everything.'

‘There is no need to thank me,' I said. ‘I am honoured that I have been able to help you, and that you did not find my stories too ridiculous.'

‘I loved them,' she said simply, meeting my eyes. A heartbeat of silence before she said, ‘Good night, Kasper.'

‘Good night, Izolda,' I echoed. ‘See you in the morning.'

‘Yes. Sleep well.' She disappeared behind the tattered screen, and after a few moments, I heard her soft, even breathing.

But I could not settle. As I sat by the fire, feeding it from time to time with extra wood, I kept turning over everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours that had turned my life and my world upside down. And I did not regret one moment of them.

What I
did
regret was how I had blindly accepted the official story of the prisoner in the Tower. I'd never thought to question why the Prince would have simply ended the war there and then, just because a helpful witch had been captured. It made no real sense when you came to look at it. But losing his beloved daughter – being afraid for her safety – that was quite another thing. That did make sense, in a terrible kind of way.

But why would the Supreme Council risk putting to death such a valuable prisoner – an action that would surely have brought the Prince out against us again? And why would Commander Los, a hero admired and loved by all of Krainos, be part of such a monstrous plot – the lie that had kept us in ignorance for ten long years?

Every morning, after a simple breakfast, we set out into the woods so I could teach Izolda its ways. The first few days she was anxious and wary, and we only went a short distance from the house. I never left her side, for I knew she needed to be gently eased into her new-found freedom. She started at the slightest sound. Once, when we were gathering mushrooms, she froze in utter fear when a hedgehog scuttled out from under some leaf litter and hurried past.

‘It's all right, Izolda,' I said, wanting to put a comforting arm around her but not daring to. ‘It's just a little hedgehog. He's harmless – unless, of course, you're a beetle.'

She gave a tentative smile. ‘I'm sorry, Kasper. I feel ashamed. I'm such a fool. I've only ever seen them in books, you see – and he came out so suddenly …'

‘They do that,' I agreed. ‘One of them startled me just like that once – only I was just about to take a pot shot at a
deer, and I missed. I cursed that little walking pincushion, I can tell you!'

‘I can imagine,' she said, no longer looking anxious, and continued to gather the mushrooms.

After that I tried to anticipate anything that might frighten her. I taught her how to recognise the tracks of wild animals, to find edible roots and herbs, and to identify the plants that are useful in other ways: the soap herb that grows under hazel trees, the bark and leaves that can be boiled up for medicine. Nettles were plentiful in the area, so I taught Izolda how to pick them without getting stung. I showed her how to extract honey from a hive, how to recognise the right sorts of mushrooms and avoid the bad ones. I taught her how to make a simple trap, too. But on the seventh day, when she found a pigeon caught in one of her traps, she insisted on taking it back to the cottage and nursing it to health. I had no choice but to agree, though at first I could not help thinking what a nice roast that plump little bird would have made.

I would have spared her the skinning and gutting of the rabbits my traps caught, but she insisted on helping and valiantly carried through with it, despite the unpleasantness. She would not be spared anything; not the work in the woods and not the work in the house, however menial. In the Tower, she had never had to wash her clothes or cook or clean her room – the latter being solely the job of the blind cleaner – so that, too, she had to learn. She was a quick study for everything and made no complaint, even insisting on chopping kindling for the fire with the battered old axe.

But when I suggested clearing some ground for a garden, Izolda looked troubled. ‘They take a long time to grow, don't they?'

I knew the question that was in the back of her mind.
Just how long are we going to have to stay here?
It was not a question I could answer. I did not know the answer, for a start. And increasingly I found I did not want to know it.

We planted some of the buckwheat for it's a fast-growing grain, which would be easy to harvest. We pulled up some wild strawberry plants I found in the woods, too, and bedded them down along with wild sorrel and parsley. The plum-tree blossom was almost over and the fruit would soon bud up. Our little clearing was sheltered from the wind and any lingering frost, and the soil was rich and dark. With the water we ferried from the spring, our garden was sure to thrive.

After a couple of weeks, a faint flush of green showed where we'd planted the buckwheat, and the herbs and strawberries had taken well to their new home. Sometimes, Fela, the pigeon Izolda had nursed back to health, would follow us into the garden, cooing, waiting for the grass seeds we'd turn up in the soft earth.

If we were out all morning, we'd often stop to have a lunch of cold leftovers from the previous night's roast or stew. If we were around the house, we'd eat on the grass. We would mainly talk of what we'd done that day, but sometimes Izolda would speak of the Tower and of how she passed her time there, reading, playing card games against herself, drawing.

She often asked me to tell stories about my home. She had only snatches of stories and images from her own,
but they were always so vivid – about the wonders of her father's realm, a marvel unlike any in the world above. She painted such a glorious picture of the
feyin
world of the deep caves below the Lake that was its portal. Of a world lit by the golden glow of lamps that never went out, a towering city of salt stone and gold, of crystal and opal. A rich city where giant greenhouses grew crops that fed the entire population. Where a soaring crystal cathedral was dedicated to the Lady of the Rock, founder of Night itself. It was a city far in advance of anything we could imagine in Krainos, and whose people lived well beyond human years. Izolda had been only eight when she was taken, yet it was sharper and brighter in her memory than the ten grey years she had passed in the Tower.

When Izolda spoke of home, her voice took on a yearning note, she'd finger the crystal pendant on the chain around her neck, and my heart would constrict. For it was in these moments that I was put starkly in front of one simple fact: Izolda was
in
my world, but she was not
of
it. It was easy to forget that, in this green and peaceful place where we'd found a haven. Easy to forget, sharing the long sunny days with her, and nights spent by the fire. Easy to forget, as her skin lost its pallor and turned to honey-gold, as she relaxed and lost her fear of the woods, as, her sleeves rolled up, her bright hair held back with a makeshift band, she concentrated on her tasks. She could almost have been a girl from my village then, and not a
feyin
princess from an enemy realm.
Almost …

She trusted me. And for that I was glad. We were becoming real friends. And for that I was even gladder. But I wanted more, and I knew she did not. For she never
forgot – I could see that in her eyes. She never forgot who she was. And that meant she never forgot who I was, either.

Most evenings we sat around the fire after dinner before retiring for the night. I would show Izolda such things as using charcoal to draw on bark, our makeshift paper. She had begun to sketch again – quick studies of Fela, of flowers, of trees; while I sat whittling pieces of birch. It was on one of these evenings, towards the end of the second week, that Izolda broached a subject that had clearly been troubling her.

‘Kasper, don't you ever wonder what's going on out there?'

‘No,' I lied. I didn't want to say that sometimes I thought of my family and what they must be going through. ‘We're safe, we've covered our tracks well and that's all that matters.'

‘Aren't you afraid that one day –'

‘I don't think about
one day
,' I countered. ‘I think about each day as it comes. Wondering and fearing is the way mistakes are made.'

‘Yes,' Izolda said quietly, looking down at the sketch in her lap. ‘But you know … you know they must be looking for us.'

‘In all the wrong places, or else they'd have been here already.'

‘Surely it's not wise to assume it's always going to be like that.'

‘That's true.'

‘Then we need to know more!' Izolda cried in a flash of temper. ‘We have to find out what they're doing.'

I sighed. ‘How are we going to find out? By magic? I don't know any such spell. Do you?'

She flushed. ‘We have to go to a town – we have to ask questions.'

I shrugged. ‘Even if that wasn't dangerous, do you really think they'll have made your disappearance public? I doubt that very much. First, I hardly think they want to alert your father that their bargaining chip is gone; and second, they don't want the people of Krainos to know that a supposedly fearsome prisoner has escaped. Their search will be conducted in secret, I'm certain of that. I'm equally certain they'll have informers everywhere, watching out for us.'

Her shoulders slumped. ‘You're right,' Izolda murmured. ‘There is no way to do it.'

I swallowed. ‘I know this is hard for you, stuck here and unable to go home. You must feel like you're still a prisoner –'

‘Never!' Izolda had grown pale. ‘Never that. You must believe me, Kasper. I don't know how to thank you for what you've given me.'

‘You don't need to. I am just glad you're safe.'

‘It's more than that,' she said softly. ‘You are so good to me – so patient. You teach me so much – you have never made me feel like I am a burden to you.'

‘Oh, Izolda, that you could never be, not ever. I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to –' I wanted to say,
To be with you, to breathe the same air as you, to be by your side always.
But I was afraid she would shrink away from me, and that would break my heart. ‘To teach such a bright student.'

‘It's easy to be bright when you have a good teacher,' she said cheerfully.

‘Nobody's ever called me that before,' I said, adopting the same light tone. ‘My parents would be astounded, not to speak of my sisters.'

‘Would they?' A shadow went over her face, and mentally I kicked myself for a fool. Mentioning my parents was bound to make her think of hers. Her dead mother. Her father, who she hadn't seen for ten long years. Who she might never see again.

I made up my mind. ‘Izolda, I think you're right. We do need to find out what's going on. I know of a small river port a day's walk from here. Ports are better than villages as places to hear news.'

‘Oh, that's perfect!' cried Izolda. Her face was alight with such anticipation that it was clear her need for news had been greater than she'd admitted. ‘When do we go?'

I shook my head. ‘Only I will go. That's the only way it can work.'

‘But I want to go with you,' she said, crestfallen.

‘Izolda, you will stand out too much amongst my people. Red hair is very uncommon in my country. They may not know who you are, but you will be noticed. And that could be enough to alert someone.'

‘I suppose that's all true.'

‘But I won't go if you are nervous about being left here alone,' I said. ‘If you –'

‘I will be quite all right,' said Izolda, proudly jutting out her chin. ‘I can take care of myself. I've had a good teacher, remember?'

‘Oh, yes. That's right,' I said, laughing.

‘You will be careful, though. Won't you, Kasper?'

‘Of course. I'll be very careful, you can be sure of that. I won't just go about asking questions.'

‘How will you gather the news?'

‘There are market stalls at every port, where forest traders come and go. It will be natural to chat and exchange news then.' I picked up the bit of wood I'd been whittling. ‘I'll get busy tomorrow and make a whole lot of toys to trade for more supplies. That way, it will be doubly useful.'

‘Let me help, too. I will make something. Perhaps they might buy a picture?'

I shook my head. ‘They are beautiful sketches, but
they
might be looking out for that sort of thing. They know that's what you spent much time doing in the Tower, and will know your style of drawing. Whereas the wooden trinkets – they won't know about them.'

‘You think of everything.' She reached over and touched my hand. ‘I am so glad you are on my side.'

‘Always,' I said, my body flooding with warmth at her touch. Trying to keep my voice steady, I went on. ‘I'll leave the day after tomorrow. I will start before dawn so I can be there by the late afternoon, trade our wares and gather news, then set off again the following day. It will mean I will be away for one night as well as two days.'

‘I will manage perfectly well,' Izolda replied firmly. ‘And I will wait for you and pray to the Lady for your safe return.'