Chapter Thirty-Five

“Save me.”

Tansy, her cheek pressed against still another filthy floor scattered with moldy straw, muttered the words one more time. After being hauled into this place—a fine stone building in the midst of a bustling town—she’d been brought before three men who eyed her like a bug and put her name on what they called a “schedule” for hearing. Since then, she’d languished in this cell, where she must have spoken the plea a thousand times. A spell it now seemed, an incantation. Something more than a prayer.

For all that, she could not imagine how she might be saved. Her mind had chased round and round, searching for possibilities, and found almost none. A lightning bolt might descend from the sky, rend the stones above her head, and allow her escape. A magical ladder might appear, letting her climb up through a likewise magically opened grate. A giant bird might fly in, peck open the grate, and seize her in its talons.

A simple, merciful death might come. It took her a day and a night to reach that conclusion. Her condition, as she assessed it, had become very poor. She’d been given little to eat or drink at Latham’s keep and nothing since arriving in this second cell. She felt cold to the bones, wasted and weak, and the fire in her throat now made swallowing an agony. When she’d been tossed down into this pit, she’d twisted her knee and did not think she could stand on it. But she had youth on her side—or more rightly against her—and a certain vitality that bubbled at her heart. She did not think she was ready to die just yet.

She lay instead with thoughts teeming in her mind—hopes and fears, and what she supposed must be delusions. She’d been destined for this fate, from the moment she cursed Ranna Farquharson back at the market in Slurt. Or maybe since the time she’d been born. Who could tell? But fate had been inexorable, and even her love for Malcolm had not changed its course.

Malcolm. She thought often of him—her one comfort—and reminded herself at least she’d had him before she died. Nothing could take that from her, not the irons or the pincers or the cruel, staring eyes. She relived the pleasures they’d shared, over and over in her mind—how he’d touched her, joined with her, the wild beauty of it, and the look in his eyes.

No one in the whole of the world had ever looked at her that way. She needed to carry that memory with her, like the magical presence of her knight, to the end.

Yet it slipped away from her again and again, as fear took its place. Fear and delusion. When she’d been tossed down into this pit, it had contained a gaggle of women—old and young, fair and aged…they had been called one by one away to hearings, summoned by name and hauled up by the guards.

None had returned.

Quite apart from that was the presence in the corner.

Even in Tansy’s debilitated condition, it felt familiar—akin to the dark presence in the pit back at Latham’s keep, with which she’d communicated. Moreover, she fancied that from time to time, when she allowed her eyes to close, she heard someone moving about, breathing.

Perhaps not the same, then.

She wished she had the strength to rise, and then felt grateful she hadn’t. Mayhap she did not wish to turn her head and see.

Whatever the case, on this morning with the dirty light sifting in, only the two of them remained—Tansy and the other who might or might not be a woman. That meant one of them must be next to be hauled up out of here, destined to face judgment.

That thought made Tansy feel so ill she knew she would retch, if anything remained in her stomach to come up. When would the guards arrive? It did not matter if she remained unable to stand—some of the other women had been too weak to attain their feet. They’d been plucked out like baby birds from a nest.

How much would it hurt, what must follow? Would they coerce a confession? Could she hold on to a few shreds of dignity and keep from screaming at the end?

Save me.

Did she speak the words aloud, force them through her raw throat? She knew not, but something stirred within the pit, as if in response. Tansy heard footsteps, and a hand touched her on the back.

“Child, do no’ weep.”

Had she been weeping? She doubted it. But the woman’s voice sounded soft, and very certain.

“There’s no one can save you but your own sel’.”

Tansy lifted her head, using every last shred of strength, and craned her neck so she might look into the woman’s face.

Wonder widened her eyes, so powerful it almost banished the weakness.

The face she saw was her own.

****

“Who are you?”

A ghost, a spirit, an illusion? Herself come back from some staggering, unrecognizable future to bring an answer, a warning?

The woman did not at once reply. Instead she laid hold of Tansy with small, strong hands—her hands, at least, felt real—and urged her into a sitting position. “Can you stand?” she asked then.

“I do no’ ken. My knee will no’ hold me.”

“I will hold you. Come.”

The place offered not so much as a stone bench—only the filthy straw and the bucket, now overflowing. But the woman led Tansy to the corner and helped her sit with her back to the wall.

Her voice, when she spoke again, sounded musical as the memory of song. “I stay here because when the guards look down through yon grate, they canna’ see this corner easily.”

“Oh.” And were you in the corner of that other pit, back at Dun Ballan? Tansy ached to ask the question but did not quite dare. Despite their circumstances, this woman had an air about her that did not invite intrusion.

She asked instead, “Am I dreaming you?”

“’Twould be a braw thing, would it no’?” The woman waved a hand. “If we could dismiss all this as an ugly dream. But, child, ’tis not so. We are caught in the net like trout. And as I say, the trout maun free itsel’.”

“How?”

The woman turned her face and gazed into Tansy’s eyes, and Tansy lost all sense of the question just asked. The woman’s face might, indeed, be her own, small and with sharp angles at cheekbone and jaw. Her hair hung loose, black as Tansy’s but strung with silver threads. Small lines lay at the corners of her eyes and mouth. Her eyes…Tansy blinked and drew a painful breath. Silvery. Clear. As familiar as if she gazed into a mirror.

The woman whispered a single word. “Magic.”

“I think I know you,” Tansy said.

The woman’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “I believe I know you also. Only fancy! A gift, perhaps, now when we face death.”

“So we do face death?”

“Quite likely, child. Most of the trout in the net do. Only the ones who can talk swiftly and cleverly have a chance o’ making it back to the wide water. And we…” She let her voice die away before she concluded, “we ha’ near run out o’ magic, and all.”

“Aye. I am ill. Spent. I can barely feel my magic anymore.”

Something flashed in the woman’s silver eyes. “Do you suppose they’d dare question such as we, did they no’ make sure to steal our strength first?”

Tansy remembered striking Latham above the heart. “Nay.”

“Nay. They ha’ done this before, scores o’ times, brought women such as we—and ordinary women also—to their knees before challenging them. All this is meant to reduce us, render us harmless.”

“How do you know?”

“I ha’ escaped capture some long time. Run up brae and down glen—lived wild, only to be snared at last, betrayed by one I trusted.”

“One you trusted?”

“A man.”

“Ah.” Tansy thought about that, or tried to. It seemed her mind, cloaked in fog, could no longer see its way. “Did you love him?”

“Love. Now there’s an interesting prospect. It can be strong or it can be weak. His proved weaker than I believed.”

“I am sorry. ’Tis a terrible hard thing to trust someone wi’ your heart, only to be disappointed.”

“I ha’ survived worse. I once survived leaving my own beautiful wee daughter behind.”

Tansy caught her breath. “Who are you?” Though, aye, she already knew.

The woman ignored the question and mused on. “A bonny bit o’ a bairn she was, if unco’ fractious. She cried a great deal. Her father said she would settle; I thought no’. I kenned fine, by then, I would never settle, not truly. Something inside me bade me use my powers, and that in turn brought risk to him—and her. If I were accused, see, it would throw suspicion also on those I loved. I dared no longer stay wi’ him. And that meant sacrificing her.” The woman’s eyes met Tansy’s again before she said, “I hope you understand.”

“What is your name?”

“Bellrose.” The woman smiled once more, and silver light shimmered in her eyes.

Tansy’s aching throat closed. A wave of emotion arose at her heart—wonder, longing, gladness, and grief—and her eyes filled with tears. “You are…”

“Do no’ speak the word rashly; it carries too much power.” Bellrose smoothed the tangled hair back from Tansy’s brow with one small hand. “So—you are like me. I canna’ tell you how many times I wondered. I wanted to come back and see, but I learned Drachan had remarried. Was she a good woman?”

“Aye, a very good woman.” The longing became uppermost. “But you might ha’ come back—for me.”

“I might. But you ken, ’tis hard to tell sometimes what might be best for those we love. Sacrifices maun be made.”

“Love.” That word again.

“I always loved you. I am that glad I ha’ this chance to tell you so, before the end.”

Tansy wanted to believe her, this woman with the beautiful, silver eyes and the strong wisdom. She longed for it. But for too many years had doubt rested in her heart.

Instead she said, “Tell me about the magic.”

“Ah, then.” Bellrose took both Tansy’s hands in hers and squeezed tight. “’Tis old—ancient. It has traveled down our line from mother to mother to daughter—crone to mother to maiden. Not every daughter is so blessed. I am glad to know you carry the gift.”

“Blessed? How can you say so? It has landed us here.”

“Child, many a woman has landed here who never dreamed of wreaking a spell. They have wept and suffered and died wi’out ever knowing the joy of being one wi’ the world around them.”

“What has the world to do wi’ it?”

“Surely you ha’ learned ’tis from the natural world our ability comes, and our strength. The air, the fire, the water, and stone.”

“Stone is hard and unyielding,” Tansy protested. “It keeps us in this terrible place. Water can drown. Air feeds the flame that will torment and consume us.”

Bellrose laid her fingers against Tansy’s cheek. “There are worse things than transformation.”

“Eh?”

“The fire that consumes us will turn us into pure spirit. And then we will be everywhere—forever free. I want you to remember that, at the end.”

“But, Ma…” Tansy choked over the word she’d never before spoken. “I want to live. To love. There is a man.”

“Aye? A good one, I hope.”

“Good to the heart. I do no’ think he would ever hurt or betray me.”

“Ah, Tansy, you are so young.”

“You do know my name.”

“Did I no’ give it to you? And I ha’ held it to my heart all your life long.”

Tansy began to weep, the tears running down her face like rain.

“Come now.” Bellrose put an arm around Tansy’s shoulders and drew her close. “’Tis no way to meet your end, wi’ weeping. Tell me you will go wi’ your head high and courage in your eyes.”

“I canna’.”

“You can.”

“I am sore afraid.”

“Aye, so. Fear comes. So does strength. For such as us, strength means power. They canna’ defeat you if you keep your head high.”

Suddenly, Tansy felt her mother stiffen. Her face tipped up toward the grate. “Ah now—they come for one of us.”

“Och no, no, no— I ha’ just found you.”

“Once found, never lost. Child—Tansy—look at me.”

Tansy did, her eyes wide. She felt the connection between them blossom, silent but strong. “Daughter, I ha’ given you little in life, it seems. Mayhap I can make up for that now.”

Bellrose released her hold on Tansy, scrambled up from the straw, and stood on her two feet. She looked ready when the call came down through the grate.

“Mistress Bellrose.”

The grate gave a groan as it was hauled open. Bellrose turned and gave Tansy one smile before the men hauled her up brutally, by the arms, forcing from her an involuntary grunt of pain. The grate slammed shut even as Tansy struggled to her feet.

“Nay—”

The word died away to nothing in her aching throat. She stood alone in the dirty beam of light that filtered down through the cruel, metal grate.