Darkwitch Rising by Sara Douglass

But altered.

Charles lay next to Catharine. Both moved restlessly, tangling the sheets about them.

In a chamber a little distant from the newly returned king and queen lay Louis, solitary in his bed, dreaming of Noah.

Still asleep, Louis began to weep.

Coel? Coel?

He woke, startled.

There was no one in the chamber save for himself. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, then rose from the bed, tugging irritably at the sheets as they tangled about his legs.

“Coel,” said a voice, and he looked at the Sidlesaghe who stood by the window.

“What is happening?” said Coel—for it was Coel, his body now returned to that finer and darker one he’d worn so long ago.

“See,” said the Sidlesaghe, “the Realm of the Faerie awaits you.”

Coel looked through the window.

Blackheath had vanished. Now the gentle wooded hills of the Faerie stretched into infinity beyond the windowpanes.

“Come,” said the Sidlesaghe, “it is time. The king has returned.”

Coel stepped forward, pausing briefly as he suddenly realised that, although he’d slept in a linen nightgown, he now wore trousers made of a fine, fitted leather. He walked through the open window, the Sidlesaghe directly behind him.

They climbed The Naked, and as Coel climbed, so the grass to either side of him, all over the hill, flattened itself in homage. Coel slowed as he observed this, shaken. He saw then that it was not merely the grasses which paid him homage, but as he climbed, so also did the trees at the corresponding height on the other hills dip their branches in deference.

As he climbed, so a wave of deference dipped and swayed over all the hills of the Faerie.

“Over all the land,” said the Sidlesaghe, seeing the direction of Coel’s eyes, and the shock on his face. “In the mortal world so also do all the trees and grasses, as well as the beasts of field and forest, pay their respects.”

“How can I deserve this?” said Coel.

“Because you were born to it,” said the Sidlesaghe, “but also because you have earned it, first as Coel, then as Harold, and finally now, as you live this life.”

Coel shook his head, and they continued the climb in silence.

Just before Coel reached the top of the hill, the giants Gog and Magog loomed up before him, blocking his vision.

Coel stopped dead. “You stopped—”

“We had to,” said Magog. “Surely you understand that?”

Again Coel shook his head. “It is so hard—”

Long Tom now appeared at Gog’s shoulder. “Coel, if you wear the crown of the Realm of the Faerie, you must leave behind all your ties and promises to Eaving, as to the mortal world. Your first allegiance must be to the Faerie. Nothing else, nothing, must come first.”

“If you cannot accept this,” rumbled Magog, “then return to the world of the mortal, and to your dreams of Noah.”

Coel stood, hands on hips, head dipped a little, thinking. Leave behind his ties to Noah? Oh, that would hurt. For so long he had been tied to her, loving her, wanting to protect and aid her. Even more than the land, she had been his life…although he knew she would understand.

“Don’t you see?” said Gog softly. “Don’t you know you can help her more as the Lord of the Faerie than you ever could as Coel, or as the man you are in this life. The Lord of the Faerie will be her rock in the turmoil ahead. You can be her rock.”

Coel stood, still thinking. Eventually he raised his head. “I accept this for the Faerie,” he said. “Not for Noah, even though I know this decision shall aid her. But this is for the Faerie, and for the land. My first allegiance shall be to the Faerie, and to the land.”

As he said this, a great weight fell from his heart, and Coel knew he had made the right decision, and for the right reason.

All three of the creatures looking down at him grinned. Then Long Tom bowed, followed closely by Gog and Magog, and they all stepped back, affording Coel a clear view of the summit of the hill.

It was filled with the throng of the Faerie: Sidlesaghes and badgers, shadows and dapples, cavelings and sprites, sylphs and giants. All manner of creatures packed the grassy space, all with their faces turned towards Coel as he ascended the final steps to the flat summit, all eyes huge with elation.

As Coel finally set foot on the summit, every single one of them dropped to their knees in homage.

As they sank to their knees, so the sunlight strengthened over Coel, illuming him in a shaft of gold.

“This day is but a formality,” said Long Tom softly at Coel’s side. “You were, in truth, crowned that day you mounted Pen Hill to go to Caela. Do you remember?”

Coel nodded. “I was sick at heart and distraught, for I knew that death lay not far ahead of me. But even so, there was a great peace that came over my soul as I saw Caela. I thought she was my home.”

Long Tom gave a very slight shake of his head. “You were her home, and her lord,” said Long Tom. “You made her that day. Never forget it.”

There came a soft footfall behind Coel, and he looked, and smiled.

The reborn souls of Erith, Ecub, Matilda and Brutus walked up the hill, and were now but a few paces from him. Each looked about them incredulously, and each of their faces, as their eyes alighted on Coel, softened into delight.

“He is a king,” said Long Tom to them as they came to stand a pace away. “He is the Lord of the Faerie.”

Brutus stepped forward, and enveloped Coel in a warm hug. “I find myself most unsurprised,” he said. He leaned back from Coel, and his expression sobered. “This is glad news, my friend,” he said, “and it lightens my heart away from its sorrow.”

Coel nodded, knowing the man’s pain, and then accepted hugs from the three women.

“We shall lose you, shan’t we?” Ecub said.

Coel touched her cheek gently with his thumb. “Never,” he said. “Our bonds are too close for that.”

“Faerie Lord,” said Long Tom softly, “it is time.”

Coel turned from his companions of so many lives, and walked slowly forward. He looked around him, managing to catch, in turn, each individual creature’s eyes, even though they numbered in the tens of thousands. Then he looked towards the eastern aspect of the summit, and saw there the throne and the crown of twisted twigs and red berries on its seat.

He stared, then he slowly smiled. “I have been gone too long,” he said.

Long Tom’s mournful eyes filled with tears. “Aye,” he said, “for too long indeed.”

As he spoke, so did a copper-haired water sprite and a pale-hued caveling, the two creatures nearest to the throne, step forward. They took up the crown between them, and carried it solemnly to Coel. They stopped some three paces away from him, and held out the crown.

Coel dropped to one knee, and bowed his head.

As he did so, so the crown rose, unaided by any hand, and settled on Coel’s head.

The instant that it did, Coel’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing.

“There is something wrong,” he said. “Something foul and dark has blighted this land.”

Eight

Idol Lane, London

Weyland kept the four women in his house in Idol Lane during the three days it took Charles to reach London. Neither Frances nor Elizabeth were allowed to return to their tavern chamber to collect whatever they may have needed from their meagre belongings. Weyland kept them in the kitchen, allowing them only brief trips to the small privy in the side alleyway, and keeping either Jane or Noah at knife point during those trips to make sure whichever woman had gone to relieve herself also returned.

Weyland had been tense and anxious for days. Not merely because Charles was so close, but because he felt he’d left himself vulnerable after he had refused to allow the man to rape Noah, and when she’d then realised Weyland had been the one to heal her back. Since that day he’d barely spoken to her. He was determined, whatever else, to ensure that by the end of this day she would know her master.

The kitchen became a place of silence and a frightful, fearful anticipation. Frances and Elizabeth had no idea what was happening. They knew Weyland for a hard and sometimes cruel taskmaster, but of his greater being and mission they had no knowledge. Jane, normally composed and steady, became far more nervous in her demeanour. Noah was outwardly serene, but her abnormally pale cheeks and bright eyes betrayed her inner tension.

Of everyone, Catling was by far the most calm and collected. She spent her days sitting on a stool in the corner of the kitchen. She played almost constantly with a length of red wool, twisting it this way and that between her fingers. At night she bedded down without complaint, and slept soundly through the night. For the most part, Catling was so quiet that everyone forgot her presence for long lengths of time.