Shadowgate

17 – The Castle

The companions moved into a vast room that was bathed in light. Its rocky walls gleamed green. Its stone floor was covered with exquisitely embroidered rugs.

A great fire blazed in a fireplace set into the wall that faced them. To the right of the fireplace was a vast table draped with a stiff, white cloth and laden with food and drink.

And in the very centre of the room, on a heap of cushions that gleamed with every colour of the rainbow, lay a young man, hung about with gold and jewels.

The man had a small harp in his hands. He was playing softly. Emeralds glittered in his ears. A circlet of emeralds crowned his shining hair. Golden chains festooned his neck and his slender wrists. Beside him lay several pens and a scattered sheaf of papers.

As the companions entered the room, the music stopped. The man raised his head and fixed them with burning eyes.

Then Lief knew he had been right. There was no doubt that the man lounging before them was Bede.

‘He does look like you, Lief!’ Jasmine breathed. ‘Why, you could be brothers!’

Lief did not like the thought. He stepped forward.

‘Do not approach him!’ Kirsten hissed behind him. ‘Kneel! Kneel, I beg you!’

Her voice was so full of terror that Lief did as she asked. Barda and Jasmine hesitated, then kneeled beside him.

‘What is your will, my lord?’ Kirsten asked.

Bede did not look at her. ‘Bring food and drink,’ he said, barely moving his lips.

‘Yes, my lord! Oh, but do not stop playing! Your music is so sweet!’ Kirsten scurried to the table and began putting wine and fruit on a silver tray.

Bede plucked softly on the strings of the harp. Sweet music filled the room. But he did not take his eyes from his guests, and neither did he speak.

In moments Kirsten was back. She kneeled in front of Bede and put a silver goblet of wine on the floor beside the sheaf of papers.

‘Ah, you have finished the words of a new song, I see!’ she said. ‘Is it your song for today? The one I am to copy into the book?’

Bede bent his head in a slight nod.

Timidly Kirsten picked up a paper.

‘How beautiful!’ she murmured, looking at it. ‘Would you sing it for us, my lord? I long to hear it.’

Is she trying to distract him? Lief thought. Or is it part of her slavery that she must flatter him in the way he likes best?

His mind was teeming with questions. Kirsten was plainly in Bede’s power. She was terrified of him.

But did he control her by sorcery, or by some other means?

And how had she come here at all? It was her sister, Mariette, to whom Bede had lost his heart. Where was Mariette now?

Kirsten was coming towards them, carrying the paper and the tray. Lief reached out to help her, but she shrank back, her eyes wide with warning.

‘Sing, my lord!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘We will follow the words most carefully.’

Slowly she sank to her knees, and put down the tray. She placed the paper on the ground where they could all see it. All the time her eyes were beseeching Lief, Barda and Jasmine not to move.

There was a short pause, and then Bede began to sing. His voice was sweet and mellow as honey. The music of the harp was like the soft rippling of a stream.

Lief listened, transfixed in spite of himself. It was only when Bede finished the song, and began at once to sing it again, that he began to follow the words.

He looked down at the paper lying on the rug in front of him.

Lief glanced at Kirsten. Her eyes were swimming with tears. Her hands were tightly clasped, the knuckles white.

Only then was the spell of Bede’s voice broken. Only then did Lief realise how cruel were the words sung in those honeyed tones.

He felt Jasmine and Barda shifting uneasily beside him, and knew they saw it too.

Bede was taunting Kirsten, rejoicing in his power over her. No wonder she wept, remembering a time when his singing had filled her heart with joy.

Lief felt cold with fury. Why do we kneel here? he raged to himself. Why do we not leap on him now, and force him to take us to the Sister of the North?

But he did not move, for in his heart he knew why. The room was thick with evil and menace. Delicate as Bede chose to appear, he was plainly powerful. Very powerful.

If they were to survive, and find the Sister of the North, they had to soothe him, flatter him, make him feel safe. They had to be cunning, and stealthy. They had to play his game.

Bede at last fell silent. He raised his eyes from his harp, and looked straight at Lief. His gaze was intense and full of meaning.

Lief smiled, raised his hands and began to clap. After a moment, Barda and Jasmine joined him.

Bede did not smile. He did not move, bow or speak. When the applause at last died away, he bent his head to his harp, and began to sing the song again.

Lief bent as if to pluck a grape from the tray.

‘Kirsten,’ he whispered. ‘Where is Mariette?’

Kirsten stiffened.

‘Is she alive?’ Lief breathed. ‘Is she here?’

Kirsten nodded, very slightly. Her lips formed the word, ‘Captive’. Her eyes were full of anguish.

And there is my answer, Lief thought, glancing at Jasmine and Barda, who were watching intently. Bede controls this woman by a mixture of sorcery and threat. She is bound to him by fear for Mariette’s safety, as well as her own.

‘We can help you,’ Barda muttered, leaning forward as if he, too, was choosing something to eat.

‘No. He is too strong.’ Kirsten’s voice was like a sigh. ‘His power is boundless… terrible…’

Clumsily she began to pour wine. The jug clattered against the silver goblets as her hand trembled.

Lief looked over her shoulder at Bede. The man’s eyes were closed. He was still singing his new song, softly, slowly, as if entranced by the beauty of his own voice.

He must feel the power of the Belt, as I feel his evil, Lief thought. He is wary of us. He is biding his time, waiting for us to let down our guard. But he does not dream that Kirsten would dare to betray him. That is our strength.

‘Do you know where the source of his power lies, Kirsten?’ he murmured.

Kirsten stared at him blankly.

Lief sighed inwardly and tried again. ‘Is there a place in the castle that Bede visits often?’ he asked. ‘Somewhere you cannot follow?’

Kirsten shivered. She did not move her head, but her eyes slid sideways, towards a small arched door in a shadowy corner of the great room.

‘He goes there,’ she breathed. ‘When he returns, he is—stronger.’

‘Then that is where we must go,’ Lief said. ‘How can it be done?’

Kirsten shook her head hopelessly.

‘There must be a way!’ Lief hissed. ‘Help us, Kirsten! If not for yourself, for Mariette!’

Kirsten bowed her head. Lief, Barda and Jasmine exchanged rueful glances. Bess had called Kirsten a proud beauty. She was still very beautiful, but she was proud no longer. Bede had broken her spirit.

Then Kirsten raised her head again. Her eyes were still dark with fear, but for the first time a tiny spark seemed to glimmer in their depths.

‘I will try,’ she murmured. She turned until she was facing Bede.

‘My lord?’ she called softly.

Bede’s song broke off. He opened his eyes.

Lief, Barda and Jasmine saw Kirsten’s back tense. They saw her raise her hand to her throat. They prayed that she would not lose her nerve.

Stiffly she gestured towards a door set in one of the side walls—the wall closest to the arched doorway.

‘Your guests are tired, and wish to rest, my lord,’ she said. ‘May I take them to a bed chamber?’

There was a long pause.

‘If that is their wish,’ Bede said, without expression. He closed his eyes again, and began to strum the harp once more.

Slowly, silently, her eyes fixed upon him, Kirsten stood up and began backing towards the door that led to the bed chambers. Lief, Barda and Jasmine stood up, too, and began backing after her.

Bede’s golden voice followed them.

Fair as the day is my Kirsten,

Sweet as a flower she is…

Kirsten glanced quickly behind her and changed direction slightly. Now, instead of backing towards the bed-chamber door, she was moving towards the arched door in the corner.

Lief’s heart thudded. What a risk she was taking! At any moment Bede could open his eyes, and see…

But Bede’s eyes remained closed. He sang on, raising his voice, as if he wanted them to hear every word of his song one last time before they left him.

Her goodness banishes evil.

She is too perfect for one such as I…

Lief glanced over his shoulder. Kirsten had nearly reached the arched door. A few more steps…

‘Perhaps poems do not have to rhyme,’ Jasmine whispered. ‘But surely the words of a song should rhyme. A song like that, in any case.’

‘It is no song at all,’ Barda muttered. ‘It sounds as if he wrote it in two minutes. Certainly he took no care in writing it down. Yet he repeats it endlessly, as though it were the best song ever sung!’

Lief heard the tiny click as Kirsten lifted the latch of the door. He felt a cold breeze on the back of his neck. Again he looked over his shoulder.

The door was opening.

Inside was darkness. And from the darkness streamed a sense of evil so strong that his stomach seemed to turn over.

Kirsten met his eyes and beckoned, urging him to make haste.

Bede’s voice rose again, echoing through the great room.

A poor, plain man I am,

Far, far beneath her…

Barda and Jasmine are right, Bede, thought Lief in disgust. Your famous new song is very poor, and I wish I could tell you so. Bess boasted that your rhyming was perfect. But you have not even bothered to try. Every line ends with a completely different sound. ‘Kirsten’, ‘is’, ‘evil’, ‘I’, ‘am’, ‘her’…

His scalp prickled. He looked back at Bede.

Bede’s eyes were open. He was staring straight ahead, at the paper lying abandoned on the floor beside the tray. He was singing the final lines of his song, his voice lilting, despairing.

But her heart is my prisoner,

To me she can refuse no help,

For she adores me…

Lief stared. He could not believe what his mind was telling him.

Taken together, the last words of every line of Bede’s song formed a message.

Kirsten is evil. ‘I am her prisoner. Help me.