Old Magic(91)

A smile forms and he nods. ‘I can only try.’

I don’t know what he plans, but it had better be fast-working. His eyes close, and almost instantly a wind starts to blow. It builds rapidly in strength, twisting in a northerly direction, not only away from us but away from Thorntyne Keep as well. And better still, it’s bringing with it dark thunderous clouds. They roll towards us with lightning speed. Morgana whimpers, overwhelmed. But the raging fire is still too close. The heat is intense, scalding us, while smoke invades our lungs, making us choke. The knights have fallen to their knees, coughing and gasping and mouthing silent prayers.

‘Hurry, Jarrod,’ I urge softly, curling into his chest, knowing a horrid death is only seconds away. ‘Bring that rain.’

And suddenly it’s falling in torrential sheets, driven by gusty winds. It becomes dark, almost as night, as the rain puts out the fires at our feet and all the way up the southern slope to Thorntyne Keep. Cheers erupt in the distance as servants and soldiers alike realise Thorntyne Keep is safe.

It’s over, and we live. Relief makes me light-headed. Isabel, Emmeline and Morgana openly weep. Even Richard’s eyes are glassy, the moisture on his face not all caused by the sudden rain.

‘Look!’ Malcolm points towards the northern peak to Blacklands. There, it is not raining at all. The sky is still blue, and now the fire has Blacklands by its heart. The tower too, burns fiercely.

I look up at Jarrod, who’s still holding me tightly. He has purposefully not let it rain over Blacklands. This way the curse too will die. ‘Brilliant,’ I say softly. He looks down at me, smiling. ‘I didn’t really want to live with Rhauk, you know.’ Suddenly I have to explain.

He nods. ‘I know.’

It’s all he has to say. But it’s enough. I return his smile and feel some of that drug-induced lethargy leave me. Strength starts returning slowly to my limbs. I fight back tears.

‘It’s another crow!’ Morgana squeals, pointing to the tower of Blacklands.

It’s not Rhauk, but his faithful trained companion.

We all look, and stare, mouths gaping in a mix of astonishment and horror. The crow is on fire.

‘Oh!’ I cover my mouth with my hand.

‘It burns,’ Jarrod says softly.

The rain stops, the overhead clouds disappear. I only fleetingly notice. We’re all watching, mesmerised, as the burning crow squawks in agony, spinning around in pain-induced insanity. Finally, it drops with a thud into surrounding burning scrub, its whole body quickly engulfed in flames.

‘Oh no,’ I groan sadly. It was after all only a bird.

An explosion drags my focus back to Blacklands. The tower is erupting. Rhauk’s laboratory, with the cursed wine inside, explodes. We watch entranced as broken stones and bits of timber, glass, precious tools; and anything else that hasn’t already burned, showers the surrounding landscape.

After a long time the explosions stop, and it falls silent.





Kate



Richard declares Thorntyne Keep should celebrate. Jugglers, jesters, poets and musicians prepare to entertain us in the Great Hall. With Rhauk now dead, so too is his claim on Thorntyne Keep. And so the cause for a celebration.

Jarrod and I are keen to return home, to Jillian, to our time. But Jarrod’s wounds need immediate attention. I watch over Morgana’s treatment. She stitches him up well, working through layers of muscle skilfully, soothing his burns with a herbal balm with anaesthetic qualities. Still, I’d like Jillian to have a look. A real doctor would be a very last resort. He would ask too many questions.

Emmeline follows us everywhere, not allowing us a minute of privacy. She’s edgy, barely tolerating my presence, but is hanging all over Jarrod. If anything I begin to think she’s particularly distressed that I’ve returned safely. I don’t like this feeling at all. Later I get a chance to quiz Jarrod, but he’s totally unconcerned. ‘She was just born a thousand years too early,’ he explains. ‘She’s bored and frustrated. Malcolm says he’s trying to talk his father into sending her to Court.’

Mid-afternoon the feast begins. We sit with Richard and Isabel at the head table in the Great Hall, enjoying their company and entertainment for the last time. Emmeline is sitting beside Jarrod, looking sullen and sulky; and I start to see hopelessness in her eyes, as if all her dreams have recently been shattered. It’s a strange thought as everyone else is really excited. I realise Malcolm is right, and the sooner Emmeline is sent to Court the better, for her own sake. As for Lord Richard, I think he is celebrating the hardest. His cheeks are rosy, his eyes glowing. He’s deliriously happy, and I think his disgusting harsh wine has helped him on his merry way.