Snow White and Rose Red Read online

  “Dicing,” Robin said with fastidious distaste. “He’d have us speak of dicing, or of cards, when we could praise the fairest flowers at court instead.”

  “A week ago thou wast not too proud to speak of dicing, when thou hadst a case of Spanish wine and Lord Branden’s favorite horse on the fifth throw,” Hugh pointed out.

  “Ah, but then I won,” Robin said smugly.

  “Thou?” John said incredulously. “Thou, win at dice? It passes comprehension.”

  “‘Tis true,” said Robin, “and I’ve the wine to prove it. Come and sample it, and tell me if ’twas worth the wager.”

  “A princely offer, I declare, and one I’ll not decline,” John said. “Willt join us, Hugh?”

  “Gladly,” Hugh replied, and the three left the library to the dust motes falling through the slanting sunlight.

  CHAPTER · FOUR

  “The girls often went to gather berries in the forest. None of the animals ever harmed them. Rabbits would eat cabbage leaves and clover out of their hands, and the birds sang cheerfully in the branches of the trees above them. Sometimes they even saw deer leaping by them through the bushes. ”

  BLANCHE AND ROSAMUND LEFT AT FIRST LIGHT THE following morning. Their mother’s misgivings had intensified their own, and even Rosamund was not as carefree as usual. They stayed close together, just as they had promised, and never left each other’s sight for even an instant. Nor did they stray far from their accustomed paths.

  As the day wore on, the two girls relaxed their vigilance a little. Though they continued to keep close to each other, they began to roam farther afield. For, as Rosamund pointed out, they already knew that there was no elecampane growing near their usual haunts. “We should look nearer the stream,” Rosamund said. “Elecampane likes moisture.”

  “Is’t not closer to the border than is wise?” Blanche said doubtfully.

  “Wouldst thou rather wander all day and find nothing?” Rosamund answered impatiently.

  “It likes me not,” Blanche admitted. “But neither do I like the thought of being caught by Faerie folk. Remember what our mother said.”

  “I remember as well as thou!” Rosamund snapped. “But Faerie folk seldom cross the border at midday; ‘tis safer now than later.”

  “‘Tis safer yet if we go not at all,” Blanche pointed out. “Seldom is not the same as never.”

  “An there be Faerie folk about, we’d do best to keep our time here as short as we may. Be not unwisely overcautious, Blanche!”

  Blanche rolled her eyes. “I do but try to be a balance for thy rashness, and with small success.”

  “‘Tis not rashness, to try to do our task quickly! Come, Blanche; ’twill not take long to look.”

  “Aye, and if I say thee nay, thou‘lt argue till the sun sets, and belike the moon also!” Blanche shook her head in exasperation. “Well, to the stream, then, but it still likes me not.”

  The two girls set off in the direction of the stream. To Rosamund’s immense and ill-concealed gratification, their change of course was rewarded almost at once. In a shady hollow near the stream they found a large patch of elecampane growing in the rich leaf mold, its tall, unbranching stems rising well above their heads. They fell upon it with delighted relief, scraping and prodding at the soil with dead branches to uncover the roots.

  It took some time for the girls to gather all the roots they needed. Some were too old and tough; others were too small; still others had been damaged by grubs or other insects. Blanche sorted carefully through the roots while Rosamund dug. As soon as they had a sizable pile of likely-looking specimens, the two girls took the roots to the river and carefully washed them. They set the roots in a patch of sun to dry and returned to the hollow, where Blanche took her turn at digging while Rosamund sorted.

  They were at the stream, washing their third batch of elecampane roots, when Rosamund noticed a small hare crouched among the bushes on the opposite bank. She nudged Blanche and whispered, “Look there, on the other side of the stream.”

  “‘Tis frightened of us, poor thing,” Blanche said.

  “Nay, not of us, I think, or it would run,” Rosamund replied, craning her neck to look over the bushes. “See over there, among the trees. Is it not a fire’s glow?”

  “Perhaps,” Blanche said cautiously. “‘Tis not easy to be certain in the day and at this distance.”

  “Then we must go nearer,” Rosamund said with determination. “An it be not to cook some tinker’s dinner, we must warn Mother, and the town.”

  Before Blanche could answer, there was a crackling sound from the far bank. An instant later a large stag leapt over bushes and stream together. It landed gracefully, rolled its eyes at the girls in terror, and bounded off into the woods once more.

  “See there!” Rosamund said. “‘Tis not the hare alone that’s frightened.”

  “I suppose we must go,” Blanche said reluctantly. A forest fire was unlikely at this season, but it was not impossible, and should one occur it could easily become a major disaster for the town. The last of the hay still drying in the fields would burn easily; so would the thatched roofs of the poorer cottages and homes. Once begun, such a blaze could sweep through Mortlak with little hindrance, for few of the buildings were of stone and over half the citizens who should have kept hooks and leather buckets ready for fire-fighting ignored the law that required such preparation.

  Rosamund jumped to her feet at once, but Blanche insisted on packing the latest batch of elecampane roots into their baskets before they left. “If thy fears prove well founded, then we must speed home quickly, and I’ll not have our labor wasted,” Blanche said firmly when Rosamund objected. “There; that’s the last. Come now, but have a care.”

  Crossing the brook was not difficult; it was a mere trickle of water, less than three feet wide and only a few inches deep. The girls found a spot where the opposite bank was almost clear of brush and jumped the stream. Then they headed back toward the area where Rosamund thought she had seen the fire.

  They had gone only a little way when Blanche held out a hand to stop her sister. “What now?” Rosamund said crossly.

  “I feel an evil in the air,” Blanche said in a low voice. “Dost thou not sense it?”

  “‘Tis only that we draw near the border of Faerie,” Rosamund said with some impatience.

  “Nay, ‘tis more than that,” Blanche said. “The crossing into Faerie ne’er made my flesh creep. Be still a moment, and listen.”

  Rosamund did as Blanche suggested, and for a long moment the two girls stood like deer tasting the air for a scent of strangeness. “‘Tis nothing,” Rosamund said at last, with rather too much firmness. “Come, we must see about that fire.”

  “Perhaps we should not; perhaps we should go home and tell Mother,” Blanche said, but there was more hope than conviction in her voice.

  “Nay, if we do that, we’ll never learn what’s toward,” Rosamund replied. “We’ll go on, but with caution.”

  “Thou art a stubborn mule,” Blanche muttered, too low for Rosamund to hear. Sighing, she tucked the linen cloth that covered her basket more tightly into place and followed at her sister’s heels.

  They reached a fringe of bushes that partially screened the place where Rosamund had seen the fire. Rosamund stopped short. When Blanche started to ask why, Rosamund gestured her to silence. A moment later, Blanche heard the low rumble of men’s voices ahead of them. The two girls exchanged a long look; then Blanche sighed again and slipped her free hand into Rosamund’s. Clutching each other tightly, they crept closer, looking for a place where they would be able to see the fire clearly.

  The fire had been burning since shortly after daybreak, when John Dee and Edward Kelly had begun their secret spell-casting. The two men had, with much effort (and a fair amount of complaining on Kelly’s part), carried their carefully prepared tools into the forest before it was quite light, to avoid being seen by the villagers. It had taken them some time to find a suitable place fo
r their work, and the men’s long robes were somewhat the worse for their long trek through the forest. Burrs and twigs had caught on their sleeves, and an oak leaf protruded from the back of John Dee’s collar.

  Neither man bothered to correct his dishevelment. They set to work at once, first spreading a large square of red silk out on the forest floor, then placing an iron brazier in the center of the silk and lighting a fire within it. Kelly had tended the fire for some hours, while Dee laid out, in careful order along one edge of the silk square, their remaining tools: two wax tablets bearing inscriptions in Hebrew, a tarnished silver bowl partially filled with wine, a slim dagger, a clay dish of herbs, and an unlit lamp. And as they worked, each of the men kept a sharp eye on the shadows at the far side of the brazier, just beyond the edge of the silk cloth—the shadows whose distorted clarity marked the border between the lands of Faerie and the mortal world.

  Now the two men stood half-crouched over the brazier, chanting steadily in low voices. Suddenly, John Dee straightened, then bent backward and seized the two wax tablets. Without pausing in his chanting, he handed one of the tablets to his companion. Then he held his own above the brazier and called in a strong voice, “Omnia in terra tradita sunt in manus nostros; all things on earth are given into our hands.” In a single, smooth motion, he dropped the tablet into the brazier and leaned back to pick up the bowl of wine.

  The flames in the brazier flickered and seemed to die, then suddenly shot upward in a long, ruddy tongue. “Hic est verus ordo orbis terrarum,” Kelly said, holding up his own tablet. “This is the proper order of the world.”

  A second tongue of flame reached up from the brazier as Kelly dropped the square of wax onto the coals. Dee lifted the silver bowl. “Animae aetheriae invocamus vos ipsos,” he said.

  “Invocamus vos ipsos perferre volutatem nostrum,” said Kelly. “We summon ye to work our will.” He dipped his fingers in the wine and scattered droplets into the coals below, being careful to let none of the liquid fall outside the brazier’s rim. There was a hissing noise as the wine vaporized, and a puff of steam rose from the fire. It did not dissipate, but hovered above the heads of the two men, a barely visible clump of mist. Kelly repeated his action. The mist thickened, and there was a brief, bright gleam from the silver bowl.

  Dee handed the bowl to Kelly and picked up the knife. “Sanguinem et vinum donamus vobis,” he said. “Blood and wine we give ye.” He pulled back one of his sleeves and made a sudden, swift slash with the knife. Blood welled from the cut in his arm and dripped onto the coals. Black smoke rose from the brazier to mingle with the hovering mist.

  “Sanguinem et vinum donamus,” Kelly repeated, baring his own arm. The knife made another swift movement, and the brazier smoked again.

  “Fiat,” said Dee, and again Kelly echoed him. Dee turned and picked up the dish of crushed herbs. Lifting it high above the brazier, he cried, “Ferrte et coercete vim ex faeriae in vasem preparatum sibi; bring and bind the power out of Faerie into the vessel that is prepared for it.” With a final flourish, he poured the herbs into the fire.

  Golden, glowing smoke billowed out of the brazier, briefly hiding the two sorcerers who stood beside it. The air filled with a pungent aroma. The glow touched the small, dark cloud of mist and black smoke that still hung above the brazier, and it began to coalesce. Soon a small, pulsing globe no larger than a man’s fist floated above the brazier like a giant will-o‘-the-wisp. The air was clear of smoke, and the fire in the brazier had gone out.

  Dee looked up. “Ite!” he commanded, and the globe vanished. He sighed heavily, looking suddenly very tired and old, and turned to his companion. “Now we wait.”

  “How long?” Kelly demanded.

  “I know not,” Dee replied, staring into the shadows where the border of Faerie lay. “But till the bringer returns, do not leave this protected ground.” He waved at the square of red silk on which they stood. Kelly nodded absently, and the two men lapsed into silence.

  Beneath the bushes at the edge of the clearing, Blanche nudged Rosamund and pointed urgently back the way they had come. Rosamund shook her head, her mouth set in a determined line. Blanche gestured again, and again Rosamund mutely refused. Unable to argue lest the sorcerers overhear their whispering, Blanche breathed a sigh, and thought dark thoughts, and stayed where she was.

  The glowing spell-globe flickered through the lands of Faerie. It was neither alive nor intelligent, though Dee would have argued otherwise; the “spirits of air” on whom he had called were far too canny to be so easily entrapped. The spell-globe was simply that: a spell, formed of power and skill and deep desire, shaped and directed by the wishes of the men who had made it. Compared with the might of even the least of the Faerie folk, the globe was a feeble thing, for the skills of the two sorcerers were not as great as they believed. So, for a relatively long time as such things go, the spell-globe found no creature vulnerable to its imperatives, no being whose essence it could steal.

  At last the globe reached a glen, deep within the forest of Faerie. There it paused, balanced between the charms that guarded the glen and the potential within that drew it onward. It waited, hidden among the lush foliage of the trees, while a little way beyond the Queen of Faerie conversed with her two sons.

  The Queen of Faerie sat on a satin-covered chair in the middle of the glen. Her face betrayed as little as a perfectly sculpted alabaster mask. Her black hair was bound with a diamond-studded net that sparkled and flashed in the late afternoon sunlight. Her black eyes were calm and cold, and her graceful, long-fingered hands lay quiet against a silk gown of the same rich green as the moss beneath her feet. Her ladies stood behind her, near the edge of the clearing where they could see but not overhear. They, too, were all but expressionless, though a close observer might have seen curiosity in a few of the women’s eyes. Madini, watching from the farthest edge, showed no emotion at all as the two men she hated most were greeted by her Queen.

  “Thou‘rt well, John?” the Queen asked.

  “As well as may be, Mother,” John replied warily. At his side, Hugh shifted very slightly.

  “I’m glad of thy return, and in safety,” the Queen said, and there was a hint of warning in her tone.

  “I was in no danger,” John said. “Yet I, too, am glad to be home.”

  The Queen’s shoulders relaxed minutely. A whisper of a breeze passed through the glen, barely enough to make the leaves quiver, and with it came the scent of apple blossoms. “Thou‘lt attend our revels this night?” said the Queen.

  “I shall indeed. I’d never willingly miss them,” John said, smiling. “But shall I still know any of thy court?”

  “The greater part, certainly,” the Queen said, returning his smile with a cold one of her own. “Yet thou‘lt find new faces enow.”

  “So Hugh hath told me,” John said with a quick glance in his brother’s direction.

  “I’ve spoken only of the fairest faces,” Hugh put in. “Tallis and Selena and—”

  “Nay, an you twain wish to turn your tongues to such matters, either you or I must needs depart,” the Queen said with some affection.

  “We’ll leave thee, Mother, if thou‘lt permit it,” Hugh said quickly.

  The Queen nodded and the brothers withdrew. “I think that went off very well,” Hugh said softly as the two crossed the springy moss toward the edge of the clearing.

  “Perhaps,” John said. “Yet I am not easy. She said nothing of those restrictions of which thou hast warned me.”

  “They are the province of the Queen,” Hugh said. “How should she talk of them, when she meets thee as a mother?”

  John stepped over the invisible boundary that barred the spell-globe from entering the glen. The spell-globe quivered, barely disturbing the leaves that concealed it, then subsided into waiting once more. “These fine distinctions like me not,” John replied. “I fear I was never meant for—Hugh!”

  While John had been speaking, Hugh had reached and crossed the boundary
at the edge of the glen. The spell-globe quivered once more, then fell like a stone straight down onto Hugh’s head. A glowing black cloud enveloped Hugh, pulsed once, and vanished even as John cried his brother’s name, leaving only a stink of burning in the air and Hugh’s unconscious body sprawled upon the ground.

  The spell-globe, its primary purpose completed, returned with uncanny swiftness to its makers. Dee and Kelly sensed its coming as it crossed out of Faerie, and their heads came up together like the heads of hunting dogs who scent a stag. The globe, now double its original size and shifting crazily from glowing gold to a dark and smoky blackness, hurtled toward the two men. At the last instant, just before it would have passed over the edge of the red silk square on which Dee and Kelly still stood, the globe veered sharply to the right and plunged down onto the lamp that lay on the bare ground just behind Dee.

  The lamp flickered and began to glow with a steady, flameless light. The two sorcerers stared at it for a moment in silence, then Dee’s lips turned up in a slow smile. “We’ve done it, Ned!” he said. “You had the right of it, to make our attempt in daylight.”

  “‘Tis not accomplished yet,” Kelly said warningly, but he, too, was smiling. “The power must be drawn into some object more suited to our purposes, and fixed there. That lamp will crumble into dust, an it hold such energy a month.”

  “True, but the harder task is finished,” Dee replied. “We’ve time and plenty for the rest, God willing.”

  “So be it,” Kelly answered.

  The two men picked up the brazier, which was now quite cold, and carefully dumped the dead embers on the ground at one side of the silk square. Only then did they step off the silk. Dee picked up the square cloth and shook it carefully, frowning at the damp stains and streaks it had acquired. “Jane will be angered when she sees this,” he said.

  “Keep it from her,” Kelly advised, laughing. “A month from now, you may have a disembodied servant make it clean as new.”