Overcome with frustration, I turn away from him and pace toward the river. Picking up the medallion and placing it back on my wrist, I can hardly contemplate the possibility that our journey will end here. That after all we have been through, all we have overcome, we will have to turn back because of a weak-spirited guide whom the Souls were able to turn to their cause. Worse, we may never find the missing pages now that Aunt Abigail is dead. Only she was the keeper of the pages’ secrets. Only she was able to set up such a careful journey.
And now she is gone.
Dimitri’s hands grasp my shoulders from behind. “Lia. It will be all right. We’ll figure this out.”
I whirl on him, a surge of hopelessness filling me up until I am overflowing.
“How will we do that, Dimitri? How? We are lost in the middle of an unknown wood. And if that is not enough — ” I turn from him, laughing aloud. It sounds as bitter as it tastes in my throat. “And if that is not enough, we do not even know where we are going! We have nothing, Dimitri. Nothing to guide us from here save a cryptic word.” I drop to a large boulder by the side of the stream. Anger slips through my pores like water, leaving me only with despair.
“What word?” Dimitri asks.
I look up at him. “Pardon me?”
He walks toward me, lowering himself so that we are eye to eye. “You said ��nothing to guide us from here save a cryptic word.’ What word?”
I am still hesitant to give over the words passed privately to me from Aunt Abigail on her deathbed. Still, it is not as if I have a choice, and if I cannot trust Dimitri, then who is left?
I take a deep breath. “Just before Aunt Abigail died, she told me to remember a word that would lead me to the pages if we should become lost. But there is not much point to it now. Our guide is gone, Dimitri, and even if he were not, the word may be nothing more than the sickbed musings of a dying woman.”
He looks into my eyes. “What was the word, Lia?”
“Chartres.” I say it, though I am no surer of its meaning now than I was when it was whispered from Aunt Abigail’s dying lips.
I remember Aunt Abigail’s other words: At the feet of the Guardian. Not a Virgin, but a Sister. I don’t share them with Dimitri. Not yet. They seem meant only for me. After all, I may be the next Lady of Altus. As such, it seems fitting that Aunt Abigail’s secrets become mine.
Dimitri’s eyes take on a far-off glaze as he rises and paces away from me.
I stand up and call after him. “Dimitri? What is it?”
It takes him a moment to turn around, but when he does, something in his expression gives me cause to hope. “The word… Chartres.”
“What about it?”
He shakes his head. “When we were young and growing up on Altus, the Elders would tell us stories. That is how our history is passed, you see. The culture of the Sisters and the Grigori does not believe in written history. Ours is told, passed from generation to generation.”
I nod, trying to be patient though I would dearly like for him to get to the important part.
“Chartres was… a church, I think… No! That is not right. Chartres is a town, but there is a cathedral there. One that is important to the Sisterhood.” He makes his way back to me, fire in his eyes. I know he is remembering. “There is a… a cave there. A grotto, I think, underground.”
“I don’t understand what this has to do with anything.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know. But there is said to be a sacred spring there, as well. Our people revered it in ancient times. They thought there was a sort of… energy or current running underneath the building.”
I look up. “Dimitri?”
“Yes?”
“Where is Chartres?” I have to ask even as I think I already know.
His eyes meet mine, shared knowledge already in their depths. “France.”
I try to make sense of the things we know and how to use them to our advantage, but even the small hope we have seems futile. “France may not be a big country, but it is too big to cover every corner on horseback, at least without a guide. Even if Chartres is the hiding place of the pages, and there is still no proof that it is, we could be days and days away from it.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Wherever the pages are hidden, I don’t think we are more than a day off track. The supplies that Gareth gave us are already running thin, which makes me believe that our journey was never meant to be a long one. And I think we may count on the fact that Gareth, at least, was leading us in the right direction. If we backtrack to the places we passed while in his company or shortly after parting, we will likely be somewhat close to the planned route.”
Everything he says makes a mysterious and perfect kind of sense. I can think of no other course of action, and I feel a smile light my lips for the first time in hours.
“Well, then. What are we waiting for?”
31
As we travel back through the woods, I am increasingly grateful for Dimitri’s sense of direction. He seems sure of the way while I am disoriented shortly after leaving the site of Emrys’s betrayal. The sun is directly above us and we are still in the forest when we decide to stop to water the horses.
Dismounting, Dimitri ties his horse near the river. The animal dips his head, drinking greedily from the stream as Dimitri heads for the cover of the forest, presumably to tend to personal matters. I lead Sargent to the small brook winding through the trees, and he slurps at the clear water as I uncap my canteen.
It is there, bending over the crystal water of the small stream, that I see them.
At first, there is nothing but the river. But as I lean toward it, preparing to replenish my water supply, the reflective surface distorts into a relatively clear image.
I peer closer, fascinated. My ability to scry was discovered shortly after arriving in London and has never come easily. I have always had to call on it in the past. But not this time. This time the image appears clearly and without effort. It only takes a moment to see that it is not one person reflected in the water, but many. They are on horseback, tearing through the woods against the backdrop of thunderous horses’ hooves that I cannot actually hear but somehow know are there simply from the vision in the water.
I strain for a better look as they draw nearer within their watery world, beating a path across the forest floor on steeds of white. Soon enough I know exactly who they are, though they do not look as they do on the Plane. There the Souls are bearded, their hair flowing behind their backs like torn silk. They wear tattered clothing and raise swords of fiery red. But to cross into this world, they must take possession of a physical body.
Even in the scrying water, they look like men I might pass on the streets of London, though with a particular fierceness I would know in any world. They wear trousers and waistcoats and hunch over their horses rather than sit upright bearing swords. But I know them for who they are.
I cannot tell how many they number. Countless, and all riding with single-minded purpose. Though the horde frightens me, both with their number and their intent, it is the man in the front that causes the blood to freeze in my veins.
Fair-haired and beautiful, he is perfectly at ease in his rage. It is not a mask or an emotion of the moment. While the others behind him ride with urgency I can see, even in the warped water-mirror, he is confident of his destination and his success once there. But it is the mark of the serpent, visible in the gap left by his open collar, that makes me realize how very, very much trouble Dimitri and I are in.
The Guard. Samael has sent the Guard to stop us from reaching the pages.
Or to take them from us once we do.
I don’t know how far away they are, but I know that they are coming. And they are coming for me.
I do the only thing I can; I rise from the water and run.
“Dimitri! Dimitri!” I shout, scanning the riverbank for him. “We have to leave! Now!”
He emerges farther downstream, worry creasing his face
. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“The Guard. They’re coming. I don’t know how far away they are or when they will catch us, but they’re coming.”
Dimitri does not question me. He talks while striding to his horse. “How many are there?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. Many.”
He mounts his horse in an instant. “On horseback?”
I nod.
“Mount up and give me your cloak.” He says this as he is already untying his own.
“What?” The command is so sudden, I am not certain I have heard him correctly. Even still, I put a foot into one stirrup and lift myself into the saddle.
He holds his black cloak out to me. “You and I have different colored cloaks, but our horses are both dark.”
He doesn’t have to say more. I know what he means to do, and I won’t have it. “No. We are not splitting up, Dimitri. It is too dangerous, and I’ll not have you exposed to the Souls to protect me.”
“Listen to me, Lia. There is no time to argue. This is the only hope we have of safely retrieving the pages. We will trade cloaks, raising the hoods to hide our faces, and continue back to the small town we saw in the valley. I will get you as far as I can. When the Souls are near enough, make for the town while I lead them in the opposite direction.
“The Guard are known for their cruelty, but they cannot use their magic for anything but shifting while in this world. With any luck, it will take them a while to realize they’re following me and not you. Besides, you have Lady Abigail’s stone. That will offer you an added measure of protection.”
Even as he says it, I feel the warmth of the adder stone against my chest. “But… what about you? What will you do if they catch you?” The thought of leaving Dimitri behind makes my heart weigh heavy in my chest.
His face softens. “Don’t worry about me. I am strong enough to take care of the Souls. Besides, it is not me they want, and launching an attack against the Grigori’s own would be a violation of our laws.”
I nod, untying my cape. I hand it to Dimitri in exchange for his black one and tie the dark cloak around my neck while I continue speaking.
“What will I do once I get to the town?” I raise my hood and glance around the forest, knowing we are losing precious time but terrified of leaving something out. Of forgetting a question in this one moment when I might still ask it.
He walks his horse over to me, and the other horse sidles up next to Sargent so that Dimitri and I are as close as possible on horseback. “If you have time, ask someone for directions to Chartres. If you don’t, make for a church, any church, and wait for me there. No Soul can enter a holy place, in any form, and live.”
There are so many things I want to say, but I have time for none of them before Dimitri leans in, kissing me hard on the lips.
“I will come for you, Lia.”
Then he slaps Sargent’s flank. The horse jolts forward and Dimitri moves into place behind me. As we fly back through the woods, I cannot help wondering if I will ever see him again. Or if all the soft words I have been saving will go unsaid forever.
As with the Hounds, I feel the presence of the Guard before I see or hear them. I cannot deny our horrifying connection, however much I detest all that they stand for. For a time, I speed through the forest, Dimitri close on my heels, with nothing but the certainty that the Souls are coming closer.
Then, all at once, I do hear them.
They tear through the forest behind me, and I lean over Sargent’s neck, begging him to go faster, to get us to the clearing leading to the small town that may or may not be Chartres. For a time, Dimitri is still behind me, and then, just as the crashing through the trees behind us grows nearer and louder, just as I realize that the Souls truly are right behind us, the sound of Dimitri’s horse veers to the right and I know he has gone.
I force myself not to think too long or too hard about his safety and the possibility of our never seeing one another again. Instead, I continue through the forest, trying to focus on finding my way back to the clearing.
Not at all sure I am headed in the right direction, I come upon the strange rock standing solidly on the leaf-covered ground and feel tremendous relief. I suddenly do not feel alone, and I speed past the stone toward the clearing that I know will come. All the while, I begin to hope. To believe I will make it to the safety of the church in the village.
But that is before I hear the horse gaining speed behind me. Before I dare a glance back and nearly freeze in terror.
It is no longer the Souls as a pack that give chase. No. They have likely lived up to Dimitri’s expectations and followed him in the other direction. But there is one Soul who has not followed Dimitri. One who has found me even through the woods and our charade.
It is the fair-haired man, the one who was leading the pack in my vision at the river. His horse rattles behind me with renewed vigor, and I lean over Sargent’s neck, trying to pick up enough of a lead that I might have time to find a place to hide.
It works. He drops behind me, and I break into the clearing at the edge of the field, spotting the stone farmhouse up ahead. This time, I do not dare look back. I make for the rear of the house and ride past it toward the barn. I do not have time to breathe a sigh of relief when I see that the big doors stand open.
Heading straight into the shadowy confines of the barn, I jump off Sargent’s back even before he comes to a complete stop. A quick glance around tells me there are only three horses in the barn.
Three horses and six stalls.
I usher Sargent into one of the empty stalls and have his saddle off and lying in the dirt in less than a minute. Latching the door behind me, I stand in the walkway between the stalls, scanning the barn for a place to hide. It only takes a moment to find the loft.
My breeches make climbing the ladder easy. I am up it in seconds, wedging myself behind crates of tools and stacked horse blankets as the sound of the Guard’s horse draws nearer and nearer outside the barn. I take advantage of the extra time to remove the knapsack from my back and pull out the dagger. Wrapping my fingers around the jeweled hilt, I feel better for its presence in my hand. The Guard is in a man’s body now. He will bleed like any other if cut.
Dust motes shimmer in the dim afternoon light, leaking in between the wooden slats of the barn. The barn is quite dark, and I try to render myself invisible while still maintaining a view, however small, of the barn floor below. If I am going to be found and trapped aboveground, I would prefer to have some notice. I focus on calming my breathing as the horses chuff and shuffle below. Beyond shifting, I know the Souls do not have supernatural powers. Not in my world, at least. But it is difficult not to believe that the Guard will hear me or somehow know that I am here.
I have finally caught my breath when I hear footsteps, light and careful, below me. Peering from between the crates and craning my neck for a view of the barn floor, I am surprised to see the boy who was feeding the chickens. He surveys the barn calmly, his gaze resting on Sargent in one of the stalls. Lifting his chin, he turns in a slow circle until his eyes come to rest on me. I meet his gaze and lift a finger to my lips, mentally begging him not to give me away. At the same time, I want to scream at him to run, for though the Souls are after me and me alone, I have no confidence in their mercy for a passing child.
It is too late, though. I do not have time to say anything before the barn door creaks further open. I can see only a sliver of the Guard’s blond form as he stands, backlit by the sun, in the doorway. He is still for only a moment before stepping into the barn and becoming lost in its shadows. I can no longer see him, though I still hear his stealthy boot steps making their way across the floor below.
His steps are not hurried. They sound softly at first, growing slightly louder until they come to a stop in front of the boy below me. I ease forward for a better view, mindful of old buildings and their many creaks and groans. But it is no use. Within the confines of my hiding place, I cannot move enough
to gain more than a glimpse of the Guard’s black riding boots and legs. His upper body and face are hidden in shadows.
I can see the boy clearly, however. He stands, perfectly still, in front of the blond Guard. I have the strangest feeling that the boy is not afraid.
The Guard stands in silence for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is guttural and twisted. It seems to require effort, and I don’t know why I am surprised that he questions the boy in French.
“Où est la fille?” Where is the girl?
It is a simple question, but the wrongness of the voice that asks it raises the hair on my arms. It is the voice of one who does not know how to coax sound from within its own body.
The boy’s voice is small within the expansive space of the barn. “Venez. Je vous montrerai.” Come. I’ll show you.
My heart nearly stops beating, the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I scan the loft frantically for possible escape routes.
But the boy does not lead the Guard to the loft. Instead he begins walking toward the front of the barn and another set of open doors.
The Guard does not follow immediately. He stands in silence for a moment, and I have the distinct feeling that he is gazing around the barn. I lean farther back into the shadows, hardly daring to breathe. The boot steps start up again. They carry the Guard closer to the bottom of the ladder, and I try to judge the distance from the loft to the barn floor. I am contemplating the risk of jumping should the Guard climb the ladder after me when the footsteps become softer and grow farther away.
The boy’s voice startles me in the silence of the barn. “Elle est partie il y a quelque temps. Cette voie. À travers le champ.”
She left awhile ago. That way. Across the field.
I lean forward just enough to get a glimpse of the boy, pointing the man to the fields in the distance.
There is a moment of utter silence. One moment when I wonder whether the Guard will turn and search the barn, bit by bit. But it doesn’t last long. The footsteps start up again, coming closer for a time as the Guard walks toward the back of the barn. I do not understand at first why he would waste the time. Why he would not start out across the field from the front of the barn. Then the horses shuffle below me and I understand. His horse. He left his horse at the back of the barn.