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‘Good day, Jack.’ She smiled at him as she stood up, and Jack could feel the hot blood turning his face red. ‘Been on the beach, have you?’
‘Yes.’ Jack ran a hand through his blond hair and tried desperately to think of something else to say. ‘We needed seaweed for the field, so I thought … the beach …’
Why? Why did I say that? Where else would I get seaweed? She’s going to think I’m an idiot.
But Winifred just laughed, and put her hands on her hips, and looked Jack up and down. ‘You’ve grown very tall, Jack.’
Jack stood up straighter.
‘Maybe a bit too tall.’
Jack slouched again. ‘Well, I am eighteen now. I mean, I probably won’t grow any more.’ He paused for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip, before taking a deep breath. ‘Winifred, I was hoping—’
‘Jack! Father Brendan is waiting.’
Jack could not believe it: his mother was leaning out of the window behind him. If Winifred had not been there, Jack would have sworn. As it was, he had to bite his tongue.
‘I have to go.’
‘Don’t worry, Jack. I will still be here later. Probably.’
Jack went into the house and met his mother in the main room.
‘Why did you shout at me in front of Winifred? I was going to ask her …’ he hesitated. ‘Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.’ He looked down at his hands for a moment; his palms and long fingers were covered with calluses from sawing and shaping wood. ‘Mother, do you think Winifred would ever agree to marry someone like me?’
A fierce light came into Hilda’s eyes. ‘You are good enough for any woman, and I will stick a needle into any man who says otherwise. Winifred would be lucky to have you. You’re the cleverest lad in the village.’
Jack smiled at his mother. He could never be cross with her for long. ‘Well, that’s true. And the most handsome. And the tallest.’
Hilda laughed and patted Jack on the cheek. ‘Of course.’ Her smile faded. ‘As for Winifred, she is a girl who knows her own value. And you do not really know her at all. I think, Jack dear, you are in love with her face.’
‘But it is such a face, Mother.’ Jack sighed. ‘You don’t think the thane will allow her to pledge herself to the son of a carpenter?’
‘I think perhaps there would be difficulties, though maybe not for the reasons you suspect.’ She pulled Jack into a hug. ‘Soon, the path you are meant to take will become clearer.’
Jack groaned. ‘That’s what father keeps saying.’
‘And he is right. Now go, have your lessons before that troublesome priest eats me out of hearth and home.’
There was no time for rabbit hunting even after Jack had finished his lessons: his father had been summoned to repair one of the thane’s barns, so Jack had to chop more wood, ready to be made into planks. He channelled his frustration into each stroke of the axe.
All this nonsense about things becoming clear – chop – they are deliberately trying to hold me back – chop – to stop me from leaving – chop – Leofric is working on the lord’s estate – chop – Ned is betrothed – chop – even Osric, who has a face full of spots, is getting married – chop – and my parents say I need more skills – chop – they just want to stop me ever being a man –
‘Ow!’ The log had flown sideways and dropped on to Jack’s foot. ‘Ow, ow, ow!’ He hopped over to a tree stump and sat down.
‘Are you injured, lad?’
Jack glanced up. A mail-clad man on a horse – a nobleman – was looking down at him. The man was grinning, and Jack narrowed his eyes, but he still stood up: there were more knights, at least ten, waiting further down the lane.
‘I am not hurt, my lord. If you are looking for the thane’s house, it is further through the village, where the land rises.’
‘No, I am seeking one Edwin, a carpenter. Do you know him?’
Jack frowned and picked up his axe. What did these men want?
‘He is not here at present, but I am his son. Perhaps I can find him, if you will tell me your business with him.’
The grin fell from the man’s face. He leapt down from the saddle and knelt in front of Jack. The other horsemen, seeing his action, did the same.
‘My name is Harold Aethelson, and I lay my sword at your service. When all becomes clear, I hope you will forgive me, my lord.’
Jack thought: Am I going mad? ‘When all becomes clear?’ He shook his head. ‘Have you been talking to my parents?’
‘Jack, dear, did you finish—’ His mother walked out of the house, and saw the knights. ‘Oh. Already?’
Jack stared at her. Hilda looked as if she were about to cry, but she didn’t seem surprised.
The knight got up. ‘We are come, Mistress. And we must away again quickly. Tonight we lie at the king’s hunting lodge, but it will take us at least three days to reach Helmswick.’
Jack put his arm around Hilda’s shoulders. ‘Mother, what’s happening. Why are you going to Helmswick?’
‘I’m not going, Jack. You must run to the thane’s house and find your father.’
‘But what shall I tell him?’
‘Tell him—’ Hilda’s voice broke, and she threw her arms around Jack’s neck. ‘Tell him you are leaving us.’
Edwin had refused to answer any of Jack’s questions about what was happening; he too seemed saddened but unsurprised by the arrival of the knights. When Jack and Edwin got back to the house they found the window shutters closed against the curious stares of the neighbours. Inside, Hilda was dashing about, finding clothes and other items and placing them in a small wooden chest. At the same time she was making some of Jack’s favourite apple cakes.
‘Hilda, leave the packing. I do not think Jack will need any of those clothes anyway, not where he is going,’ Edwin said.
‘But where am I going?’ Jack plucked a pair of shoes out of Hilda’s hands. ‘Will you please tell me what is happening?’
Hilda and Edwin looked at each other. Then Hilda burst into tears.
‘Come now, sweetheart, we knew this day would arrive eventually.’ Edwin put an arm round his wife. ‘The truth is, Jack – in my heart, and in your mother’s heart, you are our child. And I swear you always will be. But, by blood – by blood, you are not related to us.’
Jack shook his head. ‘No. That’s impossible.’ He looked at his mother, but she said nothing; just dabbed at her eyes with a cloth.
There was a bracelet tied round Jack’s wrist. His mother had woven the strap and his father had carved three wooden beads through which the strap was threaded: one bead for Hilda, one for Edwin, one for Jack. His family, or so he had thought.
Jack stepped backwards, away from his parents. ‘Then all this is a lie.’
He ran out through the back door of the house, ignoring his father’s voice, and climbed a tree that stood nearby. From here he could see the sea, taste the salt in the air, hear the gulls wheeling and calling above the cliffs. He could slip past the knights waiting in the road, go across country and be on a boat sailing to Frankia by tomorrow morning …
The wind shifted, and instead of the sea he could hear his mother weeping quietly. The sound shamed him. She and his father loved him. Jack knew that was the truth, whatever deceit they had been forced into.
And here am I, behaving like a child who cannot get his own way?
Jack went back into the house. His parents were sitting by the hearth. ‘Who am I, father?’
Edwin glanced at Hilda; she nodded.
‘Well, Jack … you are the son of the king and queen: John Aetheling, their firstborn. You are a prince. You will likely one day be king.’
Jack laughed, but the sound died in his throat as he realised his father was serious. Aetheling was the title given to potential heirs to the throne. Using that title – it wasn’t something his father would do in jest.
‘If I am their son, why did they send me away?’
‘Your life was in danger,’ Hilda replied, ‘and now the danger has passed.’ Hilda took Jack’s hands in hers. ‘Trust the queen, Jack. I was her majesty’s nurse, many long years ago, and I love her almost as well as I love you.’
This comforted Jack a little; his mother would not love anybody unworthy of being loved. And now he thought of what this might mean: a chance to leave the village, to adventure …
A thought occurred, and Jack smiled a little. Winifred’s uncle was bound to let her marry him now.
‘You’ve grown into a man,’ said his father. ‘You must ride out to meet your destiny.’
A hour later, Jack was sitting astride a large grey horse, trying to understand his feelings as he waved goodbye to his parents and to Winifred, and trying to remember what he had learnt in the handful of riding lessons the thane’s steward had given him. He did not feel very much like a man: surely a man should not feel this torn, excited about the future but also grieving for that left behind?
As soon as they’d ridden out of the village, Harold started talking to him about Helmswick, about the king and queen and his brothers, and what life would be like for him now. Jack knew the man meant well – he had a kind face – but the weight of so much instruction bore down on him like the sea. All he really wanted was to be left in peace, with his own thoughts.
Eventually, they came to a thick band of trees that grew across the top of the downs. Harold rode ahead; he said he had to make sure of the route, but Jack heard one of the other knights mutter something about outlaws. Jack looked around him with more interest, and surreptitiously tested the weight of the sword Harold had given him. It was still early in the year, and the trees were only just coming into leaf, but they were dense enough that only a few glimmers of sunlight breached the canopy, and the undergrowth on either side of the path was in deep shadow.
After a few minutes the party came to a halt. Jack nudged his horse forwards until he had caught up with Harold.
‘What’s the matter? Why have we stopped?’
‘I’m uneasy, lad. I mean, my lord. I know these woods, and it’s too quiet. There should be birdsong, animals – but there’s nothing. Just this – silence.’
‘Can we go back and find a way around?’
‘We could, but it would take us far out of our way. We might take the road through the western Weald, but we would not reach the hunting lodge tonight.’ Harold peered up and down the path. ‘I think – I think we should go on. The lodge is just the other side of the trees. But be wary. There may be worse things than wolves in this forest.’
They rode on in silence with Jack now in the centre of the company. After what seemed an age the rider at the front gave a shout of relief. Harold turned to Jack and smiled.
‘See, we have nearly reached the end of the trees: just another half-mile or so. And from there it is an easy ride down to—’
There was a scream from behind them.
Jack swung round in his saddle.
A huge, brown-pelted wolf had dragged one of the knights from his horse; the beast had its jaws clamped round the man’s shoulder and was shaking his body back and forth. More wolves – at least twenty, all different shades and sizes – were poised nearby, growling, teeth bared. And in the centre of them stood a man clothed in black, his thick, dark hair streaked with grey.
‘It is the wizard,’ cried Harold. ‘Attack! Attack!’
The knights yelled and turned their horses, spurring them back towards the snarling wolves as the animals leapt forward to meet them. ‘My lord, you must fly. Follow the path – it will bring you to the lodge.’
‘But I can help,’ Jack said. ‘I can—’
‘No! We cannot defeat him. We can only give you time to escape. Go!’ Harold urged his horse forwards. The knights were hacking at the wolves with their swords, shouting at each other, trying to organise a defence, but they were outnumbered. Another horse was dragged to the ground, whinnying in terror, and Jack heard the scrape of claws on armour as its rider disappeared beneath a surge of fur and fangs.
Think, Jack, think.
These were not normal wolves. Jack could see the wizard moving his hands, as though he was directing their attack.
You cannot leave these men here to die.
He galloped towards the lodge, but at the last minute he turned off the path into the forest and rode back through the trees until he was close to where the knights were fighting. Abandoning his horse, he crept along as quietly as possible. Things were not going well: only Harold and two other knights were still standing, and they could not get past the wolves to get close to the wizard. The silent forest was now filled with the groans of dying men and animals.
Jack gasped. There was a wolf lying in front of him, but it seemed to be dead. Something glinted in the shadows, and Jack knelt down to get a closer look. The remains of a gold embroidered belt were fastened around the wolf’s middle – the sort of belt a wealthy man might wear. But why in the name of all the gods would a wolf be wearing man’s clothing?
A yell of pain reclaimed his attention. Whatever this evil was, the wizard was its source. That was where Jack had to strike.
Jack crept on past the battling knights and wolves, past the wizard, back in the direction they had come from. He drew his sword, wished he had brought his axe with him instead, and stepped out on to the path.
Two more knights were dragged to the ground, their screams cut short as blood sprayed across the clearing. Only Harold was left now, facing more than half a dozen wolves. He must have seen Jack, but he did not betray him, and the wizard still did not turn around. Jack crept closer and closer – raised his sword in both hands – sliced downwards –
Harold cried out and fell beneath the wolves. Jack’s blow went wide, catching the wizard on the shoulder. The next moment his sword glowed red hot in his hands and he dropped it with a yell. The wizard spun around, pulled a knife out of his belt and held it to Jack’s throat.
‘Kill me then, you coward,’ Jack panted. ‘Or I will see you hanged for the deaths of these men.’
The man smiled.
‘No. I don’t think I will kill you today, Jack.’
The last thing Jack saw was the wizard writing in the air, lines of red fire pouring from his fingertips …
When he regained consciousness, Jack was somewhere dark and cold, his wrists and ankles tightly bound, propped up against a hard surface. He could not tell how much time had passed: hours, or days. Someone with a lantern was shaking his shoulder. Jack screwed up his eyes against the light as his memory returned.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’
The owner of the lantern allowed the light to fall on his own face. It was a face that might once have been attractive, but now it was as cruel and hard as a talon: dark eyes glittering beneath arching brows, full lips twisted into a sneer, deep lines running from nose to mouth.
‘My name is Gwydion,’ said the man. ‘I don’t expect you have heard of me, but I know all about you, Jack. As for what I want – I used to want Edith, the queen, your mother. But since she decided she had no use for my love, for my heart, I am taking her son instead.’ Gwydion laughed, a thin, shrill laugh that made Jack want to stuff his fingers in his ears.
‘But – I don’t understand—’
‘Of course you don’t. Your parents will not understand, either. I told them I would take you before your eighteenth birthday; I expect they thought you were safe.’ Gwydion laughed again. ‘But I lied.’
Jack strained against the bonds around his wrists, ignoring the pain as the rope cut into him. If only he could get his hands free –
The wizard shook his head.
‘There is no escape, boy. You are too important for me to risk losing you.’
‘What – what do you want of me?’
‘Much. Oh, but my plans have grown in these eighteen years. You are to collect hearts for me, Jack – the still beating hearts of people foolish enough to believe they are in love – and from them I will gain power to create my dark servants, an army that will take away your mother’s kingdom. And at the end, when she has nothing left, I will make her watch as I destroy that mewling Irishman she married. I think I’ll cool his ardour by turning his blood to ice in his veins.’ He smiled and glanced down at the ring on his left hand. ‘I’ve done it before.’
‘No! I will kill you before I let that happen. I’ll—’
‘Enough.’ Gwydion waved his free hand in the air. Jack saw orange shapes that hung in front of his eyes for a moment before fading. He tried to cry out, but his whole body was stiff and fixed; he could only watch.
The wizard walked away. But within a few minutes he returned, carrying a small bowl.
‘Now, Jack, you will feel better once I have completed your initiation. Or to tell the truth, a lot of the time you will feel nothing.’ Gwydion spooned something out of the bowl and brought it to Jack’s lips. ‘Open wide.’
Though every other part of his body remained immobile Jack’s mouth opened and Gwydion tipped the contents of the spoon over his tongue. ‘And chew.’
Jack’s jaw and tongue started working. Whatever it was tasted foul: salty and metallic. But Jack could not stop himself eating and swallowing, even though he thought at any moment he was going to be sick, or pass out. The wizard fed him the whole bowlful. Then he dipped his finger in the juices at the bottom of the bowl and traced something on Jack’s forehead. ‘That girl in your village, Winifred. You loved her, did you not? You may answer.’
‘Yes,’ Jack croaked.
‘And you wanted her to love you? You wanted her heart?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, now you have it.’ Gwydion held up his hands: they were covered in blood.
No. It’s not possible. He can’t have killed her. And I cannot have just – I can’t have –
The wizard smiled.
‘I’m sorry, Jack. But the curse is already taking hold, flowing through your veins, seeping into your bones. You will never be king at Helmswick. Instead, you will become my servant, and the King of Hearts …’
‘Please—’ Merry closed her eyes, trying to shut out the images Gran’s voice was conjuring in her head, ‘—please, just stop.’
She felt Leo nudge her. ‘You OK?’
‘No. I feel sick.’ She clutched her stomach as it wrung out another surge of nausea. ‘It’s disgusting.’
Part of her brain was in denial.
It’s just a story. It’s not real. It can’t be real.
Over and over.
But why would her grandmother make something like this up? She heard a sigh and the clatter of crockery as Gran started stacking up the mugs and plates.
‘You’re right, Merry,’ Gran said. ‘It is disgusting. But, unfortunately, it’s the truth. The story I’ve just told you is part of your inheritance, just as much as the shape of your eyes, or the colour of your hair. And you are the one who has to give the story its ending.’ She paused. ‘It’s up to you to … to kill Gwydion.’
Merry opened her eyes and stared down at the kitchen table, the plain pine surface marked with dents and scratches and water rings. She pressed her hands flat against it. The everyday solidity of the table was comforting: something real and believable in this nightmare of princes and wizards she’d somehow stumbled into.
‘Gran,’ Leo asked, ‘I still don’t understand why Merry has to be involved. Surely a properly-trained witch would have more chance of defeating this guy?’
Gran shook her head.
‘The details that have been handed down are very specific. The braid that’s in the trinket box will allow one witch to enter Gwydion’s realm safely. When the first-born daughter of each generation comes of age in her fourteenth year the potential ability to defeat Gwydion will pass to her. We believe that ability grows with each generation.’ Gran ran some water into the sink and started scrubbing the plates, as though she could wash away the family history at the same time as the cake crumbs. ‘Your magic could be something very special, Merry; extraordinary, even. But now the wizard has awakened, the burden of confronting him passes to you, and to you alone. I’m so sorry darling, but this is the way it has to be.’
Merry couldn’t believe what she was hearing. ‘Why, Gran? Why didn’t you or Mum tell me before now? I mean, you could at least have tried to warn me.’
Gran flushed.
‘Because I hoped – I thought – why scare you, for something that almost certainly wasn’t going to happen? And with you not being trained, and your mother—’
‘I’m sixteen years old.’ Merry slammed her hands down on the table top. ‘I don’t want to be special, Gran, not like this. And I don’t want to die. But that’s what’s going to happen, isn’t it?’
‘Merry …’ Leo put a hand on her shoulder, but Merry shrugged it off.
‘Nobody’s going to die!’ Gran closed her eyes for a moment, frowning. ‘It’s going to be dangerous. But you – we – have to trust that the dangers have been planned for. That the three sisters, and those who have come after, knew what they were doing.’
‘Three sisters?’ Leo asked. ‘What three sisters?’
Gran gave an exasperated sigh.
‘Anwen’s three daughters. I’ll tell you the rest of what I know later. But I think first …’ She peered at Merry. ‘I think some fresh mint tea would make us all feel better. Merry, dear, there’s some in the greenhouse at the bottom of the garden, if you wouldn’t mind fetching a little.’
‘Mint?’ Merry frowned. Really? At a time like this?
‘Yes, dear; you know what it looks like. And the fresh air will do you good.’
Fine, Merry thought. Right now, I’d rather be anywhere else on the entire planet than in this kitchen. She scowled at Gran, snatched the scissors Gran was holding out to her and slammed out through the back door.
Gran’s garden was narrow but long. By the time Merry had walked past the neat flower beds down to the end of the lawn, the drizzle had cast a silver net of tiny raindrops across her jumper. She let herself into the greenhouse and cut ten slender stems of mint. There were other herbs here: rosemary, thyme, something lemony that Merry didn’t know the name of. She skimmed her fingers across the leaves, breathing in the mix of fragrances, trying to calm herself. There were some vegetable seedlings and some winter lettuces too; for one insane moment Merry wondered whether she could just stay here, eat the herbs and the salad leaves, refuse to come out until all this nonsense with the trinket box and the mad Saxon boy had gone away, or been dealt with by someone else …
What if I could go back in time to last Monday, and not open the box? Or go back to when I was twelve, and not take the test?
But life couldn’t be unravelled, and there really were no fairy godmothers to wave their sparkly wands and make everything better. The stuff with Alex had taught her that lesson. She picked up the mint and headed back to the house.
When she pushed open the door, Leo was sitting with his head in his hands, fingertips pressed against his eyes. Gran was talking, but she broke off and bit her lip as Merry entered.
Merry looked from one to the other.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing, dear.’ Gran took the mint, rinsed it, dropped it into the teapot and poured boiling water on top of it. The scent filled the room. ‘I was just saying to Leo that I can summarise the rest of the story, then you can go home and get some rest. The breakdown of the sleeping spell seems to be gradual – otherwise the King of Hearts would be out attacking people every night – so we can talk more later about preparation, training and so on. But you must both promise not to say a word about this to your mother. Her reaction would definitely be … unhelpful.’