Chapter Forty Three
Susan turned to Alwen in some confusion.
"Pray for Vanir?" she asked, wonderingly.
"Do you think that the veorldura are not servants, even as we are?" he said, with the ghost of a smile. "They see many things that we cannot, but they are also striving to become perfect. Come. I have brought your clothes with me. You can hardly arrive in your own realm dressed as one of our children."
Dazed, Susan followed him through the quiet groups of people, now clustered on the lawn talking in little groups. Several of them stepped aside, and some bowed to Alwen as he passed.
"Why did they do that?" she asked, when they had reached the long house.
"It is respect for my calling," Alwen said, "not an honour due to me. My life is given to the Last Garden, and all my joy will always be there. Every man knows that his own life will reach its close under the shade of those trees, and he gives thanks whilst he can. We bow to Vanir for the same reason. It is in gratitude."
He stopped by an arched doorway.
"Your clothes are ready, and we have prepared a bath for you," he said. "Go and wash away your hurts."
Susan took hold of the door handle, and then turned back. She bowed deeply to him.
"Thank you," she said. "For all of your kindness."
Alwen smiled, and left her.
The doorway led on to a small, open courtyard, not unlike the one Susan had used in the Last Garden, with a large, scented bathtub in its centre, and a small, familiar pile of clothes on a chair.
Susan stripped off her grimy, gritty clothes, discovering some ugly scratches on her legs and arms, and several bruises, and slipped into the bath.
It felt odd to dress herself in her own clothes, both exquisitely familiar and yet suddenly strange. The day was too warm for her woollen jersey, and she slipped it over her shoulders. There were neither shoes nor stockings, for she had left them at the side of the pool in the woods, and she was glad of it, suddenly dreading the moment when her feet would have to be confined in the strictures of shoes again.
Alwen was waiting for her when she emerged.
"Let us go," he said. "The barge will be ready.
Susan followed him out and around the edge of the lake, trying to drink in its serene beauty and the vivid intensity of the light for the last time. They did not speak as they passed along the tunnel, finally emerging at the harbour again, where a multitude of tall people were busily engaged in loading and unloading a small flotilla of brightly-coloured boats.
The barge was bobbing gently at the far end of the quayside. Lord Castor was waiting beside it, a reem at his side.
"Good, good, you'll get there before dark," he said. "There isn't much on board, boy, but it'll get you there and back well enough. If you want to leave the barge with Findel and just go straight back to your garden that's fine with me, I'll have somebody go and get it."
"Thank you, sir," Alwen said. He bent over his father's hand, and kissed it.
"Nothing to thank me for," his father said, abruptly. "Get her back safe. And I'll come to that garden one of these days and find you."
Alwen smiled and bowed, and climbed aboard. He held out a hand to Susan.
Susan turned to Lord Castor.
"You have been more generous than I can say," she said. "Thank you."
He took her small hands in his enormous ones.
"Remember me to the Great One in your prayers," he said, "and I won't forget you. We'll all remember you when we speak to Him, and think of you. He'll take care of you."
Susan looked up and saw that his eyes were shining with tears.
He made a small gesture for her to get on the barge, and she took Alwen's outstretched hand and scrambled over the side, a little awkwardly now that she was wearing her own skirt again.
"The current should take you downstream well enough," Lord Castor called to Alwen, as he shoved the barge away from the harbour wall. "You'll have to sail it back, though, boy. Think you can manage?"
Alwen laughed, and waved his hand. The wind caught the sail, and they were away.
The reem's straw had been removed, and the deck was bare. The bloodstains were gone, with only the faintest brown shadow to show they had ever been there at all.
Alwen busied himself with the sail. Susan watched him for a few moments, and eventually went to sit at the back of the barge, leaning against the sun-warmed planks, in the place where she had slept so soundly on the previous night. Eventually, Alwen joined her.
"It is not a long journey," he said, encouragingly, "although we will have an uphill walk when we reach the other bank."
Susan felt as though she had done so much walking over the last few days that this hardly mattered. She sighed deeply.
"I want to go home," she said, slowly, "I'm desperate to go home, and yet, and yet, there's a part of me that doesn't want to go at all. That never wanted to go. That always wanted to stay here." She looked up at him. "Evander wanted me to stay, you know. He didn't want us to go to the mountains at all. He wanted me to stay here."
Alwen did not reply for a few moments. Eventually he spoke.
"Evander spent much time in my thoughts as well," he said. "When we were children. It is a wonderful, and yet a terrible thing."
He looked down at her.
"I fought him off," he said. "He did not even know he was doing it at first, it was so natural to him, to us. Then when we understood, he came to be with me because he preferred it to being alone. I loved him, and welcomed him with joy. Yet as we grew older it became harder. I wanted to have my own thoughts, my own peace, to keep silent inside my own head if I wished, and I drove him from me. This hurt him more than I can tell you, and yet I had no choice. And I wished him to find contentment inside his own life, in his own body, his own thoughts. In the end the Great One called me to service in the Last Garden, and I was glad, because he could not hope to follow me there. That he spent his last days once again able to entwine himself with another is a gift that can only have come from the Great One. There could have been no greater happiness for him than to meet with you in that way, and to know that you were also glad."
Susan sighed.
"It made me - I don't know - happier than I have ever been," she confessed. "It was like a miracle. I don't know how I can - can bear to be so alone now."
She felt hot tears threatening behind her eyes again, and fumbled for a handkerchief. Alwen nodded gravely.
"You are not alone," he pointed out, thoughtfully. "You have a husband in your own realm. You do not need to face life on your own."
Startled, Susan looked up at him.
"It isn't like that," she burst out. "It isn't like that at all. It's nothing like Evander. He's - he's a stranger. He doesn't know me at all."
"And have you invited him to know you?" Alwen asked, curiously. "I know that with your people it is not the way it is with ours, Evander has told me of the solitude in which you all live, unable to share your thoughts, but I cannot believe that he does not truly wish to know you. Is it really this way? Does he not wish to be in the heart of your thoughts, and for you to be in his?"
Susan was quiet for a moment.
"I don't know," she said, slowly. "I haven't tried. I don't even know if I want to. I don't know if I love him."
"You will if you want to," Alwen said, carefully, putting an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to lean against him, as if she were a tearful child. "Love is not something that happens to us. Love is something that we do."
Susan could hear the steady beating of his heart, and somehow it soothed her.
"It just seems so empty," she said, sadly. "I feel as if I'm going back to - to an eternal silence."
"Then fill it," said Alwen, steadily. "Fill it with your own thoughts, and listen, as hard as you can, for the thoughts of others. You have learned a great deal whilst you have been here. Use it in your own realm. Fight the silence. It is the most important thing of all. I do not believe that your people could not see one another's hearts if they so wished."
"Maybe," Susan said, fumbling in her pocket for a handkerchief. After a moment, Alwen handed her his. It was large, and very white and clean. Susan blew her nose. "I'll do my best."
They did not speak much after that, but sat together in a companionable silence, until Alwen rose to put a hand on the tiller and to guide the barge gradually in towards the approaching shore. It bumped against the shingle, and he leaped over the side to draw it a little way up the bank, making it fast to a stout piling with a length of rope which had been coiled on the deck.
He splashed back to the barge and held his hand out to Susan.
"If you will allow me, I will carry you," he said, smiling. "The water here is not deep for one of my height, but you are small."
Susan smiled back, and took hold of his shoulders, allowing herself to be lifted to the riverbank as if she was a child. She stood for a moment, looking about her, and remembering Evander also carrying her on that first, confusing day.
Alwen seemed to see her thought, and nodded.
"Your wrist has healed well," he said, above the noise of the river. "It will not trouble you even when you reach your own realm, I think. Are you ready?"
Susan assented, and began to follow him up the long, steep bank.
It was a breathless journey, for even though Alwen modified his pace to hers, the bank rose sharply, and the climb was not easy, and Susan was breathing heavily by the time they eventually reached the top.
She turned to cast a long look at the great Stychs river
Too far below them now for its roar to be more than a distant whisper, it sparkled and danced in the sunlight, wide and merry and unconquerable in its headlong rush to the far distant white line that marked the place where it met the sky.
Alwen followed her gaze.
"It is Vanir's country," he said. "We can see only the surface, and yet beneath it lies a realm we can hardly even imagine. It is good to remember. When we are tempted to believe only the evidence of our eyes."
He smiled at her, a sudden, bright smile, and then turned to pass beneath the trees.
Susan followed after him, feeling the grassy bank slowly becoming soft, springy moss under her feet. He walked on slowly and steadily, his footsteps soundless and measured, and after a very few steps she felt the dreamlike sensation slowly beginning to overtake her.
It was a peaceful, liquid sensation, as if all of her fears and anxieties had been soothed away, lulled into a sleepy contentment. She found herself smiling as she walked along, the tensions in her body slowly unfolding, her pace becoming easy and limber. She gazed at the dappled green branches above them with unfocussed eyes, and sighed sleepily, wondering if perhaps Alwen would notice if she just stopped for a little while, just to rest and think.
Alwen stopped suddenly.
"You know that you must not sleep here," he said, and there was a sharpness in his tone that shocked her into wakefulness immediately. "It is a little way off yet. Do not give way. Hold on to your thoughts. Do not let them slide away from you."
Susan rubbed her eyes and nodded.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I know."
Still it was a difficult journey. The wakeful moment quickly faded, to be replaced by the same, gentle sleepy sensation, contentedly drifting towards a dreamy oblivion. Once she was roused by the unexpected appearance of a furry, whiskery face gazing inquiringly at them from behind a tree, and once by Alwen's turning and clapping his hands noisily, but it was hard to hold on to her thoughts, and little by little she felt that they were slipping away from her.
She did not know how long they had been walking when Alwen finally halted.
"We are here," he said, and Susan shook her head, as if waking from a dream.
They were standing in a little clearing beside a small pool. The trees that surrounded it were so close together that Alwen had to step sideways to pass between them, and Susan vaguely felt it should have been dark, and yet it wasn't. The air around them seemed to glow, a warm, sunny, speckled greenish-yellow colour, dense as liquid amber.
She looked down.
"This was it," she said, slowly. "My shoes and stockings are here. This was the place."
She picked up her shoes and stockings and stared into the pool. It was ink-black, without even a reflection looking back at her.
"My own realm," she said slowly, and then, in a voice almost like a wail: "I don't know if I can bear it."
Alwen took her hand gently.
"You will find joy," he said, "and Vanir has bidden me to say that you must take only the one ring from your own realm back with you, so that nobody will ever again be tempted to use this road. The rest must stay here, in Vanaholm, at the Foot of Yggdrasil, where they belong."
Susan nodded, and dug her hand into her pocket for the little bundle of rings. They were oddly hushed, as if they knew that their journey was over.
"What should I do with the ring that takes me back?" she asked. That's the green one. That's the one that belongs in our realm."
"Wear it," said Alwen, with a smile. "Wear it and remember my brother. And -" he hesitated for a moment. "Remember us all. Remember that you are not alone."
"I'm going to be alone," Susan said, sadly. "For a while at least."
"You will not," Alwen said. "And Vanir has taken you under his protection. If the day comes when you are ever truly alone, you will not find yourself abandoned. Now -" and he held out his hand as Susan carefully unpinned the green ring from its wrapping, "are you ready?"
"Almost," Susan said, slipping the ring on to her finger. She looked about her for a moment before she saw it, a brown, furry shape curled into a hollow underneath a slender, silver-barked tree. She went over to it and scooped it into her arms.
"The cat," she explained. "Evander's cat. I can't leave it behind me."
Alwen touched her forehead in a gentle gesture of blessing, and then bent to kiss the top of her head.
"Go in joy, Susan Hamilton. And I think we will meet again. The Great One is not putting it into my heart that this is farewell."
Susan nodded.
"I hope so," she said, and then, after a moment's pause. "Would you - please remember me to the Great One in your prayers? I expect He'll listen to you."
"He listens to us all," Alwen said gently.
Susan gave him a last, longing look, and then, taking a deep breath, stepped into the pool.
Instantly she felt herself sinking downwards, as if tugged by some enormous force. There was no sensation of the water, nor of cold, just the feeling of being pulled, sucked downwards by a compulsion it was impossible to resist.
She gritted her teeth, and clung to the cat. Then she felt herself beginning to spin, as if she were being tossed, thrown from one mighty blast and caught by another. Then she was rising, propelled uncomfortably upwards, so fast that it felt as if her head and shoulders were being compressed downwards and her knees were beginning to buckle. Her chest became tight and her breath became shallow and gasping. She heard herself cry out, and then it was over.
The blackness swallowed her.
Chapter Forty Four
"Susan, Susan."
The voice was insistent, sharp. She thought that it might have been calling for some time now, but it was becoming too persistent to be ignored. She blinked a little, and raised a hand to cover her eyes from the bright daylight.
"Thank goodness," the voice said. "I was beginning to think you'd left us for good. Here, have some more of Margaret's smelling salts."
A sharp odour assailed her nostrils, and she sneezed.
"About time," the voice said, and Susan thought it sounded cheerful. "You've had us all in a complete state of worry about you. Poor Daniel wanted to take you to hospital, but Doctor Powell said probably you'd be all right. He's been dreadfully upset, you know. Your Daniel, I mean, not Doctor Powell. Doctor Powell wouldn't get upset if the Germans had landed in the village and started shooting each other in his surgery."
Susan blinked again, and tried to open her eyes. Her eyelids felt very heavy, and she was overwhelmed by a wave of nausea. She was lying down, her head and shoulders propped up on pillows, a blanket tucked loosely over her.
She struggled to sit up, and fell backwards against the pillows.
"Do you want a hand?" the voice said, practically. "Here."
Susan felt a hand under her arm and felt herself tugged upwards into a sitting position, and the pillows fussily rearranged behind her. She glanced about her dizzily and felt the nausea beginning to recede a little.
"Thank - thank you," she murmured.
"Absolutely no trouble," said Josie. "Actually, that isn't true at all. Actually you've been a good deal of trouble, frightening everybody like that, but it looks as though you're coming to your senses now. How are you feeling?"
"I - I don't know," Susan said, and she sneezed again.
"That's probably the smelling salts," Josie said. "I should think the whole room stinks of them by now." She screwed a cork into the little bottle. "They've done their job though. Look, just sit still for a minute, and I can give your husband a shout, let him know you're all right. He's been worried as anything. I expect you'd like a cup of tea. Stay where you are, I'll go and make one."
She patted Susan's arm, and spun away. Susan heard her calling Daniel's name as her footsteps clattered away down the stairs.
After a moment there were more footsteps, heavier ones. The door creaked open, and Daniel's head appeared around it.
"Susie," he said, almost in a whisper. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm all right," Susan said, her voice sounding surprisingly faint. "I'm sorry I've worried you. What's happened?"
"When your friend called me I came as fast as I could," he said, sitting down on the bed beside her and taking her hand. "You look terribly pale. Should you lie down, do you think?"
"I'm all right," Susan said again. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."
"We really could do with a telephone in here," Daniel said, frowning. "Honestly, this place is so behind the times I can hardly believe it. Your friend had to cycle down to the telephone box in the village to ring me. She was the one who got you into bed and called the doctor. Awful for her. It's a good job you aren't very heavy. Then there was that poor gardener chap, what's his name? Terrible thing."
Susan blinked at him, struggling to focus.
"What happened?" she asked. "What about Mr. Lefay?"
"Oh, we don't need to talk about it now," Daniel said, evasively. "You just concentrate on feeling better. Your friend's gone to make a cup of tea. I'll pop out to ring the doctor in a few minutes, get him to come and have another look at you. Are you all right?"
"Yes," said Susan, dizzily. "It must have been - must have been the journey back. I do feel very sick."
"You haven't been on a journey," Daniel said, soothingly. "You just fainted, that's all. Probably fumes leaking from the stove or something, I'll get somebody to have a look at it."
The door hinges squeaked again, and it was Josie, carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups and saucers.
"I've brought you some tea," she said, kindly. "That'll pick you up a bit."
"That's very kind of you," Daniel said, rising to his feet, "but I'm going to pop down to the village and call the doctor again, let him know that she's awake and ask him to call in before he's finished his round this evening. You stay with her, if you wouldn't mind."
"I'll go for the doctor," Josie volunteered, but Daniel shook his head.
"I'll take the car, it'll be much faster. I want to catch him before he goes out."
He kissed Susan's forehead, and vanished. Josie set the tray down on the bedside table, and began pouring tea.
"Plenty of sugar, that's the thing," she said, heaping spoons of it into Susan's cup. "We'll have you right in a jiffy."
"You're very kind," Susan said, weakly, taking the cup. "Daniel said I fainted. What happened?"
"Good job I was here," Josie said, stirring sugar into her own cup and seating herself on the bed beside Susan. "I was supposed to be taking Brenda to get her varicose veins done, you remember, but she had one of her funny turns yesterday, so she decided she'd be better going next week instead, and I remembered you'd got yourself into a state about old Lefay turning up to fix the door, so I thought I'd come over and help you fight him off." She patted Susan's hand reassuringly. "Well, I was coming up the front path, and the door was off its hinges, just like you'd said, and so I came in and called, and there wasn't any answer. I thought, well, that's a bit odd, and so I shouted up the stairs, and then I heard a noise, I thought it was coming from one of the bedrooms."
She pulled a face.
"Well, I got up to the top of the stairs, and there was old Malcolm Lefay, white as a ghost, pretty much the same colour as you are now. He came staggering across the landing yelling that you'd fallen, and that you needed help. Well, I dived into the bedroom, and there you were, flat out on the floor, with that ugly cat right next to you mewing its head off. I thought you'd tripped over it or something. I shouted for Lefay, and he came back, but he wasn't much help, he just leaned against the doorframe clutching his chest. Between us we managed to get you up off the floor and on to the bed, but when we'd done he started sweating dreadfully. He said he'd heard a crash and come in, but when he rushed up the stairs his chest started to hurt, and he said he felt poorly.
"He didn't look good, not very good at all, and so I told him to go and sit down next to the stove and cycled straight off down the lane for Doctor Powell. He was doing surgery, but he came straight away." She paused for a moment, and looked at Susan. "We rushed back here, but when we got in Lefay was lying on the kitchen floor. He was dead. I'm ever so sorry."
Susan stared.
"He must have grabbed hold of the shelf when he fell," Josie said, after a pause. "There were things all over the place, flour all over the floor. We've cleaned most of it up, me and Margaret. Doctor Powell called in on her and asked her to drop by and lend a hand. That's when I called Daniel."
"How horrible," Susan said, shivering.
Josie eyed her sharply.
"Are you cold? Shall I get another blanket?"
Susan shook her head.
"No, It's just the thought of it." Then another thought struck her. "Did you - did you manage to get in all right? Into the cottage?"
"Of course," Josie said, looking surprised. "I told you, the door was off."
There are no rings here any more, Susan thought. She managed a smile.
"Thank you," she said.
"My husband came across to fix it," Josie said. "Couldn't leave it like that, you'd have frozen to death. He did it this afternoon, just after your Daniel got here. They got it back up together. They liked one another, I think."
At the end of the bed, something stirred. Susan looked up.
It was the cat, stretching and rising to its feet.
"I couldn't keep him out," Josie said apologetically. "Every time somebody opened the door he rushed straight in and jumped up on the bed." She poured some of the milk into her saucer and set it down on the floor. The cat jumped down and began to lap it hungrily. "I didn't think cats get lonely, but he doesn't seem to want to leave you alone."
Susan watched the cat for a moment, purring and lapping energetically. Then a thought occurred to her.
"When did it happen?" she asked. "What time is it now?"
"This morning," Josie said. "You've been completely out cold all day. It's almost six. Doctor Powell said that if you hadn't come round by tonight he'd take you in to the hospital, but fortunately there won't be any need now."
Susan took a mouthful of tea. It was hot, and very sweet and milky.
"I think I must have been dreaming," she said.
Her hand shook, and the cup rattled in the saucer, spilling a little of the tea. Shakily, she reached into her pocket for a handkerchief.
It was large, and very white, and with it came a strong perfume of blossom.
Later, when Josie had gone, and Doctor Powell had visited and pronounced Susan out of danger, Daniel tiptoed up the stairs to sit beside Susan. He had been doing his best to nurse her, had proudly produced boiled eggs and toast on a tray that evening, and had taken the dishes down to wash them himself in the tiny scullery. He had cranked up the stove with an air of mastery, and filled the kitchen basket with logs.
Now he closed the curtains, and piled wood on the little fire in the grate. The room was pleasantly warm, and Susan, who had been obliged by Josie to have a hot bath and put her nightdress on, was leaning against her pillows with a soft shawl wrapped around her shoulders, watching the dancing flames.
Daniel pulled up the little chair that he had brought up the stairs in order to sit beside her bed.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, anxiously. "I thought I'd stay up here with you, if you don't want to sleep or anything?"
"I'm fine," Susan said, "Really. I think I'm just tired. I'm terribly sorry to have caused such a fuss. It's such a long drive for you to have come all the way from London. What will they say at work? Will you have to go back tomorrow?"
Daniel frowned.
"I'm not going back until you're better," he said, authoritatively, "and then I think you ought to come with me. Goodness, we can't have this sort of thing. What would have happened if your friend hadn't happened to turn up? It's quite unthinkable. No, we'll close this place up and we'll go back together. Then my mother can help to look after you if anything else goes wrong. Doctor Powell thinks - well - you might have to be careful for a while."
Susan listened. Then she took his hand.
"Daniel," she said, and her voice was steady."I don't want to go back to London. I mean I really don't. Not at all. Not ever. I like it here. I want to stay."
Daniel looked uncomfortable for a moment.
"I knew you'd get to that sooner or later," he said. "Really, Suzie, it's a ridiculous idea. We've got a life to live, and that's in London."
"It could be here," Susan said. "Daniel, I don't want you just to dismiss it. I want you to think about it. Really think about it and see if you could bear it. We could easily afford it if we wanted to. We could sell the London house and use the money to set you up with a little office in the village. People here use accountants as well, and some of them might be very glad of a helping hand. And I love this house. It would be absolutely the perfect place to - to have a baby."
Daniel was silent for a long time. Susan waited.
Eventually he sighed, and sat back in his chair, pushing his hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I've never liked the idea of the country," he said, "and I didn't think you did either. It's muddy, and I got stuck behind a herd of cows this afternoon."
Susan laughed.
"People change," she said. "I've changed. I loved London when we were young, and going dancing, and to the cinema. I should think I'd still love it now, for a weekend. But I'm happy here, and I'd be even happier if you were here as well. I know you've always wanted your own office, but does it really matter if it's in London or here? It wouldn't cost as much here."
Daniel looked at his feet for a moment.
"I was going to tell you," he said. "There's been a bit of a hoo-ha with the Clarkson Brothers' account. It all started on Friday and came to a head yesterday afternoon. It turned out they hadn't asked for me at all. I don't know how it all got so confused. They'd wanted somebody much more experienced. Then the youngest Mr. Clarkson, that's the son, not either of the actual Clarkson brothers, said that he liked me and that I had lots of good ideas, and he wanted to go ahead with them. He thought the problem must have been old Simpson trying to get away with sending somebody inexperienced and still charging them a fortune. He said they ought to keep me on, pay me themselves, and get rid of Simpson and Co. So that's what they're going to do."
"So what will that mean?" Susan asked, curiously. "For us, I mean. For you."
"Well, I don't suppose there's any reason why I couldn't manage the account even if I was here," he said, slowly. "I'd rather work for myself than just be another pair of hands in the Clarkson Brothers' office, and I can't go back to Simpson and Co now, old Simpson's livid. It's going really well, you know, Suzie. The Clarkson Brothers, I mean. They've been paying way too much on the leases for their shops. We're looking at raising capital to purchase, that's the way forward, and it'd be far more tax efficient. I suppose I might be able to work from an office here, as long as there was a reliable telephone. I could get some local girl in as a secretary and just drive up to town every couple of weeks."
"Will you ask them?" Susan said. She beamed at him. "Oh, Daniel, that's so lovely. That's the happiest thing you could possibly have said. Thank you."
She leaned across and kissed him. Daniel's cheeks went a bit pink, but he looked pleased.
"I want you to be happy, Susie," he said, patting her hand. "I just don't always know how to do it. You've been so sad lately, I thought some social life and a bit of, you know, London, might cheer you up, but I suppose - well - if it's really looking as if we might have a baby, well, this place might be the best thing after all. It's going to need some work doing to it, though. I'll find out about getting a telephone installed. I don't want you here without one, and I'm going to have to go back to London at least for a while. There's your parents' house to be sold for a start."
"I'll come back and help with that," Susan said. "I'd like to go and say goodbye to the old place."
She leaned back against her pillows, smiling. The cat, curled in her lap, stretched its front paws and looked up at them, its amber eyes blinking. Daniel reached down and stroked it.
"I wonder where this little chap came from," he said, as it rubbed its head appreciatively against his hand, a rumble of a purr starting in its throat. "He's very affectionate. Does he have a name?"
"I thought I'd call him Castor," Susan said.
Chapter Forty Five
A frost nipped the air. A chill wind tugged at her hair and stung Susan's face as she hurried under the great archway and along the wide pathway into Brompton Cemetery, trying to shield the flowers that she carried from its icy bite.
It was early morning, and few people were moving. Susan saw an elderly man in the distance, stooping over a headstone, brushing away moss, and an exhausted-looking woman with two little girls, skipping away from her as she walked. She followed the woman for a little while until her path took her away to the left, heading towards the far wall.
It did not take her long to reach her destination, and the new, still-polished marble headstone that she had sought. Already a row of more recent graves had appeared at its side, stretching away towards the catacombs, the most recent still a mound of fresh earth.
On the other side, several headstones along, a young woman of about her own age was kneeling beside a grassy plot where she had clearly been brushing away stray leaves. She straightened up and smiled as Susan approached.
Susan smiled back, and turned her attention to the grave she had come to visit. It was wide, but flat now, the earth with which it had been covered having long settled back down into a slightly concave shape.
She laid her flowers in the hollow, and set to work tugging out a dock leaf and some stubborn dandelions that had taken up residence.
"There's quite a few from that train crash in this section," the young woman said, conversationally. "This one, and those two over there, and yours of course."
Susan looked up.
"It took my whole family," she said. "They're all here."
"Mine too," the young woman said.
Susan nodded, pleased, somehow, not to have the outpouring of sympathy that usually followed that disclosure.
"I've seen your headstone," the woman went on. "Richard and Marjorie, were they your parents? And were they your brothers and sister? Paul, Edward and Louise. The same in my family. I had two brothers and a sister as well, all lost."
Susan nodded.
"I've seen the headstone," she said. "How are you managing?"
"Oh, as you might expect," the woman said, with a small sigh. "Some days are better than others. It changes everything, but life goes on, for the rest of us, anyway."
"It does," said Susan, warmly, "and it can still be good."
The woman smiled.
"I suppose it can," she said.
Epilogue
As the man closed Number Four's door behind him he seemed to expand, becoming taller and broader, until his head was above the doorframe.
Susan reached out a withered hand.
Alwen crossed the room in a single, barefoot stride, and sat beside her on the bed. A harsh, breathy sound, almost a chuckle, came from the aged throat.
"How did you get them to let you in?" she murmured, her eyes flicking over his knee-length breeches, loose shirt and neatly-wrapped waistband.
"They saw only what they expected to see. People always do," Alwen said, with a small smile. "It is hard to see a truth if you have already decided to see something else."
He took the icy cold hand and warmed it between his. A needle protruded from the back of it, secured by a strip of papery surgical tape. He looked at it with interest.
"What is this?" he asked.
"They've been using it to put things into me," Susan explained, through rasping breath, "but that's over now. I thought they might take it out, but nobody has yet. They're busy. I expect they've forgotten."
He stroked her forehead.
"The veorldura told us you were ready," he said. "Will you come with me?"
Susan held up a bony hand, still adorned with a greenish-coloured ring, now far too large for the shrunken finger.
"I've been waiting for you," she said.
Alwen slid the ring from her finger and held it in the palm of his hand for a moment. Then he removed an identical one from his own finger and laid the two rings together on the bedside table.
"They should stay here, in their own realm," he said. "We do not need them now."
"How long has it been?" Susan asked, her voice breathless, and her frail chest rising sharply as she struggled to form the words. "In Vanaholm. How long for you since - since Evander died?"
"A single year," Alwen replied.
He examined the needle in the back of her hand for a moment, and then with the utmost gentleness, removed the sticky tape and pulled out the needle.
A trickle of dark blood sprang from the puncture. Alwen laid his finger over it until it ceased, and smiled at Susan.
"There is a place made ready for you in the Last Garden, my lady," he said, formally. "Are you ready?"
A smile spread across the wrinkled face. Alwen reached into his pocket and brought out a small grey bundle.
It quivered slightly, and a tiny, tremulous singing noise seemed to be coming from it. He stood up, handing it to Susan and bent to scoop her up into his arms
He lifted her easily, as if she were no more than a child.
"Put on your ring," he said. "Vanir is waiting."
The End
Also by Casey-Lee Shaw: Clive and the Dragon
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