CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The Power of the Gemfire
At first, nothing seems to happen, and I wonder if I have done something wrong - for shouldn't something be happening? Where is this Gemfire?
Lamashtu screeches with laughter at my failure - yet another failure… "He has the jewels! And yet he stands dumbly before you, Second! You have failed - and this shall be your last failure!"
Cromwell does not speak - nor does he turn to look at me; though if he had, he would see only devastated horror upon my face - for nothing has happened. What did I do wrong? Oh God, what did I do wrong?
Moving slowly, he transfers the sapphire from his right hand to his left, and now has a gem in each hand. Calmly, without a word, he stands still, and eyes Lamashtu - as though waiting for her to act against him.
Grinning vilely, she laughs again, and shifts her feet to step forward - but does not move. Her eyes narrow, and she frowns - but still her legs refuse to obey her. As a look of confusion and disbelief crosses her face, it is nothing compared to the wild hope that I feel - for something is happening. Why else would she be so held?
"Release me, Raven!" she screeches, "Or, if you will not, fight me!"
He still does not move - his eyes upon her, his expression implacable.
"If you do not fight me, then I shall destroy your Second, Raven!" she screams, and she is facing me again. I cannot stop myself - I shrink from her, for I could not stand to be pulled back into that hellish nightmare in which she held me before I dropped the jewels.
"Stand still, Demoness. You shall not harm him, nor shall you harm the Poet. They are under my protection."
The voice is not familiar - and yet, at the same time, it is. It is Cromwell's voice - but it has a strange, crystalline quality to it, a chill, brittle tone that has the clarity of glass. He is speaking - or perhaps something else is doing so; I cannot be certain, for I have no idea what is happening.
Slowly, flickering tongues of flame begin to spread from Cromwell's palms to the backs of his hands, then they gradually extend to his wrists - one blue, the other red - fire and ice together. Yet he is neither frozen nor burned. The fires spread onwards, up his arms - flickering about the linen of his shirt that does not shrivel or scorch - until they move across his shoulders and torso, moving downwards and meeting like the waves from the trail of two ships at sea.
As they do so, the red and the blue begin to merge, becoming a luminous violet that begins to spread back and forth as the two flames blend into one - from the neck down, he is alive with that shimmering aura, and I stare at his face, for there is no expression now - and the colour has vanished from it as though Cromwell is dead, and all of the blood in him has drained away.
Then the violet flames begin to move upwards, spreading about his head to enclose him utterly, and his eyes glow brighter still - two glittering crystals that flash that same bright lavender-toned fire. He is there - and yet, at the same time, he is not. His humanity is gone - and all that remains is his form.
Lamashtu stares at him, her eyes wide and vicious, "None are protected from my wrath, Raven - the Second and the Poet are at my mercy - and I shall destroy them both in agony for your presumption!"
"I forbid it." That same, crystalline sound - and yet Cromwell's voice is somewhere within it. He is there…and yet he is not…
"You cannot forbid me!" Lamashtu screeches, mockingly, "I answer to none!"
The strange creature that stands before us in Cromwell's form eyes her without emotion, and then speaks, "You answer to one. You answer to me - for my power is that of the very beginning of all things. I saw the birth of the universe, I saw the creation of all things and that imperative that drives all creatures to live. I am all the power of the Word, held in a single point in time and space. I am the Gemfire."
She screams out, though I cannot tell if it is anger, chagrin or disbelief that calls that wordless noise from her mouth. Her eyes maddened, Lamashtu turns to us, and raises her hand to snatch at me - but cannot. It seems that this strange thing - this amalgamation of man and crystal - this…Gemfire…has her entirely in its thrall.
"Face me, Lamashtu." That strange, glass-like voice commands, "In the Beginning was the Word, and its power resonates throughout all of creation. You would overturn the Word if you could - and end all of existence. That shall not be."
"There is nothing that can command me!" Lamashtu screams back, as though she believes sufficient repetition might make the words true.
"Those which are created cannot." The Gemfire says - for that is what it claims to be, "He who spoke the Word will not - for that would destroy all things. Thus there is but one - neither creator, nor created. The essence of the Word, encased in two crystals, brought together by blessing, loyalty and forgiveness. The conditions have been met. Thus each of us hold human form - and your time is done."
"I shall fight you!" she declares, madly, "You cannot destroy me!"
"I can. And I shall."
I stare in dismay as, as she did in the priory, Lamashtu extends her hands and appears to draw two great black, smoke-like swords from the air. Cromwell is unarmed – Wyatt has the Raven blades – so I dread to imagine what she shall do this time. He could not defeat her; she was too strong…
The Gemfire does not seem perturbed. It watches her impassively, before also extending its arms. To my astonishment, an equal pair of blades extend from the flickering violet hands; one red, one blue. As the smoke of Lamashtu's swords encompass the darkness of night, the blades of the Gemfire glitter like the crystals from which they were born. The Raven blades could not defeat her – but perhaps these might?
Lamashtu utters a snarl of anticipation, taking up her stance and watching as the Gemfire matches her. Despite its apparent absorption of Cromwell, it still stands as he does, the coloured blades held ready as they would be were he the one about to fight. Perhaps he is – I cannot tell. Instead, I turn to look at Wyatt, who shakes his head in wonderment; smoke against jewels. I can almost imagine the poetry that such a sight shall inspire. God above, what am I thinking?
The Demoness and the Gemfire face one another: one snarling, the other silent. It seems to me that they shall never move again – until Lamashtu strikes out with one of her smoke-black swords. Immediately, the Gemfire parries the blow, before striking back at her. It is not a forceful blow; but still, as the blade slips past her extended arm, the blade slices into her – and this time, the wound it draws does not close.
She shrieks – not so much from the pain, but from the discovery that, this time, she cannot heal herself as she did when sliced with a silver blade, "No! You cannot harm me! I am beyond the command of all things!"
Instead of continuing to rue this discovery, she hurls herself at the Gemfire, the two swords slashing viciously at those of her opponent. And yet – as she strikes, those blades open wounds in that flickering violet flame; but they close as soon as the blade has passed by. This time, it is she who discovers her blades have no effect. Her voice rising to a furious scream, she begins to lash violently against the jewel blades, a strange amalgamation of red, blue and black sparks and shards flying about in all directions as the blades connect. In that instant, I notice the expression on the Gemfire's face – for it shows that same exhilaration that I see in Cromwell when he fights; it is not him – but it is…
Neither seem likely to tire – for both are non-human. As their battle becomes ever more violent, Wyatt and I find ourselves retreating from the fray. Lamashtu falls back against a wall, stone shards scattering, as she evades a determined slice of the Gemfire's blade; but then she leaps forward, hurling herself at the flaming, crystalline being and causing it to tumble backwards, before it leaps back to its feet as I recall Cromwell doing the first time I witnessed his fight with a ravener. They slash at one another, and strike out with such violence that each in their turn seems to be thrown either against the wall, or even the ceiling. And yet, each time, the one who falls gets back to their feet and resumes battle. God, they shall be at this even as the dawn comes at this rate.
Finally, the Gemfire's swords slash forth with such speed and strength that the two blades in Lamashtu's hands are scattered into nothing, as though all that had gone before was merely for the sake of fighting, "Enough, Demoness. Your power is at an end. You cannot fight. You cannot harm those under my protection. Thus you shall meet your fate." He does not even sound vaguely winded.
Her eyes become fearful, and it is clear to me that she cannot disobey the commands of that strange, violet-flamed form that stands before her. Her beauty is fading, as the evil within her is drawn inexorably to the surface - a cankered rose in the Garden of Eden. Was she the Serpent, perhaps? Was that not one of her totems?
She cannot harm us, nor can she fight the Gemfire - but there is still one option that is open to her, and she turns back to the flaming form before her, "Then I shall flee - for you cannot remain in that form for long, even less now that you have wasted your energy fighting me - you must return to the stones that contain you! Why do you think I fought you? I shall not be taken!"
"You shall not move."
And again, she is forced to obey that crystalline command. The words are utterly devoid of any emotion, though there is an expression upon Cromwell's face - one of implacable determination. It has no feelings, this Gemfire - it does not care whether she pleads, whether she fights again after her first attempt achieved so little or even if she might beg. Thanks to its strange amalgamation with Cromwell, Lamashtu cannot harm him, she cannot harm us and she cannot flee. Such is the reward for her presumption.
"I am the living form of the Word." The Gemfire says, the words cold and dead, "All that you are is an abomination, for you are a disturbance of the balance between light and dark. All that is, all that was and all that shall be will not stand for such an aberration as you. You have taken that which was not yours to take - and thus you shall pay the price."
Those violet eyes flash fire again, and Lamashtu screams. All that remains of her beauty is torn away by that livid brightness, and I see again that creature that I glimpsed so briefly in the Queen's apartments on the night that she attempted to destroy Prince Edward. As she was then - she is horrible, a vaguely human form with the feet of a bird, grey, leathery skin with two horrible scaly wings, while snakes writhe from her hand and her woman's part. It is her face that is truly ghastly - for it appears almost split in two. Two chins, two mouths and noses - but only three eyes, each like that of a snake, though her left eye is red, and her right eye is blue and the middle is black. Her hair is gone - I can remember it from that night in the priory when she taunted Cromwell in that chair; long, black and lustrous - replaced by lank flaps of that horrible, leathery skin.
The eyes are maddened, and the two mouths open as the demoness roars her rage - but still the Gemfire shows not even a flicker of feeling, as it steps forth, the twin blades retreating back into the form of the jewels that bore them; Red Fire in its right hand, Blue Fire in its left. Even as her twin mouths gape, the creature of violet flame and crystal forces its hands into those fanged orifices, depositing the gems within.
"Stop up thy mouths, Demoness." The Gemfire demands, "They shall not depart from thee until all is done."
It seems ridiculous that she should do so - but Lamashtu, despite all her efforts, cannot disobey that implacable command, and her mouths close, the Gems still within. Red Fire beneath her red eye, and Blue Fire beneath the blue one. Ever emotionless, the Gemfire steps back, and waits.
Strangely, despite all that she has done - the harm that she has inflicted, the horrors she has sent against Cromwell and against me - I find that I pity her. I do not know why, but I do. She is helpless against a being more powerful than she, and even though she has brought this end upon herself, the destruction she faces now is truly absolute, and there shall be no comfort, or mercy.
She utters a long, drawn out groan, that would have been a scream had she been able to open the two mouths that scar her face. At first there seems to be no reason for her to do so - but then I notice her skin beginning to crack, and peel away - as smoke exudes from the openings that form. The fires that neither burned nor froze Cromwell are within her, too - but she is not so fortunate. Blue fire causes her skin to crack, while red fire burns her from the inside out. The groans become more agonised as she burns, writhing and twisting. I shudder, for I have witnessed burnings, and those who are bound to the stake do much the same - as though there is something human about her after all.
The Gemfire watches her impassively, showing neither compassion, nor mercy. Even though she burns, she does not combust - her form still writhes and cracks, showing flames within her - but still she stands. How can this go on? Surely she must be able to die and end this horror? I cannot help myself, for the awful sounds of her agonised torment are beginning to distress me, "For God's sake, Thomas! End it for her! Please!"
For a moment, the Gemfire does not move - as though its pitiless lack of concern is greater than my need for the horror to stop. Dear God, I have had my fill of torment tonight - after what she did to me, I do not want to witness any more…
"Thomas Wyatt. Bring me the Raven Blades." The Gemfire is looking at Wyatt now, who stares at him in deeply unnerved uncertainty, before retrieving the two swords from the bundle of his cloak. Dodging around the writhing demoness, he hands the sheathed weapons to the violet-flamed shape that is, and yet is not, Cromwell, before hurrying back to my side again. The blades did not harm her before; so I can only assume that, as the jewels are now within her, she can no longer withstand the power of silver.
Setting the two blades at his waist, the Gemfire draws them, and holds them aloft, the blades crossed, "For your presumption, aberration, this is your reward." Still without emotion, the Gemfire sets the blades against her throat at their crossing point, and slashes each outward - scissoring through that leathery, bony neck in a single stroke.
For a moment, it appears as though nothing has happened - she is still standing, and her head still rests upon her as though the blades passed through her and left no cut behind. Instead, she is still; as though frozen in that moment, her three eyes wide and staring at the Gemfire, her previously shut mouths now open in shock.
Within her, through the horrible ice-rimed cracks in her skin, I can see the fire seem to swell, then recede, then swell again - the rhythm going faster and more violently with each passing second. I have no idea what is happening and, when I exchange a glance with Wyatt, it is clear that he is no more certain than I.
Then - without warning, the demoness suddenly bursts apart; the explosion silent, but sufficiently violent to sweep all of the wood and dust in all directions away from the source - and both Wyatt and I are thrown heavily backwards to land painfully upon the flags several feet away.
Winded, my vision rather blurred, the first thing I can just make out as my sight settles again is that same figure, flicking violet flames - standing as unmoved as it was when first it came into being. It is, however, alone; for Lamashtu has vanished, and there is not so much as a mote of dust to show that she ever existed.
She is defeated - and she is gone.
For a moment, both Wyatt and I are too stunned to move, and we remain where we are as the Gemfire slowly replaces the blades in the scabbards at its waist. Then it looks about at the devastation, and finally speaks, "As it was, so it shall be again."
While I have firmly resisted any suggestion that there are supernatural powers at play in this world - for almost the entirety of my adult life, there is no escaping the evidence of my eyes as I watch what follows. The shattered and splintered wood reforms into a chair, a rough truckle bed, a table, and the door. The bars within it return to their form and merge back into the wood of that door again, as it lifts itself into the hinges that are now protruding from the visibly rebuilding wall. Everything that was broken, or shattered, or disassembled, has rebuilt, restored or mended - and in a matter of minutes, we are in the antechamber, while the Gemfire stands within the cell. The door, however, remains open.
Tentatively, I get back to my feet and approach the cell. I can see, hanging in the air as though held in flight, the two gems, Red Fire and Blue Fire. Lamashtu may have vanished, but they are still where they were when they were in her mouths, and they begin to glow brightly. As they do so, that strange violet fire begins to subside, fading and dying away as the twin fires separate and return to the stones from whence they came. Then they drop to the floor, landing in unison - though the neither bounce, nor scatter apart - and seem to be nothing more than a sapphire and a ruby once more.
As the flames die away, the colour comes back to Cromwell's face, and he starts to droop, as though weakened. The injuries that Lamashtu had inflicted upon him are gone - taken when the Gemfire merged with him, I suppose - but then I remember that he is not wearing the Rosary; and the abrasion upon his soul is robbing him of his strength.
Wyatt joins me, still looking rather shocked, as I drop to the floor and start searching desperately for the fallen relic. Without it, Cromwell shall fall into a deep sleep and never wake…there…fallen into a corner, just behind the leg of the repaired table. Grabbing at it, I turn and hastily crawl across to Cromwell, who has fallen to the ground, slumping forward as his strength continues to falter, "Here - I have it." without hesitation, I press the rosary to his chest, for he no longer seems even able to lift his arms. As I do so, he looks at me, rather vaguely, "You have no beard."
"I shaved it off, Thomas." I do not bother to explain, for he seems too tired to listen.
After a few minutes, Cromwell reaches for the rosary and takes it himself, "Thank you, Richie - it protected me for a considerable time, and deflected her violence back upon her - but in the end, she reached in and tore it from about my neck. From that point on, I could not withstand her attacks."
"But still you fought her." Wyatt observes, quietly, "We saw that when we arrived."
"I did." Cromwell agrees, "For she gloated to me that you would arrive too late to save me - but in doing so she told me that you were coming. Thus I had hope, and that gave me the will to fight her with all that I could muster." Carefully, he untangles the beaded chain to return the Rosary to its customary place about his neck; but then finds that he cannot, for the chain is still broken.
Astonishingly, he utters a faint moan at the discovery, as I thought he had no attachment to the relic; but he seems most distressed, "I cannot even have the chain repaired." He says, quite miserably. I had no idea that he cared for it so. He is, however, right. If it is apart from him, no matter how quickly a jeweller worked, he would be left drained again. How it is unmended when all about us returned to its former state at the command of the Gemfire, I cannot guess; perhaps its power defies even so strong a command as that of the Word.
"Did not the Queen state that it should be near your heart, rather than about your neck?" Wyatt says. At Cromwell's nod, he immediately reaches into the collar of his doublet, and fishes out a pouch that was about his own neck, "I can replace this easily enough."
Tipping out the contents - which turn out to be a few coins that he claims to keep 'for emergencies', Wyatt hands the pouch to Cromwell, who carefully inserts the rosary, and replaces the pouch about his neck. Despite himself, he cannot help but look much happier for its return.
Hastily, I get back to my feet, "Come then, Thomas - we must away. The King has signed the warrant, and there is but one day left before they carry out the sentence."
"I am aware of that." Cromwell says, quietly, "Mr Kingston told me of my fate this morning."
"Then we must go!" I prompt.
"You must go." He replies, still quiet, "I must stay."
I stare at him, "What? Why? How can you say that? The King has decreed that you die! What use are you to anyone if you are dead?"
Cromwell shakes his head, "I cannot become separated from the English court. I was assigned to protect it, and that is what I must do. There is still one more day, and I am not without friends."
"No!" suddenly my voice is a scream, "For God's sake, you cannot stay here! You must flee - you have to get away from here! Think of the good you could do - even if you are itinerant in Europe, or even as a Master at the House, are you not the finest Silver Sword to have been found in two centuries? How can you let yourself be destroyed so? How? I cannot stand by and let you do it! My own life is forfeit - the King will not grant me the clemency of beheading if I am captured - we can both be gone from here!" My voice begins to crack, "Thomas - I beg you, beg you, please do not ask me to repatriate your gauntlets and swords! I could not stand it! I could not!" and then, stupidly, idiotically, I am sobbing. I am so tired - the day has been so dreadful, I have been forced to conceal myself, and exist for more than two weeks in fear of capture, Lamashtu attempted to drive me out of my mind - and now this? After all that we have done - is Cromwell truly willing to lay his life down in so brutal a fashion? Why does he think the King will even care to save him? Why?
"Please, Thomas - just go, get away from here, even if it were not for Lamashtu, this court is poisoned…"
Wyatt echoes my words, "If you will not flee for yourself, then think of Richard - he faces a worse death than you if he is captured. The king has made it plain that he shall not receive the same clemency as you - he made that clear to all of the Privy Council. If he is captured, he shall die as a traitor at Tyburn - the Bill of Attainder against him is to be debated in two days' time."
Again, Cromwell shakes his head - but he rests his hands on our shoulders as he speaks, "I cannot run. I swore to protect this court - and I have done so. I am reconciled to death if that is what the King wills - for Lamashtu is destroyed. I would not ask you to stay, Richie - not if your life is at risk. But I ask you to trust me - and to have faith. I do not think for a moment that all we have endured shall be ignored and count for nothing."
He reaches to the swords at his waist, removing the scabbards from his belt and handing them to Wyatt, who is now as anguished as I. Then he crouches, retrieves the two jewels, and replaces them in the pouch, which he hands to me, "If nothing else - these must be delivered back to the queen - and, disguised as you are, who would know?"
I cannot stand this, "Don't do this, Thomas. Don't - I could not stand it if you threw away your life in such a manner - I could not endure to be robbed of the first true friend I have ever had…"
Then he draws me into an embrace, "Courage, Richie - have faith, as I do. We both know of the power of Heaven, you saw it with your own eyes when the Queen set the Rosary upon me that night. We serve a higher power, and I am certain that we shall not be abandoned by it."
As I step back, he turns to Wyatt, and embraces him in turn, "Trust me, Tom. You must use your picks to re-lock that door, and depart as though nothing happened this night. Do not lose heart - either of you. What will be, will be. Trust in God, trust in her Majesty, for we are not friendless if they are upon our side."
Even so, I make one last attempt, "There is not sufficient time, Thomas - it is one day, just one day…"
For a moment, he smiles, "A lot can happen in a day."