Balin and Columbine (A Children of the May Novella - Book 1.5b)

Chapter Nine: The Lady of the Slates

Columbine pushed open the red door of the red chapel. Darkness had fallen over the valley as she made her descent, and the only lights she could see were the soft candles that flamed gently around the interior.

‘My lady,’ she said tentatively. ‘My Lady of the Red Rock, are you there?’ She pushed the door further open, and took a small step into the room. It smelled of metal, like a forge after a long day’s work.

‘Close the door behind you, child,’ said a woman’s voice. Columbine pushed the door closed with her boot, not wanting to turn her back on the dark altar.

The candles that lit the chapel were tallow rather than wax, and though they were all around the place – on every windowsill, hanging from a great chandelier above her head – what light they shed seemed to be sucked away by the walls and floors. Every surface looked greased, as if it had been covered by the animal fat that made the candles. They smelled like it too. Patches of mushrooms grew in the moist joins between the altar-steps.

‘What do you bring here?’ said the unseen woman. She sounded adult, but not old to Columbine’s ears. There was no echo. Chapels were often empty, echoing places, but here the strange red walls dulled all sound.

‘I bring myself, my lady,’ said Columbine, ‘and a request for your help.’

‘Ho, ho!’ said the lady, her voice changing from a formal tone to a more friendly one. ‘And what can I do for you, pretty one?’ A head popped up from behind the altar. The lady’s greying hair was all disordered, as if she had been hard at work or long asleep. She had a broad, cheerful face, and was wearing a thick work-smock and apron, both of which were much-stained. Her shoulders and arms were bare like Columbine’s, and she was wiping her hands, which were covered in what could only have been blood, down her apron. The lady came to the front of the altar, still beaming, and sat herself on the top altar-step. She waved Columbine forward. ‘Come here, my sleeveless beauty. Closer, my dear. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.’

When Columbine was in reach the lady grabbed the back of her head, pulling the girl’s face down to hers. The woman looked at Columbine with curiosity and interest, as one would a cow at market. She pinched Columbine’s cheeks, pulled her lips open to check her teeth and gums, and examined her arms and legs for weaknesses.

‘You’ll do,’ the lady said when she had finished her examination. ‘A love spell, is it? All the girls come looking for love spells.’ She adopted a high, whining voice: ‘Can you make Sir Lancelot love me, Lady Helen? He’s so dreeeeeameeeeeee. No I can’t, you silly girl. Because that’s just the way fate is. Some things even my magic can’t change.’ She prodded a grimy finger into Columbine’s chest. ‘Is it Lancelot, girl?’

Columbine shook her head. ‘It’s not, Lady Helen. It’s not a love spell. I’m not interested in love. My friend, he’s in the hut up above, he’s dying. I hear your blood magics can heal people.’

‘They do, yes,’ said Lady Helen. ‘They can.’ She squinted at Columbine’s side. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’

‘My sword.’

Lady Helen sat back and crossed her arms over her chest. ‘It’s not just any sword though, is it? It’s quite unusual. Can I see?’

Columbine hesitated. The holy man had said that the Dolorous Stroke would be the one with which she would complete her quest; she couldn’t risk anyone taking it from her.

‘Don’t worry, child. I’m not going to steal it. A woman like me has no use for swords. This is simple curiosity on my part.’

Columbine handed the sword over. The lady balanced the scabbard on her fingertips, and intently examined the strange carvings along its side. ‘Aha, I see,’ the woman said to herself. ‘He is a clever man, oh yes he is.’