He realized soon enough that he'd seen the knife in the library beneath glass in a small case on one of the bookshelves, locked to the young boy who'd once tried to open it. Had it belonged to his grandfather, or had it gone all the way back to Captain Jared Vail? He didn't know. The knife looked vaguely Moorish, the blade curved like a scimitar, gems embedded in the ivory handle. He didn't remember what sorts of gems they were and couldn't tell now because they were utterly without color.
He raised his voice. "If it isn't you, Captain Jared, is it Rennat? I don't care who is causing this-stop it now. I am tired of this trick, do you hear me? Stop it now!"
To his relief, and, he admitted, to his surprise, the room went slowly dark, fading finally into the simple dark of night. He turned toward the window to see rain streaking down the windowpane. He realized there'd been no more thunder, if indeed thunder it had been. As for the strange lightning, no, lightning wasn't the word for it either.
He carefully laid the knife on the night table beside the had. It no longer dripped white blood, no surprise, since whoever, whatever, had stopped the magic.
He clasped Rosalind's shoulders in his big hands and lightly shook her. "Rosalind, come back. Everything's over now."
Slowly, she raised her head to look up at him. Her eyes, once dilated, were normal now, and blue once again, her hair vivid red, her face no longer the dead white, but still too pale. "Sweetheart," he whispered against her temple, "it will be all right. I'm here with you now. I can protect you, well, perhaps not completely. I nearly broke my foot trying to break down your door." He pulled her tightly against him, pressed his palm against her head until she rested on his shoulder.
Her breathing was slow. She said facing his neck, "I'm sorry about your foot."
He rocked her where they stood, kissed her hair, began to smooth out the tangles. "Can you tell me what happened?"
She pressed closer. He held her tight, felt her nails digging into his back. "It's all right," he said, and repeated it once more, twice.
She said finally, her voice thread thin, "I was dreaming I saw a man I'd never seen before. He was very handsome, Nicholas, like a golden angel, with the most beautiful pale blue eyes, but I knew there was darkness behind those pale eyes of his, and that sounds strange, but it's true. Too much darkness, and such intensity. I felt his intensity to my soul. Even though he looked at me he didn't seem to see me, didn't seem to know I was there, although I was standing right in front of him, on the other side of a huge fire. He was brewing something in a large pot and I thought he must be careful else the flames would burn him, for they were leaping upward, spewing, then funneling, forming peculiar shapes. I'd never seen a fire like that before in my life. I told him to be careful of those mad flames, but he didn't hear me. For him, I suppose I wasn't there. It was as if there was a wall between us and it was clear only from my side.
"He continued to stir the pot with some sort of long-handled metal spoon. I watched the pot bubble and hiss and the flames roar, as if an unseen bellows blew on it. I realized he was chanting something and I thought, Why can't he hear me if I can hear him?"
She fell silent, her hands in fists now against his shoulders. He continued to hold her tightly, running his hands up and down her back.
"There is a clear wall between us, I thought as I watched him, but it made no sense to me and so I stuck out my hand to touch it. There was nothing there. I stepped to the side of the fire, and stuck my hand out again." She shuddered against him. "I touched his shoulder. He jumped in surprise. Believe me, so did I. He stopped stirring, stopped his chanting, and looked straight at me, and I knew he could see me now. Nicholas, he smiled at me."
"He what?"
"He smiled at me, and said in this deep voice, 'You are mine. Isn't it odd how the light always brings clarity?' Then he looked back over his shoulder as if hearing something or someone coming that alarmed him. Then he turned back to me and he put his fingertips to his lips. He stared at me. I saw something strange and scared in his eyes, but it was gone quickly. His eyes were so intense, Nicholas, so powerful, I felt he was looking into my soul. He whispered, 'Be careful, look to the book, and you will be here, soon now, soon now-'"
She looked up at him now, and he saw her eyes were clearing, becoming more focused. "What happened then?"
"Suddenly it was as if I was hurtled into a huge well of white, like a blizzard, but there was no wind, no movement of any kind, no cold, nothing save blinding white. Then you were holding me and talking to me and I slowly came back into myself. Was it the white that frightened him? Or was he the one who stopped it when you commanded it? Nicholas, what was in the pot? What did he mean that I had to be careful?"
"For once a being in a dream says something that makes sense. This being believes" you're in danger, he's warning you."
"But who was he?"
"We will find out, don't worry."
"And the book, I'm to look to the book. That has got to mean Sarimund's the Rules of the Pale or Sarimund's short book that belonged to your grandfather. All right, I can do that. I can read both books again, we can study them more closely."
"Yes, we will even look at the book seams, see if there is anything hidden within the covers. Another helpful clue. We're getting there, Rosalind."
"And what did he mean when he said I would be there soon? In the Pale?"
He didn't like it, but he said, "Yes, very likely. As to the light bringing clarity, that requires more thought. We will figure it all out." He pointed to the knife. "When I came in, you were holding this knife. Blood was dripping off the tip, only the drops were white like everything else. Do you know where it came from?"
She looked horrified. "No, no, I've never seen it before. It wasn't in my dream. I was holding it and it was dripping white drops of blood?" She sounded terrified now and he couldn't blame her. "But wait, Nicholas, you were wrong, there's no blood on it, white or red."
He picked up the knife, looked down, and felt his heart stop. She was right-there was no blood, no sign there had ever been any blood. The blade was glittering silver. He immediately released her and fell to his knees to study the carpet. No blood.
Nicholas slowly rose, felt his heart tripping. He hated that there was something going on here he couldn't begin to understand, hated not understanding, not knowing what it was. He felt helpless, impotent. What if she'd been with him? Would she have dreamed the same dream? Would there have been the same thunder, the terrifying white that filled everything? Would he have seen the knife appear in her hand? He said, "Wait, I saw blood drip on your bare foot." She raised her foot. There was nothing at all. She raised her other foot. Nothing.
"Well," he said, trying to center himself, trying to think clearly, calmly. "You called it a dream. It would seem you were plunged into the middle of a vision."
Rosalind laughed, a shaky laugh, and said, her voice a bit stronger now, "I don't know where the knife came from. I've never seen it before in my life."
"It's kept in a glass case down in the library."
"Nicholas?"
He laid the knife back on the night table, gathered her against him again. He kissed her ear. She was at last warming. He began stroking her again through the soft muslin nightgown.
"The man who was stirring the pot," she said against his shoulder, "I told you I'd never seen him before."
He kissed her temple. And waited. And his heart pounded slow deep strokes.
"He smiled at me. He knew me. He said, 'You are mine.'"