Up close, the lines of pain were etched into her face, as though some part of her was still locked in battle.
‘He came so fast … our preparations were all for nothing. Our own desire for strength has destroyed us … unleashing the shadow that could not be fought.’
‘You fought him,’ said Will.
‘I fought him,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘I fought him when no one else could. You know why.’
He did know. He had known since he had learned of the shadows, a kaleidoscope of moments, all running together into the truth. The tremor in her hand. The way the candle holder had seemed to fall right through it. Her frequent absences from gatherings in the Hall, and the excuses Jannick had made.
‘You’re turning,’ said Will.
He only half heard the shocked reaction of the others behind him. He looked into the Elder Steward’s rheumy eyes and saw her painful acknowledgement. No human could defeat a shadow. But perhaps two shadows could grapple with one another.
He felt no fear of her, but maybe he should. Her skin was so diaphanously fine he could almost see through it; and every now and again, something seemed to flicker underneath, like the glimpse of a creature moving underwater.
‘His power was great,’ said the Elder Steward, ‘but the shadow inside me is greater. If I were to turn, I would be strong enough to rule this world. Yet I would be but a slave to the Dark King’s will. Even now I can feel my own will diminish … I could not complete the morning chant, or hold the sword point steady. But I have enough willpower left to remain myself long enough to speak with you.’
The reign of her will was there in each breath, in and out, each measured word taking one more piece of her strength. She was the oldest Steward and had fought her shadow the longest. Her great strength showed now, as she held herself together for him, for them.
‘It is coming, Will. The events that I have spent my life preparing for are here, but I will not see them come to pass. That will fall to you.’ Another laboured breath, her eyes dark. ‘I thought we could be the star at your back. But in the end it will be as it was. The Dark King and the Lady.’ Her white hair was fine against the pillow, and when he took her hand in his own it felt even less substantial.
‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,’ he said – whispered. It felt like telling her his deepest secret. Her trust in him, so near to the end, hurt. He could see her weakening, each breath more painful than the last.
‘You must stop Simon from calling him forth. For he is very close now. The Shadow Stone has been taken. Simon need only free the Shadow Kings and he has all he needs to raise the Dark King, and end the line of the Lady.’
The Shadow Stone. He remembered it, the dark force of it, far more frightening than Marcus’s shadow on the wall.
‘You told me once that I would have to fight him.’ He remembered her words at the Tree Stone. The Stewards are here to stop Simon. At all costs, we will fight to prevent the Dark King’s return. But if we fail, you must be ready.
‘I told you that there was more than one way to fight. The power to stop the Dark lies within you, Will. If I didn’t believe that, I would not have brought you into this Hall. I hope you will remember that, when you make your choice. I hope you remember me.’ Her hand briefly squeezed his.
‘Violet,’ she said. Will saw Violet lift her head, startled. Will beckoned her forward, stepping back to let her take his place at the Elder Steward’s side. He released a shaky breath as he did so, even as the Elder Steward turned her eyes to Violet.
‘You are the strongest fighter the Light has left. You have it in you to become a true Lion, as the Lions of old … for you have Lion blood on both sides, from your father and your mother.’
‘My mother?’ Violet’s hollowed eyes were dark.
‘Did you think your power came only from your father? You fear your Lion fate, yet the time will come when you must take up the Shield of Rassalon. Do not be afraid. In your blood run the brave lions of England and the bright lions of India. You are stronger than your brother.’
Violet nodded, looking pale. Then, as she stepped back, the Elder Steward said the final name.
‘Cyprian.’
And it was Cyprian’s turn to come forward, and he did, kneeling and bowing his head. He was the picture of the novitiate obedient before his elder. The light from the brazier seemed oddly bright.
‘You are the last of the Stewards. The only one left to remember. Your road will be hard, and your trials will be great. I wish I could give you comfort … Instead I must ask one more thing of you.’