A PEARL
“Enter.”
The voice which called out from the other side of the door sounded ancient. Not human. Duncan, standing outside it, Alf at his shoulder, bit his lip, realizing he was sweating.
This is nonsense, Duncan. You know people are full of superstition.
Still. The corridor was dark, now. Alf had returned late from his hunting, meeting with Duncan when the sun had begun to set. The corridor they were in was well kept, clean and warm. Yet the fear was in Duncan and would not leave.
Alf smiled, shoulder raised in a shrug. “Well, you heard,” he said encouragingly. He inclined his head towards the door where Duncan's hand stayed perhaps three inches from the handle.
Duncan bit his lip and lowered his hand. Pushing the door open, he stepped forward and on to meet whatever waited for him beyond.
He blinked. The room was dark. The light came from a single candle, placed on a long, dark wooden table. After the bright torches of the hallway, the place was pitch dark and his eyes took a moment to adjust to it.
Somewhere in the room, he heard the sibilance of laughter.
The laugh was not a cackle, more of a rustle, like dry leaves blowing down ancient halls. The sound of the long dead, rasping a chuckle. All his hair stood on end. He looked around wildly as if to find escape.
“You come to visit me?” a voice asked.
Duncan stretched his eyes wide. At last, his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. He saw hair, first. Pure, white hair, arranged in a high, piled style that would have graced the court of the previous king. Below it, a face emerged from the darkness.
Duncan found himself looking into the gray eyes of what was easily the most royal face he had ever seen.
“My lady,” he stammered. He felt himself give the deepest bow he had ever done. Her face, fine-boned and regal, drove any thought but respect from his head.
The voice rolled over him. A low chuckle this time, full of warmth and irony.
“Come, young man,” she said. “You came in with so much violence, so much aversion. Why change now? If you wish to finish me off, I am here. Waiting.”
The voice was a challenge, the steel eyes mocking him, though they also teased.
Duncan let out a shuddering breath. “My lady,” he said slowly. He could see things now, and discerned another chair, lower than hers. He took it. He looked up at her. “If I came with violence and aversion, I beg forgiveness for the offense. I did not come here voluntarily, but under duress.”
“Oh?” the old lady raised a brow, eyes shining. “Has that uncle of mine taken to throwing his guests to the lions, as it were? Or is it his son, perhaps, with some wild scheme?”
Duncan shivered. “My lady, it is both. Neither. I do not know.” He shook his head, feeling profoundly inadequate in the face of those eyes. How did she know so much?
She smiled. She was quite beautiful, her old face radiant, the fine lines of it unmarred by the wrinkles and faded hair. If anything, they complimented it. Made it radiate a power like a lamp does, the alabaster walls worn thin so that the light shines through the brighter.
“You need not worry. I see much of what concerns the heart, though many conceal it from me. And from themselves. I see you have no harm in you.” She smiled. “You are here against your will, yes. But I think you were not honest when you came?”
Duncan swallowed. He felt as if something moved across his mind, searching him, probing out the weak spots and testing him.
He cleared his throat. “My lady, I...” he stammered, then began afresh. “I was not honest. I admit this to you, though I would not to any other. I came under false pretenses. I said I came to betray my brother. In truth, I came here seeking a pearl.”
“A pearl?” the old lady's thin eyebrows rose a fraction. She smiled. “There are few such here. Priceless gems, carried far over the seas from the Orient.”
As she spoke, she leaned forward slightly. Duncan stared.
On a slender chain around her neck, she wore a single, large pearl. It caught the candlelight and shivered there, a drop of pleasant light.
Duncan tried to speak. His voice came out a wordless croak. “Is that..?”
She laughed. “What do you think? Think carefully, young man. A pearl could be many things. A seed. An idea. A hope unrealized. A name.”
Duncan bit his lip. He had no idea if he was right. If this pearl was the one his uncle sought. He thought through the plans he had made before he came here, seeking for the answer there.
He had come here, he remembered, seeking a lady. A lady who would be old, about Lord Brien's age, perhaps a little older. A lady of the Duncraigh's. A lady.
He gasped. A lady, old and regal. A pearl without price.
Opposite him, the old lady chuckled. It was a warm sound, a lovely sound. The laugh of a young girl, delighted by a charm.
“And so?” she asked, raising that elegant brow again. In that moment, he could see the girl who had made Lord Brien forget himself, forget everything but her. “I await an answer?”
Duncan coughed. “You,” he said hesitantly. “You...what is your name, my lady?”
She smiled. It was brilliant, radiant. Her lips, dark by artifice or careful preservation, drew back to show perfect teeth.
“My name, Lord Duncan, is Benoite. Have you your answer?”
Duncan sighed. Leaned back. Looked up at the ceiling and felt like bursting into a prayer of thanks. He had found her. The pearl beyond price.
Opposite him, Lady Benoite was tranquil, though her eyes still shone. “I think you know an old friend of mine,” she said carefully. “One who was so arrogant, so afraid of refusal, that he never asked the question that has lived forever in his heart. Am I correct?”
Duncan, sitting opposite her on the chair, felt his last hold on his mind stretch sorely, even as his heart radiated thanks. The quest was over and he completed all the tasks.