Chapter 6

T HEY WERE COMING FOR her.

Katherine had been sleeping at last, deeply sleeping, and she wasn't sure how or when she heard the first faint clink of metal against stone, or how she managed to wake up entirely aware that they had decided to throw caution to wind and solve their problems with a simple abduction.

Why had she been so sure that they would dare not do so? she wondered with dismay.

She tried to assure herself that the sounds did not mean that they were coming for her.

But they did.

In the soft expanse of her bed where she had lain sleeping so deeply at last, her eyes flew open instantly, and just as instantly, she was wide awake and aware.

She listened.

Again she heard it. A clink of metal. Far below.

How dare they? Outrage burned through her. This was her castle, these were her people. And though she was woefully low at men-at-arms due to the machinations of Prince John, someone, or perhaps several someones, had died trying to keep these wretched invaders from coming so close to her.

She leaped out of bed and raced to the tower window, ripping away the tapestry to stare down at the drawbridge and moat far below.

Then she heard the first cry. And even as she watched, one of her guards hurtled down before her to splash into the moat below.

Men had come to cause this!

Men in the darkness, men in the night! And they dared to claim that others were bandits and thieves!

Indeed, yes, men had come. Their horses' hooves were covered in cloth to keep them silent as they moved across wood and stone. Someone had let out a cry, and the clank of the drawbridge had been unmistakable, but they had come here in stealth. She was supposed to have slept through it all.

They carried no flares against the darkness. Even as she watched, the horses moved quickly over the drawbridge and into the great yard within the castle walls.

Prince John was gone and could not be blamed, or so he would determine. And the defenses of her castle, the impregnable defenses, had obviously been breached because someone had been left behind, a man from among de la Ville's ranks, someone to slit the throat of the man at the drawbridge, and lower it to the invaders.

For a moment she heard nothing. There was only silence. A half moon hung low in the sky, creating a night of shadow and illusion. A soft glow of amber light touched the deep dark waters of the moat below, and illuminated the near-octagonal shape of the castle with its various turrets and towers and parapets.

A cloud covered the moon. Katherine shivered fiercely. The horses were gone from the bridge. As if she had imagined them.

The moon appeared again. Far across from her tower window, upon a parapet, she thought she saw the figure of a man. Dark, foreboding, hands on his hips, his face in darkness, the only glitter about him being that of …

His sword. Flickering like a silver fire in the night. Held high against the darkness …

Her heart thundered. Was that he? The wretched traitorous rat, left behind to come stealthily upon the good men of her castle, take them unawares, stalk them from behind and with a quick swipe of that blade, steal their life's blood from them, letting it flow into rivers of crimson.

Vile bastard! Knave of knaves, she thought furiously.

Clouds, like black shadows, passed again. Quickly, oh so quickly, they came and went. And then, when the light appeared once again …

He was gone.

Had she imagined him? Were the curious moonlight and the depths of her fear creating flights of fancy within her mind? Her heart kept pounding, fiercely. So fiercely.

And what difference did it make if the enemy walked the parapets as well as the stair?

She knew who had come for her, and she knew why. De la Ville was very much aware that she wasn't a fool, that she would have agreed to anything.

And that she would still never willingly become his wife.

"I shall die first!" she whispered fiercely. But would she? Really? Looking down the heights to the moat below, she was quite certain that she didn't want to die.

She absolutely hated heights. She couldn't possibly throw herself out the window.

Perhaps that would be nearly the same as surrender, she told herself. No, she would not do it!

But death would be a sweeter fate than life with de la Ville. Her heart thundered, and she pressed her hands against her eyes.

No. She would never, never allow de la Ville to touch her. Never.

She would fight. To the bitter end.

Or perhaps …

She would run.

She hurried across the room to the secret doorway that led to the ink-dark, winding stairs and the dank tunnel that ran beneath the moat. She would escape into the forest. And if the doorway was discovered when they searched for her, well, that would surely be tragic, but certainly no more so than her capture by de la Ville. Once in his hands, she would be of no use to anyone.

But even as she touched the secret stone as she had done dozens of times before, she heard a curious grinding sound.

Nothing happened. The door didn't give.

"Jesu!" she cried in sudden desperation. She struck it again. She pounded it. Bleakly, almost numbly at first, she realized that something in the aging mechanism had failed her. The secret door would not give.

What she faced now was stone. Just that. Solid stone.

"Nay!" A cry of anguish and stark denial escaped her. The numbness fell away from her.

She might really be taken. To de la Ville.

Silence followed her cry.

And then …

Again, a sound. Closer now. The slight clink of metal against stone.

They had entered the keep. They were already coming up the spiral stone stairs that led to her room in the north tower.

She ran to the window again. She stared out to the night, and up to the sky. Then down again. The moat. It stretched out before her, yawning huge and black, like some beckoning pit of hell.

She couldn't do it. Even with escape cut off. She just couldn't do it, not until the very last moment …

There was a flash of silver again in the night. She looked to the parapets. Nothing. She was imagining things. And she was just standing there now, while her doom pressed closer and closer upon her.

But there was a tall figure there, upon the parapets. And the silver that flickered in the moonlight and disappeared with the shadows was from that figure's sword blade!

She stared at that figure, furious. Surely, he was one of de la Ville's men.

The one who had stayed behind within her castle like a thief in the night. The one who had murdered a guardsman to lower the drawbridge. She stared at him.

He stared in return—watching her.

It didn't occur to him that she thought him the traitor. His thoughts were on her.

This! This was what had brought him home, with Jerusalem so close!

There had been no great difficulty reaching the castle walls once he had been able to leave Lucifer in the woods and tread silently behind the attackers. But they had left a guard of their own at the gate, forcing him to scale the castle walls. He had done so, casting a noose around a parapet and precariously climbing the rope to reach this catwalk.

He was breathing very hard. This type of work was best done by men not weighed down by a coat and cape of meshed-mail armor!

All this … for her.

Had she been a well-behaved and demure damsel, Richard might well have had her safely wed long ago! He wouldn't be here, crawling around in heavy armor to save her.

Ah, but nay! Determined on her independence, the wench had all but financed Richard's Crusade by her own efforts.

And so she had been left free to roam the forest, to wreak havoc on the unwary, and to set herself into danger time and again. These were not the qualities a man sought in a wife.

Especially not when he had loved once before. When he had thought to wed before. When the lady had been the very essence of gentleness and kindness, with a smile to light the heavens, with a whisper to rouse the spirit and the deepest desires, with eyes to give promise—

Those eyes were closed now. Forever closed. This castle was his reward. This castle—and the girl.

And this castle was just about to be swept away from his waiting hands!

Yet even as he watched in the darkness, waiting, his heart took a curious turn. By the soft fluttering candlelight, he could see her through the slit in her tower wall, for his angle had been carefully chosen for just that design.

He lifted the mask of fine mesh mail that concealed his features, the better to see in the night. And even as he did so, she suddenly pushed away from the window and the wall, and upon her toes, she spun in a circle, somewhat like an animal realizing itself trapped.

And somewhat like an ethereal creature, a goddess of the ancient Greeks or Romans, or of the very Druids who had once trodden these lands.

As she circled about, her gown and the wondrous length of her hair moved with her. The gown was diaphanous and white, both virginal and … erotic, for the dim candlelight played upon it so completely.

Ah, she was wayward indeed. Temperamental, troublesome, willful—surely he could go on.

But beautiful, too. Strikingly so. For as she turned, her perfection could be clearly seen. Breasts full and firm, a winsomely slender waist, a flare of hips, and long ivory legs that were beautifully shaped and slender still. In that muted light, she was all ivory and gold. A goddess sculpted in alabaster, and cloaked in the endless gold of the waves of shimmering tendrils that flew so majestically around her as she swirled. Ah, and her face! Her features so very fine and delicate, lips so full and red, cheeks high, her eyes alive with fire and anguish, deep and dark from this distance!

Something burned within him. He wondered at the startling fever that suddenly filled him, at the ferocious strength of it. Ah, love could die perhaps, but desire was some rough creature that could live well and heartily within a man when love was gone.

She touched him, indeed.

And she was to be his wife …

Not if he didn't move well and quickly this night, he reminded himself.

He slid the mail helmet back over his face, and as he did so, a shudder tore through him.

Ari's words came back to haunt him. He was a thousand miles away, standing in the desert sands.

She will betray you …

Those words, before Richard had even spoken to him! He would wed her, but she would betray him in darkness …

Never, he swore abruptly and savagely to the night. None of it mattered, he told himself. Not tonight.

Tonight …

Tonight the Silver Sword had only to do battle …

And for both their sakes, they needed to win.

They would win, he vowed to himself. They would win. And then as to their own lives …

Well, they would see.

At the moment, Kat wasn't the least concerned with Montjoy or the Silver Sword.

Her mind was focused on another enemy.

Damn him, Kat thought furiously of de la Ville, and damn every one of his rotten henchmen! She would have none of it! Were they such fools that they thought they had only to break into the castle, slay her most noble defenders, and make demands—and she would accompany them?

Perhaps they imagined that they would take her asleep, quickly kidnap her, and perform whatever evil deed they had in mind. After all, these men were but the henchmen for a leader who might or might not be with them.

She would not let them take her. She would fight them. Perhaps they wouldn't really dare to harm her, and as long as she was able to hold them off …

What then?

A moment's despair tore through her. There was little that could help her now, no matter how long or industriously she fought. Only the King had the right to decide her fate.

She turned her anger toward Richard.

Richard! The King was far away, storming some Moslem stronghold in the Holy Lands, battling with Saladin, the great caliph of the people of Islam.

"Damn you, Richard!" she swore aloud.

Her father's slender dress sword hung on the wall of her chamber, and Katherine quickly leaped atop one of her trunks to lift it down. With the weapon in her hand, she felt somewhat better.

She shivered, determined again that she would fight to the bitter end. She thought again of the terrible height of her tower, and the great distance down to the dark swirling waters of the moat far below. The prospect of a lifetime committed to de la Ville made the dark waters seem almost welcoming.

There was no more time to waste. They were in the castle now, in her very tower, and it seemed that they were no longer terribly concerned with keeping their presence a secret. She could hear the footsteps on the stone stairs now. Their movements had been so stealthy.

Perhaps they were throwing caution to the winds as they felt that they closed in upon their prey.

Where could she go from here? There was only up, higher up, to the tallest parapets of the tower. Higher and higher …

She felt dizziness assail her, and she shook her head fiercely as if she could shake her fear away. She certainly couldn't stand here, just waiting, any longer.

She threw her heavy door open and was instantly alarmed to realize that they had nearly come upon her. A knight in half armor stood upon the stairs, his face covered by his helmet and visor, his chest protected by a cuirass of steel, but his thighs and calves were left barren of metal, and the fine worsted material of his short tunic and hose gave credence to the man's service not only to a nobleman, but to a rich one at that.

"My lady!" he said, startled.

Indeed, they had planned to come upon her in her sleep.

But she wasn't sleeping, and she was very aware of their mission; that much must have been obvious in her eyes. He cleared his throat and spoke quickly. "You must come with us, Countess. Now. At my lord's command."

"And who is your lord, good sir?"

"I am not at liberty to give you his name—"

"And I do not feel at liberty to give you my person, sir!" she snapped back furiously. "Get from my castle! You've no right here, none at all."

The man held a moment. His companions were quickly coming up behind him, and Katherine's heart sank as she counted their number. There were at least ten men in this party that had come for her. She couldn't possibly fight them all.

"Lady, I'm sorry," he said, and she thought that there really might be a certain sorrow in his voice. "You must come with me."

Katherine shook her head slowly and produced her sword.

"Lady Katherine, we seek your safety with a good and Christian knight, so do I swear it!"

"Good and Christian?" she repeated softly. "Oh, I think not! You come from a man spawned of the devil, and you have no authority over me. I am King Richard's ward, and no other has any right to order me from this property."

"It grows late," one of the men muttered behind the first. "Let's take her and have done with this!"

"What would you have me do?" the first hissed in return. "Skewer her through? My lord wishes a living bride, if not a willing one." His full attention returned to Katherine. "Please, lady, we will have you with us one way or another. If you'll only—"

"If you came in any good way, sir, you'd not have your face covered with that armor! When Richard hears tell of this outrage, there will be hell to pay, sir, I swear it!"

"Richard cares nothing for England, or anything English!" swore the man behind the first. "Come, lady, have done with this! We will take you willing or nay!"

"I think not!" she snapped back. Oh, her voice sounded good! She did not give away the fact that she was trembling, or that the cold of the stone beneath her bare feet now seemed to have entered into all of her being.

"Lady—"

The first of the men took a step toward her. She swirled out her sword with the expertise she had learned so long ago from her father, and she was pleased to see that the motion itself had given the men just a moment's pause.

"Dear sirs! I shall defend myself if you would take me!" she promised in a deadly tone.

"Why, she's little more than a girl!" someone wailed.

"Nay, friend, see the moonlight play upon her bounty, she is much more than a girl!" another bellowed.

"And chosen to be his lordship's bride!" the first man reminded them all fiercely.

Her sword drawn and ready, she backed away up the stone stairs, praying that she didn't trip on the sheer white linen hem of her nightdress.

"Lady!" cried the man in the lead. "Throw down your sword. We've no desire to hurt you!"

"You've invaded my property, murdered my people, and seek to seize me, and that is not to hurt me!" she retorted scornfully, a brow arched imperiously. "I think, sir, that you've caused me great pain already."

"Throw down your sword! You could be harmed!"

"I warn you—keep your sword raised, for if you seek to take me, you had best take great care for your nether parts, lest they be severed from your body!"

For the first time, the man in his helmet and half armor seemed to take pause. His eyes even fell to that nether part which must have been most important to him, as if he had heard, perhaps, of her reputation and was assuring himself that he was still whole at the moment.

"Go on there, Michael," teased a man behind him. "The lady is innocent, surely, and may not know quite where to strike."

"She knows, Michael," Katherine warned.

"Lady!" Poor Michael was growing desperate. "You must come with me."

She lifted her sword, the point wavering just a breath away from his body, at precisely that place upon his tunic he must surely want most protected.

"And they said we'd not need full body armor!" someone guffawed.

"Get her, Michael!"

Michael swirled around, defeated at last. "You get her, Clifford!"

And Clifford was suddenly thrust up before her. He meant to reach out and take her arm. She didn't want to use her sword against him, but she had to make them realize that she could not be intimidated. ,

And that she could not be taken.

She lifted her sword and brought it down expertly, just slicing through the muscle of the man's upper arm. He screamed out in pain, then stared at her, and she could feel, even at their sword's length distance apart, the growth of his indignity and fury.

"Lady, you will pay!" he cried, and lunged forward.

"Nay!" someone shrieked. "You cannot harm her!"

Ah! And that was in her favor. She held the steel high again, facing them all. She backed up another step. "Get away from me!" she warned.

"Charge her!" Clifford cried out angrily. "She cannot best us all!"

The assault was suddenly on. One by one they forced their way up the winding stairs, swords swinging to catch her blade. Katherine parried blow after blow.

Then she began to feel the weight in her arm. Aye, she was good. She'd had lessons with the best. The only child, pampered daughter, she'd been able to intrude upon her cousins' lessons and her father's patience, and she'd made good use of all that she had learned.

But no matter how talented she might be, she hadn't the arm strength of these muscled henchmen, and she knew that she had only moments left to spare before one of them was able to wrest her sword from her.

Thinking quickly, she slashed down on a sword, then stared above the throng of men and cried out loudly, "You've come! God above, you've come!"

As she had hoped, the men ceased in their ruthless attack, and turned hastily to look at the winding stairway the best they could.

It was all that she needed.

She turned and fled up the last of the steps to the door leading to the high parapet above. She shoved on it and gasped, horrified, finding that it had stuck. "No!" she shrieked, and threw her full weight against it, praying all the while.

It stuck!

Had all the castle stones themselves decided to conspire against her this night?

Once more!

She slammed against the door, and it flew open, carrying her along with it.

Gasping, floundering, tripping over the white linen hem of her gown, she came out into the chill night air, then turned to slam the door behind her. Yet even as the wood shuddered against the frame, she felt a scream growing in her throat.

She had stopped the men from coming momentarily. It did not matter. In seconds, she would not be alone on the parapet.

Her back to the door, she stared in horror and disbelief as a cloaked black shadow came flying through the night like a giant raven. Dimly she realized that he had sent a clamp and rope flying atop the buttress above her, and that he now rode the rope to the parapet to reach her.

How he came did not matter. That he had come to meet her here when she had bested so many did.

It was he. The enemy she had seen before. Perhaps he was the bastard who had remained behind when the others had quit her castle. The enemy who had seen that the draw bridge had been lowered, rendering a near-impregnable castle into an easy target!

"Lady—" came a husky voice.

She did not intend to listen.

"No!" she shrieked. With quickly fading strength she lifted her sword against the man, ready to skewer him through, then and there. He leaped free of the rope, a black shadow then reaching to his waist for the sword there.

"Drop the blade, lady!" he growled.

"Never!" she called, and slashing with both hands, approached him quickly.

"Damn you!" he swore. His blade crashed down on hers. Hard. So very, very hard that it seemed her bones chattered as well as her teeth with the repercussions. "Sweet Jesu, drop it!" he ordered again. She could not. Her fingers were clamped around it too tightly. She tried to back away. He followed her, a lethal shadow in the night, for his face, too, like the faces of those who had attacked from below, was covered. He was not in a helmet or hard plate armor at all, but his head and face and features were covered by an extremely fine meshed mail, silver and gray in the night. Likewise, his shoulders and chest were covered in the stuff. Not as protective as hard steel plates against a blow, the mail was still an effective device against swordplay, for the fine mesh gathered tightly together when struck and could ward off many lethal blows.

"Coward!" Katherine cried. "You cower behind the walls of darkness! You let no one see your face! You—"

"Drop your sword quickly and listen—"

"I will jump!" she promised suddenly and fiercely. She could hear the others. They were pounding at the door to the parapets. Any minute now, and the other thugs would join this fellow here upon the parapets, high above the moat.

"You may have to jump," he said flatly. And in a second, his sword fell on hers again. This was a strength she could not combat for long, and the sword clattered to the ground.

A gloved hand reached out, dragging her against a body that was hard and tight and hugely muscled.

And as hot as any flame …

She nearly started to shriek in pure terror, but he jerked upon her so hard that she fell silent. "I am trying to get you from this place!" he rasped out angrily. "Now cease to fight me! 'Tis not bad enough my heart nearly gave out scaling the wall. Now you must try to fight me as well?"

"You must be mad! You caused this!"

"I caused nothing!"

"You're with them—"

"I am not with them! Give me half a chance here, my lady. I seek to save you! Cease to fight me now!"

Cease to fight him! How could she fight! She was so close against him that she could feel his flesh beneath the mail and the cloth of his tunic and chausses. His very skin seemed to burn her; the warmth of his breath was a blaze against her senses and her being. He held her with such tightness that she could scarcely breathe, much less move or fight him …

And surely, he …

He knew she held no further weapon. She was so tightly pressed against him that he could surely feel every single delineation of her body. The linen of her nightdress was nothing between them, nothing at all. In all her life, she had never stood so intimately with any man, and when she needed the fullness of her wits so desperately, the overwhelming strength and masculinity of this man seemed to be robbing her of all sense.

"Listen to me, you foolish—" he began.

It was enough. This had to be some trick, so that she would let down her guard. He had surely entered the castle by the drawbridge, just as the others had done.

She kicked him with all her might.

She hurt her toes, but that was all right. He growled with pain, and she knew that she had struck well.

"Let me be! You must be one with them!" she cried.

And then, just then, the door to the parapets burst open.

"Damn!" the dark-cloaked figure swore and thrust her behind him. He lunged quickly at the first man to come through the doorway. Amazed, Katherine watched the man fall. A cry went up, a cry of warning, and more men began to press against the door.

He knew how to fight. He knew his swordplay well, striking where the armor did not cover his foes, a quick blow to unbalance a man, a second blow to the throat, or lower, to the belly. In wretched horror, Katherine backed away against the stone. Then, as more and more men began to file out, she dove for her own sword once again.

"I shall have her! Damn our Lord, but she's a prize we will take!" someone cried.

"Not in this lifetime, my reckless sir!" the cloaked stranger refuted. He had the right to do so, Katherine determined, watching his efforts with swordplay. Her own weapon now in her hands, she faced a duo who had come upon the parapets while the stranger smoothly felled a man with a clean slice to his throat, then swirled to catch the companion who would have slit him down the back.

Katherine heard bone crack. She saw the man fall. Then a cry of dismay escaped her, for it had become a true fight for survival with two swordsmen backing her swiftly into a corner.

He was fighting them. Could he truly be against them, or was this some ploy to dupe and trick her?

Could he so coldly kill these men as enemies if he truly were on their side?

Perhaps! De la Ville would sacrifice his own men, more coldly than any other could slay them.

Had he come to save her?

Could he be …

The same man that she had seen this day. The rider on the black steed. The man who swept up the girl, and carried her away.

To safety.

Could it be?

She would never be safe, if she could not find life and energy enough to fight on now!

Her feet were wretchedly cold beneath her on the stone. The hem of her nightdress had become torn and dirtied, and ragged ends of it were under her feet.

And far worse, the sword was becoming heavier and heavier in her hands. She could not wield it much longer.

Two of them approached her. Came closer and closer. She strove with every bit of will and energy left within her to raise her weapon once again. She brought it crashing down, but the weight brought her down, too, until she was on her knees. She could not parry the second sword.

Its point was suddenly at her throat. She looked up, into the metal-framed eyes of her opponent.

"Lady, you are had!" he stated triumphantly.

Then those same self-satisfied eyes suddenly glazed, and the knight who had towered over her crashed down before her. Her hand flew to her throat, and she swallowed back a scream.

He was there again. The dark-cloaked stranger, standing over the downed man. "I think not, young man!" he said softly.

Then he reached out a hand for her. She stared at that hand, knowing that it belonged to a man far more dangerous than any foe that she had battled this night.

"For the sweet love of Jesu, lady, take my hand! I am good—nay, lady, I am near great with my sword, but even I can only battle so many!"

"Great!" she repeated. Her teeth were chattering. Men lay dead or wounded all around her, and still more were streaming into the castle. Fear chilled her as thoroughly as the night, and she fought against it.

She took his hand at last. "Great, sir!" she challenged. "And humble, too, indeed."

She saw the flash of a smile against the delicate mail that fell against his face. "Alas, your tongue is sharp, demoiselle, but it seems, at least, that you have found your wits once more. And you will need them now."

Standing once again, Katherine tried to free her hand. "Let me go!" she demanded. "How can I fight—"

"We can fight no longer!" he said sharply.

"Then—"

"You must come with me!"

Where? she wondered. There was nowhere to go. They had climbed to the highest parapet. Above them was nothing more than the stone decoration, gargoyles and gremlins and beasts to protect the lords and ladies within the castle.

She jerked at her hand. "I don't know you!" she gasped in sudden panic. "You may be as wretched as those others who have gone, every bit as great a knave—"

"My lady, we cannot argue the point now!"

"There is nowhere to go with you—"

"But there is!"

A gasp escaped her. He was looking down the stone of the castle, far, far down to the moat beneath.

Oh, so far down …

"No, oh, no!" she protested. He still had her hand. She jerked at it again and again. His fingers were like steel.

"Come …"

Those steel fingers were drawing her back to him. Closer to the wall.

"You mean to jump! You're a lunatic."

"A conceited one, remember?" he taunted. She stared at him, incredulous.

They both heard the clank of steel. More men were slipping through the doorway to the tower parapet.

He came closer to her. So close. Again she felt the vibrant warmth of his body, the power of his being and his will.

"They come from de la Ville. Are you so anxious to be his bride, then?" he whispered.

"Nay!"

"Then …?"

"I cannot jump!"

"Then you don't mind a fate worse than death? Or perhaps it wouldn't be a fate worse than death," he said scornfully.

"De la Ville is an odious swine!" she assured him.

"Then?"

She couldn't move.

"Coward!" he charged her.

"Never!"

"Then?"

Again, beneath the fine silver mesh she thought she saw the twist of a mocking smile.

"What …?" she whispered.

"I can!" he stated flatly.

Then she screamed, for she was suddenly swept up tightly into his arms. And with her so imprisoned to him, he leaped to the top of the wall, and paused, just staring down to the water beneath.

"No!" Katherine cried again, struggling against him. "No! Oh, I fear you, sir, far more than de la Ville! You are a madman, a rogue, a devil—"

"My lady, shut your mouth and hold your breath!" he warned.

She pressed upon his chest. They were so high! But more assailants were coming, running now against the stone flooring of the parapet.

"Fool … bastard …" Katherine continued, torn between the danger of the coming men, and her terror of the endless black that seemed to await them.

"Now! Hold tight!" he warned.

He meant it!

And then a shrill scream tore from her and echoed through the night once again, for he tensed, a powerful constriction of muscles, and leaped from the wall of the parapet.

And she was falling …

Falling forever, into the swirling blackness beneath her.