Consorts of Heaven (6 page)

Instead, a youth holding a bronze-tipped spear ducked under the lintel. His hairy face and heavily muscled body filled the doorway, instantly transforming the hut from a sanctuary into a trap. An older man crowded in close behind him.

Sais looked at Kerin. From her expression she was as shocked as he was at the intrusion. He looked back at the men. They were ignoring him, their eyes fixed on a point over Kerin’s head; they held themselves poised, ready for trouble.

The older man spoke. ‘By command of our chieftain, you are both to come with us to the moot-hall.’

Before he or Kerin had a chance to respond the youth barked, ‘Now!’

Sais felt his fragile grasp on the situation begin to unravel -
Need to run, get away!
- and with a wordless cry he launched himself at the man in front.

The youth recoiled, bumping against his companion. Sais’s foot caught on something; he stumbled forward. In the cramped hut he fell into the youth, who gave a yelp of surprise. Even as Sais caught himself, he saw the boy recover and start to bring his spear round. The crazy fire that had propelled him forward cooled instantly into terror.

The spear caught on the thatch. The boy cursed.

Sais felt Kerin grab his arm. He let her drag him back, out of range of the men’s weapons.

Kerin held out a hand to the men, addressing the older one. ‘Master, please. We will come!’

Sais clung to her arm. She was real, she wasn’t his enemy. She was his rock.

The youth looked at the older man and said, ‘He attacked me!’

His companion said, ‘Aye, he did. But he is quiet enough now.’

Who were these people? Did they even really exist?
He couldn’t be sure of anything any more. He realised he was swearing under his breath when Kerin shushed him gently. She spoke to the older man. ‘You startled him. We will come, as commanded. But please allow us a moment.’

When the youth started to object, his companion spoke over him. ‘We will wait outside. Do not be long.’

As they left, Kerin turned to Sais, her face full of concern. He tried to focus on her, to get control of himself again. She reached up and took hold of his shoulders. He looked down at her and forced himself to speak as though everything were all right, and the nightmare wasn’t about to engulf him again.

‘Those men - what do they want?’

‘T’will be all right, do not fear. We just have to go see the chieftain.’

‘The chieftain? Why?’

‘I should perhaps have said, but I did not want to worry you—’

‘Worry me?’ Never mind worried, he felt as though everything he had managed to build up so far could be swept away at any moment. ‘Should I be worried?’

She smiled, no doubt trying to reassure him. ‘No, no. All will be well. I will not let anything happen to you. But we must obey Arthen’s command.’

Of course, she was right. This was her village, her people. She knew best. He just needed to keep calm and trust her. She’d keep him safe.

She kept hold of his hand and led him to the door, pausing for a moment to grab a small pot from a shelf with her free hand, bundling it into her apron.

Once outside, the fear flared up again. He wasn’t ready to face strangers. He needed more time to recover, to remember how the world worked. Even the night sky was wrong: there was full cloud cover, so surely it shouldn’t be that bright?

The youth led the way, with the older man bringing up the rear. They started to walk up into the heart of the village. The ground didn’t swallow him up, though the mud sucked at his feet and the night air made him shiver. As he trudged up the slope, these ordinary discomforts began to reassure him. What he was experiencing might be unpleasant and unfamiliar, but it was real, and constant. After a little way he whispered to Kerin, ‘I don’t know what came over me just now. I - I was scared, and I felt trapped. I had to try and get out of there.’

‘No harm has been done.’

‘Why does the chieftain want to see us anyway?’

‘Arthen wants us to defend ourselves before the council.’

That didn’t sound good. ‘Defend ourselves? Why?’

‘They think your presence may have caused a return of the winnowing times.’

‘The
what
?’

‘It is the time when the falling fire rages. The disease comes as the Mothers will it.’ They had reached a relatively open area, flanked by two big huts, one long and low, the other taller. Firelight spilled from the high-peaked porch of the taller hut.

‘What’s that got to do with me - with us?’

‘Nothing.’ She paused. ‘But not everyone thinks that.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Kerin, did you know something like this might happen if you helped me?’

‘Aye,’ she said bitterly.

‘Then why didn’t you just leave me where you found me?’

‘Because you would have died.’

As they crossed the threshold of the big hut he murmured, ‘Whatever happens, I just want to say . . . thank you.’

Kerin gave his hand a last squeeze, then let go.

Arthen sat in his usual chair before the hearth, his face in shadow. All ten of the stools ranged to either side of him were occupied. Kerin was dismayed, though unsurprised, to see the position at the chieftain’s right occupied by Fychan, taking the place of his sick brother. Sending his crony Adris with Gwilym, the village’s bravest warrior, to fetch them showed that Arthen’s younger son was already making his voice heard amongst the men.

After Adris led them to stand before the half-circle of councillors he scurried across and whispered in Fychan’s ear, until a look from Arthen sent him back to wait with the men who watched from outside the circle. The other council members, none of them quite looking at her and Sais, wore expressions ranging from unease to open hostility. Gwilym remained behind them, his spear at the ready.

Arthen stood with a cracking of joints and drew out his skymetal disc, holding it flat in his palm for all to see. ‘We are convened,’ he said gravely. ‘What is decided here tonight is law.’ He turned to Kerin. ‘Kerin, I release you from am-annwn while you stand before this council. Your companion remains bound by its strictures.’

She had expected that: for all the council knew Sais was a creature of the Abyss, a servant of the Cursed One. She bobbed her head to acknowledge Arthen’s ruling. Sais looked terrified, though he stood straight and tall.

Arthen continued, ‘Kerin: the charge is brought that you have drawn a fell influence into this village, leading to a return of the winnowing times.’ Several councillors nodded, as though Arthen speaking their fears made them valid. He sat down again, looked directly at Kerin and said, ‘What say you to this, woman?’

For a moment, Kerin’s voice deserted her. Years of shame and distrust had finally come to a head: they had found an excuse to call her to account. But this was not just about her. Knowing Sais’s life also hung in the balance freed her tongue, and all at once a response sprang to her lips. ‘I believe, masters, that the Traditions speak of the realm below as a place of chaos and horror, where damned spirits are trapped in a pit of turmoil and degradation, and the Cursed One and its servants impotently rage against the light and order above.’

Men shifted in their seats, unsure what to make of what sounded more like a bard’s tale than the defence of an accused man. With thoughts of Kerin’s mother no doubt at the front of their minds, her words would cut deep. Before she lost her nerve she continued, ‘The man who stands before you is no unquiet spirit denied the grace of the Mothers, nor is he a servant of Melltith. Masters, he is a man of flesh and blood! Any of you who doubt this should touch him - or else ask Adris, who knows him to be a normal man.’

Arthen gestured. ‘Adris? Stand forward and tell us what you have witnessed.’

The lad reluctantly walked into the circle, avoiding both Kerin and Sais. ‘He attacked me!’ he said, pointing at Sais’s feet, which rather ruined the impact of his accusation. ‘When we told him he was to come before you he turned on me!’

‘Attacked you how?’ asked Arthen.

‘He tried to strangle me.’

Kerin looked at the boy sharply. Constrained by the rules of council, she could not speak up to correct him.

Arthen said, ‘And did Gwilym see this attack as well?’

‘I did,’ said Gwilym from behind them.

‘Does Adris speak true?’

‘I would not have put it quite like that. The stranger did not strangle Adris so much as fall against him.’

Someone laughed. Fychan looked annoyed and raised his hand. When his father nodded permission to speak he said, ‘But he still attacked you, did he not?’

‘Aye, he did!’

‘So he means us ill!’ said Fychan.

This got heads nodding, and several hands went up.

The first councillor Arthen gave leave to speak, Bodfan, was always quick to pass all blame or responsibility on to unseen forces. ‘Our course is obvious,’ he said. ‘This creature must be cast out - or better yet, put to death.’

Beside her, Sais gasped.

Arthen pointed to a second speaker. Cadmael’s status as a bard gave him some leeway and his views sometimes went against the common wisdom. ‘I know nothing of this individual’s intent, but I wonder about the nature of his attack. Surely a creature of the Abyss would befuddle Adris’s sight, or fill his soul with despair.’

Arthen said, ‘An interesting point.’ Then, seeing Bodfan still eager to have his say, he indicated he could speak again.

‘Even if he is not unholy, he has brought the falling fire! Better rid ourselves of him and not take the risk.’

‘Wait.’ Sais was listening in horrified disbelief, his arms clamped over his chest, as if to ward off a blow. ‘Please - you can’t mean that. I don’t even know what the falling fire is!’

Aghast faces turned to him. Sais could not speak up like this! He was doubly bound to silence, by am-annwn and by the rules of council. But of course he did not know that. Kerin put a hand out to him and whispered, ‘You cannot—’

He shook her off. ‘Listen, please! You have to understand, I don’t mean you any harm. I don’t even know how I came to be here!’

His words were drowned out as chaos erupted. Bodfan, pointing at Sais, though still without looking directly at him, started to shout, ‘Am-annwn! Am-annwn!’ Fychan was haranguing Arthen, and several others, both councillors and observers, had turned to their neighbours in shock and dismay. Many made gestures to ward off ill luck. Old Lorar got up, knocking his stool over, and began to back off unsteadily.

Sais turned to flee, but found his way blocked by Gwilym and his spear.

‘
I will have silence!
’ Arthen rarely raised his voice, but when he did, people listened. He backed up his words by holding up his skymetal disc.

The hubbub fell away at once, and Arthen addressed Sais directly. ‘Stranger, you are talking yourself into your own death. If you have any sense you will remain silent.’

Sais gave a tiny, sharp nod, and swallowed convulsively.

Arthen sighed and looked at his council. ‘If this man were a demon of the Abyss or some unquiet spirit sent to beguile us, I put it to you that he would use cannier tricks than fighting like an inexperienced boy and then feigning terror. I believe he is merely a mortal man.’

Howen, always a stickler for detail, raised a hand cautiously. When Arthen nodded permission, he said, ‘Yet was he not found at the mere, the place where the horrors of the Abyss come closest to the Skymothers’ Creation?’

More agreement, though muted; the men knew they had already made fools of themselves.

Kerin held up a hand and Arthen gave her leave to speak. Though fear still thrummed through her, it brought with it a strange exhilaration, and her voice did not quaver. ‘It is true he was found at the mere. But I did not find him. Damaru did.’ From the expressions on the faces of some of the men, that news made them reconsider. For the benefit of the slower-witted councillors and watchers she added, ‘I humbly suggest that it would be strange indeed if one blessed by the sky were to have dealings with a creature of the Abyss.’

Though most of the councillors obviously agreed, Bodfan still sought leave to speak. ‘Flesh and blood the stranger may be, but he attacked one of our own.’

‘I suspect,’ said Arthen, ‘that he acted in fear.’

‘Yet it cannot be denied that within a day of his arrival, the falling fire was among us. Can that be mere chance?’ Bodfan looked around the circle for support.

Arthen said, ‘If I am not mistaken, the return of the winnowing times should not be so great a surprise.’ He turned to the council’s oldest member. ‘Lorar, how many years is it since the falling fire was last amongst us?’

Lorar was still settling himself back on his stool and the question had to be repeated before he responded. ‘Oh, tis true,’ he rasped, ‘we are due the judgment of Heaven.’

Fychan raised his hand. ‘Yet as Bodfan says, to have this man arrive the day before my brother is struck down surely cannot be chance!’

‘I do not think any of us can presume to know the will of Heaven,’ said Arthen.

This comment got several nods, though other hands were going up. Kerin raised hers. Somewhat to her surprise Arthen turned to her first. ‘Did you wish to add something, Kerin?’

‘Masters,’ she said, ‘I believe the Traditions say that the winnowing times come to the whole land at once. Could this one man truly be the cause of the falling fire appearing everywhere throughout Creation? Is it not more likely that his appearance is a matter of chance?’

Kerin was pleased to see that this satisfied some of the dissenters.

Fychan raised his hand again. ‘Even if this is so, might this man not be a reiver, and therefore an enemy?’

‘It is possible,’ conceded Arthen, ‘though I would have thought a reiver unlikely to throw himself on our mercy as this stranger has.’