Fallowblade (67 page)

Regaled with stories and entranced by the water world, the travellers reached, at last, the cottage of the white carlin, Cuiva, and her husband Odhrán. Earnán Kingfisher Mosswell was eighty years of age, shrivelled by the weight of years, and ailing. He now lived with Cuiva and Odhrán, who loved him as if he were of their flesh and blood. The old eel-fisher shed tears of joy when he beheld Jewel, his step-granddaughter. Sweet indeed was the reunion, and the weathermasters plied the Marsh folk with gifts. Jewel spent many hours reminiscing with Earnán, sitting on the sunlit staithe in front of the cottage, while water lapped beneath the boards and marvellous dragonflies darted, armoured in polished bronze and gold, their fretted wings a mere shimmer on the air. Fondly the two of them recalled Jewel’s parents, and Earnán’s beloved mother Eolacha, once the carlin of the Marsh.

‘Some would say,’ mused the old man, ‘that life has been unkind to me. After all, I have lost two wives and two children. Unaccountably, I do not feel bitter, but serene now that the worst pangs of grief are past. It is pleasing me more than I can say, to see you and your dear ones so hale and content. Cuiva’s family has become like my own, and in my later years a wonderful peace has enfolded me. It is true that life has been unkind to me, but in many ways it has also been generous.

‘Let me tell you another thing,
a mhuirnín
,’ the old man said. ‘Long ago a stranger came to the Marsh and, although he looked to be about the same age as me, he resembled your father in many ways. The likeness was quite striking. He said that his name was Jovan and he was the son of a sorcerer, though he was not looking proud of his heritage. He asked after Jarred, claiming to be his father. He had travelled much and seen amazing sights. He told me many valuable secrets, which later I passed on to the venerable Clementer. This Jovan had only a single regret: that he had not visited his wife and son since he left them long ago.

‘So Cuiva and I revealed that Jarred had a child and a grandchild, and we told him also where to find Jarred’s grave. At this, the stranger wept and said he might once have met Jarred, or so he believed, beneath a dilapidated porch in Cathair Rua—had seen and spoken to him, but had not the courage to reveal his identity because he believed his son would despise him for, as it were, running away from the family home. He, the stranger, was mightily proud of Jarred and wished he had made himself known to him then, because now it was too late.

‘In deep sorrow Jovan went alone to the graveside, but when he returned he was smiling and happy and tranquil. By this, Cuiva and I knew he had seen what few people have seen at that burial place, and had found peace within himself. Of us Jovan petitioned that if we should again meet Jarred’s child or grandchild, we would convey to them his message of love and ask, on his behalf, for their forgiveness. He went away and we never saw him again, but later we heard he had gone to a village in the deserts of Ashqalêth, where I suppose he will live out his years and die of old age, just like the sorcerer his father.’

Jewel shed tears when she heard this story, nonetheless she was comforted by the knowledge that her father and grandfather had found each other, after all, even though for such a brief moment.

Muireadach, Cuiva’s brother, and Keelin, her sister, dropped by to pay their respects to Jewel and her family. Cuiva’s sons Oisín and Ochlán and her daughter Ciara also called upon the weathermasters, as did Suibhne Tolpuddle, his sister Doireann, several members of the Alderfen family, and many other folk who had known Jewel in her childhood.

Most poignant of all—and last, before they departed on the return journey to High Darioneth—Jewel, Arran and Asr
ă
thiel paid their own visit to the graves of Lilith and Jarred, which occupied a lonely islet in a lily-strewn lake.

Evening was closing in. Mist was beginning to rise from the surface of the water. The skies were darkening, and herons called to one another as they flew home to roost. The three visitors stepped from their boat. Wavelets lapped at their feet, and frog notes belled from amongst the mosses.

‘Behold,’ Jewel said softly, indicating the pair of blossoming trees that grew atop two long mounds, headed by engraved tombstones, ‘it is exactly as Adiuvo Clementer recorded in his book,
The Iron Tree
, the story of the lives of my parents.’

‘How did he describe this place?’ Asr
ă
thiel asked, gazing in awe at the trees.

‘I memorised the passage,’ said Jewel, her voice quivering with emotion, ‘for I love it well. He wrote:

Mother, father and daughter stood regarding the extraordinary trees for a long moment, while the boughs dipped and nodded, stirred by the faintest of breezes.

‘And it is so!’ said Arran presently. ‘I have never seen such flowers.’

A gust shook the trees, whereupon blue and red petals drifted down to become part of the floral counterpane covering the graves.

‘Who’s that?’ Asr
ă
thiel said suddenly. Her parents stared in the direction of her outflung arm.

The half-light of gloaming might have played tricks upon the eyes, but it seemed to Asr
ă
thiel that a young couple was strolling amongst the willows on the opposite bank of the lily-mere, hand in hand.

Their shapes shimmered through the mist, but they looked to be lovers walking by the water’s edge, for they never took their eyes from one another. One had the appearance of a woman, whose eyes in the twilight glimmered blue, like two wings of the blue Lycaenidae butterfly; the other was evidently a man, tall and lithe, with hair the colour of cardamom spice. As Asr
ă
thiel watched, holding her breath, unwilling to so much as blink lest the vision be snatched away, she thought the lovers paused. They seemed to turn to look straight towards her and her mother.

Then a light of recognition dawned in their eyes and they smiled, tenderly and joyfully, as if they had come at last to their heart’s desire.

The lake mist swirled up and obliterated the vision, and when it thinned, no sign of the phantasms could be detected.

Jewel stood laughing and weeping simultaneously, while Arran comforted her with embraces, saying, ‘What is it? What have you seen?’

‘I am not sure,’ said Jewel, wiping her eyes, ‘but I am filled with happiness.’

‘I saw them too!’ exclaimed Asr
ă
thiel.

‘You saw them,
a mhuirnín
? Then it must all be true,’ said Jewel. ‘It must all be true, that our loved ones never leave us.’

‘Of course it is true,’ said Arran gently, and placing one arm about the shoulders of his wife and the other about the shoulders of his daughter, he led them away.

After reluctantly bidding farewell to their friends Asr
ă
thiel and her parents left the Marsh and journeyed straight to King’s Winterbourne for Prince William’s betrothal festivities. The crown prince had chosen a bride, and the populace rejoiced. From Southborough to Northgate, from the grand municipal buildings of the west to the fortified towers and Wyverstone Castle in the east, throughout the port of King’s Winterbourne and all along Winterbourne Bridge, the streets of Narngalis’s royal city were bedecked with bunting in honour of the celebrated couple. The grey basalt of the city provided a sombre backdrop for the colourful flags. After the sorrow and hardship of war the people were doubly glad of a reason to rejoice, and each night there was music and dancing in taverns, assembly rooms and private houses.

In Wyverstone Castle the royal family, courtiers and guests from other realms were as glad as the commoners, though perhaps less boisterous. Every evening lavish banquets were conducted at the castle, and every day was filled with sports and divertissements of many kinds for the pleasure of the guests. Although the goblins had outlawed the wearing of animal products, the resourceful weavers and tailors of every land were constantly inventing new fabrics from vegetable sources. The magnificent chambers of the royal residence were alive with mirthful crowds in gorgeous raiment, dusky hues and intense sable contrasting with vivid flashes of jewels, brocade or embroidery, or rich, bright colours crawling with the intricate scrolls of blackwork. The older noblewomen wore lace veils held in place by ornate chaplets of silver wire. Younger ladies adorned their heads with jewelled cauls, their hair hanging down their backs. Fond of tradition, the men hatted their long locks with capuchons of various styles.

King Warwick’s elite knights, the Companions of the Cup, were present throughout the festivities, clad in tabards of velvet and brocade, lined with linen, and appliquéd with heraldic designs. During this peacetime revelry the knights saw fit to lay aside the arts of war and turn to other, equally honourable pursuits such as poetry, music, rhetoric and the study of history.

At the feast on the third and final evening Asr
ă
thiel, who was seated at a long dining table with her parents, her grandfather, aunt, uncle and cousins, surveyed that fair assembly in the great hall of Wyverstone Castle. Shahzadeh of Ashqalêth and her consort were amongst the guests, and Queen Saibh with her companion Fedlamid, and King Thorgild Torkilsalven, and Queen Halfrida. Asr
ă
thiel witnessed happy faces and merriment everywhere.

Prince William in cambric shirt and quilted doublet, his light-brown-gold hair flowing from beneath a velvet cap, gazed blithely upon his pretty new bride-to-be. Lady Meliora, in faux silk and taffeta, returned his gaze with a fetching smile. On beholding William’s obvious contentment, Asr
ă
thiel felt a surge of happiness for him. Her thoughts turned inward, and she visualised herself in her sky-balloon,
Icemoon
, suspended above the battlements and turrets of the castle. Looking around with her mind’s eye she saw a kingdom recovering slowly but surely from the ravages of war, as time began to ease the suffering of folk who mourned the fallen. To the west, in the Mountain Ring, a new generation of eager prentices was mastering the brí. Joy and healing abounded everywhere, except in her own spirit where a raw wound bled incessantly.

There is no happiness to be obtained for immortal beings alone in the world of mortalkind
, she thought,
except for my parents, who have each other
.
Yet, neither shall the road of deathlessness be entirely easy for those two.

Jewel and Arran found delight and solace and understanding in each other, but she, Asr
ă
thiel, human born immortal, had no kindred spirit and no hope of any, since all the wells of immortality were now dry. In all events, she had no desire for any partner but one, and he had perished to dust or ash by the rising of the Averil moon; alive in a way, but mindless and powerless.

Asr
ă
thiel’s young cousin Corisande interrupted her melancholy musings, tugging at the damsel’s sleeve. The girl was giggling, her eyes sparkling with glee. Albiona, holding her daughter by the hand, explained the reason. ‘One of the servants told us there is an old beggar living in a corner of the castle kitchens,’ she said. ‘He’s the one who did some sort of good turn for Narngalis that earned him repute. King Warwick has given him shelter and food for the rest of his days. The servants say he snores day and night in the warmth of the kitchen hearth, only waking to eat, or tell tall stories. His name used to be Cat Soup but, mindful of the ferocious Kobold Watchmen, he has prudently changed it to Fruit Salad.’

Asr
ă
thiel forced herself to share Albiona’s and Corisande’s laughter.

‘I’ve heard his real name is Kevin,’ murmured Sir Torold Tetbury.

The revellers lacked for naught, and the junketing lasted throughout the night. As was the custom, performers entertained the diners between each course, and dancing in the ballroom followed dinner. King Warwick presided over the ball, viewing the high-spirited display from a stage where he sat in comfort, clad in his heavy gold collar and long gown of quilted cotton damask, dark purple and trimmed with faux ermine. He was flanked by Avalloc Maelstronnar and the father of the bride-to-be, Lord Carisbrooke.

Towards midnight, supper was served in the crimson drawing room and the blue, but Asr
ă
thiel, her heart unaccountably heavy on this night of celebration, had no desire for food. Neither, apparently, did William’s excited sisters, who clustered around the weathermage, arrayed in embroidered gowns of lace, muslin and cloth-of-silver; demure Lecelina, the eldest; Winona somewhat bossy, the second-born; and Saranna the youngest, vague and fey.