The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel (15 page)

‘There’s no reason why not, but
he must do his part too,’ I said. Hara who’d stuck assiduously to caste
training, of course, would be in a far better position to administer healing,
whether to themselves or others, but I remained silent about that. This was not
the time to make criticisms or judgements. I remembered something Ember
Whitemane had said to me, though, about how the Wyvachi had lost something and
turned to hara like me to try and get it back.

Once the job was finished, Myv
and I removed the remainder of Gen’s clothes and bathed him. Then I lifted him
in my arms and Wyva directed me to Gen’s bedroom. The healing now must take its
own course.

Rinawne was in the bedroom with
Dillory and stepped up to take over from us. Myv insisted on staying by his
hura’s side. Wyva meanwhile asked me to remain at the Mynd for a while. He was
going to clean up but wanted to speak with me. I needed to wash too, and Wyva
offered me a replacement shirt, since mine was soiled with Gen’s blood.

‘How did this happen?’ Rinawne
asked me before I left the bedroom.

‘Don’t know yet,’ I said. I
touched his arm. ‘We’ll find out.’

In the library, Wyva offered me some of the plum
brandy. ‘Might as well finish this,’ he said gloomily.

I stared askance at the glass he
offered me, remembering only too vividly the image of it seeping from the sides
of Gen’s mouth, bloodied because he’d bitten through his lips and tongue. With
difficulty, I took a sip. ‘Try not to worry,’ I said. ‘You know we’re hardy
creatures, Wyva.’ I wondered then why a second-generation har, born with the
ability to mend so efficiently, would be as scared as Wyva was then.

‘
Most
hara are,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged. ‘Nothing. Nothing.’
He smiled at me unconvincingly. ‘It was just a shock... Gen was standing there
in the field with us all, laughing, talking, the next moment it was as if an
executioner had struck him down.’

‘Where was the scythe? How did
the accident happen?’

‘He was leaning on it,’ Wyva
said. ‘Perhaps the shaft snapped or something.’

‘You said earlier...’

‘I know what I said, but that’s
not possible, is it?’

There was a feverish, angry edge
to his voice, so I decided not to push him. ‘Well, all that matters is that he
heals. Myv did very well today, Wyva. He’s an exceptional harling. I’ll give
him instructions to care for Gen.’

‘Thank you.’ Wyva put down his
glass and came to embrace me. For some moments, he hung on to me as if he was
drowning. ‘The dehara sent you to us,’ he said.

Porter and Fush were allocated to accompany me back
to the tower and fetch the hamper. Fush was silent to start with, but then took
to dire muttering halfway through the forest walk. He was a slight har around
Porter’s age, with delicate almost elfin features. His arms, however, were
muscular, strong. ‘The wards came down,’ he said, to nohar in particular.
‘That’s what happened.’

‘Shut it, Fush,’ Porter said.
‘Was an accident. Wyva said so. The shaft snapped.’

‘Was the
ysbryd drwg
,
that’s what it was, and you know it.’

‘I said
shut it
.’

‘The what?’ I asked.

‘Old fairy stories,’ Porter said
coldly. ‘Tales to scare harlings.’

‘You’re a pelking liar, Goudy.’
Fush pointed at me. ‘He should be told. Why have him here and not tell him?’

Porter grabbed Fush by the
collar, pushed him against a tree. ‘If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll break
all your teeth.’

‘For Aru’s sake!’ I snapped.
‘Let him go, Porter. No need to behave like a rabid dog simply because Fush
believes in certain things.’ I pulled Fush from Porter’s hold and said to him,
‘I know about the wards, Fush. I’ve seen them everywhere. I know also they’re
there to keep something at bay.’

‘The
ysbryd drwg
,’ Fush
said, ‘the bad ghost.’

‘Pelking idiot,’ said Porter.

‘I know there’s a ghost,’ I
said, ‘or that hara believe there’s one, but Fush, ghosts can’t hurt hara
physically.’ He looked doubtful, to say the least. ‘Really, I mean that.’

‘This one can,’ Fush insisted,
glaring at Porter.

‘Well, while I’m here it can’t,’
I said.

Fush gave me a look to say he
wished that were possible, while Porter gave me a strange look I couldn’t interpret
at all.

Over the next few days, the drama died down. I went
to see Gen every day, and even he told me the scythe had snapped so that the
blade had sliced into his leg. ‘Are you sure about that?’ I asked him.

He held my gaze. ‘Yes. I’m sure.
What else could’ve happened?’

‘How about the
ysbryd drwg
?’

Gen rolled his eyes. ‘For Aru’s
sake, Ysobi, who put that in your head?’

I laughed. ‘That’s fine coming
from a har who discussed the family curse with me.’

‘Seriously, it was an accident.’

Yet still I couldn’t forget the
way the house had creaked and groaned around us as I’d worked on Gen’s leg, and
Myv’s anxious mind touch:
Something’s here.

Wyva praised my healing, because
it was clear Gen was mending quickly. As a reward for his own part, Myv was
taken to Hiyenton market to pick a new pony for himself, whichever one he
liked. Everything had turned out fine so Wyva was happy. He never mentioned the
episode again to me.

Sometimes, I’d pass Fush in the
corridors when I visited the Mynd and he’d give me a furtive glance, but it
seemed he’d shut his mouth too. Still, whether the legend of the
ysbryd drwg
was a fairy tale or not, I noticed a lot more protective wards of grasses and
twigs appearing in the hedgerows, along the lanes. Mossamber’s hounds went
crazy every night; eventually I became so used to the sound I barely noticed
it. The land began to heat up as midsummer drew close.

The Wyvachi planned to hold their official
Cuttingtide celebration on the evening of Pelfazzarsday. While traditionally,
most would opt for the Aruhanisday instead, Wyva felt that the holiday aspect
of Pelfday would be better. Hara generally expected not to be working all day
then. The preparations had been made, the feast arranged, and my script had
been carefully transcribed onto some handmade parchment Wyva had given to me
and bound with a golden ribbon. I intended to make a gift of this scroll to Myv
after the ceremony.

On the Hanisday Rinawne came to
the tower for lunch – he and Wyva were making formal visits to other local leaders
that evening, a common aspect of festival occasions. As we ate our meal, we
talked about Myv and his aspirations. Rinawne was not surprised about any of it.
‘Now we’re talking about it, it seems to me we’ve been overlooking the
obvious,’ he said. ‘Myv is different to most hara. By no means less intelligent
or damaged in any way, but he walks his own path. He was very attached to Rey
and Porter – still is. I’ve always known he adored the – er – less
communal
parts of Rey’s calling – like he said to you. He’ll gobble up the magical
education like eating newly-baked cake, but the thing he’ll have to work on is
reaching out to other hara.’

‘Wyva suggested Myv was a little
behind in his development.’

At this, Rinawne laughed. ‘That?
No! Myv just isn’t in a rush to be adult, such as you see with so many his age.
He savours life as it is, and good for him, I say. Hara don’t have the luxury
of long childhoods like humans did.’

‘Amazing. A reference to the
human past!’

‘No need for sarcasm, Ysobi. It’s
true, isn’t it?’

‘Very much so, but then humans
took far longer to develop. Still, I do get your point. It’s a shame harlings
are suddenly hit with feybraiha and have to be done with childhood. My son,
although named for the wind, is more like a river. He’s flowed through life
effortlessly, from harling to har. He never strained to be adult, either, but
neither did it come too soon.’

‘What’s his name?’

‘Zephyrus. We call him Zeph.’

‘Is he like you?’

My laughter was tinged with
bitterness. ‘Not noticeably. He’s his hostling’s son, through and through.’

Rinawne put his head to one
side, eyed me thoughtfully. ‘You didn’t see to much of his upbringing, did
you?’

I sighed. ‘Well...’
Time for
revelations? No.
‘My work took me away a lot, so naturally Zeph spent more
time with Jass. I regret that now, of course, because like you say the
harlinghood is gone before you can blink.’

‘At least you can make up for it
now,’ Rinawne said.

I took a drink of wine. ‘Yes, at
least there is that.’

There was a silence, during
which Rinawne was no doubt puzzling about all I’d
not
told him, because
if his family had secrets so did mine, and perhaps their existence was as
obvious. He did not try to pry, and for that I was grateful. Perhaps he
imagined that as we drew closer to one another I would eventually open up to
him, but the truth was I didn’t want to drag any old baggage up here to
Gwyllion with me. I wanted it out of the way, gone forever. And now that
Jassenah had released me from our bond, I had more freedom to escape the past.

I think Rinawne would have been
happy to stay for the whole afternoon and for us to spend most of that time in
bed, but I’d planned to give attention to my temple at the top of the tower.

‘Can’t you do that any time?’
Rinawne protested when I told him.

‘No. I want to do it this
afternoon, on the eve of Cuttingtide. I’ll probably enact my own private rite
there this evening, dedicate the upper room into a nayati. I’ve not done much
with the place yet, and have a bagful of artefacts to arrange there.’

Rinawne pulled a face. ‘Ah well,
I suppose you’re right, and I should go home and sort out gifts for those we’re
visiting later. Are you over at the Mynd tomorrow afternoon? I think Wyva would
like it if you helped oversee the final preparations.’

‘Of course. I’ll be over around
three. Have a good evening.’

Rinawne kissed the top of my
head. ‘See you tomorrow, then.’

After he’d gone, I leaned back contentedly in my
chair, intending to finish my lunch wine slowly and simply stare out of the
windows until my glass was empty. I was happy, utterly filled with a quiet joy.
Not for a long time had I felt this way, part of a community, liked and
trusted. I balked at conducting rites of passage, yet in Jesith nohar would
even ask me to perform one anymore. Why was I rejecting what the dehara were so
plainly offering to me? There were no impediments now. I could stay here until
Myv’s feybraiha, and then teach him – not in the way I’d taught young hara
before, but as Rey would have done, out in the landscape, experiencing each facet
of life through the prism of nature itself. Everything at last was slipping
into place for me; it would be folly to fight against this. There was work for
me here, and friends, and a kind of surrogate family. There was a new
beginning.

Gwyllion had consumed me. Any
thoughts I’d had of home hadn’t been positive ones. I didn’t miss Jass at all,
especially not his domestic martyrdom, which he made all too plain. Perhaps
even before I’d set Hercules upon the road north, I’d already left home for
good. And now Jassenah would be relieved to hear I didn’t intend to return.
Zeph was another matter, and I needed to heal my relationship with him. It
wasn’t easy having a son who’d been educated only in the parts of my history of
which Jass disapproved, and therefore regarded me through a film of judgements.
Much as I loved Zeph, I wouldn’t exactly be sorry to leave that behind too. I
hoped there would come a day when Zeph might have enough distance to realise
there is always more than one side to a story and would come to find me.

Mid-afternoon light was falling through my windows by
the time my wine was finished. Then, rather woozily, I went upstairs to the nayati.
Here I emptied the bag of items I’d collected from the woods and fields and
began to arrange them on the empty altars around the room. I became aware of a
watchful atmosphere, not altogether comfortable, which was completely at odds
with the way I felt myself. Did this room, once so truly Rey’s, not yet trust
me? I didn’t feel he had left a strong imprint on the place, because it had
felt so empty, but walls absorb emotion and thought, and have in their own ways
personalities themselves. This tower had stood a long time, and had no doubt
seen many hara and humans within its rooms. Now somehar new was making his
mark, planting his wards, his items of power; perhaps the temple was wary of
that.

I sat down in the centre of it
and began to hum softly beneath my breath. I composed a song of noble
intention, of wonder and magic, of good deeds to be done. I sang of the sacred nayati,
the church of Wraeththukind, and how this humble room would become again this
holy thing. I could bring hara here for caste ascensions – assuming anyhar in
Gwyllion would be interested in that – and could work rituals to help those in
need of aid. Here, Myv could begin his education in earnest. I visualised him
writing in a notebook, then calling upon the dehara in his clear young voice. I
could imagine these shining beings hanging in the air at the quarters of the
room, filling it with radiance and power.
This
was the purpose of the
temple room; I hoped it liked my intentions for it.

Afterwards, the atmosphere did
feel calmer, but I still detected a faint note of what I could only describe as
anxiety. Why was the temple anxious? I asked the site spirit if there was
anything I could do for it and awaited a response, but none came. I would just
have to be vigilant and open, do what I could to heal this slight tremor in the
nayati’s ambience. I didn’t think it was anything serious.