The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel (25 page)

‘It must be incredibly old.’ I
looked for Meadow Mynd, found it; hardly more than a river and a few fields
between them. Wyva’s house, it seemed, had always been named Meadow Mynd. ‘Have
you never looked closely at Deerlip?’ I asked, refusing to be put off by
Rinawne’s newly inflamed antipathy towards the Whitemanes.

‘I rode across the river once,
long ago,’ he replied. ‘I was curious, naturally, because I’d been given the
“stay away from the Whitemanes” lecture almost the moment I arrived here. I
wanted to see what it was all about, but as soon as my horse set foot on
Whitemane earth, I was chased off by a pack of Mossamber’s hounds. Hara came
after them and threw horse shit at me. Shook me up. I rode home, stinking like
a stable, and of course Wyva was angry with me. He warned me never to do
anything so stupid again. He was right.’

I realised from that moment on Rinawne
had adopted the Wyvachi view of the Whitemanes. He had been a young outsider,
brought into this nest of hatreds, in much the same way that I had. Had Wyva
not spread the family infection to him, Rinawne might’ve had the power to heal
things himself, years ago. But perhaps he hadn’t cared. He’d not had a son
then, and had no doubt been immersed in being the consort of a very
high-ranking har. And by the time he’d acquired the distance and maturity to
reflect, it had been too late.

I was drawn to that delicate
tracery of a name on the map. Nytethorne lived in Deerlip Hall. I wondered what
it was like, whether it was lovingly maintained as the Mynd had been. At some
point, I would see; I was sure of it.

Before Wyva came back from his
tasks about the estate, I told Rinawne how to place stronger wards about the
house – precautions of salt and iron, rather than grasses and leaves – and how
to hide them so they would not easily be found by the house-hara or other
family members.

He sighed. ‘This is slow. I feel
something terrible is building up, but we don’t know how to fight it.’ He
clasped my arm. ‘I’m such a roon-wit being jealous of Nytethorne. He does seem
our only way to get any answers. I don’t feel we can wait.’

‘There are others, you know,’ I
said. ‘Medoc, for one, and of course, Rey.’

‘Rey?’

‘I believe he tried to do what
I’m doing now,’ I said cagily, ‘but was driven off.’

‘You really think so? Why? All
he told us was that he’d lived long enough as a community hienama and craved a
solitary, spiritual life.’

‘And you believed that without
question?’

‘No, of course not, not wholly,
although at the same time I could see that potential in him. He was a fey kind
of har. Wyva argued with him for weeks before he just took off. But I do think
he spoke the truth, in a way...’ Rinawne shook his head, smiled. ‘However,
let’s say I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he’s now with some smaller community
high in the mountains, living a life free of hostility.’

I made an emphatic gesture with
one hand. ‘So there you are – you’ve said it yourself. He was – at the very
least –
uncomfortable
with the feud here.’

‘OK, point taken, but what good
does
that
do us? Even if he knew things, we’ve no idea where he is now.’

‘
We
haven’t, no,’ I said.

Rinawne made a scoffing sound. ‘I
really can’t believe the Whitemanes do,’ he said. ‘Rey was loyal to the
Wyvachi. Why would he keep in touch with them and not us? After all, Porter is
here. You’re grabbing the air there, Ys.’

‘Well, maybe...’ I sighed. ‘So all
we have as possible sources are the ghosts, whatever they actually are, and the
Whitemanes.’

‘And Medoc, as you said,’
Rinawne reminded me. ‘We could perhaps visit him at his domain. I could act the
concerned father, who’s beside himself because the hostling won’t tell him
anything. He’s desperate, and frightened for his son... It’s worth a try.’

I could tell Rinawne would enjoy
playing that role. ‘It is, yes. At this point I can’t see we have anything to
lose, other than him telling Wyva about our visit.’

‘I think we could ask for his
silence,’ Rinawne said. ‘We go there on the pretext of seeking advice, and in
the process hope we can extract information. It’s not beyond our skills, I’m
sure. I’m busy the rest of this week with things I can’t easily get out of. How
about next Lunilsday? I have that free.’

I grimaced. ‘I said I’d start
Myv’s training then, and I don’t want to let him down, or make him think he can
simply be put aside. I want to get the Reaptide festival wrapped up before I
start with Myv, so this week’s out for me. How about the day after?’

Rinawne twisted his mouth to the
side. ‘Maybe, although I’m supposed to help with the open hall that day.’

‘What?’

‘Once every season, Wyva makes
himself officially available to hara, settles disputes, helps with problems, or
simply discusses plans... This custom has been in the family for centuries.’

‘The tasks of a feudal lord!’ I
said, laughing.

‘He takes it very seriously,’
Rinawne said. He thought for a moment. ‘Gen or Cawr would take my place if I
asked, but Wyva insists hara like to see me there. I’d have to find a good
excuse for a day away.’

‘Visiting sites with me, of
course. We need one for Reaptide.’

‘He might argue we could do that
any time... Trust me, getting out of his precious community meetings isn’t
easily done.’

‘I’ll mention it later at
dinner. You know I can get round him to a degree.’

Rinawne laughed. ‘Aye, he likes
to keep you as happy as he can. Let’s see.’

Wyva was in a good mood that evening, so didn’t put
up much resistance to my suggestion. Cawr offered quickly to step in for
Rinawne, and I suspected he probably enjoyed such events far more than Rinawne
ever would. Watching Wyva over dinner, I was surprised he hadn’t picked up on
the strange atmosphere since Cuttingtide. Was he really so immune? Perhaps he
blotted it all out, refused to acknowledge it, because to do so would give it
power. If that was the case, I understood his reasoning, even if I might not
approve of it.

Myv told me he was pleased his
training would begin the following week. Now he’d put his heart into being
Gwyllion’s hienama, I could tell he wanted to start work straight away. This
was fine; there were parts of the job he could fulfil for his hara before he
reached maturity. Simply having somehar in the role would mean much to the
community. I was keen to question him carefully about what he might have seen
or sensed in the house, but a family dinner didn’t allow the opportunity. I’d
have to wait until next week. There was no doubt Myv was coming out of his
shell, interacting more with hara around him, but that might also be the result
of approaching feybraiha. Harlinghood would continue to slip away from him,
soft as feathers, until the day he put it aside completely. I remembered my own
childhood and how endless it had seemed. Did it seem that way to harlings too,
who were children for far less time?

Chapter Fourteen

The next morning, I decided to visit the Pwll Siôl
Lleuad again. To save time, I rode Hercules rather than walk. Each day the
landscape became more fecund and lush as summer exploded within it. Soon, the
heady time of Reaptide would be upon us, with all its daytime ghosts and
shimmers of earthy power. Would this be the nexus point for what was happening?
After so many decades of slowly writhing beneath the surface, whatever haunted
Gwyllion and its hara was scratching towards the air.

I dismounted before we reached
the pool and led Hercules slowly through the trees, absorbing the ambience
around us. Today, it was benign, full of floating motes – feathery airborne
seeds, tiny insects and flickers of light – and the trees displayed their gaudy
finery beneath the sun, which filtered down in clear rays between the high
branches. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see dehara manifesting in these
natural spotlights. And there was the pool ahead of me. I could smell its cool
freshness; it seemed the land breathed softly. Birds called, but almost in
whispers.

I was nearly upon him before I
noticed he was there, sitting naked upon a rock, half turned towards me, his
legs dangling in the water. His hair was unbound, sticking to his damp
shoulders and back. Nytethorne. I held my breath. A dehar
had
manifested.
Never had I seen a more beautiful and natural sight; this creature of earth, a
son of the
new
earth, bathing like a naiad in a forest pool, combing his
hair with long brown fingers. His skin was the colour of chestnuts and from
where I stood seemed to have the texture of velvet.  I saw a puckered mark upon
his left shoulder – the quickly healed wound, where Ember had pierced him with
an arrow at Cuttingtide – but this slight imperfection made him appear only
more perfect. Even as I watched, and I must have done so for over a minute, he
was drying off in the filtered sunlight. He gazed into the clear, deep water
thoughtfully, and then a half-seen movement shivered the air behind him. I saw
Peredur, a barely visible shade, standing behind him. This vision extended a
spectral white hand as if to lay it upon the old wound on Nytethorne’s shoulder.
Nytethorne sighed, and the sound reverberated around the glade. Peredur
withdrew and then had melted into the light and shadows.

Suddenly, as if released from an
enchantment, Nytethorne sat up straight and turned, saw me.

‘Excuse me, tiahaar,’ I said
awkwardly, raising my hands to him, ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

He stared at me inscrutably for
some moments. ‘This is free land, Ysobi,’ he said at last, which were
disappointing words to me. I’d expected him to say something... well, I’m not
sure what, but at least
meaningful
, mysterious.

‘Would you like me to leave?’

‘Depends why you’re here,
doesn’t it?’

‘I came to meditate. I’ve done
so before here, picked up... certain things.’

 He shrugged, drew his hair into
a coil and wound it into a loose knot at his neck. ‘How’s your nosying going?’

I walked closer to him. There
were only a couple of feet between us. ‘Slowly, but then I get so little
co-operation from
any
har who could aid me.’ I hesitated a moment, then
plunged on recklessly. ‘I saw Peredur behind you a moment ago. He stretched out
his hand to touch you.’

Nytethorne’s expression
hardened, almost imperceptibly. He emitted a forced laugh. ‘Then where is he
now?’

The question seemed stupid, as
if he was stamping on the magical atmosphere of both the place and that moment.

‘He vanished, of course, as
ghosts do. Have you ever seen him here? I have. Twice.’

Nytethorne stood up, unashamed
of his nakedness. He began to put on his clothes, which lay in a heap beside
him. ‘Seek to trick me as you think you’ve been tricked? Is that it?’ He
laughed again, a cold horrible sound. ‘Don’t waste your talent.’

‘Why so hostile? I meant what I
said. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.’

‘Then you delude yourself,’ he
said, sitting down on the rock again to pull on his boots. ‘You didn’t see
him.’

‘Well, I saw
something
and
it definitely reached to touch you. I didn’t feel it was malign. A har with
long white hair who is blind.’

‘He...’ Nytethorne screwed up
his eyes, uttered a sound of exasperation. ‘Oh, think you’re clever, don’t you?’

‘No... look...’

‘No,
you
look. Some
things are sacred, that’s all. Mind your tongue.’

I remembered Wyva’s words:
Somewhere
in that house there is a shrine to Peredur...

‘I’m really sorry, Nytethorne. I
assure you I didn’t mean to offend you. I only said what I saw, what I’ve
seen.’

He stared at me again, silent,
his arms resting on his splayed thighs, and in his expression I could see his
thoughts. He was wondering whether Peredur really had revealed himself to me,
and if so, why. He could see I wasn’t lying to him. Perhaps what offended him
most was that his sacred dead har had chosen to communicate with
me
, an
outsider. I could have said more, but decided not to; this would only rile
Nytethorne further and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I remained
silent, hoping to project my innocence of intent and the desire to make amends.
Eventually Nytethorne exhaled through his nose in a great sigh and said, ‘All
is well. You can’t help your mouth, can you?’

I almost protested, but then saw
he was smiling. I risked another great impertinence and whispered to him in
mind touch,
Of all things on this earth, I seek least to displease you.

He raised his eyebrows, and
responded, not with words, but with what I can only describe as a
purr
.
‘Be on my way,’ he said. ‘Do your dreaming.’

I said nothing to delay him,
merely watched as he folded into the restless shadows of green and black. Then
I sat down on the rock where he had sat.

No more information came to me that afternoon, but
then my mind was too active. Rather than concentrate on Peredur or the history
of the land, I faced up to the inescapable truth that I was attracted to
Nytethorne greatly; it seemed I was incapable of leading an uncomplicated life
in that respect. But this must inevitably be no more than another emotional
flash, like the sky filling with a thousand glittering explosions, only for
those lovely sparks to fall to earth and fade. I had no faith in love any more.
The desire, the chase, was more meaningful. Gratification was a brief if
marvellous flare in the darkness, but in the end became only a damp firework,
lying spent on the ground of day. For this showy yet intrinsically meaningless
folly, I should not be prepared to cause trouble for myself again. But try as I
might to be sensible and firm, the desire – the
feeling
– remained; the
delicious yearning that compares to no other experience in life. The
touchpaper, as yet untouched.

I went back home determined to carry on with my
Reaptide work and not pursue silly romantic thoughts like a harling approaching
feybraiha. It was clear Rey had had dalliances with both Nytethorne and
Rinawne, and surely at the very least I didn’t want to follow where he’d lain,
as it were.

I’d decided to go for a daytime
ritual as I’d originally thought. I’d found one or two things in the local
folklore books I might be able to do something with. I’d found a story of some
high summer spirit being drawn from a pool. Perhaps that was how we could bring
Verdiferel to us. I needed to meditate, rehearse my scenario, find the threads
for it and weave them all together.

Before I started work, I took a
bath, and while I lay there, as ever made blissful by the warm perfumed water,
I opened myself to any energy that might lurk there. I thought of the woman I’d
seen, and spoke aloud to her. ‘If you can hear me, if you’re there, I’ve sore
need of your help.’ But nothing came, and the clocks ticked on.

I got out of the bath and dried
myself, caught a glimpse of my reflection in the tall, freestanding mirror.
Because of what Rinawne had said to me about myself, I paused to stare, trying
to see this
thing
he’d described. I don’t think I’m beautiful in the way
Nytethorne, his relatives, or even Gesaril is beautiful. But I don’t
mind
myself,
however peculiar that sounds.  My appearance has never been a great concern to
me, but then I’d never had to bother with it. Inception had done all that for
me. All I ever really needed was a hair brush. Now, my hair, normally a dark
auburn, looked darker because it was wet. I admired the way it clung to my
shoulders, back and chest, and this inspired a vision of the dehar Verdiferel
arising naked from water. I felt hara would like that image for the Reaptide
ritual. I turned to admire my back view, and thought how much I’d like
Nytethorne to see the gifts inception had given me, learn that I could be a
real har, a sensual creature of mystery, like we’re supposed to be, not just a
pompous, boring academic. Then I had to chastise myself harshly for wandering
into moonwit territory again. ‘Grow up, Ysobi!’ I told my reflection and turned
away from it.

Once dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, I
wrote up some notes. A few bars of a tune had come to me, and I began to hum
them. I found I wanted to put the words of the bell song to the forming melody
and did so. The tune Yoslyn had sung wasn’t very good, I thought. I could do
better. But, as far as Wyva was concerned, no doubt the bell was locked in the
same drawer as the moonshawl. Could swans be brought into the ritual, though? I
closed my eyes and imagined a silver swan gliding upon a dark pool, the
rippling arrow of its trail in the water. Its eyes were moonstones that shone
in the night and in its beak it held a white rose. This must mean something. I
opened my eyes and wrote another note. Then, as I prepared to ponder some more,
I heard the tower door open and Rinawne’s step on the stair. Surely he couldn’t
be here just to pester me? I sighed, turned to a new blank page to hide my
notes.

When Rinawne erupted into the
room, as was his habit, I could tell he was excited.

‘Good day and what is it?’ I
asked, rather testily, my pen held pointedly above the page.

Rinawne glanced at the table.
‘Oh, you’re working. I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait.’

‘What couldn’t?’

‘Put the kettle on, Ys. We’ll
need tea while we ponder these.’ He took a satchel from his back and emptied
its contents on the empty half of the table. Documents, bound with ribbon, and
letters, other papers.

‘You’ve been pilfering!’ I said.

‘You bet I have,’ Rinawne
announced in triumph.

‘You’re right, we need tea for
this august occasion.’ I put down my pen and stood up.

As I saw to our refreshments,
Rinawne tidied the papers, putting them in different piles.

‘Have you read any of them?’ I
asked.

‘Briefly, enough to tell me I’d
hit gold,’ he replied. ‘Ys, I found the original document from the instatement,
when the Wyvachi were given leave by Wraeththu leaders to keep their land.’

‘The letters derive from that
time too?’

‘Some, but even better than
that, several are from Medoc to Kinnard, after he left the Mynd.’

‘My dear Rinawne,’ I said,
grinning, ‘that is not gold, it’s diamonds! Well done!’ I hesitated. ‘These
must be returned before Wyva discovers what you’ve done.’

Rinawne laughed. ‘Don’t worry
about that. I covered my trail. Now... where shall we start?’

The document I wanted to examine
first was the most ancient, the deed that had been written up, back in those
early days of formation, that granted the Wyvachi phyle leadership and also
parcelled up the land in the area. While the document itself didn’t reveal
anything other than that the Wyvachi became leaders in Gwyllion with the
sanction of the local Wraeththu commanders, it was accompanied by letters from
one of those commanders, whose name was Malakess. ‘Great Aru,’ I murmured.

‘What?’ Rinawne asked curiously.

I tapped the document. ‘This
name, Malakess. I knew a har in Kyme with that name. I wonder...’

Rinawne’s eyes widened. ‘If it’s
the same one? If so, maybe you could get more information from him.’

‘Well... possibly.’ I made a
dismissive gesture. ‘He’s no longer in Kyme. He moved to Almagabra to work for
the Gelaming.’ There were other reasons I didn’t particularly want to contact
Malakess, not least his own relationship with Gesaril, part of the whole sorry
mess. Still, it intrigued me Malakess might have been part of the
administration in this area. Everyhar has a history, and incepted hara more
than most.

The letters from Malakess had
perhaps been preserved because they were ‘evidence’ of discussions that had
taken place back then. They were dated, so I read them in order.

Dear Kinnard

I’ve thought more about your suggestion that the Wyvachi should
return to Meadow Mynd and restore it. I understand your reasons for wanting to
make it your headquarters. I agree that while we are striving to create a new
society, hara will feel comfortable with familiarity, what they already know
and respect and, as you rightly pointed out, Meadow Mynd has been the heart of
the community in your area for a long time. My only reservations stem from the
fact that these connections were established in the Human Era and part of me
feels such ties should be cut completely. But as the Mynd offers so much
opportunity to help hara create a new community in the area, not least its established
farmland, I’m prepared to put my reservations aside in this case. I liked your
analogy of how, in the distant past, religions seeking to suppress previous
belief systems built their churches over existing sacred sites, in order that
people would feel comfortable with the new, and that your situation is similar.
Indeed it is, and I see the wisdom in your decision. Please take this letter as
formal permission to return to Meadow Mynd and establish your phyle there.