The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel (32 page)

‘Well, I hope to find out how
all this possible. I think your original family know, or will at least be able
to work it out. But they’re not great talkers. They certainly won’t talk to
me.’

‘The Mantels?’

‘Whitemanes now. Their phylarch
or leader is Mossamber, but I doubt that name means much to you. I imagine he’s
Thorne’s son, so you’re his aunt.’

She shook her head. ‘So much to
take in. Why the name Whitemane?’

‘Most hara took new names when
they were incepted, as your sons were, but it seems
they
didn’t change
their names. The family split in two. Those who live at the Mynd – Kinnard’s
descendents – are the Wyvachi. Medoc’s hara are still Wyverns.’

‘Kinnard didn’t survive?
Gwyven...?’

I closed my eyes briefly. ‘I’m
sorry... I know Kinnard died, but he had sons before that happened. I don’t
know what happened to their other brother.’

Arianne simply stared at me. I
couldn’t imagine how all this must sound to her, this weird Sleeping Beauty who
had just woken up from an enchanted slumber. I took a breath. ‘The Wyvachi and
the Whitemanes hate each other. This is because of what happened in the past,
and it’s to do with Peredur.’

‘Don’t talk about him!’ she said
abruptly, raising her hands. ‘Not now. Not yet.’ Panic had come into her face,
and a kind of transparency as if she was on the verge of fading away.

‘All right,’ I said soothingly.
I wondered whether hara other than me would be able to see Arianne. Perhaps
this was just
my
weird dream of reality. ‘Much as I don’t want to think
about it – and I’m sure you don’t either – we don’t know how long this
existence
will last.’ I paused. ‘If you want to see Medoc, I can try to arrange
that.’ Assuming he wanted to see her, of course. How would he greet this news?
How, for that matter, would Wyva feel about it? Even as I was thinking this, I
heard Rinawne’s familiar quick step on the stairs. He had let himself in, as
usual. Arianne froze, eyes wide.

‘It’s all right,’ I said,
standing up. ‘It’s Rinawne. Your...
grandson’s
... partner.’

‘I’m afraid.’

She could say no more. Rinawne hurled
himself into the kitchen, said, ‘Aren’t you ready? We’ve got a long ride.’

I wondered if Arianne would
simply vanish, or if Rinawne wouldn’t be able to see her, but then he noticed I
had company. That was one question answered at least.

‘Hello,’ he said sweetly, ‘who
are you?’

Arianne merely stared at him in
a kind of horror, as if the reality of her situation had finally hit her.

‘A friend,’ I said.

Rinawne’s eyes narrowed a
little, his expression hardened. ‘You look familiar,’ he said. ‘Let me guess...
Whitemane?’

‘In a way...’ I said.

‘What’s the matter? Can’t he
speak? I don’t think I’ve seen this one before, but the dehara know their
domain is overflowing with them. We’ve no idea how many there are.’

‘Rinawne, shut up,’ I said. ‘This
is Arianne, Wyva’s... grandmother.’

‘His
what
?’

‘It’s true,’ Arianne said,
standing up in a challenging manner, hands braced on the table top. ‘I am
Arianne Wyvern. Believe it or not, as you like, but Dŵr Alarch brought me
through time.’

Rinawne looked at me. ‘
This
is
your ghost?’

I couldn’t help feeling smug. ‘Beats
your banshee, doesn’t it?’ I said.

Chapter Eighteen

Thoughts in Retrospect:

Medoc har Wyvern had fled Meadow Mynd in the grey
light of predawn, allowing his hara only an hour to gather whatever belongings
they wished to take with them. They had fled in fear, with the harsh words of
Kinnard still ringing in their ears. Medoc told me that when he looked back, he
saw his brother struggling in the grip of his chesnari, Yvainte, in the
driveway of Meadow Mynd. Yvainte was holding him back. Kinnard’s eyes were
wild, almost senseless. He looked violent, but whether because he wished to
cause the deserters harm or was furious with himself because he couldn’t go
with them, Medoc isn’t sure, even now.

Whatever Kinnard might have
believed, he
could
have left Meadow Mynd then. He could have started a
new life beyond the reach of the past’s hungry claws, those dreadful hooks that
had sunk not only into his own flesh and that of his hara, but into the very
fabric of the house they called home. These claws hid like thorny seeds beneath
the soil of the restored gardens, from which the debris of war had been erased.
They scratched beneath the fields where the Wyvachi now cultivated crops for
any hara in the area who might need them, and the meadows where the placid
cattle grazed, ignorant of the old blood that had soaked far beneath their
cloven hooves. The claws lingered in the gorse of the ancient mountains that
rose in their deceptively gentle slopes towards the clean sky. They clung to
the smooth white stones at the bottom of the swift-running river and floated
invisibly in the air that hara breathed. Medoc knew these things. He felt the
claws scratching him in the night. And on that one night, when the terrible
cacophony started up, and Kinnard and Yvainte’s son broke from his pearl, and
the curse fell upon them all, Medoc knew he could not stay. He was honest about
it: he was terrified. No matter how strong he felt, no matter how contentedly
he could reflect upon his glories, and bask in all that he and his hara had
achieved since the early days, he was too frightened to fight.

Unlike Wyva, Medoc wasn’t
secretive about the past, not in the face of a genuine need for information.
But this was because, of course, he’d got away.

***

Rinawne and I rode along the high-hedged lanes that
were little more than dirt tracks. The day was glorious, so much so that even
the inexplicable and unacceptable held no terror. The sun shone fiercely in a
cloudless sky, but the air was a little cooler than of late, fanned by scented
breezes coming in off the fields. As we rested the horses at a walk after
faster travel, we talked about Arianne. Rinawne felt we couldn’t just blurt the
news out to Wyva. ‘It seems too unbelievable,’ he said. ‘I can’t help feeling
she’d simply not be there if we fetched witnesses.’

‘Yet
you
are a witness,’
I said, ‘and you saw her. You spoke with her. You touched her. Did she seem in
any way spectral to you?’

He shook his head. ‘No, but... I
find this really hard to believe. As hara, we accept the unseen, the world
beyond our senses, because for us it is more real than it was for humans. And
yet this... it’s beyond anything I’ve experienced or even heard about.’ He
stared at me. ‘Ys, maybe you should contact somehar... you know, one of your high-caste
friends. Arianne changes everything.’

‘Let’s see if she’s still there
when we get back,’ I replied. ‘I’m struggling as you are. It wouldn’t surprise
me if the tower was empty on our return.’

Rinawne grimaced. ‘I’m worried
that it won’t be. This is huge, Ys.’

‘Huge, yes, but we already know
there are forces at work around Meadow Mynd that aren’t part of everyday life.
As we said, a storm is brewing. Arianne is part of that. Perhaps it’s necessary
for our cause that she’s returned. Perhaps it’s meant.’

As we’d travelled, I’d related
to Rinawne everything Arianne had told me. At the end of it, his skin had taken
on a yellowish tinge. ‘I don’t
ever
want to walk through the stableyard
again,’ he’d said. ‘How could Wyva and his brothers just live there, cross it
every day a dozen times, knowing what happened there? It’s sickening.’

But that was all he said. It was
easier for us to talk about Arianne’s reappearance than the horrors of the
past, because she appeared healthy, whole and sane. Neither of us wanted to
talk, never mind think, about Peredur. I didn’t mention that the stable-har
Briar’s death had most likely occurred in the same spot where Peredur had been
tortured. Gen had virtually said so. I’d no doubt Rinawne had realised that
too.

We passed a sign for Harrow’s
End, Medoc’s domain. Our journey was nearly over. ‘Well, we have to decide,
Ys,’ Rinawne said. ‘Do we tell Medoc about her or not?’

 I drew in a sighing breath.
‘Well, personally I want to talk to him first, see if we can draw him out. I
want to gauge whether he’ll accept what we have to say, and guess at his
reaction.’

‘I’ve only met him twice, so I
have no idea,’ Rinawne said. ‘He might just order us out, think us mad, or
lying trouble-makers.’

‘Well, let’s see.’

I wondered whether to tell
Rinawne that Myv had also seen Arianne, albeit before she’d manifested
properly, but decided against it. At the very least, he’d be annoyed I hadn’t
mentioned this when he’d last visited. And yet, withholding that information
made it a lie, and lies can be found out, and then there is trouble and upset
and recriminations. But not today. For now, we had to focus on Medoc.

Harrow’s End was more like a
castle than a house, and had stood for perhaps a thousand years. Its walls were
high, its windows narrow and it was built in a quadrangle around a central
courtyard.  A deep green moat surrounded it, over which a permanent bridge had been
built, now mossy with age. Over the centuries, the
its
buildings had spread and these formed the heart of a village surrounding
the house. The formal gardens had been carefully restored, but were open to
all, rather than only to those who lived in the house. That too, we quickly
found out, had no silent or neglected corners. The past had no space to brood
at Harrow’s End, for it was a living, thriving community.

Medoc’s security hara had told
him two unknown riders approached the estate, and he rode out to meet us alone,
no doubt curious as to who we were. The fact he had no escort indicated how
safe he felt in his domain. He was surprised to see us, of course, and said,
‘You have business with me, clearly. We will talk about this at home.’ These
words sealed the topic of our visit until we had been installed.

On the way back, Medoc told us
about the house. We learned that when he and his hara had found it, it had been
a virtual ruin. There had been, in fact, other large houses in the area that
would have been more suitable for occupation, but Medoc fell in love with the
ancient feel of Harrow’s End. ‘There are chambers inside it that haven’t
changed since the days of its construction,’ he told us proudly. ‘Naturally,
I’ve been restricted concerning how much I could preserve in its original
state, since Harrow’s is now a home, a community.’ He gestured at the house
ahead and smiled in a somewhat dreamy fashion. ‘History took place within those
walls: political conflicts, betrayals, murder. But it also embodies love and
continuity, strength and family. Fine old house, who’s hung on despite all
odds, while the race who built it fell to dust.’

Approaching it, I could see
Harrow’s End was imposing and solid, an edifice to take on challenges. This
made me realise how wounded Meadow Mynd was in comparison; it did not stand
tall and proud against the trees and sky, but rather huddled, cringing, close
to the ground.

Hara gathered curiously as we
rode over the moat bridge and beneath the dark archway into the courtyard.

‘These are kinshara,’ Medoc told
them in a ringing voice, ‘from across the county boundary.’

Everyhar would have known then:
we were Wyvachi. I saw glances exchanged. Hara would wonder if Wyvachi were to
be common visitors now. At midsummer, Wyva had crossed not only the boundary of
the county but of the past. I could sense the Wyvachi were regarded as peculiar
by the hara here – emanations of this opinion washed over me in an almost
physical wave. But of course, as far as the Wyvern hara were concerned, the
Wyvachi were cursed. This no doubt made them feel uncomfortable as we walked
upon their land, entered their home. We endured a gauntlet of stares as we
walked to the main entrance of the hall, and I wished Medoc had qualified his
announcement to include the fact Rinawne and I weren’t blood relatives.

Medoc took us to his sitting
room, which was a room on the first floor, away from the busy hustle of the
ground floor. This chamber overlooked the gardens to the back of the house,
where there was an ornamental lake. Looking out, I saw harlings playing there,
splashing in the water. Black-headed geese strutted among them, occasionally
hissing and raising their wings at any who came too near. Beyond the gardens I
could see hara busy in the fields, and carts of produce being driven along the
winding lanes. A row of hara fished the river two fields away and between the
water and the house were spreading reed beds. All around was a sense of
industry and purpose, but also contentment and order. Meadow Mynd should be
like this.

Rinawne came to stand beside me
at the small-paned window while Medoc saw to refreshments for us. We exchanged
a wordless glance. Rinawne sighed deeply. He was wondering what his life – and
Myv’s – might have been like if Wyva hadn’t clung on to Meadow Mynd. No
resentful Whitemanes, no curse.

Medoc came back into the room.
‘Please sit down, tiahaara. I’ve ordered a late lunch for you. You should have
arrived earlier!’ He wreathed this faint criticism with a smile.

‘Thank you,’ Rinawne said. He
sat down where Medoc indicated, at a small round table near the door, which at
present was cluttered with ledgers. I sat beside Rinawne, drawing my chair
closer to his, closing ranks.

Medoc stood at the empty hearth,
his back to it. He studied us disturbingly for some moments. ‘You may tell me
the purpose of your visit now,’ he said at last.

Rinawne glanced at me, and I
nodded slightly, implying he should be the one to speak. ‘Tiahaar, I seek your
advice,’ Rinawne said. ‘As you know, my son Myvyen is training to be hienama of
Gwyllion, but I’m afraid for him. Things have...
happened
at the Mynd.
Wyva won’t tell me anything about the past, what instigated the alleged family
curse, or even what form it might take. His brothers are also silent on the
matter. I have no har else to turn to but you, and as we met at Cuttingtide I
risked coming to speak to you. I felt you would at least listen to me.’

Medoc said nothing, while
Rinawne waited in clear discomfort for a response.

‘Something is in the house,’
Rinawne said to break the silence, and then, either genuinely or in an attempt
to touch Medoc’s heart, Rinawne put a hand against his eyes and quietly wept.
He looked lovely as he did so, his hair tumbling around his shoulders.

Medoc remained stern-faced to this
display. ‘Tiahaar, please don’t,’ he said gruffly and then took a breath,
softened his voice. ‘I’m not sure what I can do, but if I’m able to help you, I
will.’

Rinawne raised his head. ‘All I
want is the truth,’ he said, blinking his wide dark eyes. ‘I’m of Erini blood.
Once I know my enemy I will stand against it, but all I face is fog. I need to
see through it.’

‘What do you want to know?’
Medoc asked.

‘The full story,’ Rinawne said.
He looked at me. ‘Please, Ysobi... would you tell him what we’ve learned?’

Without mentioning Arianne, or
indeed any source for our information, I related that we knew of the Wyvern
history up to the moment when Peredur was maimed. ‘It goes without question the
curse is associated with Peredur’s fate,’ I said, ‘and perhaps directed by the
Whitemanes, but we don’t know the details. We don’t know exactly what haunts
Meadow Mynd.’

Medoc didn’t respond, watching
me carefully, betraying nothing. I went on to tell him what I’d seen at the Pwll
Siôl Lleuad and some of what I’d experienced in the tower, and then related the
accidents that had occurred at the Mynd, and the various signs of haunting.

When I’d finished my story,
Rinawne took over the narrative and told Medoc about Rey and his disappearance.
‘We believe Rey discovered something, and whatever it was frightened him away,
or at least convinced him it was wise to leave.’ He smiled at me. ‘So Wyva
brought Ysobi into this position, and he gives me the strength to fight, to
learn, to mend. I want to believe it’s possible to mend. I have to, for Myv’s
sake.’

At this point, as if waiting
outside for an appropriate pause in the conversation, one of Medoc’s househara
knocked briefly on the door and came in with a tray for us. Medoc indicated
this should be laid out upon a larger table that stood near the windows, where
the summer light fell caressingly into the room. The househar worked swiftly,
then left. Medoc indicated we should move from our rather uncomfortable and
cramped seats and take our places in the sunlight. He had clearly come to a
decision while he’d been listening to us and now came to join us in these
friendlier seats. He poured out three tankards of cold ale from a sweating blue
stone jug and handed them round. Then he drew in a deep breath.

‘Wyva should have told you
everything,’ he said simply. ‘I can’t see why he hasn’t.’ He sighed through his
nose, somewhat impatiently. ‘My honest opinion is that he should pack up that
house and abandon it. He should find another property in the area if he wishes
to stay near Gwyllion. But it’s clear he won’t do that. Given what you’ve
related, I’m prepared to do his job for him and tell you the rest of the story,
sorry tale though it is.’