Consorts of Heaven (11 page)

‘What’s wrong with stopping there?’ asked Sais tetchily.

‘Tis just’ - Huw made a dismissive gesture with his hand - ‘tis not a very comfortable place to sleep, is all. Do not mind me, I fuss like a girl.’ He walked off.

‘Kerin, is there a problem?’ Sais asked once Huw was out of earshot.

‘I did not want to say, in case it worried you. The last time the drove encountered reivers, it was in Maen Bulch.’

‘Great,’ he said.

 

The land rose gently for the first part of the morning, and soon slabs of rock showed through the grass.

They reached a cleft in the hills at midmorning. Howen called for the drove to halt and a contingent of armed men, including Gwilym and Fychan, moved to the rear.

As they headed into the valley grass gave way to rocks. The overhanging crags combined with the low cloud to give the impression that the land and sky had sealed them in. The valley floor was strewn with boulders spattered with growths in hues of green and orange and yellow. Sometimes the way was barely wide enough to allow three to walk abreast, and the sleds had to be carried all the time. They kept crossing and re-crossing the stream that tumbled down the centre of the valley, and Kerin soon had splashes up her legs and grazes on her hands from scrambling amongst the rocks and pools. The cattle managed better, as they were well suited to rocky terrain, and they did not mind getting wet.

At first Damaru clambered over rocks and peered into crevices; Kerin kept an eye on him, but was not too concerned. When he started to climb up the valley walls, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline, she panicked, and almost screamed at him to come down, drawing sharp looks from the men. After that he stayed close.

Those men not carrying the sleds unwound slings from their belts and picked up stones as they went along. Kerin jumped at every slight movement among the rocks, real or imagined.

Lunch was grabbed while they changed shifts on the sleds. By the afternoon Kerin felt calmer, even smiling to herself when she spotted a dipper bobbing its tail before flying low over the bubbling stream.

A while later, a shout came from behind for the drove to halt. Sais scanned the rocks nervously. Kerin turned when she heard someone calling, ‘Mistress Kerin, your services are required!’

She ran back to find several men standing over a small bundle of fur. A steer had kicked one of the dogs into the stream. His master had rescued it and now it lay on the bank, wide-eyed and trembling. Though there was no mark save a small cut on its side, Kerin saw in the animal’s eyes that it was doomed. When she felt its flank, bone ground under her hand. The animal gave a sharp yelp and feebly tried to bite her. She looked up at the dog’s master and shook her head. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. The man
hurrumphed
and turned away. One of the men murmured that he would take care of it.

Walking back, Kerin’s sympathy for the dog was tempered with the small satisfaction that they had been willing to call on her skills as a healer.

The delay cost them precious time. As the sun sank behind them and darkness crept up the valley, several drovers began to pray under their breath.

They would have to stop soon, or risk injuring themselves on the treacherous terrain. Before the light went completely, Cadmael came along the line, organising watches for the night. Kerin offered to take the first watch by the Dangwern sled with Sais; with the drove strung out along the valley floor, they needed every pair of eyes. There was no room to unfurl the awnings, so the men slept wherever they could find space to stretch out.

She and Sais sat next to each other against the sled, not quite touching, facing up the side of the valley. They could see very little: clouds hid the sky, and the moons were both on the wane. Kerin made out the faint glint of the stream, and the dark shapes of the larger rocks, but little else. She would have enjoyed the comfort of conversation, but they found themselves listening hard for any sound not made by the stream or the restless cattle.

Eventually she felt Sais sag beside her and then give a gentle snore. Exhaustion had won out over fear. Despite the tension and discomfort, her own eyes were getting heavy, and her legs had gone numb. She got up and stretched, careful not to disturb Sais.

One of the nearby rocks was gone.

That had not been a rock; that was where Damaru had been sleeping. He must have got up. It could be disastrous for him to wander off now: many of the men on guard had spears and knives, which they would eagerly employ against any apparent intruder who did not immediately identify themselves.

She heard the scrape of a boot on rock. Without thinking she called out, ‘Damaru, is that you?’ The night swallowed her voice.

Whoever it was stopped moving.

‘Damaru, answer me!’ she hissed, taking a step forward.

Silence.

All she could think of was finding her son. She must wake Sais—

She turned around.
There!
Was that movement? A moment later someone grabbed for her, but her attacker must have assumed she was facing the other way. He brushed past, and missed.

Stark terror coursed through her. She stumbled and fell, then began to crawl away hurriedly, her limbs at once weak with fear and suffused with energy. Her heart thundered in her ears.

She stubbed her finger on a rock, and the pain brought her back to herself. She must warn the drovers that something was amiss! Yet if she drew attention to herself, she was doomed. Indecision froze her voice and limbs, even as one grasping hand found a loose stone.

From the far side of the sled she heard a scuffle and a groan, then the sound of a body falling to the ground.

The worst had happened. Reivers were overrunning the camp.

She sat down, her back against the rock she had bruised her finger on. Shapes moved silently through the darkness. The nearest, she knew, was looking for her. She raised her arm so she could thump him with the stone when he found her and drew a deep, ragged breath, ready to scream—

Someone grabbed her wrist. For a brief but wonderful moment she thought it was Sais, or Gwilym, or even Fychan, and that this was all a mistake, and they were not under attack after all. Then she felt something cold across her neck, and a voice she had never heard before said in her ear, ‘Make a noise, and you die.’ The rough hand on her wrist moved up to fold itself over her upraised hand. ‘Let go of the stone, boy.’ She did. It fell to the ground. He kept hold of her hand and whispered, ‘Cover his mouth.’ Another man scuttled round to crouch in front of her.

Over the man’s shoulder, Kerin saw sudden movement. Sais - it had to be him - exploded to his feet and hurtled into the reiver nearest the sled. Both men flew back. She heard a splash.

The man in front reached out towards her. His hand brushed her neck, and she pressed herself into the rock. The man paused, and felt lower. He gave a brief huff of surprise. ‘Tis the woman we heard!’ he whispered to his companion.

The man behind her said, ‘Then this one we’ll keep.’

In that moment, Kerin weighed up the two paths her life had suddenly been reduced to: to die here tonight, or to spend the rest of her life as a reivers’ whore.

She kicked out and up as hard as she could.

Her foot connected, though not where she had hoped; she had caught his leg. She heard the hiss of indrawn breath and the reiver teetered, then caught himself. ‘She is not worth the trouble,’ he muttered. ‘Kill her!’

The man behind her let go of her arm and grabbed her hair, dragging her head back against the rock. She felt the blade move away from her neck by a hair’s breadth. She could do nothing to fight him; as though accepting death, her body had already begun to go limp.

As the reiver drew the weapon across her neck and she felt it bite into her flesh, she found time for one last clear thought:
At least I’ll not suffer as you did, Maman
.

Then everything stopped.

If he’d had any sense, Sais would have waited to see what was going on before charging in blindly. He wasn’t thinking straight: half-asleep, aware Kerin was gone and sure the people he’d seen moving around in the dark weren’t drovers, he reacted instinctively, throwing himself at the silhouette in front of him. In the dark he misjudged the distance and the man dodged to the side.

Sais tried to catch himself. No chance!

He sprawled forward into the stream. His head went under and hit something. A rush of stars exploded across the inside of his eyelids. He pushed himself back up and broke the surface, spluttering.

Hands grabbed his shoulders and started to haul him out the water: he in turn reached up to grab the man’s arms and pulled him forward. His attacker gave a surprised grunt and tried to pull away, but he was already off-balance and tumbled forward. Sais, too stunned to dodge, partially broke the reiver’s fall, getting winded in the process. He still heard the stomach-churning thud of a skull hitting rock. The reiver went limp.

Was the man dead? Had he killed him? He obviously knew how to fight, and to fight dirty at that - had he killed before?

Movement in the dark: another man heading his way. Something glinted in the man’s hand.

Sais started to push the reiver’s body off him. His arms felt like putty and he was shivering hard.

The reiver closed, swung his arm back—

Reality
lurched
.

Suddenly nothing made sense.

Except . . .

Something about this state hit him in the hindbrain. If only he could think straight, remember—?

Then he was back in the moment, sitting in a freezing stream in the dark with a dead reiver on his legs. There was no sign of the man with the knife.

He heard screams from overhead. Against the faintly glowing clouds he could make out the silhouettes of half-a-dozen figures floating, or rather, flailing, in the air.

Shouts were erupting along the line.

A knife landed in the stream next to him with a splash. Sais reached out to pick it up. His hand had just closed on the hilt when the weirdness happened again, this time over before he could register it. The figures in the sky were whisked away, as though by a sudden wind.

He didn’t see where they landed, but he heard the noise they made: a sound somewhere between snapping branches and a load of water-skins being stamped on.

Sais stood, shaking his head to clear it. He looked around and saw movement up-slope. A piercing double whistle sounded, and the movement sped up: people running away.

Someone was crying, back at the sled.

He staggered over. As he approached, a figure stood up, a hand pressed against its neck. ‘Who’s there?’ he asked, wielding the reiver’s knife drunkenly.

‘Sais, is that you?’

‘Kerin? Are you all right?’

‘I am cut . . . I will live. Damaru—I—’ She stumbled forward to the source of the crying. Sais saw the shadowy figure of Damaru sitting on the grass, hugging his knees and rocking, sobbing gently to himself. The shadow that was Kerin went over and embraced him. Kerin began saying something over and over to her son. It sounded like, ‘I’m so proud. So proud of you.’

‘Kerin,’ said Sais urgently, ‘what just happened?’

‘Damaru saved us all.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He moved the pattern.’

‘Fuck me.’ Sais sat down heavily. He needed to work out how he knew the sensation of whatever it was that Damaru had just done. He had no conscious recollection of it, but his body remembered the feeling. It must have happened in the hut when Damaru broke the pot, but Sais had been asleep then. Besides, it was
so
familiar. Some time in the past, the past he’d lost, he had experienced this effect, and more than once.

Drovers came up to them, asking if they were hurt. Someone got a small fire going. Kerin had them bring her pack over; Damaru was uninjured, but she had a shallow gash on her neck, which she got Sais to dress. Sais had minor cuts and the promise of some impressive bruises to come, not to mention a nasty headache, but nothing serious. He offered to look after Damaru while Kerin went off to deal with the other casualties. He knew better than to ask the boy about what had happened and already the strange mix of confusion and familiarity was fading to a vague niggling disquiet.

Three men had nasty cuts, one across his back, the other two on their arms. Two men had been killed. The drovers dealt with this turn of events with quiet stoicism.

Sais didn’t expect to be able to sleep, but exhaustion and shock took their toll. He fell asleep listening to a whispered argument between Fychan and Howen about how they should honour the dead.

He awoke at dawn, stiff, sore and with an aching head, to find most people already up. The two dead men were lying side by side by the stream. Something smouldered in a shallow pottery bowl on the ground between them; after a moment Sais remembered the smell from the capel in the village. Kerin was sitting next to Damaru, who was still asleep. She nodded at the two bodies. ‘I was saving the incense to burn for Damaru, but we have no pyre to free their spirits. It was the least I could do.’ She gave a tired laugh. ‘Fychan actually thanked me. Whatever else he may be, the boy is devout.’

Howen led prayers for the dead men’s souls before the drove set off.

The reivers who’d been subjected to the demonstration of Damaru’s power received no such respect. From the look of the mess on the rocks further up the slope, there wasn’t much left of them anyway.

That day the overhanging craggy cliffs of Maen Bulch opened out to rocky slopes. Thin streams cascaded down deep-cut rills and the valley floor widened until the drove could move freely again.

Cadmael told Kerin and Sais that Damaru’s miracle would make a fine tale.

The next day, the drove stopped suddenly halfway through the afternoon. When a shout went up for Kerin, Sais assumed that one of the wounded men needed her attention. Kerin went forward with her pack.