Consorts of Heaven (21 page)

Belatedly, she tried to pray, but no words came: Carunwyd, who had dominion over matters of love, had not granted her wish. Medelwyr would weave the future as she saw fit.

Too upset to sleep, and with dawn still far off, she lay in the dark and considered what she would do once Damaru was gone. Though her foolish dream of a future with Sais was shattered, life must go on.

Her skills were such as any woman of her background might have: cooking, crafts, keeping house. It was possible she might find a single man who valued her experience enough to marry her - aye, as likely as being able to step up into the sky and eat honeycomb with the Skymothers.

Neithion had told her that rich lowlanders lived in big households served by others who were not bonded to them. And even if she could not find a place as a paid servant, would being a bonds-woman be so bad? She would lose her freedom, but she would have bed and board and purpose, however menial.

Then there was that other servitude to which women are said - by men - to be suited, the one her mother had endured. Sais had awoken physical desire in her, and though she doubted women who made their living selling themselves enjoyed the acts they performed, these were desires men would pay to have fulfilled . . . though maybe not by an ageing and less-than-comely widow. And this path assumed she could bring herself to become an object for strangers to use. Her experience with the drunken oaf implied she might not be able to.

It looked as though she might have to return to Dangwern after all.

Finally the sky lightened and the men began to wake up. Kerin was searching for scraps for Damaru’s breakfast when Fychan returned, looking happy and walking unsteadily. He was certainly making the most of the season. As he walked past, he noticed the abandoned shirt and picked it up. Before he could say anything she said, ‘You like it? Then have it. Tis yours. I wish you joy of it.’

He took the shirt and nodded his thanks, looking confused. Shortly afterwards she saw the other men talking to him, no doubt recounting the drama he had missed.

She spent the day listlessly following Damaru round the fair, barely seeing the entertainments and spectacles.

The men still treated her warily that night, looking away when she met their eyes. Huw brought her some food, saying she should eat. She muttered thanks and managed a few mouthfuls. After the meal Fychan came over. She was prepared for mockery or censure, but he held out a small pot. ‘For Damaru,’ he said. ‘He keeps rubbing the charcoal off, and he can hardly be seen like that in the City.’

Kerin took the pot. It contained paint, such as women used to adorn themselves. It was orange, the colour of Medelwyr. Kerin was not sure which surprised her most: that Fychan should give Damaru a gift, or that he remembered which Mother ruled over her son’s birth.

 

With the assassin safely in the care of those members of the Reeve’s staff experienced in extracting answers from uncooperative subjects, Einon re-read Urien’s letter, a task made more difficult by the wine stains it had acquired in the fight. But the only useful piece of information amidst the unimportant chatter was the observation that Idwal, the Escori of Carunwyd, was still missing.

Einon tried to return to his studies, but his concentration kept wandering. Even keeping his door locked and with a guard outside, he found himself jumping at every noise. Perhaps in response to his brush with death, his lustful thoughts returned with renewed vigour. The evening after the attack, the Reeve sent him a woman to alleviate the problem. She had some skill, but Einon still felt uncomfortable bedding a wench not conditioned to the task.

The next morning the Reeve’s Rhethor came to tell him what his attacker had revealed. The assassin, a Tyr monitor, had been corrupted to serve Sefion, Escori of Mantoliawn. This did not surprise Einon, as Sefion was the most expedient of the five Escorai. The monitor’s orders had been to intercept the letter despatched by Urien. If the letter was for Einon am Plas Rhydau, then the monitor was meant to find and kill the recipient, then bring back the letter. Because Urien’s man was also a Tyr monitor, it had taken the assassin some time to persuade him to reveal Einon’s current location, and the questioning had left the messenger dead.

Sefion’s man was made of stronger stuff, and had survived the Reeve’s enquirers. The Rhethor asked if Einon wished to publicly pass judgment on him - a formality, given the penalty for attempting to kill a priest was death. Einon declined: he felt no personal enmity to the man who was, after all, merely a tool of higher powers; plus he wanted to avoid attracting attention to himself.

He wondered what he should do now. To return to the Tyr openly would obviously be suicidal. Perhaps he should remain here: only Urien and the soon-to-be-dead assassin knew he had come this way . . .

After some thought and much prayer, he decided to look at the letter once more. He could not believe Urien had gone to so much effort just to pass on gossip. As he unfolded the paper again, he realised the apparently meaningless words might not be the message, merely the carrier. Urien must have known there was a risk of the letter falling into the wrong hands, so he might have disguised its content. However, he would expect Einon to be able to find the real message. The letter must contain a cipher! When Einon had shown him his discoveries, Urien had commented on the possibility of using the new numbers for such tasks.

Einon set to work.

Finally, on the last morning of star-season, he uncovered the hidden words:

Corruption in the heart. Return at once. Take great care
.

The short message raised more questions than it answered, and given the means by which Einon had come by the letter, the third part was redundant.

But his Escori had summoned him. He must obey.

 

Without Kerin or Einon for company, Sais threw himself into expanding the memory Einon had unlocked. After the first night, the nature of his dreams changed to include details stolen from his life here: one night he dreamed he was wading through a bog; when he finally managed to haul himself out he found he was trailing mud across the floor of the half-familiar childhood room. The next night he was being chased by unseen enemies in a house his dream-self knew well, and then up onto the moors where he found himself pursued by the villagers of Dangwern. Though less unpleasant than the recurring nightmares, they were no more helpful to his recovery.

He had more luck when he was awake. His mind began freewheeling, chasing associations. Breakthroughs came at unexpected times: seeing a brother and sister talking at the Reeve’s table he felt sure he had a sister who’d sometimes come to the room he remembered; watching a chandelier in the main hall being lit one evening made him remember that the lights where he came from were operated by switches and buttons. Nothing as concrete as names or images accompanied these flashes, and he wished he had some objective evidence for what he was remembering - he was worried his imagination might be filling in details he was desperate to recover.

The other guests began to avoid him, which suited him fine.

He hardly saw Einon; when they did meet the priest was friendly, but distracted. Though he asked whether Sais had remembered anything of interest from their Cof Hlesmair session he obviously had other things on his mind - understandably enough - and accepted Sais’s vague answer. When Sais mentioned the upcoming journey to Dinas Emrys, Einon was equally vague in response.

Then, on the last evening of the festival, Einon came to his room and explained what they must do.

 

For the remainder of star-season, Kerin kept company with Damaru and tried to take what pleasure she could in the festivities. She considered trying to find herself a man, one she had chosen herself, before deciding she could not face a stranger’s touch.

On the last afternoon, a messenger from the manor brought unexpected news: Einon had been called away to deal with a family crisis, and would not be accompanying them to Dinas Emrys after all. Though Kerin did not mind being spared the priest’s company, she had hoped to benefit from his knowledge, not to mention relying on him to occupy Sais. Cadmael commented that Fychan should be able to enjoy his trip to the full now there was no priest to keep an eye on him; like most of the men, the bard envied Fychan his chance to see the City of Light.

When the time came to leave her people behind and accompany her son to the Cariad, Kerin said farewell to everyone from the three villages, even those who had shown her no consideration. To Huw, she said, ‘I wish I could repay you for your kindness, and I pray we have not put you to undue trouble.’

He looked away, embarrassed, then said, ‘T’was no trouble. I wish you and your boy the blessings of Heaven.’ As she turned to go, he added, ‘You are a powerful sharp woman, Kerin, sharp and strong. If you had been born a man you could have gone far.’

Kerin did not know whether to be flattered or furious.

The day after the star-season celebrations ended, Sais thanked the Reeve, then went down to the drovers’ camp to say his goodbyes. Huw was genuinely sorry to see him go. When Sais said he wished he had some practical way to express his gratitude, the villager grasped his arm and said with a smile, ‘You have given me quite a tale to tell my boy when he grows up. That is payment enough.’

Kerin stood off to one side, looking ready to take on any part of the world that didn’t include Sais.

Once they’d left Plas Aethnen Sais explained Einon’s ruse, saying that the priest had enemies who he wanted to mislead. The others were understandably disturbed by this turn of events, but Sais couldn’t tell them much more; Einon hadn’t confided in him exactly who his enemies were, saying he would be safer not knowing.

When they reached the inn Einon had told Sais about, they waited. Einon arrived a little after sunset and led them in prayers for a safe journey which, whilst they meant nothing to Sais, went some way to cementing their little group

Though Sais was glad of Einon’s growing trust and friendship, he was still wary around the priest. Everything he’d got back so far implied he came from somewhere well outside Einon’s experience; the priest operated from a position of self-assurance that occasionally bordered on arrogance, and Sais suspected it would be a mistake to challenge his worldview. A religious culture that executed people for attempted murder probably did something unpleasant and terminal to heretics. So when Einon asked what he had remembered so far Sais kept his answers unspecific, telling the priest that he’d had a safe and luxurious childhood with plenty of toys and comforts - and a sister. He didn’t mention growing up near the sea.

Now they were on the road again, Sais no longer felt half-drunk on memory. On the drove he’d discovered that the best way to survive walking eight to ten hours a day was to let your body get into its own rhythm while your mind went off by itself. Walking allowed the strangeness from his subconscious to surface safely.

Though they mainly travelled in silence, Einon occasionally took it upon himself to explain the wonders of lowland life in his patriarchal-verging-on-patronising way. Two days out from Plas Aethnen they spotted a stone tower with wood and linen sails. Einon told them this was a windmill, a device that harnessed the wind’s power to grind corn. Kerin took quite an interest, and this got Sais thinking about how few such things he’d seen here. Later, watching labourers engaged in the unpleasant task of crumbling clods of manure over a field of green shoots, he asked Einon why they didn’t use technology to help with jobs like that too.

‘Technology?’ said Einon. ‘That is, ah, not a word I know. Did you mean devices to help with the growing of crops?’

‘Er, yes,’ said Sais cautiously, cursing his carelessness.

‘The Traditions have it that our food must be tended by man’s hand from planting to harvest. As I am sure you will remember soon.’

‘I’m sure I will,’ said Sais. He doubted he would.

They spent the night at a large inn which had private rooms for rent as well as a shared dormitory, and he agreed to another Cof Hlesmair session. The inn also provided a bath, though they ran to only one lot of hot water, and Einon’s status meant he got to go first. Sais waited in the inn’s common-room while the priest got clean. He returned to their room as Einon was getting out of the bath. The candlelight glistened on the priest’s body, picking out the taut skin across his shoulders, the flat planes of his back and the swell of his buttocks. Sais suddenly, unexpectedly, felt a hot flush of pure lust. Shock killed the desire at once - he felt no particular attraction to Einon; the response had been purely physical. But now he knew why he’d reacted to Kerin the way he had. She could have been the most beautiful woman in the world, but she’d never be more than a friend.

Though the incident didn’t improve his state of mind, Sais still went ahead with the memory session: assuming Einon would go back to the Tyr when they reached Dinas Emrys, he only had just over three weeks with the priest to get his memory back.

He slipped into the trance-state easily this time and Einon told him to picture his sister. He saw a stern, aristocratic face in his mind’s eye. The priest said he should visualise her at important times in their life together. Most of the memories were in the house, a bright, spacious place high on a cliff. These felt like childish memories. But he also felt an overlay of discomfort: after they grew up, his relationship with her had broken down.

When Einon brought him back and looked at him expectantly he said, ‘That was much clearer.’

‘And you remembered your sister?’

‘I did,’ he said.

‘Can you tell me anything?’

‘I think she’s older than me. She bosses - bossed - me around. We’re not close now.’

Sais’s mind extracted its price in dreams that night, though at least they drew on images from his lost past: his sister as an adult, sitting in a luxurious bedroom, a look of horror on her face; the two of them standing by an open grave, his arm around her; sitting beside her watching a dramatic sunset over water fade into darkness.