The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel (10 page)

Presently, I sank into
comforting warmth and scent. I sighed and lay back in the long, deep bath, only
my head above the water.  I was Ysobi har Jesith, a hienama of experience and
knowledge. I’d seen many inexplicable and uncanny things in my harish life, but
none – that I could remember – had unnerved me as much as those two harlings
had, and the bridge, the rearing statues, the har who’d called the little
ferals off me. The Whitemanes must be far more than the Wyvachi had led me to
believe, or was it simply my imagination working too hard, dreaming up
strangeness and magic because that was what I wanted to see?

I considered that if I’d not
given in to my irrational fear and had crossed that bridge, met the har on the
other side, everything might have been revealed as mundane. I’d have been
invited to the house, met other hara there, maybe begun a friendship. Part of my
reluctance might simply have been that I wanted the family to remain as they
were to me, their mystery intact. I also thought about how it was likely they
regarded me as a minion of the Wyvachi, and might have influenced me psychically
to be afraid. Even I could succumb when unguarded to such basic bewitchments. If
only all this had occurred to me earlier, but instead I’d given in to panic and
had fled. Panic, yes, that was absolutely it. The ancient god Pan and the
terror he could instil in the strongest heart. A god of the earth itself, the
immanence of nature and her power. Panic could strike at any time in a
landscape where the spirits were strong, especially at this time of year. I had
been warned of this at the start. Now I must heed it, but not give in to it.
There were lessons for me here.

Chapter Six

Rinawne arrived at the tower mid-morning the
following day. His good humour appeared restored. I had hoped he’d show up, not
least because I hadn’t decided upon the ritual locations and wanted Rinawne,
with his more intimate knowledge of the landscape, to help me with that.

‘Have you got much work done?’
he asked me.

‘Yes, nearly done with
Cuttingtide, but I’m struggling with the locations, since the moonshawl sites
are out of bounds. I’m hoping you can advise me. I need a good field and a
forest glade.’

Rinawne grinned. ‘I see the
problem. Now you’ve seen the moonshawl sites, which of course are perfect, it’s
difficult to replace them.’

‘Exactly what I thought.’ I was
warmed by the fact his opinion echoed mine so completely.

As we walked down the hill, I
told Rinawne about my encounter the previous day, making light of it. ‘They
seemed barely har,’ I said, ‘clearly allowed to run wild.’

‘They are,’ Rinawne said. ‘Don’t
waste your time on that lot. They’ll not be your friends, Ysobi, because of
your association with us.’ He then changed the subject, and asked how he could
help me with my work.

‘I was thinking the festival
could finish up at Meadow Mynd,’ I said. ‘The other night, Gen spoke to me
about the feast. Would Wyva be happy to hold that in the gardens of the Mynd?’

‘I can’t see why not,’ Rinawne
answered, somewhat shortly. ‘How did your meeting with Gen go?’

‘Pleasant enough,’ I said, and
then realised this would not satisfy my companion. ‘I don’t think it went quite
how he planned, but it was an enjoyable evening.’

Rinawne expressed a snort. ‘I
knew he’d try it on with you.’ He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘That really doesn’t
work with you though, does it?’

I shifted my gaze from his.
‘Well... no, not really, I suppose.’

‘I wonder what it takes?’ Before
I could respond to that, Rinawne laughed and slapped my shoulder. ‘Be as you
are, Ysobi. Let’s find your meadow and woodland dell.’ He strode ahead down the
hill.

Rinawne knew of an oak grove
mid-way between the tower and the Mynd. When I saw it I realised rather
grudgingly it would be adequate for my plans. I thought wistfully of the
gleaming waters of the Pwll Siôl Lleuad, even though this other grove did have,
beyond the oaken circle, a small pond on its western side, guarded by a single
sentinel willow of great age. The oaks too were ancient; three or four had
collapsed upon the ground.

‘You can hear the trees
creaking,’ Rinawne said, sitting upon one of the fallen trunks. ‘At any time a
bough could plummet down and claim a life.’

‘Well,
that
sounds safe
for the festival,’ I said.

‘Oh, there’s plenty of room.
Hara round here know the ways of the grove and even harlings would recognise
the wrong kind of creak and make a run for it.’

I walked around the grove,
touching the trees, absorbing their being, their splendid age. These oaks had
stood for hundreds of years, had witnessed the fall of humanity. They might
even have been planted deliberately in this rough ring to provide a ritual
space for humans. The trees were aloof but not malevolent. ‘We should
acknowledge the guardians of this site,’ I said. ‘Do you mind?’ I walked to the
centre of the grove and sat down.

Rinawne sauntered after me. ‘What
do you want me to do?’

I was surprised he didn’t know.
‘Just sit and close your eyes, and open yourself up to the spirit of place.
I’ll say a few words.’

‘OK.’

While Rinawne sat obedient and
quiet beside me, I didn’t pick up anything extraordinary about the site. I
sensed the presence of ancient guardians, but they were slow and even a little
sleepy. This was an undisturbed site in every sense, therefore perfect for my
purposes. I ended our meditation and Rinawne blinked at the daylight. ‘I’ve not
done anything like that for years,’ he said.

I opened my satchel, in which
I’d stowed some wine, courtesy of the Wyvachi cellar. I’d even brought drinking
vessels, albeit a couple of chipped tea mugs I’d found in the back of a kitchen
cupboard. I hadn’t wanted to risk breaking anything newer.

‘Did you ever go through caste
ascension?’ I asked Rinawne, handing him a mug of wine.

He frowned, which was also a
typical Rinawne smile. ‘Some,’ he said, and took a swig of his drink.

‘By that you mean no,’ I said.

Rinawne laughed. ‘Is it for hara
like me? I can’t see it figures in my life. I’m har, I do what hara do, but
I’ve no aim to be a mighty magus.’

‘Like me?’ I said, grinning.

‘Yes, just like you. I bet you
can throw purple sparks from your finger tips.’

‘How else do I light my fires?’

He chuckled. ‘Well, I’m probably
not a very good example of a har. Do you think I’m squandering our gifts?
Should I be lighting my own fires?’

‘Some tribes take caste
education very seriously,’ I said, ‘and it’s important to them. I would never
judge others about it. My job once was to teach in that way, and I can’t say I
have glittering memories of it. In my opinion, if you needed to call upon a
harish power in a crisis, you could do so, whether you’d trained meticulously
or not.’

‘Now there’s a relief,’ said
Rinawne. ‘Despite my lack of education, though, I do know a lot about folklore,
about beliefs, human and otherwise. That’s my speciality, if any.’

‘Have you always collected
stories?’ I asked.

He laughed. ‘In a way, some
collected me. I have a few tales to tell.’

‘Perhaps they might be helpful
for me.’

‘Perhaps. As long as they are
ones of which Wyva approves.’ He grimaced. ‘You know, I think it must be
difficult to dream up a round of the year for a tribe like ours — well, for any
tribe.’

‘Not really,’ I replied,
gesturing around us. ‘The raw material surrounds us.’

Rinawne wrinkled up his nose.
‘What I mean is... in the human era there were legends going back thousands of
years, about fairies, and dark creatures, ghosts and demons. Are those our
legends too, and can we build our beliefs about them? Second generation though
I am, and
uneducated
, I know we are young as a race – a
species
,
even – so everything feels too invented and new, to my mind. I feel more
affinity to Daghda than I do to any dehar.’

‘I understand what you mean,’ I
said. ‘But even in the relatively short time hara have lived upon the earth,
they’ve created legends. I believe they bring new spirits out of the landscape,
new thoughts and beliefs. They have always been there, but in a different
shape. Now, we can put our own shape upon them.’ I smiled, but Rinawne didn’t
look convinced. ‘Come now, didn’t you tell me you’d brought me out today to
tell me more stories?’ I put my head to one side. ‘Didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Rinawne grinned. ‘You
talk to me as if I’m a harling – clear to see you were a teacher. But most of
the stories I know are about humans.’

‘Tell me one.’

‘OK.’ He closed his eyes for a
couple of seconds. ‘Some people were digging the foundations for a new house
near Gwyllion – before the Wraeththu era. They found beneath a rose garden a
grave, two female skeletons twined together, as if they had been buried alive.’
Now Rinawne punctuated his story with dramatic gestures to act it out. ‘Their
elbows and knees had been pierced with knives of black iron’ He winced as if
pierced by blades, clutched himself. ‘This was to stop them walking, of course,
or clawing their way out of the soil. They were witches.’

‘And did digging them up free
them? What happened to the bones?’

Rinawne spread out his arms. ‘Well,
of course they were reburied in the churchyard, but no one took out the iron.’

‘Perhaps a wise precaution.’ I
laughed.

Now his voice lowered to nearly
a whisper. ‘They howled about it, though, as their sleep had been disturbed.
Some people felt they should be dug up again and put back beneath the roses,
but the parson said no. They must stay in hallowed ground so as to bind them
thoroughly.’ Now he performed the parting of curtains, peering through glass. ‘Yet
people saw distorted faces at their windows in the dark, and heard running feet
along the roads, and the terrible voices. It took a while to calm down.’ He
paused, asked dramatically. ‘You know that horses can be
hag
-ridden?’

I nodded, smiling at his
performance. ‘Yes, they’re believed to be more susceptible to unseen presences
than other creatures. Witches were said to entrance them and ride them to their
sabbats.’

‘Well,’ said Rinawne, waving a
finger at me, ‘after the two skeletons were reburied in the church yard, every
night a white horse would come and paw the ground above their grave.’ This, he
mimed. ‘Eventually, it was traced to a house of the gentry, the gelding
belonging to a lady who lived there. The horse had been hag-ridden and was
drawn to its mistresses, perhaps always had been, when they were hidden beneath
the roses. The lady had the horse slaughtered...’ He drew a hand across his
neck, uttered a choked gargle. ‘Then all the ghostly activity stopped. The
horse must’ve let the witches out somehow.’

‘But how could they ride the
horse, or even rise from their grave, if they were pinned by iron?’

‘A mystery,’ Rinawne said, ‘but
a good story, eh?’

‘Can you show me the grave?’

‘Yes, I can, but not today. It’s
some miles the other side of Gwyllion. It’s not something you can use really, anyway.’
He paused, finished his drink. ‘Hara can be pinned by iron too. And they don’t
have to be buried, either.’

I looked away from him, sensing
where this conversation was heading. ‘I suppose so.’

‘All the tortures of iron and
fire; they can be wrought with words and deeds.’

I glanced back at him. ‘Are you
speaking from personal experience?’

‘No, not me. I’m impervious to
iron and fire.’ He adopted a more serious expression. ‘So who was the har who
broke you with iron, Ysobi?’

My first instinct was to be
angry – how dare he? – but then looking into his open face I could see no
malice or slyness there. He saw me broken. He wanted to know. Simple as that.

‘I don’t speak his name, ever,’
I replied lightly.

‘Why not, is it cursed?’

‘No, I’m afraid he might hear
it.’

My grim, hollow pronouncement,
which even made me shiver, only prompted Rinawne to laugh. ‘Afraid he will
trace the sound to its source and come find you?’

‘Not that,’ I said, somewhat
irritably. ‘We’ll never meet again, but I don’t want him to hear it. He should
just be allowed to forget.’

‘That must have been a powerful
breaking,’ Rinawne said, shaking his head in wonder.

‘It wasn’t his fault,’ I said.
‘And that’s all I want to say.’

‘Aww, come on, don’t be angry,’
Rinawne said, shaking my right arm a little. ‘Don’t bury it beneath the roses.
Exhume!’

I couldn’t help but smile.

Rinawne pointed at the willow
tree drooping over the pond. ‘She is the tree of grief and lost love,’ he said.
‘And she heard what you said. Maybe her roots will eat the words and make you
lighter.’

I laughed. ‘Maybe.’

And then, before I’d even
started another thought, or begun another word, Rinawne threw me back upon the
grass and kissed me. He was stronger than he looked. I lay paralysed, not sure
what to think or feel. He wanted to share breath but mine was locked in my
chest.

After a while, he released me,
sat up and said, ‘There.’ He looked down at me. ‘It’s polite for a har to
respond, by the way, not lie there like a corpse pinned with iron.’

‘I was surprised,’ I said
feebly. ‘It’s... it’s not why I’m here, Rinawne. I must be... careful.’

He snorted but in an agreeable
sort of way. ‘Who cares? No har need know. I’m bored to death. It will interest
me.’

‘Is this to be part of my
duties?’

‘For sure, make a dehar out of
me. I won’t mind.’ He grinned.

‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘soon.’

Rinawne rolled his eyes. ‘Soon?
What does that mean?’

I was aware of the tightness
that had come to my chest. Beneath my fingers, it was as if I could feel every
single blade of grass. ‘Look, you know little about me, but please respect that
some things... I find difficult. I’m a recovering lunatic and need some space.’

‘If you don’t like me in that
way, just say so.’

‘No, it’s really not that.
Honestly. I find you very attractive.’

‘Are you in the sort of
chesna-bond where it’s all “this is for life, forsake all others”?’

‘No.’

‘What is it, then?’

‘By Aru, you are relentless!’ I
said. ‘I just don’t want to talk about it at this moment.’

He regarded me, his face still set
in a humourless expression. ‘That’s the sort of chesna-bond I’m supposed to be in,’
he said. ‘The archaic sort.’

‘Marvellous,’ I said, and lay
back on the grass. I laughed. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

‘I’ve never abided by it, mind.’

‘Of course you haven’t.’ I looked
up at him. ‘So why are you here?’

He sighed through his nose.
‘Let’s save that for another time, too. Want a new story?’

I closed my eyes. ‘Yes.’

‘It concerns the beansidhe,’
Rinawne said. ‘The banshee. It happened back in Erini... when I was a little
harling.

I settled myself again, the
tightness releasing its clutch within me. Rinawne’s voice was jaunty as he
began. I closed my eyes to listen.

‘My friend Gadda and I, we snuck
out of our houses one night and met in the dark. Gadda had two bottles of shine
he had stolen from his father’s store. We planned to find a barn and drink
ourselves silly. It was an autumn night and the first frost was upon us. Some
of the fields wore coats of mist. We followed an old rail track in a deep
cutting, passing the first bottle between us. There was enough drink there to
down a group of adult hara – gods knew what we were thinking.