The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel (14 page)

That night, I went to bed content. Blue starlight
came softly into the room and I lay drowsing, mulling over the day. I had
drifted off to sleep when partial wakefulness came to me. I was aware somehar
had come into the room and had sat down upon the bed. Rinawne had come to me –
dangerous perhaps, to sneak from the house this late at night, when noises were
amplified for those alert enough to hear them. I didn’t want him to be caught,
but for now his presence was simply a comfort. I felt him slip beneath the
quilt and press his body against mine. I uttered a soft sound. His right arm
came about my waist, and I put my own over it.

What I found beneath my hand was
not an arm of flesh and blood. My fingers gripped a skeletal limb that felt
made of sticks and thorns.

Horrified, and fully awake, I
leapt from the bed and plunged towards the light switch. At once the light
revealed what I expected – the bed was empty.

Chapter Eight

When I woke the next day, my first instinct was to
extend my senses and touch the spirit of the tower so I could judge its mood. I
didn’t pick up anything alarming or discomforting, so it hadn’t felt invaded in
the night. Had I dreamed those forest arms around me? There was no evidence in
the bed of anything having been there, no hint of soil or twig. Perhaps
unwittingly, I’d invited some minor elemental being inside, and it had simply
been drawn to me. I didn’t feel threatened, but would remain vigilant for
further signs.

I remembered also the vestige of
a disturbing dream. There had been firelight, but beyond it I’d not been able
to see anything except a pair of shining eyes, staring right into me. I knew
them, but could not recall the face to which they belonged. The dream, when I
woke, left me uneasy.

As I made my breakfast, a
resounding knock came at the tower door. My only visitor usually was Rinawne,
who never knocked, so I went swiftly to see who was there. A har had come from
Gwyllion with a parcel for me, which rested covered in a cloth on his cart.
When I pulled off the cloth I discovered a hamper from Jesith. So Jassenah had
bothered to send me gifts for the Wyvachi. I was quite surprised. I gave the
post-har some coins and asked him to help me carry the hamper to the kitchen.

‘Sent from home,’ the har
remarked. ‘What is it? A whole cow?’

‘No, I’m hoping for wine and
other fruits of the vine.’

The har shook his head at what
he no doubt considered affected southern ways.

After he’d gone I opened the
hamper. Jassenah had been generous, hence the weight of it. There were two
dozen bottles of wine, of twelve varieties, labelled beautifully in Jassenah’s
own hand. There were three stoppered vials of different scents derived from the
grapes, some raspberry cakes in a tin, cordials of various flowers and fruits,
and two rounds of Jesith cheese. There was also an elaborate Cuttingtide
wreath, artfully contrived of dried flowers and grasses, with a note attached:
‘To the hara of Gwyllion from the hara of Jesith. May your Cuttingtide be
fruitful’.

I’d have to get somehar from the
Mynd to come over with a cart and transport the hamper to the house, and was in
fact eager to ride over there and tell the Wyvachi about the gift. But first,
of course, I had to read the letter. It had been placed on top of the produce
and I’d put it aside at once to examine the hamper’s contents. Now it lay on
the table almost accusingly.  Sighing, I opened it and took out the single
sheet of handmade paper.

Dear Ysobi

Thank you for your letter with all your news. It
sounds as if you’re settling in well.

I’ve drafted this letter so many times, and
ultimately what needs to be said should be face to face, not with this distance
between us. But that can’t be done at the moment, and I wonder also whether the
distance is perhaps not also a comfortable barrier across which we can speak.

I have to ask, and please answer me truthfully
when you respond: Do you want to come back to me, or even to Jesith? I’ve had
dreams of you drifting away in a boat upon a misty lake, me waving to you from
the shore. I don’t feel there is anger between us, or bitterness, but merely
perhaps a knowing that it is time to part. We’ve not had a proper relationship
for years, and I don’t believe these words will come as a shock to you.

You were my light, Ysobi, my star, but stars
sometimes fall, and the light goes out. I want us to remain friends, to be
there for Zeph until we’re here no more, but I don’t believe we have to keep up
the pretence of a chesna bond to do that. I took care of you when you were at
the bottom of that pit of despair, because I loved you as family, as your son’s
father, and I always will. But it was simply that. You’re better now. There are
new roads ahead of you and you’re strong enough to walk them.

What I’m really saying, I realise, is that I
don’t want you to come back, and for us to carry on with that arid, pretend
life. There must be new life and loves for both of us in our futures. All of
your lovers made the same mistake, Ys – they wanted to own and consume you. I
thought I understood you, but I didn’t. I’ll always remember fondly our good
times, and many of those were ecstatic rather than simply good.

Think about what I’ve said. We do need to speak
face to face at some point, but I don’t want you thinking that’s a leash reeling
you back in. Enjoy the Cuttingtide. May it bring marvellous things to you.

In blood

Jassenah

I put down the letter, dazed. I stared out of the
window for some moments. Then I spoke aloud, ‘Dear Aru, I’m free...’

As I fetched Hercules from his field, my body felt
barely anchored to the earth. I hadn’t realised just how weighed down I’d been
by my life in Jesith, my responsibilities there. I would have to keep
Jassenah’s letter secret for now, otherwise it could be used to badger me into
committing myself to Gwyllion. I wanted to retain room for manoeuvre.

Wyva was still at the house when
I reached it, having only recently finished his breakfast. ‘What brings you
here so early, Ys?’ he asked as he found me in the stableyard.

‘A hamper’s arrived from Jesith,’
I said. ‘A lot of produce we can use for the festival. I was just coming to ask
if you could spare somehar and a cart to bring it over to the Mynd.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. Take
whoever you need back with you.’ He mounted his horse. ‘It’s kind of your hara
to think of us. I’ll send them thanks. Now, I’m afraid I must be off to
supervise the first cutting of the fields, but Rinawne is still at breakfast.
The tea will still be hot.’ He gestured at the house.

‘Thanks. Until later, then.’

I saw Gen and Cawr come out of
the stables to join their brother. After raising a hand in greeting to them, I
went into the house. Whatever I’d expected of Gen had never materialised, since
he’d not bothered to pursue a friendship with me beyond that night of the meal.
Perhaps he was aware of my relationship with Rinawne. Anyhar with half a brain
could work that one out.

That day was the start of
everything, really. Endings, beginnings, the field set for battle.

Rinawne had work to see to that day too, so I only
intended to stay at the Mynd for half an hour or so, long enough to pick at the
remains of the Wyvachi breakfast and have a couple of cups of tea. ‘You seem
perky today, Ys,’ Rinawne remarked, one eyebrow raised.

‘I woke in a good mood,’ I said.

‘And were glad to hear from
home, that’s plain to see.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘Are you missing them? – your
family, I mean.’

Rinawne had fixed me with the
glacial version of his blue stare. I shrugged, acutely conscious of how I
couldn’t prevent my gaze skittering away from his. ‘Of course, they’re my
family.’

‘Uh huh...’ He smirked at me,
but there was an edge to it. I could read his thoughts as if he’d spoken them
aloud; he feared I wanted to return home.

We talked then of minor aspects
of the Cuttingtide festival and its preparations and when and how Myv’s
training would begin. Small talk, a little stilted. Then we heard a commotion
outside.

‘Dehara, what’s that?’ Rinawne
muttered, rising from his seat. We were in the breakfast room, from where we
couldn’t see out over the yard. Did the air in that allegedly haunted room
contract for a moment? Perhaps it was my imagination.

‘Better go and see,’ I said.

We could hear hara calling out,
the nervous whinny of a horse, running feet. Soon, we were running too.

Wyva met us at the back door.
His shirt was covered in blood, his hands similarly red.

‘What’s happened?’ Rinawne
demanded, his voice shrill. ‘Is it Myv?’

Wyva closed his eyes briefly, shook
his head, then turned to me. ‘We need you, Ys. Thank Aru, you’re still here.’

I followed him outside.

Hara were gathered around a
cart, where a har lay redly on straw. It took me only a moment to realise this
was Gen, but he was so bloodied, I couldn’t determine at first what his injury
was. However, as I reached the cart, and leaned over its side, I saw it was his
right leg, a wound so bad below the knee it was nearly severed. Hara had
already made a tourniquet around the thigh. Gen looked at me beseechingly with
shocked, glazed eyes, but did not speak.

‘Can you mend it?’ Wyva was
saying to me, over and over. ‘Can you mend it, Ysobi?’

‘Clear the table in the
kitchen,’ I said. ‘Get him in there. We’ll need boiled water, cloths, any
medical equipment you might have.’

Myv came running to us,
accompanied by Porter, as hara carried Gen inside.

‘Is he dead?’ Porter snapped.

‘No,’ I answered.

‘Let me help,’ Myv said, his
face strangely expressionless, his eyes fixed on the hara carrying his hurakin
inside.

We went into the kitchen, where
I washed my hands and told Myv to do likewise.

‘Tell me what to do,’ Wyva said.

‘Wash yourself,’ I said. ‘You’ll
be ready then when I need you.’

I went to Gen and put a hand on
his shoulder, projecting a wave of soothing energy, which I hoped would act as
a mild tranquilliser. Some hara though, mainly through fear, can’t relax enough
to accept the current. I hoped Gen wasn’t one of them. ‘Everyhar else – out,
please,’ I said. Porter went to leave with the others. ‘Not you,’ I said. We
locked stares for a moment.

‘Shall I leave too?’ Rinawne
asked, from where he stood at the door, with Dillory’s hands on his shoulders.
I could see he wanted to go, was frightened by what he saw.

‘Yes, you go.’ I smiled at him
and he turned away, let Dillory guide him. Wyva closed the door.

‘What happened?’ I asked Wyva. I
removed the shredded remains of Gen’s trousers using some kitchen shears I’d
held hastily under the hot tap.

Wyva shook his head. ‘The
scythe,’ he said.

‘Well, I can see that, but how?’

He stared at me, his eyes
strangely sunken. ‘It was as if... as if...’ He looked away from me. ‘No,
no...’

‘As if, what? Just tell me!’

‘As if it attacked him, all
right?’ Wyva’s eyes were fiery with challenge now, daring for me to contradict
him.

‘OK,’ I said simply, then put my
hand on Gen’s shoulder again, spoke to him. ‘Well, I think I can patch you up
and save your leg, Gen. We can prevent infection setting in from the start.’ In
humans, of course, infection had often been the worst hazard in serious
injuries, especially before medicine became advanced enough to combat it. In
hara, controlling infection was fairly simple, since the harish body is adept
at healing itself. In the case of a deep, physical wound like Gen’s however, it
would need some help. I could see the shinbone was broken – cut through – as if
from a battle wound. At least the break was clean, but how could this happen in
a hay field? Gen would not be a fumbling amateur with a scythe, I was sure.
None of the hara out there would have been. I could probe that matter later.
First, the practical work. ‘We need to set the leg,’ I told Wyva.

He nodded.

‘Fetch me something we can use
as splints, also something for Gen to bite on while I set the limb. Myv, boil
all the tea cloths.’

Fortunately, a huge pan of water
was already simmering on the stove, as Dillory had been in the process of
making a large batch of meat stew for the haymakers’ dinner.

‘Porter, fetch the most
alcoholic drink you have in the house.’ He departed swiftly to do so, returning
equally swiftly with a bottle of Wyva’s finest plum brandy.

When the equipment was assembled,
I gave Gen a large draught of the brandy and again put my hands upon him to
sedate him. I wrapped the wooden splints in the boiled cloth and asked Myv to
give Gen the piece of wood – a sawn off section of a narrow tree branch – that
Wyva had fetched for his brother to bite upon. ‘Be strong,’ I murmured to Gen,
then gestured at Wyva and Porter. ‘Hold him down, please.’

Despite the pain relief I’d
tried to give him, Gen still screamed and tried to writhe as I set the bone.
The room seemed to reel with his cries, strangely muffled around the wood his
teeth were clamped upon. The raw sounds echoed throughout the building, so that
even in the lulls as he drew sobbing breaths, I could still hear them faintly,
bouncing from room to room. The walls of the kitchen shifted, creaked,
shuddered.

Myv was holding the injured leg.
He looked up at me.
Something’s here,
he told me in mind touch.

Ignore it,
I sent back.
It’s
attracted by the disturbance, that’s all. Do what you can to calm Gen, try to
make him sleep.

Myv was remarkably successful in
this, because Gen noticeably quietened down, his cries reduced to soft moans. Once
the bone was in place, I directed agmara, healing energy, into the wound and instructed
Myv to assist me in that. I approved of his calm, businesslike manner
throughout. In mind touch, I informed him how to direct the energy more
precisely, and he obeyed me without further questions. I could sense the agmara
flowing from him easily, as if it was visible light. He was made to be a
hienama, I thought, and wondered from whom he’d inherited these talents. Wyva
was doing his best to be stoic, but I could feel panic hovering about him.
Porter...? Well, Porter was unreadable, but did as he was told.

(
Is he dead?
I wondered
about that question as I worked.)

Once we’d infused the wound
thoroughly with agmara, I sewed the flesh back up. Myv watched me closely, in a
decidedly detached and academic way.

‘Will he be all right?’ Wyva
asked me. By this time, Gen had lost consciousness.