The Plains of Kallanash (3 page)

The Karninghold Slave took a torch from one of his acolytes and led the way through the gate. The bier followed, then Tella’s three Companions, clinging to each other, and another Slave with a torch. A sad procession they made, Hurst thought, the Slaves in their grey robes, the Silent Guards in gold, and Tella and her three Companions in the white robes of death. The gate clanged shut behind them, shrouding the yard in gloom again.

Hurst, Mia, Jonnor and their Companions climbed a narrow stair set into the wall beside the gate, emerging onto a covered balcony overlooking the meadow and fields beyond it. At first the low sun set the Silent Guards’ armour aflame and the group was easy to follow, but then they passed into shadow. Soon only the flickering torches were visible, passing into the funeral tower on its small knoll, and climbing the stairs inside.

When the torches reached the top of the funeral tower, the blue lights were lit inside, strange ethereal shimmers in the darkness, bright enough to see shadows moving here and there behind. There was such finality in those blue lights.

The family was expected to stand vigil for a while, and braziers had been lit, cloaks and blankets brought, and food and wine provided. Jonnor sat on a stone bench, head down, wrapped in his own arms. Mia brought a cushion to sit on, watching the blue lamps in the distance. Hurst poured wine for them all, and silently stood beside her.

He ached to take her in his arms, to let her weep on his shoulder, to cry himself – for Tella and for all of them. Yet he dared not. Mia would be Jonnor’s now, and that was the end of it. Unless… but it was better not to think about that, not to create any impossible hope in his mind. So he stood beside her, so close he could smell the herbal scent of the soap she used.

The Karninghold Slave returned from the funeral tower, and acolytes lit incense sticks around the balcony, chanting. Mia joined in at the appropriate points, sitting passively, her hands still. Even Jonnor drank some wine and asked for a little fruit. Then all the Slaves withdrew, and one by one the Companions left too, until only the three of them were left on the chill stone balcony. Together they sat, looking out into the darkness at the otherworldly blue lights hovering.

Mia stared mesmerised at those glowing lamps. Hurst left her to the cushions and withdrew to the bench with his wine. How grieved was she? Tella was her sister, but they had never been close. In the early days of the marriage, it was clear they knew very little about each other, and Tella had never made much effort to change that, focusing on Jonnor. When she tired of him, she grew restless and unsettled, disappearing for days at a time.

In some ways, they would all miss Tella’s Companions more than Tella herself. Well, not Jonnor perhaps, but the rest of them. They were friends for Mia and her own Companions, and to the men, something more than friends. Unlike Tella, they had always been around the Karninghold, working with Mia and her own Companions, dealing with the domestic matters, helping with the children.

Gods, the children! That was a bad business. Of the nine children, seven would lose their mothers with the dawn and the flames in the funeral tower.

“It’s getting late,” Hurst whispered in Mia’s ear. “You will be exhausted. Why not go to bed for a while? We will be awakened well before dawn.”

“If Jonnor will go, then I will too,” she said, moving to the bench and sitting next to him.

“She was my wife,” Jonnor said tearfully. “My beloved wife. I’ll not leave her. I’ll stay here and watch over her. I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

Mia put an arm round his shoulders, and he sat, hunched in misery, beside her. “I’ll wait with him,” Mia whispered. “But there’s no need for all of us to stay. You go and get some sleep, Hurst. You were so late back last night, you must be tired.”

“I’ll keep you company if you wish.”

She shook her head. “There’s no need. I can look after Jonnor.”

It was true, he realised in sudden anguish. That was her role now, to take care of Jonnor, to be the wife he needed, even if he didn’t appreciate his good fortune. There was no place for Hurst in this new arrangement, and if he hovered round the two of them, it would only confuse things.

Brushing the tips of his fingers gently across her arm, he crept away.

~~~

With the first faint hint of dawn, Hurst returned. Jonnor had fallen into a restless sleep, but Mia stood, gazing towards the funeral tower.

“How are you?” Hurst asked, placing a hand in the small of her back. “Have you had any rest at all?”

She stood unmoving under his touch. “Do they come themselves? The Gods – do they come for the dead?”

Strange question. What had been going through her mind while she stood vigil through the long, dark hours?

“I don’t think so. I never heard of anything like that. The Gods are never seen, they never intervene, that’s why they have their Servants, and the Voices of the Servants and their Slaves, to carry out their wishes.”

“That’s what I thought too. But…” She hesitated. “You’ll think me insane, I daresay.”

“Try me.”

“I saw… something. People. At the top of the tower, not long ago. Several of them, moving about.”

“That would be the Companions, I expect. They… the Slaves give them poison, you know, so they don’t need to be awake for the flames, but they don’t have to take it.”

“Five of them. I saw five.”

“That’s… Mia, that’s not possible. There couldn’t be more than three, just the Companions. No one else is there.”

“Could anyone get in?”

“No, the doors are locked and the Silent Guards stand vigil around the outside of the tower. No one could get in. Besides, you can’t see anything for certain from here. In this half-light, it’s easy for the eyes to be tricked.”

“I expect you’re right,” she said, her voice tired and dull.

The sky was soon a blaze of angry reds and golds and washed out blues. The funeral tower stood out stark and clear, rising like a slender finger from the morning mist below. In the room at the top, the blue lamps were dim against the strength of the rising sun.

The Companions returned one by one to the stone balcony, and then the Slaves, the acolytes lighting scented oil burners and positioning the great brass gong. The Karninghold Slave began to chant, but almost at once a bulky acolyte swung his hammer against the gong. The sound echoed through their heads and reverberated off the walls, making them all jump.

Across the meadow, the upper floor of the funeral tower was engulfed by vivid blue flames, so that for an instant a brilliant pulsing globe sat atop a thin stone pillar.

Then the blaze was gone, and Tella and her Companions with it.

An acolyte ignited the ornate brass brazier with a torch lit from the temple fire. Thick stone walls and high south-facing windows kept the temple’s side-chamber cool despite the summer warmth outside. A gong tolled, and Mia took her place on one of the cushions around the brazier. Jonnor, grey-faced, sat to one side of her with Hurst on the other, and she reached to clasp their hands. Just three of them, now, and a little further for their arms to stretch to circle the fire. Their first family communion since the funeral burning, and it didn’t even feel strange, since Tella had been away so often lately. It was almost normal, a return to the comforting daily rituals of the Karninghold.

Mia always liked family communion, with the joined hands, the fire, the incense, the chanting of the Slaves. Around them, the Companions stood in a ring with the children. One held the baby asleep in her arms, tufts of white hair peeking out from her shawl. The two oldest boys stood together solemn-faced, their dark curls mingling, heads bowed, eyes closed. Two of the girls quietly held hands, but the younger ones were restless. Nine children in the family, and seven of them had lost their mothers in the funeral burning, she thought with a tremor; Tella’s three, and her Companions’ four. The children would barely notice Tella’s absence, perhaps, but her Companions had helped to take care of all the little ones, not just their own. Already Tersia’s eldest was asking where she was. Now Mia and her own Companions would have to be enough for them.

She bowed her head, breathing deeply to inhale the fragrant smoke of the brazier and the heady musk of the incense. Then she allowed her mind to float free.

It was Jonnor who filled her thoughts. Not today’s Jonnor, a silent ghost of himself, creeping about in the shadows, wild-eyed, or masking his despair with wine. She remembered the month of discovery, that time when they got to know each other before they married, the mornings riding out together, all four of them, the long walks through her mother’s perfumed gardens, the evenings of laughter and promise. For a very short time, Jonnor had been hers, had looked at her in a way that made her warm inside, a time when he had brought her the prettiest flower, or the choicest sweetmeat. Hurst and Tella were to be lead husband and wife, and she and Jonnor were to be a couple, too. But then Jonnor’s father had intervened, and turned everything upside down. Her own father had agreed to the change, and Hurst’s too, so there must have been good reason for it, but she didn’t know what. So Tella got Jonnor, and she and Hurst got nothing.

The final gong jolted her back to awareness. Jonnor leapt up and strode off. Everyone else began to drift away to their morning duties. Mia took a deep breath, trying to focus her mind again.

“Shall we check the accounting,” Hurst said gently, as he appeared at her side, “or would you rather start on some letters?”

She sighed. “One day. That’s all the time we’ve had to grieve.”

“It’s probably better to be busy. Less time to think.”

She bowed her head in acceptance, too weary to argue. “Accounting, then.”

They moved from the side-chamber into the temple. The line of Slaves passed by on one of their circuits, one in front jingling the bells, another at the rear waving the censer, and the third in the centre holding the book of hours, reciting the familiar lines. It was Gaminor just now, the seventh day and the third hour. Mia murmured the words under her breath as they walked towards the exit.

Hurst stopped beside the great wooden doors, which stood open to the warmth outside. Turning to face her, he wrapped one of her hands in both of his. “This is hard for you, I know,” he said. “Would you like to stay here for a while? I’ll deal with the accounting.”

So tempting, to lose herself in the words of the Nine. The temple soothed her spirits, with its constant incantations and tinkling bells, incense heavy in the air, and the Silent Guards in their protective circle around the perimeter. But she couldn’t give way to her grief. It was bad enough to have Jonnor distraught; she had to be brave for his sake, for the children, for the Karning. She took a deep breath. “No, you’re right, as usual. Better to have plenty to do than to brood. Let’s go.”

~~~

Jonnor’s father was the first of the official mourners to arrive, for his Karning was no more than a few days away. He was only forty-four, since Jonnor had been born when he was just sixteen. If anything he was even more handsome than his son, tall and fit, with a full head of dark hair. He had a certain charm which reminded Mia of thieves and rogues in the old stories who managed to talk themselves out of every difficulty.

“How you must miss dear Tella!” he said. “Such a wonderful woman she was. And such a fine horsewoman. I remember a particularly spirited grey she had at one time, and she rode with such style! I could barely keep up with her. There was one occasion when we went east, and…”

Mia recalled that he had always got on well with Tella, although they met rarely. They had certainly had a rapport, both of them being lively, physical people. Since he was a strong horseman, they had often ridden out together when he visited the Karning. Such memories were too much for Jonnor, who leapt up and dashed out of the room.

“He was fond of her, then?” his father remarked, one eyebrow raised. “But then she was so captivating, everyone must have loved her.”

Jonnor’s mother was very different, plain-faced and as thin as a stick, who sat in pinched silence during the mourners’ official ceremonies. Mia was surprised when she asked to walk round the ladies’ garden.

“Now, my dear,” she said, wrapping Mia’s hand around her bony arm. “We must have a chat, for you will be lead wife now, you know.”

“Oh. Yes, I suppose I will be.” Of course she had thought about it. How could she not? At last she would move upstairs, and perhaps Jonnor… She was annoyed with herself for blushing.

“Why, my dear, you look…! Surely you have…? You mean you are still not active? Well! How old are you now? Twenty
-one? Twenty-two?”

“I’m twenty
-five.”

“My dear! But you know, it was only supposed to be three years that you were downstairs. Such a child you were then, everyone thought it was for the best. But we never intended… We’re not living under the Petty Kings, you know, there’s no need to lock yourself away from men altogether. Oh, such pretty leaves, such an unusual colour!” She stopped, fingering a small bush beside the path. Mia stood in silence until she moved on.

“I suppose none of the Companions appealed to you? No? Well, perhaps you’re right. These Skirmishers, they’re built like trees and with brains to match, most of them.”

Mia tried to keep her expression blank, but it was hard not to be insulted. She was a Karningholder and a Higher, her role to be a wife to her two husbands, not to amuse herself with the Lower-born Companions. It was permitted, for they were a part of the marriage too, but such dalliances held no attraction for her.

Jonnor’s mother rattled on, without waiting for an answer. “And Jonnor never wanted to change things? But I suppose he had his reasons.”

“He was always very content with Tella,” she murmured.

“Indeed, indeed. And so he kept you downstairs. Oh goodness, is that a moonrose?” She dived abruptly off the path into a weedy area of shrubs. “I’ve never been able to grow them, you know. How did you do it?”

“It just appeared,” Mia said. “This garden does whatever it wishes.”

“Oh, mine’s the same,” Jonnor’s mother said. “It’s hopeless, nothing but root vegetables grow so far south. Even so – a moonrose! A pity I won’t be here to see it flower. Where were we? Oh, yes. So – you never wanted to be made active? You could have asked any time after the three years. You never thought of that?”

How could she possibly explain it? The waiting, hoping that Jonnor would tire of Tella, or at least hunger for some variety. Then Tella’s increasing volatility, and the fear that a change would be too disruptive. They’d had such a fragile arrangement, Tella and Jonnor, but it worked, if they were left to themselves.

Then there was Hurst, who had never shown any signs of wanting to move upstairs. Well, he had other outlets, he didn’t need a wife in his bed. And if they were all upstairs, there was no knowing how things might end up. Not that she would mind being with Hurst, if that was asked of her, he was a sweet man, but she’d always hoped it would be Jonnor, or at least that she would have a choice. But she couldn’t begin to explain any of that.

Instead, looking at the ground, Mia said, “We were all quite content.”

“My dear child! What a timid little mouse you are. Well, perhaps it’s for the best.” She paused, then took Mia’s arm again, patting her hand. “Yes, indeed. But now things will be different. Such a change for you! But you must be careful, and not allow too many liberties, if you understand me. Oh, you’re such an innocent child, aren’t you? I mean, of course, that you must keep to Jonnor, and not allow… well, I know it’s for all three of you to decide, of course, but you must make your voice heard. You must convince Jonnor not to allow the other one near you.”

“The other one? Do you mean Hurst?”

“Hurst, that’s it. Better not to, you know.”

“But… Hurst is my husband, too.”

“Well, of course, of course, but… my dear, since we’re alone let’s speak frankly. You wouldn’t want a child like that, would you?”

“Like… like Hurst? Why ever not?”

“Oh, but…” She tittered. “I suppose you don’t see it, but…
so
ugly, and that leg…”

Had Mia ever thought him ugly? He wasn’t handsome like Jonnor, certainly, but he wasn’t so bad looking. When she’d first met Hurst, she’d thought him an intimidating man, the limp rather disconcerting. Probably that was just his age, for he was twenty
-six to her fifteen, a Skirmisher with battle experience against the Vahsi. Once she got to know him better, she stopped noticing his looks, especially when he smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled pleasingly. The limp was just part of him, and she never thought about it.

“The leg was a childhood illness,” she said eventually.

“But there must be a susceptibility, a weakness. Take my advice, dear, stick to Jonnor. Much better babies.”

~~~

Brothers and sisters were not obliged to visit after a death, but many of them did so anyway. Two of Hurst’s older brothers came from a nearby Karning, slapping the men vigorously on the back, and drinking vast amounts of wine. Mia’s sisters came in twos and threes, wearing the white sash of mourning, accompanied by all their Companions, who filled the guest hall with tears and reminiscences and emotional hugs, clustering in big gossipy groups. It cheered Mia hugely, and only partly because of the constant bustle and activity.

Later came Mia’s own parents from the northern border, a tiring journey, which left them exhausted. Mia noticed for the first time that they looked almost
old
– her vigorous father, always riding off somewhere at speed, and her energetic mother, never still, suddenly had grey hair and wrinkles. How had she never seen that before? Mia hugged them both, and cried a little, not for Tella this time, but for her own happy childhood and the sheer pleasure of seeing them again.

“Goodness, but it’s cold here,” Bellissa said. “Have you anywhere we can warm ourselves?”

There were few places in the stone-built Karninghold free from chills and drafts, even in high summer. Mia had grown used to the damp southern air, but for her parents, newly arrived from the warm north, it was torture. Mia took them through to the inner hall, where a fire burned year-round, and rugs and wall hangings kept the heat in. She arranged chairs close to the fire and wrapped them in shawls.

“Tell me everything that’s been happening,” Mia said eagerly.

“Oh, the usual,” Kendron said. “The Vahsi have been quite active this year, but they haven’t caught us at a disadvantage yet.” He gazed around the room at the many large wall hangings, pocked with moth holes and faded with age, depicting great victories against the plains barbarians. “These are strange images of them.”

A savage race they looked, with their antlered helmets and painted faces, wrapped in furs and waving their curved blades. Mia loved to read stories about them, thrilling tales of their brutality which had her shivering in delicious fear, while knowing herself to be quite safe. The barbarians were always defeated, in the legends just as in the real battles along the border.

“They’re a strange race, though, aren’t they?” Mia said. “They must be, to fight a perpetual war they can never win.”

“Perhaps,” Kendron said. “I certainly don’t understand them. But it’s the depiction of them that’s strange. The Vahsi I’ve fought against weren’t like this at all. They looked just like scruffy, bearded Skirmishers, only more disorganised. But enough of the barbarians. We have news for you, child. We’ve decided… we will be breaking this winter.”

“Breaking? No! Not you!” Mia stared at them, her hands covering her mouth. It happened to every Karningholder marriage eventually. Still, it was hard to think of her own parents and all their husbands and wives scattering to different Karnings, broken apart just because they became too old to rule.

“I know, I always thought I would die with a sword in my hand, too,” Kendron smiled, one eyebrow jinking upwards. “But it hasn’t happened, and we’re getting too decrepit for the border. And I’ll be honest with you, child, I’m tired of it. More than twenty years we’ve been on the northern border, and we’ve made a good job of it, on the whole, but these last two or three years… Time to let someone else have a stab at the barbarians.”