The Stumpwork Robe (The Chronicles of Eirie 1) (6 page)

But the peace of the coppice broke as a masculine voice rang out. ‘Let go or I will destroy you!’

***

As Kholi and I left Orford together, we had no idea Ana was in such a formidable state, even though we knew she had absconded. If I had any idea at all of her travail, I would never have had such great excitement in the pit of my belly. But in Kholi I had such an attractive man
, an erudite travelling companion. Such experiences and viewpoints did he relate! I warmed to him as we rode along.
No longer did I see him as just a pleasant dalliance in my travels.

A great part of our early conversation was about Ana. How the young woman had obviously been tipped over the edge by her assault and run away. Because we did believe she'd run away despite the fact that doomsayers in the village felt she had left to take her own life. They begged us to keep an eye out for her and of course we did but we saw nothing and eventually concluded she had passed in another direction entirely. My heart broke that she had left her home in such circumstances for there was a fragility about her that worried both Kholi and myself.

But it is time now to hunt for more books and you must move on, following the trail of tiny bees until you come to the tawny owl on the oak branch. He was such a rewarding enterprise to stitch and I grew to love his portly stance and those wise, wise eyes. Worldly wisdom, lucky bird! Oh that we all, my friends and I, had a quarter of that wisdom. But hindsight is a useless thing so there is little point in dwelling on the past.

In a good light you must carefully slit the stitches holding his body to the silk and underneath you will find another book with which to continue your journey.

C
hapter Eight

Liam slept soundly with no profound feelings of
guilt or sadness running through his head. In the typical Faeran way he simply moved on, having removed one piece from the
shatranj
board. He had put his head on the pillow in his room at the tavern, closed his eyes and slept. And would have remained so, if an accursed ruckus had not begun downstairs about an hour before dawn. Voices shouted and cursed, doors slammed, feet ran. He swung his booted feet to the floor as he hadn’t bothered to undress, and opened the door of the room.
Light gleamed from the bottom of the staircase and noise levels rose.
A serving maid ran past. ‘Mistress, what goes below?’
Liam smiled engagingly at the maid, who simpered and tucked loose hair
behind her ear with a spare hand, the other holding a bundle of clothing.

‘It’s the Bellinghams, sir, something bad has happened.’

A voice boomed from below. ‘TARA, C’MON LASS!’

The girl looked apologetically at Liam and swung away down the stairwell.
Liam followed her. He would see
without being recalled, waft in and out of a crowd, listening and asking questions and no one would remember him after they had answered. A fug of smoke and steam smelling of wet wool, tobacco and horse wrapped round him as he entered the room. People gabbled and shouted and asked questions, and a roar soared as a bear of a man yelled above the rest. ‘QUIET, THE LOT O’ YER!’ Bruin the pub-keeper stood his ursine bulk on a table. The crowd hushed on seeing his ruddy face with its long side-whiskers. His eyes sparked with impatience. ‘Let the poor men have a sup and then Jimbo, can yer tell us what yer know?’

Jimbo flushed as heads turned but he took a long swig of his ale, wiped his head vigorou
sly with Tara’s proffered cloth and stood on the table next to Bruin. ‘Jonty Bellingham’s gone!’

Those of the muttering crowd who had been out in the night nodded in agreement and then buried their faces in their tankards and left the young ostler to tell the story.

‘Go on,’ Bruin nudged him.

‘He didn’t come home and by dark the boss were worried. So he got a group of us estate workers together and we followed the track from the farm, we took the dogs an’ all.’ He stopped, took another slug of his drink an
d wiped his mouth with the cloth. ‘The boss were dead set the young fella would have come home ‘cos they had to organise the big announcement fer today. Anyhoo, we searched the paddocks and the hedgerows and finally got to Buck’s Passing and there were a mess of horse prints as though someone had been through and the boss made us get down and search on foot and it were me...’ He stopped again and paled and put the cloth to his eyes with a shaking hand.

Bruin put his arm along the lad’s shoulders. ‘Come on, its orright.’

Jimbo nodded. ‘Well you see, I found him. Well, it weren’t him, it were...’ he swallowed. ‘Bits of him.’

A sharp intake of breath from the crowd sucked the atmosphere of the tavern dry. Liam leaned against the wall, arms folded and tapping his biceps with bored fingers.

‘You see, it were the Cabyll Ushtey. Everyone knows Buck’s Passing is his lair. We all take it at a gallop. Anyhoo, I didn’t just find bits of him...’

‘What bits?’
Someone earned a savage glare from Bruin as Jimbo’s shoulders shook
with a stifled sob at the question but he bravely answered.

‘His innards. You know how they always say the Cabyll Ushtey don’t eat innards.’ The audience nodded sagely as if they all had intimate knowledge of the water monster and its habits. ‘Anyhoo, I found bits of his clothes and you could see blood washed up along the shore and not a sign of his horse.’

There was a ghastly silence filled only with the crackle of the fire and Tara swishing past Liam, muttering under her breath.

‘What did you say?’ He whispered just loud enough to gain her attention and she coloured as if caught in a misdemeanor. She glanced around, surveying the otherwise engaged crowd and then leaned closer to him.

‘I said no loss, sir!’ Her angry eyes turned on the crowd and Liam raised a prompting eyebrow. ‘He raped me,' she continued, her arms wrapped round her body. 'I hate him What if I’m pregnant? The Bellinghams’d kill
me
to kill the babe, cos I’m just a serving wench! Good luck to the Cabyll Ushtey I say!’ Her agitated whisper hit the walls and bounced back. Liam reached out a hand and ran it down her arm and she calmed. ‘But you know,' she continued more equably, 'it’s a blessing and a sadness in a way. The announcement Jimbo mentioned? Well, Bellingham was to be betrothed to Ana Lamb. Aine sir, I tell you - she’s as gentle as her name and she would definitely have died under his family's care. It's a madhouse. But now she’s gone and run away, all for nothing.’

Liam’s interest concentrated itself fully on the girl and Tara melted like
butter in the summer sun. ‘Run away, you say.’

‘Aye. O
ff into the night. Her ma and brother heard her dog howling and broke into her room to see what was amiss and the girl was gone, a bag taken, food too, her father’s rowan crook gone. And no trail, for the ground was covered with drizzle. As if they didn’t have enough troubles at that farm, with Mr. Lamb up and dying and a crop failure and Aine knows what else. You know what farming’s like.’ Tara shook her head. ‘Anyway no one can find her. The Travellers have been told and they’re leaving on their way soon and will keep an eye open.’ She leaned toward Liam and he bent his head down to her. ‘But do you know what? If I wanted to get away from someone like the Bellinghams, I’d hide in the Weald. No one’d be able to find you there.’

He touched her forehead with a faint kiss and she turned around looking for the source but there was nothing. Her memory of having talked to him was gone, as was her memory of his very existence. By the time her hand had come away from her forehead, Liam was in the stable saddling his mount. By the time she was in the tavern kitchen, he was galloping through the village outskirts to the road skirting the edge of the Weald. He knew Ana would make for the highway as far from the village as possible and with the Weald in between her and those who searched. He had no doubt she believed they would not consider her brave enough to tackle the eldrich forest at night and would look for her elsewhere, giving her time to put distance between she and the searchers. He also had no doubt the northern reaches of Eirie with mountains, deserts and exotic locales would appeal to someone who was fascinated by the Travellers.

By dawn, the black mass of the woods was in his sights and he put his horse at a low hawthorn hedge, jumping into a lightly wooded valley that fell lazily down grassed slopes. Lacing through the green folds with watery tinkles, a small stream meandered toward the dark shadows of the trees. His horse picked its way carefully along the banks, finally pushing through wild fragrantissima to a coppice that glowed gold in the weak dawn light. Trees drooped under the weight of moisture from the drizzle and those that could shed their leaves in showers of gilt. The horse stepped delicately over autumn crocus, finally stopping dead, throwing up its head, eyes wide, a snort rattling down its nostrils.
Liam threw himself out of the saddle and ran toward the far edge of the
clearing where the stream had opened out to form a dappled pool - the kind that would please the eye of an ingénue or trap the unwary. The home of a Weald waterwight.

A figure in dark clothes was kneeling, almost lying, by the side of the leaf-bedecked pond. A pale arm poked out of the water, hand wrapped like chain around a mortal wrist. The unfortunate anchored so maliciously was a whisker away from the watery surface. Soon the face would be under water and the wight would hold it there until the victim drowned. There would be no struggle. The malfeasant of Eirie could entice and slaughter their prey with the minimum of fuss.

‘Let go or I’ll destroy you!’ Liam shouted and the wight turned a snarling face toward him as his hand began to sweep, the waterlily pads curling, browning, the water beginning to steam and bubble. The waterwight opened her mouth in a silent howl, letting go of Ana and swimming to the far side of the pool to grimace with jagged teeth. Kicking up a spray of water, she disappeared into the dark green depths, Ana kneeling at the edge, shaken and faint and whispering ‘Pa? Pa?’

‘Come away. It’s a charm from a waterwight.’ Liam slipped a hand under her elbow.

Ana lifted a wretched face to him, eyes filled with a wracking sadness. ‘But I saw him...’

‘You saw what the wight wanted you to see so it could entrap you. Ana, you are still in the Weald. It is the playground of the Others.’

She sat on the ground, head hanging forward in her hands. From the
muffled space came an enquiry. ‘But you are Other, aren’t you?’ She looked up then, her face pale and wan.

‘Yes.’

‘And you won’t hurt me?’

Liam stilled, a momentous silence in which his fingers moved the pawn
backwards and forwards across the board. And then, ‘I think not.’

She allowed him to help her up and he hoisted her bag over his shoulder.
He saw her crook on the ground but unable touch it, he gestured. ‘Ana, your staff. I can’t...’

She bent and retrieved the carved staff, the shiver of bells casting a twin
shiver over Liam. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, whipping off the woolen cap, tendrils of hair flying around her face. She wrapped the head of the crook in its soft confines so the bells were silenced. ‘I had no idea its power was so strong, I'm a mortal after all. Could I have used it against the wight?’ She ran her fingers down the smooth wood as if touching her father’s hand.

‘You could if the wight hadn’t enchanted you. After that, you had no control over anything you did. Your crook, even though it was lying by your feet, was no protection because you couldn’t hold it. Now come, I’ll take you away from here.’

Liam had been guiding her gently toward his horse but she pulled
back from the masculine hands, as if his touch had become repellent and repugnant in an instant. ‘No!’

His eyebrows rose in response.

‘It’s kind of you.’ she stood still, brushing the loose hair out of her face. ‘But I must meet my friends on the highway in an hour.’ She avoided his gaze as if he represented something distasteful.

As he had retired the evening before, he had stared at his reflection in the mirror and wondered what she saw when she gazed upon him. Not handsome, there were prettier fellows. But the planes of his face were equal and strong and his nose was long and well shaped and when he smiled he could charm and he believed she would feel drawn to him as iron filings to a magnet. He grinned. ‘Of course. I realise you had to be here in the Weald for a purpose. Let me take you to the highway on my horse.’

She bit her lip. He could imagine her tremulous thoughts: Yes, no,
should I, could I?

‘Come now, Ana. I am no shape-shifter. I
am
Faeran but my offer is harmless.’ He held out the hand that yesterday had swung her off the log and noticed a faint blush on her cheeks as she reached forward with cautious fingers. ‘Right then, if we can just work out how to deal with your crook, we can mount my horse and go.’ He began tying her tote to the pommel of the saddle and then turned as he caught sight of her wrestling the crook in the corner of his eye. She had taken off her coat and slipped the crook through the armholes and then re-buttoned it at her neck with the top button. It hung down her back like an absurd mantle, the arms horizontal and stiff like a scarecrow.
Liam laughed.
‘Well if nothing else you’re resourceful. But I can’t haul you up behind. Climb the fallen log over there and slide on behind me.’ He jumped on his horse and guided it to the side of the temporary mounting block. With only slight difficulty, Ana slipped over the dappled back to position herself astride, arms tentatively holding Liam’s waist, trying to keep the crook clear of his body. The journey up the valley proceeded gently, the horse happy to amble with its added cargo. For a little while there was no sound from either
Liam or Ana until she shifted and he reached behind and slipped a hand
over her arm. She flinched. ‘You’re alright?’ he said.

‘Yes, I’m fine.’ She gave a sigh. ‘I often rode like this with my Pa.’

‘But I’ll wager not with a crook sticking out of your shoulders.’

‘No, Pa had a special sling made and it hung down his horse’s shoulder so he could grab it in a hurry if needs be.’

‘Ah. A Faeran horse wouldn’t cope with it at all, let alone his rider.’

‘What does it feel like?’ Curiosity, the mortal weakness, began to assert itself.

‘The crook? Well, it’s rowan wood and that’s a guardian timber for mortals, so it’s almost like a bane for any Other. Add the silver bells and it feels like a flash of lightning. It burns and shocks; a complete anathema.’

‘Can you feel its proximity?’ Ana swayed as the horse paced evenly and her body touched Liam’s.

He relished every minute of such contact as he answered. ‘Indeed. It’s apparent.’

‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not especially,’ he lied. ‘Now tell me, why are you here on your own?’