Green Mantle

by Gail Merritt

  Green Mantle

  The Mantle Chronicles Book Two

  Gail Merritt

  Copyright © 2004 Gail Merritt

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by KaeDe NoKi

  Images by Kiselev Andrey Valerevich, ArtisticPhoto

  Map by Jonathan Merritt

  Printed in the United States of America

  For Helen

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  1. - The Owl

  2. - The Red Wagon

  3. - Taegel

  4. - Horse

  5. - Wyke

  6. - Coast

  7. - Ransom

  8. - Island

  9. - Marsh

  10. - Call for Help

  11. - Apples

  12. - Flight

  13. - Farewell

  14. - Storm

  15. - Encounters

  16. - The Sisterhood of Hope

  17. - Gwythin

  Place Names

  About The Author

  The Chronicles of the Mantles

  Books By This Author

  1. - The Owl

  The owl flew low across the clearing. We watched its passing in the moonlight - silent, silver-winged, then purple-silhouetted against shafts of moonbeams. It circled once, above our heads, casting a shadow over the dying embers of our camp fire. Then, gaining height, it turned to leave, beat its wings once and slammed headlong into a tree, slithering down the trunk, wings outstretched, to end in a confused jumble of feather and beak.

  Stunned, I watched it flounder until the fox passed me, murmuring something about a midnight snack. It was enough to bring me to my feet and race after him. We reached the stricken bird together, but thankfully, the fox knew better than to strike without my permission. He sat dejectedly beside me as I gathered the owl into my arms.

  ‘You may as well let me finish it off,’ he muttered. ‘At best it will have broken every bone in its stupid body and has probably dented its beak as well.’

  ‘Bno, by ‘aven’t,’ protested the bird thrusting its face from under a broken wing. It winced. Yes, it had, and a great deal more besides, but I had held it and felt its heart beating. I could not see it become the fox’s next meal.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ I was fearful that trying to untangle his wings might damage them further.

  ‘Byou’re Breen Brankle,’ it sniffed. There was a trickle of blood from its left eye, so I caused the owl to fall into a deep sleep while I carried it back to the fire. Gilbert, the horse, had already stoked the embers to give me more light, so I carefully ran my hands over the bones and sinew, mending and healing as I went.

  It was at such times that I felt most grateful for my special gifts. I possessed the power to restore this simple creature by using skills taught to me in the College of the Mantles, the Talarin. I had known much sadness there, but I had learnt enough to save this little life. I smiled to myself as I thought how far that austere citadel was from this forest place.

  ‘You waste your powers over such a small thing,’ the fox complained as he curled up to sleep. I ignored him and the pain that his thought always caused in my head. It was mark of our friendship that I suffered the pain to gain his good counsel but on this occasion his advice was heavy with petulance. For some time, he had been unusually sensitive, quick to anger and out of spirits. His health was good, so I suspected other factors were influencing my dear friend.

  The owl was stirring. ‘Am I dead?’ It blinked at me. It was a little owl, in name and stature, a youngster born last summer.

  ‘You live,’ I said, allowing it to hop from my knee and stretch its wings.

  The bird looked up at me and asked, ‘Are you truly Green Mantle?’ I nodded and it sighed. ‘I’ve been searching t’woods for you. My folks sent me to you, to see if you can help me, though I’m sure y’ can’t.’

  I asked him what his problem was.

  ‘It’s prey, ya see, a can’t kill it.’

  ‘Your family should teach you all the necessary skills,’ I told him. ‘That’s not a job for Green Mantle!’ Behind me I felt the fox stirring in his sleep.

  ‘Nay!’ The owl’s body heaved with misery. ‘Tha misunderstands the problem, ma’am. A can’t kill t’prey ‘cos a feel sorry for it. A look at them big, sad eyes an’ a can’t do it, d’ y’ see?’

  The fox opened one eye as I asked what the owl had been living on, if couldn’t kill as an owl should.

  ‘Carrion mostly,’ it answered. ‘Then there’s t’stuff ‘umans throw out, ‘alf a carcass sometimes. ‘Ave tried grass and plants but they son’t suit me. ‘A even ‘ad a go at nuts until t’squirrels caught me in their winter store. Them little beggars can give you a real nasty bite, they can.’

  ‘Owls are birds of prey. They are killers. They do exceedingly well!’ The fox could stand it no longer. His eyes narrowed as he regarded the little owl. ‘Creatures should recognise their nature and live by it. None of us choose our nature but when we are born, it becomes ours and there’s no avoiding it.’

  The owl sighed. ‘Then it’s best y’ do me to dead now, Mester Fox.’ He regarded his feet. ‘It’s a fact. ‘A should be able to kill them young field-mice; ‘a should be ‘appy to make a meal o’ newborn fox cubs, but ‘a can’t and that’s a fact. ‘Am no good ta anybody. ‘Am not natural. Y’ can ‘ave me for breakfast, Mester Fox, though a’ll not mek a decent meal, am afraid.’

  ‘No one is eating anyone for breakfast!’ I glared at the approaching fox. ‘You, can go back to sleep, while this little owl and I consider what we must do.’

  ‘Ralph,’ piped the owl.

  ‘Ralph?’ The fox chuckled as he curled himself up once more.

  ‘Ralph!’ insisted the owl. ‘A ‘eard a ‘uman shout it out once. ‘A reckon it was a dog being called but ‘a liked the sound of it well enough. Owls don’t usually bother with names but ‘a wanted one. Mi’ dad said, ‘a was daft and mi’ mum said, ‘a should cum ta you for ‘elp.’

  ‘Do you really want my help, Ralph?’ I beckoned him to sit on my arm. ‘It seems to me that you have made your decisions about your life so far and, although I agree with the fox that it is an owl’s nature to hunt prey, I can also accept the right of certain owls to be different. But, Ralph, you must be aware of the consequences. You have chosen a different path and it will be lonely. When other owls are seeking mates or teaching their young to hunt, you will be different. Are you prepared for that? It could be very lonely.’

  Ralph sighed and his whole body heaved so much that he nearly fell off my arm. He looked down at his feet for a long time. ‘P’raps it’s mi destiny to be the way ‘a am.’

  ‘Ahem!’ whispered Gilbert, the horse, from beyond the firelight. I had thought he would not trouble himself with this disturbance and was sleeping peacefully. From the tears in the corner of his eyes, I saw that I was very wrong. ‘If I could make a suggestion, My Lady, that young Ralph comes along with us for a while. He can share our food, or seek out the already dead, and it will gave him time to think about his future, if that is agreeable to you, of course.’ Gilbert blinked away a tear.

  “I think that’s a splendid and very thoughtful idea, Gilbert.’ I patted his neck. ‘Would you care to come along with us, Ralph? We travel without fanfare and our food is what we can get, but we share everyth
ing and try to help those we meet on our journey. Will you join Green Mantle?’

  The little owl squeaked joyfully and ran up to my shoulder to thank Gilbert himself but almost toppled over in his delight. ‘Am a mite clumsy as well!’

  It was agreed, although the fox pointed out that it might mean smaller rations for everyone except for the horse, so he could afford to be generous. As the predawn mists began to settle on the edge of the forest, we slept, and it was mid-morning before we woke and continued our journey.

  Nature had suffered during the war between the kingdoms of Magra and Dereculd. It was my task, as Green Mantle, to use my powers to restore the balance that had once existed. Since the war I had travelled the Five Kingdoms, healing the land and sharing the lives of the creatures of the wild. Like all Green Mantles before me, I hear the thoughts of animals within my mind and can communicate with them. I revisited my friends, the wolves of the Forests of Lore and the Middle Meeds and spent time in the realms of the snow leopards of Mount Befell. In the south, I instructed the isolated villages of Mosagin about tree planting to preserve their water supply. Everywhere I went I tried to return the natural world to the way it had been before the human battles had destroyed so much of it.

  ‘What was it like in the Talarin?’ Ralph asked me as we strolled through rough pasture one afternoon. I strolled and he perched. He had taken to sitting on my left shoulder and I had taken to padding my clothes to protect myself against his sharp talons.

  ‘It was a school and it was my home, but it wasn’t warm and homely like a nest. I made friends there and I had wonderful times but-‘ I stopped, and Ralph shuffled across my shoulder.

  ‘Y’ don’t ‘ave to tell me if it’s painful.’ He began to preen himself.

  ‘I was not a good pupil. I was always questioning the wisdom of the Mantles and because of my skills I could hear their conversations from far away, even when they tried to stop me hearing them. I got into a lot of trouble, one way or another.’ I could smile about most of my student days and even share tales with Ralph but there were things that had happened to me during my time in the Talarin that I was not ready to face.

  ‘An’ the Mantles, are they scary?’ He shuffled again.

  ‘Am I?’ I tilted my head slightly and tried to keep a stern face, but it was no use. ‘My old master, the Green Mantle before me, was kind and gentle. Blue Mantle is sweet and noble, sensitive and caring. I’ve always liked him. Black Mantle is mysterious, and I used to be afraid of him until I got to know him. He is kindly too and I would trust him with my life. Red mantle is fierce, and he doesn’t like me. but I would trust him. He remembers a time when even the Kings feared the Mantles.’

  ‘Most folks still fear ‘em,’ Ralph nodded sagely before toppling forward. I stopped him with my hand and pushed him back until he regained his balance. ‘An’ Silver Mantle,’ he went on, ‘tell me about ‘er. Is she splendid?’

  What could I tell him about Silver Mantle? She was the first, the mightiest among them all, their leader although none would call her that. She had the ear of the King and went to great lengths to protect him from danger, from harm and from love. She had discovered my talents, grown fond of me and spoken up in my defense many times. Alas, there was a limit to her fondness, particularly when it involved the King. I had ignored her warnings and allowed myself to fall in love with Prince Ardin, who was now King. Silver Mantle did not spare my feelings as she engineered a bride for him, and when I left Vellin, we were reconciled but we had nothing to say to each other. The emptiness that her betrayal had left inside me needed to be filled, so I took to the highway with my own companions, the fox and Gilbert the horse.

  ‘She is everything you have heard,’ I told Ralph, ‘and more.’

  The little bird flew up to perch on the pommel of Gilbert’s saddle. The horse ambled beside us, occasionally offering comments but for the most part keeping his own counsel. The little owl yawned. ‘Ave never been to the Northern Meeds before! ‘Am looking forward to it.’

  We travelled back to my home town of Brak, to spend time with my father and his second wife, Talithia, who was pregnant when we arrived. She glowed with health and offered me more affection than she had ever done before. I accepted her warmth with surprised delight and responded in kind. She was not my mother and had made no secret of her indifference to me but the coming of her own child brought us closer and at the same time made me see her in a more tender light. The woman who had been dearer to me than any other was my father’s housekeeper, Channa, and she still treated me like a naughty child, scolding me for not visiting sooner, while insisting that I eat more meat, to put flesh on my bones. It was impossible to explain to her my abstinence, so I reluctantly agreed to take more eggs in my diet.

  I stayed with them until the child was born. Geldia was a sweet baby, with her mother’s blue eyes and my father’s mop of curly red hair. My father celebrated her birth with the customary hunt, but things went badly, and he was brought home on a makeshift stretcher. His horse had fallen on his leg, which was crushed, and not even my arts could restore it. Channa kept him in her care and fed him broth with a broad wooden spoon. He swore often and promised her terrible torture once he was recovered, but she just clicked her tongue at him, wiped his face with a warm cloth and occasionally tapped the top of his head with her wooden spoon. I left them all in Channa’s care and travelled south towards the River Listi.

  It was spring. The days were getting warmer and the fox was growing more argumentative and skittery. He would sit beyond the glow of our camp fire, sniffing the night air, and in the mornings I would rise to find him already gone about some business of his own. One night, we reached a hill above the river and made a comfortable camp in a grove of sycamores. Gilbert was in a talkative mood.

  ‘I was born on a farm not two hours from here, My Lady,’ he began as I brushed his back. ‘You can’t see it, but there’s a road that crosses the river just beyond that wood and it passes through a village, then up a hill. You can see the white farmhouse from there. At least, it used to be white.’

  ‘Would you like to visit it Gilbert?’ I stopped brushing. ‘Is your mother still living there?’

  ‘It matters little,’ sighed the horse. ‘We beasts do not have long relationships with our dams as you humans do. We are weaned and forgotten. Not even our parents remain together. Of course, that is in part due to the whims of our human masters, but we do not feel the separation as you feel it.’ He shrugged. ‘I merely mentioned it in passing.’

  ‘Some beasts have mates for life.’ The fox sat on my heavy travelling coat and washed himself.

  ‘Owls stay faithful for life.’ Ralph was eager to share something with the fox who still tended to ignore him, as a lunch denied.

  ‘Your kind, perhaps,’ Gilbert went on. ‘We are born and bred into service. Our devotion is for our masters, not each other.’

  ‘Then you are to be envied.’ The fox curled up as if he was about to sleep. ‘You do not feel the misery of loneliness.’

  ‘Are you lonely?’ I asked him. ‘Are we not enough?’

  ‘No!’ His voice came from somewhere under his own tail. We sat in silence as the fire crackled. I knew they were waiting for me to say or do something, and I was wishing that the moment would pass, but it would not. It hung there in the stillness of the night.

  ‘Then you must go and seek what you desire.’ I tried to sound noble and more like a sagely Mantle than I felt. He was my oldest and dearest friend and I could not imagine travelling without him but the misery in his mind saddened me. I knew that loneliness too well to ignore it.

  ‘I cannot!’ He sat up slowly and his mind spoke to mine alone. ‘How would you manage without me?’

  ‘I would manage.’ I touched his head. ‘Something more powerful than all the Mantles governs your mind and your body. You can’t escape it, old friend. Go, with my blessing, and find your mate. I will always be close, in your head. We will meet again. I know.’ His fur felt warm and sof
t and I fought the urge to cry and hug him close to me. I could not bear to part company with him and yet, if I was to save our friendship, I knew I must let him go. That night, he curled beside me and we whispered the names of the stars to each other until we fell asleep. In the morning, he was gone.

  Gilbert, Ralph and I followed the road to the river in silence. We reached the bridge at noon and rested in the shade of a giant elm. None of us ate and we spent the afternoon watching dragonflies dart and hover over the shallows. It was warm and pleasant, but I think we would have sat like that even if it had rained, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Carts laden with hay or full of vegetables for the morning markets rattled over the wooden bridge but we scarcely saw them. I stretched out and looked up at the sky and must have dozed because I was suddenly back in Channa’s kitchen, watching her stir soup. I was sitting at the kitchen table, being scolded for not wearing shoes. Channa’s husband, Ruthen, had died in the wars but in my dream he sat beside me trying not to smile. The effort was too much for both of us and we erupted with glee. As we hugged each other, I felt him slowly change, grow younger, his thin old body become firm, the wrinkles in his cheek so close to my own become smooth and as we separated, it was not the face of my old teacher that smiled fondly at me but another face, a face that I had struggled hard for two long years to forget. It was the handsome, boyish face of Llewid, King of Dereculd. Llewid, whose body I had held as his life slipped away.

  I sat up, shaken. Gilbert was cropping the grass by the river, unaware of all but the sweet taste of Spring growth. Ralph was dozing on a branch above me. It was almost dusk, and I shivered. There was a column of gnats above my head, politely chattering about the warming weather as they took turns to bite me. As I stood they scattered, giggling at their own audacity, for taking free blood from Green Mantle. My joints ached from the inactivity. I stamped my feet and hopped until the pins and needles in my toes were gone but I still felt too unsettled to ride, preferring to lead Gilbert as we made our way down the road. I had a sudden need for human company, yet it was by chance that we found the white stone farmhouse in the gathering gloom. Gilbert had been wrong about many things that day. The farm was closer to the river than the town; it did matter that his mother still lived there; and the bond between mother and child was strong enough to bring them both close to weeping.