Green Mantle

by Gail Merritt

  The sky was clear and, just as the fox had predicted, a wedge of ducks appeared to be following my path. A pelican settled nearby. He wished me good luck and said he would keep within calling distance. I went south with a smile on my face. The day was promising sunshine and the sea looked calm and inviting.

  I had been walking for some time before the mist began to rise. I watched it seeping up from the earth, washing over the hem of my robe like a tide, leaving it almost as wet. I went on, ignoring it. This time I would not be planting trees. I wished to face this terror and knew that trickery would not help me. The mist reached my shoulder and I became aware of the ground shivering. I looked up but a second layer of fog blotted out the sun and my friends, the ducks. The pelican had flown off in fright long ago.

  The earth began to rise. It slithered over my shoes and gripped my ankles. I had only a second to wonder if the ground was rising, or was I sinking before something tugged me down below the surface. I took one deep breath, hoping that it was not to be my last, and then everything went dark. I was not awake, I knew that, although I could still smell the damp peat and the oozing liquid about my face. I was not alone either.

  ‘Why do you give yourself to this place, Mantle?’ I felt the question as I felt the thoughts of animals. Was this being of the marsh the relic of some creature of the natural world that I could reach after all?

  ‘I came to seek you.’ I answered.

  ‘You gave me trees the last time you came.’

  ‘I gave you one tree. I took away the rest. I have no need to anger you. I protect nature, all nature. I came here to ask your help.’

  ‘I help no one.’

  ‘Then my journey was in vain.’ There was a long silence and I wondered if the beast was preparing to eat me. I tried to drive all thoughts from my head.

  ‘What help?’

  ‘Help me to drive an evil from this land.’

  ‘What evil?’

  I filled my thoughts with images of the young people who had died from the sickness. I relived the agony of their families as they watched their children wasting away.

  ‘I too suck the life from the living.’

  ‘But only for your own survival, I suspect.’ I felt my own life was hanging by a thread. ‘This evil is slow and malicious. You take quickly and you bring sleep to your prey. This malevolence knows no mercy. Help me find and destroy it.

  ‘Humans fear the marsh already. Why should I help?’

  ‘Because fear is one thing, vengeance is another. The humans are angry now and they want this to stop. They might try to drain the marsh to destroy this plague. Then you will be found.’

  Again, there was silence. I tried hard not to struggle but I could feel the peat in my mouth.

  ‘Go south. Ask the Sisterhood. They will know. Nothing escapes them. Best take a boat. We are not all friends of the Mantle.’ With that, I found myself spat out from the ground, face down in the brackish water and coughing out mouthfuls of peat. I paused only long enough to thank my new friend before following the path it left for me. Mindful of my host, I no longer dug the point of my rowan staff into the ground as I considered its advice. There was more than one terror on the marshes but from our brief meeting, I felt certain that none of them were responsible for the sickness.

  I must have looked quite alarming, covered in slime and soil, with the smell of the earth and ocean in my hair. The sight of me was enough to drive Mari screaming into her kitchen. Sandor laughed and Gwythin cast her best magic to produce a lavish bathroom where I could soak away the grime as we talked. She was amused when I related my conversation with the marsh dweller and nodded at the suggestion of the Sisterhood.

  ‘You know the Sisterhood?’

  ‘Your Mantle memory should be able to tell you something about them. There was a time when the towers of Vellin and The Point were very close.’ She took a shell and gathered water to pour over my head. ‘I have been there, once, a long time ago. Unlike the Mantles, they keep themselves from the world. They lock themselves away and don’t share their power with anyone.’

  ‘I have to see them.’ I let the water trickle over my head and closed my eyes, allowing Gwythin to massage my scalp as she washed my hair in scented oils. It felt so soothing and natural. I wondered if this was what it would have been like with my mother. I instantly felt a pang of sorrow. I had never shared moments like this with her.

  ‘I will leave you to dress,’ she said abruptly. ‘I have to return to my island soon. I will follow your progress from there. Call on me if you need help with the Sisters. Take Sandor with you. He is not a sailor, but he knows the sea and he can take you there.’ She hurried off, leaving me alone in the shell of the bathroom, which was fading with her departure.

  I lingered, looking at my shadowy reflection. I was too young for all this responsibility. What business did I have in visiting the Sisterhood? They would probably refuse to see me. It should be Silver Mantle who made the first approach to them. Immediately the thought had left my mind, her reflection shimmered beside me. She wore the same riding habit that she had worn on our first meeting. I blinked in alarm. Was this another of Gwythin’s tricks?

  ‘Forgive me. I wanted to see you as soon as I arrived.’ She no longer shimmered. That had been the dying magic of Gwythin’s bathroom. ‘They told me you were bathing but I had to come up.’ A very real Silver Mantle drew me to her and hugged me fondly. She appeared not to notice my shock or chose to ignore it, waiting until I returned her embrace.

  ‘I believe Gwythin has been visiting you? she said as we separated. ‘Then it is probably high time that I came and rescued you.’ She did not elaborate on the remark, but I assumed that she meant more than the sickness was threatening me.

  16. - The Sisterhood of Hope

  The sky was grey and overcast but the sea was calm when we set out in Deni’s boat, a gentle swell rocking the little craft as Sandor rowed us through the narrow channels to the sea. With no breaking waves or surf to mark the end of the marsh, the tiny islands of reeds slipped behind us and the quiet scraping of the hull over shallow sandbanks gradually ceased. Sandor used a pair of Gilbert’s discarded horseshoes tied to a rope to test the depth below us and, when he was satisfied, he raised the small sail, dropped the centerboard and turned the bow to the south-east. There was a steady breeze from the sea, which curled into the russet sail, and below my feet I felt the sea gurgling past us.

  I was grateful that Sandor had not mentioned my pallor or the way I gripped Mari’s picnic basket as if my life depended upon it. I looked over the side, just long enough to see the dark water rushing by, little wavelets in our wake, cutting across the true waves, rolling hills and valleys stretching to the horizon. My heart sank into my stomach juices and churned inside me until this hidden tempest threatened to drown my throat. I sank into the bottom of the boat with a little groan.

  ‘None of them make sailors,’ said a small puffin who had landed on the bow. There was pity in its voice, but its eye shone with amusement. Its companion stifled a chirp in agreement, unable to reply, as its mouth was stacked with three small sardines. ‘Only Mantle takes to the water - Blue Mantle. That’s expected! Only natural!’

  Again, his friend muttered something from behind the sardines. I must have looked such a pathetic sight for the second bird waddled across the small fore-deck and set down its catch at my feet.

  ‘Thank you but I can’t accept these. They are yours,’ I stammered, trying hard not to focus on the dead fish.

  ‘They help,’ the second puffin explained. ‘Fish oil. Good for sicky!’ They flew away chuckling. I caught Sandor grinning. He agreed with the puffins. The sailors at The Green Sail prescribed fish oil for curing seasickness. Miserably, I realised that I had nothing to lose. I was certain that I would be sick at any moment, and perhaps the little fish would hasten that event. I almost choked as I swallowed them whole and waited for the inevitable outcome.

  The wind strengthened, driving us through the water withou
t a swell. Perhaps it was the change in the weather, or perhaps it was the fish oil that worked. All I remember was the fresh salt air in my face and clambering up to sit beside Sandor as he balanced the boat. The bow lifted slightly, making spindrift that settled in our wake, and all the time the wooden hull hummed for joy as it cut through the waves. Sandor yelled with delight, his hair streaming behind him like black seaweed. I yelled too, half-exhilarated by our speed, half-fearful that any moment the boat would pitch violently and spill us into the ocean.

  It did neither. The wind dropped and the boat settled back into the waves, my sickness was gone, and my hair hung in damp rats’ tails. We both laughed and I felt well enough to sample some of Mari’s bread.

  We sailed until sunset and then dropped our anchor, just off shore but far enough to not feel the threat of the marshlands. The sea was calm, and I wondered if Gwythin was working some weather magic to keep us safe. We washed down cold slices of vegetable pie with cider and then talked of innocent things until Sandor asked, ’Why did Gwythin rush away when Silver Mantle arrived?’

  ‘I think there is still bitterness between them.’

  ‘The Lady Gwythin has many mysteries about her.’ He considered his beaker of cider. ‘She visited your father before he died. I saw her slip into his room, and I could hear their voices but not what was said. Did she tell you?’

  ‘No.’ I recalled her tears at my father’s tomb. ‘I didn’t know she knew him until his funeral. I suppose she must have known something of him to come and warn me that he was dying.’ I offered my beaker for a little more to drink. The cider warmed and washed the salt from my mouth. ‘There are so many mysteries, Sandor. Don’t ever let us keep secrets from each other.’ I slipped my arm in his and rested my back against his chest.

  ‘Tell me about the kings.’ His voice was husky. ‘Channa said that King Llewid pursued you, and Blue Mantle hinted that you and Prince Ardin had been fond of each other.’

  Perhaps the time had come to share my secrets with another. Sandor draped the sail over the boom, to make a tent for us and lit the small oil lantern on the mast. In the gathering dark, I told him of my inauspicious beginnings with Ardin and my first encounter with Llewid. He laughed when I described how I had spilt custard all down the young king’s tunic and then argued with his councilor. I recalled picnics on the Angirat with Llewid and long rides with Ardin. I tried to explain how a spider had bitten me and how, while my body lay unconscious in the Talarin, part of me had returned to Dereculd with Llewid. I fought back tears, remembering the happy days before the arrival of Princess Melia and the dark secret of her origin.

  ‘Silver Mantle could create a girl from a stone statue?’ Sandor’s eyes widened and a smile played on his lips.

  ‘It isn’t hard to breathe the appearance of life into an object but to sustain that life takes great power.’ I looked into Mari’s picnic basket and drew out one of the blue beakers. I gave it legs and a face. It bowed low and in a haughty voice asked Sandor if he required further refreshment. Sandor thanked the cup, watching enthralled as it allowed the cider flask to fill it half-full before waddling along my arm to Sandor’s hand.

  ‘Very well! I believe you but why did she do it?’

  I drank before I answered. ‘Silver Mantle sees me as her successor. She was in love with the old king and she hoped to snare me by using my love for Ardin. I never want to be Silver and I won’t follow her example. I certainly won’t devote my life to someone who prefers a stone statue to me!’

  ‘Bravely spoken!’ he applauded. ‘You deserve better.’

  ‘I don’t think I really loved Ardin either, but I did like him. I don’t think I’d like being a queen. I like travelling and seeing new places far better.’

  Sandor was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘Good!’. He tightened his arms about me as we settled down in the bottom of the boat. I could feel his heart steadily beating against my cheek. I think I wished for the night to go forever but it did not.

  The sail was already pulling when I woke, and Sandor joked about my laziness and too much cider before offering me warm brew and cake for breakfast. While we were eating Sandor suddenly stiffened as he looked towards the coast.

  ‘See there, the land is rising?’ He pointed southward.

  Out of the flat marsh, a promontory rose. At a distance, it was only a tiny bump in the landscape but as we drew closer I could see that it was a towering wedge of limestone that dropped sheer into the water, falling away gradually on the landward side, in pillars of limestone, until it was the height of the surrounding low cliffs. At the seaward end, above the white cliffs, the dark shapes of building and towers could be seen, encircled by a fortified wall. It reminded me of the Angirat, the rocky hill above Vellin, from where the King’s palace and the Talarin look down upon the city. As the Angirat guards the city, so this rock stands sentinel above the sea. As we lowered our sail, I hoped that there would be other similarities between the Mantles and the Sisterhood, so that my welcome would be at least cordial.

  We came ashore in the long bay to the west of The Point, pulling the boat above the shoreline, hearing the limestone gravel grinding against the wood. The beach was deserted but rich with wild life, crabs scuttling to find a hiding place, shell fish and sea-urchins decorating the rock pools on the limestone pavement above the pebbles but below the tide level. It was a place where I could have stayed for days and reveled in its life.

  ‘There must be some way up through those rocks.’ Sandor pointed to the limestone pillars. ‘We should look for a gate or something.’

  The flat-topped rocks stood higher than the tallest house, like stacks of rough cut building stone, discarded by some ancient giant mason and I wondered if there was a causeway above them as we began to scramble across their lower ledges, investigating. Polished by countless seasons of ocean spray, wind and rain, they gave no hint of any path or entrance and from what we could see, the walls of the citadel were unbroken. No gate or even windows punctuated the fortifications.

  ‘They must get in and out,’ Sandor argued. ‘There has to be door somewhere. They can’t just fly in there.’

  ‘But I can!’ I beamed at him, remembering the evenings with Silver Mantle in her private rooms. We had hovered high above the Listi, as we talked about the day’s events, as if sharing the air with house martins was the most natural way to spend the sunset hour. ‘Stay here. I have to go alone.’ On impulse, I kissed his cheek and then hurried off towards the outer wall without looking back. I knew he would be watching so I wanted to look impressive as I left the ground, but it had been a long time since I had practised my flying skills and I almost toppled over in my haste to rise. Once I forgot about Sandor and paid attention to my task, I found that I rose gently, easily clearing the outer battlements and landing carefully in a deserted courtyard.

  The sun appeared stronger here, its warmth leaping through the tiles of the courtyard and warming my feet. It was a pleasing sensation, as was the heat on my face after the sharp air of the sea. I looked about me and was a little disappointed. There were no lofty edifices, no elaborate doors or ornate stairways, as there were on the Angirat. The towers at the far end of the courtyard supported a portcullis, through which a further courtyard could be seen. The remainder of this outer space appeared to be occupied by small storerooms, the like that were common in Meed castles. I made my way towards the second courtyard, seeing through the portcullis a smaller court, filled with flowers and elaborate ornaments. As I leaned on the portcullis, itself embossed with swirling designs, it lifted for me and I knew I had been invited in.

  A dainty fountain in the form of a fish poured water over a pond. Beyond the garden was a structure so fanciful that at first I thought it might be part of the garden decoration had it not been quite so large. It rose in three tiers, each one increasing in size, with windows that grew smaller, though identical in appearance with each tier above it. A covered walkway wrapped around the three storeys at varying levels, sometimes abo
ve, sometimes below, sometimes dividing a window in half, rising and falling by way of steps, so that it almost appeared to have grown, like a climbing plant, with the building as its trellis. The stonework of the building, when it could be seen, was heavily carved with beautiful figures, mainly women in diaphanous robes walking, dancing or resting on couches, such as were scattered about the courtyard around me. A dreamlike quality captivated the spectator, why even the water cascaded slower here.

  ‘Welcome Megwin of Brak. We were expecting you.’ A figure came from the shadows of a rose-covered arbour, her thin, voluminous garments floating behind her as she walked, a summer butterfly, the living counterpart of the stone maidens of the walls, her long legs striding out with such grace that she appeared to be moving slowly. Her beautiful face smiled as she guided me to a row of couches beside the fountain. ‘Gwythin promised that someday we would meet you, and here you are.’

  ‘Gwythin has spoken of me?’

  ‘Once, a long time ago. I don’t remember exactly when. Time has little importance here. She told us all about you.’ She patted the couch beside her own. ‘Come sit. Our order rests at this time of the day. Sit. Feel the gift of sunlight on your skin. Listen.’ She stretched out on the couch as if every muscle in her body had been choreographed to produce languid elegance and grace. She closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. From everywhere came music, light and soothing, although I could not name the instruments that produced it, nor detect from where it came. It came on the air and was strangely reminiscent of Gwythin’s island. The very plants and flowers of the garden seemed to echo the wistful melody as other sisters joined us to take their rest, each one as beautiful as the last. They smiled and nodded at me and I wondered just what had Gwythin told them. One handed me a small blossom, then another brought me a cup of cool water. It tasted purer than any water I had ever tasted, and I closed my eyes as the music flowed.

  ‘I have come here to ask questions of the Sisterhood.’ My voice seemed far away.