by Jaine Fenn
When night fell, he rang for a servant and gave his apologies for not attending dinner. Word of the incident in Einon’s room must have spread, as his excuse of a bad headache was accepted without question. He was too unsettled to eat the food that was sent up, but he drank the wine gratefully.
Einon visited him shortly afterwards to thank him for his timely intervention. The priest still looked shaken.
Sais asked if he had any idea of the reason for the attack.
‘Politics,’ said Einon grimly. ‘Matters I try to steer clear of, and which you, ah, would be wise to avoid altogether, Chilwar.’
That night the nightmares returned with renewed force. Time after time Sais woke sweating and gasping from dreams of pursuit, violation, suffocation. When he recovered enough to remember where he was he found himself torn between dread of returning to the dark chaos of the dream-world, and hope that his dreams might finally start to unlock his past, now the initial step had been taken.
He was awakened midmorning by a knock at the door: a servant, sent to check he was all right as he had missed breakfast. Sais sent his apologies to the Reeve and said he was still indisposed. As the door closed behind the servant it came to him: the window looked out over the sea. His room, the place where he had grown up, was near the sea - a word he hadn’t heard here, but which he knew meant a great body of open water.
Wherever that room with its huge window was, it was nowhere on Einon’s map.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Waking up at the star-season fair that first morning, Kerin felt joyous anticipation, tempered with apprehension and an ache of desire as yet unfulfilled.
She followed some of the others through trees laden with pink blossom down to the river to get clean. Damaru could not be persuaded to do more than wash his face and hands, after which he sat on a flat rock, watching the water. As she reached inside her shirt to scrub herself, Kerin decided her best course of action was to let Damaru wander wherever he wanted - once she’d made sure the mark of his status was clear - and she would follow him. That way he would be happy, and she could view the fair safely under the protection of her sky-touched son.
Back at the camp she changed into her skirt and re-drew the circle on Damaru’s forehead. Then they set off into the fair, Damaru in the lead.
She followed him out between animal pens where sellers and buyers haggled over the beasts until they emerged in front of a row of coloured tents with no fronts to them - stalls, Huw had called them. He had advised her against carrying her money, because she would either find herself spending it on things she did not need, or worse, have it stolen. She regretted her decision when she saw the tables laden with bread, honeyed fruits, fine cloth, wooden trinkets, scented unguents, leather shoes, fine-woven belts, glazed pottery . . . Everything she had ever dreamed could be sold or traded was here, and more besides.
Everyone they saw greeted Damaru with inclined heads and smiles of indulgence. As usual he gave little sign of noticing. Instead he wandered between stalls, picking up items to get a closer look, or re-arranging displays in a way that fitted in with his idea of the correct pattern. Kerin doubted such behaviour would be tolerated from anyone else, but everyone considered it lucky to gain the attention of a skyfool . . . although the man on the stall selling glass goblets was visibly relieved when Damaru moved on! They followed their noses to a griddle where festival cakes were being cooked. The stall-holder, seeing the now-smudged symbol on Damaru’s forehead, offered him a round golden cake and then, after a moment’s hesitation, gave one to Kerin too. The cake was made with a finer flour than Kerin was used to, giving a lighter texture, though the flavour was not as rich.
At first Kerin was uneasy at being amongst so many strangers, even with Damaru, who evoked universal goodwill in those they encountered. But most people ignored her and after a few awkward moments, she learnt not to look anyone in the eye, nor expect them to speak to her.
They passed a wooden stage where gaily dressed men and women were acting out the story of Carunwyd’s Harper: she recognised the witch by her mask, and the skyfool bard who defeated her by the symbols painted on his face. The players broke off their performance to pay their respects to Damaru.
When he grew overwhelmed with the new sensations, they made their way back to the camp. A bullock had been butchered and was cooking in the fire-pit, filling the air with the delicious smell of roasting meat. Some of the drovers returning from the fair to share the feast already smelled of ale. Fychan had replaced his old scarf with a new eye-patch of fine leather. Free of the dirt of the road and wearing his best shirt, he looked as fine as any of the young men about the place. Cadmael wore a bright sash of what Kerin recognised as more of Sais’s fabric - he must have found it up at the mere before the drove left.
Most of the men returned to the fair after the evening meal to dance, and maybe find themselves some company for the night. Kerin would have liked to dance herself, but Damaru was tired. She stayed with him by the fire, watching the falling stars trace their paths in the dusk and wondering what Sais was doing.
The next day they visited the roped-off area at the edge of the meadow where drovers and townsmen were competing in games of skill and strength: running foot-races, demonstrating their accuracy with a slingshot or thrown spear or lifting yokes of weighted barrels. Kerin cheered on those Dangwern men who were competing. She was starting to become accustomed to the passing attention of strangers; the trick was to smile at people without looking straight at them.
When Damaru grew bored, they moved on to the stock-pit, where the audience watched showmen displaying their skills. They saw a man in motley being chased by a fully grown bull and cheered madly with everyone else when he got behind it, grabbed one horn and put the animal down with a deft twist of his wrist.
Mindful of Sais’s promise to come and see her in ‘a couple of days’, she left early to head back to the camp. Though anyone who saw the symbol would treat him with respect, Damaru sometimes wiped it off by accident, and a lone, guileless boy without the protection of Heaven might come to harm in the wild star-season evenings - but this meant nothing to him and he was petulant when she insisted he go back with her. But Sais did not come, though she stayed up late, listening to the faint sounds of merriment drifting across the torch-lit expanse of the fair.
The next day cloud covered the sky and the smell of rain hung on the air. Kerin decided to stay in the camp to wait for Sais; Damaru wanted to go back to the fair, and threatened to throw a tantrum when she said he must stay with her. She was wondering if she should let him go alone when Fychan strolled back into the camp. The chieftain’s son had not returned last night; the beribboned girl on his arm explained his absence. Fychan spotted Damaru and led his companion over. Damaru ignored them both. Kerin nodded a greeting at the girl and said, ‘Fychan, I have chores around the camp. Please, would you accompany Damaru today?’
She saw his expression flicker: he was tired from an evening’s enjoyment and none too pleased at Kerin’s request - yet what reason would he have to bring the girl back other than to prove his claim to be guardian to a skyfool? He straightened and looked at his companion. ‘Aye, I think we could do that,’ he said after a moment.
Kerin finished Sais’s shirt: the fabric had been so hard to work that it had taken far longer than she had expected. Then she cleaned some clothes and mended holes in their travelling gear. When the rain came on in the afternoon, she sat miserably in the shelter of a tree and wondered why Sais had not yet kept his promise to visit her.
The weather cleared in the evening, and the sun went down in a glory of gold. They were now halfway through star-season, and she had yet to dance. If Sais did come from the manor, he would have to pass the riverside arena where the dancing was held; she could keep an eye out for him. In the meantime, pining was doing her no good.
A little guiltily, she gave Damaru some bogwood with his evening meal; his attempts to join in the star-season dancing could be disruptive, and for o
nce she wanted to enjoy herself. Once he was safely asleep, she accompanied the drovers to the meadow.
She could hear the music long before she saw the torches in their tall holders; heavy drum-beats and skirling pipes merged in the star-lit darkness.
Four separate parties had been set up, all with barrels and sweet-meat sellers off to one side. The men were heading for one hosted by a local vineyard. Kerin spent more money than she should have on a token that allowed refills from the barrel for as long as the music continued. From the edge of the crowd she could see the stone bridge that linked the fair with the town, though the figures who crossed were no more than shadowy shapes. Heaven’s sake! She must stop thinking about Sais and instead do as he said and enjoy herself.
The first sip of wine surprised her. After Huw’s description she had expected it to be sweet, and the way it ran along her tongue, sucking out the moisture, disconcerted her. The second sip went down more easily.
Walking back to refill her beaker she moved in time to the music, skipping to the fast-tripping beat. The next dance began slowly, and the floor initially emptied. Kerin’s heart fluttered as she recognised the opening of the Morwynaith, the Maids’ Dance. For this, any single woman could go out onto the floor alone. Though she had not danced it for years, she still remembered how. Before she could lose her nerve she put down her drink.
The heavy swish of her skirt round her ankles carried her out of the anonymity of the crowd onto the centre of the floor. She began with her eyes cast down, her movements slow and languorous, her mind empty of everything except the music. As the beat picked up, so her movements matched the increased tempo. The music sang through her and she found herself beginning to smile. She felt free, light as a feather, yet sure and steady as a river. All eyes were on her, and that was no cause for shame or embarrassment. The music quickened and she threw her head back, grinning wildly as she stepped and kicked and twirled. Above her, the sky was a rain of silver stars. Her spirit soared and she could have almost shouted out loud at the perfection of the moment. As the last notes faded into the night she stood, rigid with joy, arms wide and head held high.
The next dance started and she walked, a little unsteadily, off the floor to reclaim her drink. She stood to one side, watching Fychan dancing arm-in-arm with his new lady-friend, smiling to herself. A few men had already cast glances her way, and perhaps if one asked her—
‘I wasn’t sure it was you, until I saw the skirt.’
She turned to see a gentleman in a fine doublet. Then her wine-and-music-fuddled mind caught up. She resisted the urge to throw her arms around him and instead took another calming sip of wine. ‘And you look quite the nobleman,’ she said.
He looked down at himself. ‘The Reeve’s gift,’ he said. ‘The Reeve also insisted on sending a guard with me - he’s in the crowd somewhere.’
So he had found his true place. Before she could stop herself Kerin said acidly, ‘Perhaps you should not have come, and put your host to such inconvenience.’
‘Kerin,’ he said, spreading his hands, and she wondered if he, too, had been drinking, ‘I’ve had enough of them, with their “wit” and their “banter” and their “snobbery”. I wanted some real people.’
‘So then, shall we dance?’
He hesitated. ‘I don’t know the steps.’
Kerin felt suddenly contrite. ‘Oh—Of course. How did . . . ? How is your memory?’
He pulled a wry face. ‘I think Einon can help me get it back, but it’s not going to be easy.’ He frowned. ‘I have got some good news,’ he said, though his expression belied it. ‘I’ve persuaded Einon to let you come to the City with us.’
Kerin tried not to let her elation show - but Sais still looked uneasy. ‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.
‘Last night someone tried to kill Einon.’
‘No! Who would attack a priest?’ She felt faint at the very thought of such impiety.
‘No idea yet. They’re questioning the man as we speak.’ He grimaced. ‘But that can wait - for now, I just want to have some fun with my friends.’
Kerin wished she had known he would come, so she could have given him the shirt she had made. She said instead, ‘Can I get you some wine?’
Her token was good for only one cup, so she filled hers and brought it back to where he waited, smiling and tapping his foot to the music. She gave him the drink and he took a swig, then looked at her.
‘Aren’t you having any?’
‘I - I thought we could share it.’
‘Sure.’ He gave it back.
‘Are you sure you do not want to dance?’
‘I’d like to, if I thought I wasn’t going to trip everyone else up. So best not, I think.’
‘Then’ - she took a gulp of wine to get her nerve up - ‘then maybe we could go for a walk?’
Behind them the party continued, the dancing getting wilder, the laughter louder. Kerin heard occasional giggles and groans from the darkness and wondered if he heard them too, and thought as she did. Or perhaps he heard only her heart, banging like the stones on a loom. When they passed a closed-up stall with no one in sight she said, ‘Shall we sit?’ Her voice sounded shrill in her ears.
‘Good idea,’ Sais said easily. ‘I’m exhausted.’
She sat first and he passed the beaker down to her and sat next to her. She moved up against him and he hesitated, then put an arm around her.
‘You’re a good person, Kerin,’ Sais started. ‘Your life . . . the things you’ve endured’ - she felt him shrug - ‘I don’t know - I can’t remember what I’ve experienced, but if it’s half as grim as your life—’
‘Hush,’ she said, ‘none of that is important now. Tis star-season, and only the moment matters.’
She pulled back a little, turning to look at him. Though the sky was bright with stars, they were in shadow and she could not see his face clearly. She put the wine down and reached up, her hand brushing his hair. He turned to her and she felt a sudden tension go through him.
She waited for him to kiss her. When he did not, she turned her head, eyes half-closed. Her lips brushed his cheek, then found his lips. She kissed him, tilting her head back, dizzy with the moment.
After a slight hesitation, he returned the kiss. She felt his lips part.
How odd, to lead the way like this, she thought. How wonderful; how wicked.
Abruptly, he pulled away.
She leaned back towards him, but he shook his head.
‘Tis all right,’ she whispered, against a chill that had nothing to do with the night air. ‘I know you may have a wife somewhere, and I know that my dead husband’s soul may stir at this, but tonight, now, in star-season, to love like this is the will of Heaven.’
‘It’s just—’ He shifted awkwardly. ‘This is wrong.’
‘No, tis right, as right as anything in Creation! Please . . .’ All or nothing. ‘I love you.’
‘What?’ He jerked backwards.
‘I said, I love you.’ She began to wish she had not said it.
‘Kerin—I—I had no idea!’ He sounded genuinely shocked.
‘What do you mean, you had no idea?’
‘I’m not—Kerin, I like you a lot, but—’
‘No!’ She scrambled to her feet, kicking over the wine. ‘Do not say another word!’ She turned and ran. She heard him start after her, and some part still hoped that he would stop her and tell her he cared after all. But she knew the truth now. She had been a blind, wanton fool, seeing love where it did not exist.
She ran blindingly, ducking under ropes and past stalls, aware only of the need to get away from her bitter embarrassment and disappointment. Revellers pointed and laughed, but she ignored them.
When she finally slowed down and looked around she found herself near the show-pens. There was no sign of Sais. She took a deep sobbing breath and started back towards the camp.
She jumped as a man lurched out of the shadows.
‘Who’zere?’ he slurred.
‘No, someone,’ said the man unevenly. ‘Someone pretty, mebbe, who wants company?’
‘No. Not pretty at all.’ She looked around. They were in a passage between two tents - she either had to push past the man, or turn her back on him.
‘’m sure y’are. Tis star-season. Our sacr’d dooty.’
‘No!’ Kerin had twice taken advantage of star-season to bed men other than Neithion; both had been men she had liked, and neither experience had been particularly special. A drunken stranger propositioning her when she had just been spurned by the only man she wanted was a cruel joke.
He did not take the hint. ‘C’mon, mistress! Have some fun!’ He lunged forward - surprisingly quickly for one so drunk - and grabbed her arm.
Kerin tried to shake him off, but he held tight, his fingers digging into her flesh. He got his other arm round her. Kerin’s attempt to break free threw his balance and the two of them fell back into the side of the tent, which bowed, then began to rip.
Suddenly her wounded heart mattered not a jot. She cried out and tried to hit the man. Her blow went wide and her scream died in surprise as they fell through the fabric.
He landed half on top of her and clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Shhh, shh,’ he said, almost tenderly. ‘I won’nurt you. Stay quiet now.’
He took his hand off slowly. He reeked of ale and sex and his cock pressed against her flank. She drew breath to scream.
He cuffed the side of her face, just hard enough to shut her up. ‘No!’ he barked, ‘no screamin’, or else. Hear me?’
Kerin blinked back tears. Had Sais been following close enough to hear her shriek when she fell? Even if he had, how would he know it was her? She was on her own, and this drunken brute was too strong for her.
