The Way Between the Worlds

by Alys Clare

  I fell on the bundle of clothing, searching for my sister’s habit. I thought I was going to be disappointed, for almost all of the garments were light in colour – novices’ white linen veils, several under-shifts – but then I saw something black rolled up tightly underneath them. I reached for it, my fingers finding the coarse cloth of a nun’s habit. I drew it out from the pile, and even as I unrolled it I knew I had found what I was searching for: I could tell by the smell.

  My beloved sister had been sick all over the front of her habit. Smoothing out the fabric so that I could inspect what was spread over it, I held it to the light coming in through the open door.

  My heart seemed to lurch in my chest, and I smothered a gasp.

  Among the sticky, smelly mess, I could clearly make out pale berries and those dark, distorted rye seeds.

  I had seen enough – more than enough, for I was feeling pretty queasy myself, my fear and anxiety adding to the unpleasant atmosphere inside the little hut. I rolled up the habit again and pushed it back underneath the shifts and the veils, careful to make it look as much as possible as it had done before I disturbed it. I peered out through the doorway, checking to make sure there was still nobody watching, then I gathered up my skirts and hurried back to the infirmary.

  Back in Elfritha’s room, I found my aunt busy changing the soiled bedlinen, helped by two of the infirmary nuns. I did not at first see Hrype; looking round for him, I spotted him standing behind the door. I had already noticed what a master he was in the art of appearing invisible, and I doubted very much if either of the nuns, preoccupied as they were, had realized he was there.

  Edild was too busy to stop and talk to me, so I met Hrype’s eyes and inclined my head very slightly towards the doorway. He understood instantly. As I crept back outside, once more using the door that was closest to Elfritha’s little room, I knew without looking that he was right behind me.

  We found a place in the far corner of the cloister, where we sat down on a low wall. The cloister was deserted, and we positioned ourselves so that we could see anyone coming. It was evening now and beginning to grow dark. I checked that there were no doorways in which people could lurk and listen to our conversation.

  I had a final quick look round, then I told him, as succinctly as I could, what Gurdyman had found in the stomach of the dead man in the fen. I was on the point of describing how Gurdyman and I had speculated that Herleva had also been given the same poison, but there was no need because, being Hrype, he had already worked it out.

  ‘And the little nun – your sister’s friend – she, too, had vomited,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve no way of knowing what it was that poisoned Herleva,’ I went on. ‘But I am pretty sure that Elfritha was given the same fatal gruel that the man in the fen ate.’

  ‘Not fatal yet,’ Hrype put in swiftly.

  I ached for reassurance. Could he give it? I knew he had ways of seeing through the mist into the future. ‘Will she live?’ I asked in a small voice.

  He turned to meet my eyes. ‘I do not know, Lassair,’ he said. ‘Your aunt has not said, and she is the healer, not me.’

  ‘Couldn’t you—’ I began. I dropped my head, unable to go on.

  ‘Could I ask the runes?’ he supplied. ‘Is that what you would ask, child?’ Mutely, I nodded.

  There was quite a long pause. Then he said, ‘I could, yes, and they would give an answer. But they do not lie, and they tell truths that often cause terrible pain, for sometimes to know of a dreadful event before it happens is to suffer it many times over rather than just once.’

  ‘Then you do think she’s going to die.’

  ‘No,’ he said very firmly. ‘I said I do not know. Nobody does, Lassair. All we can do is look after her to the best of our ability.’ His mouth creased up in a very small smile. ‘By we, I mean, of course, you and your aunt.’ He reached for my hand, clasping it for a moment and then letting it go. ‘Nobody could have better care,’ he added softly.

  It was kind of him, but really undeserved. I would only be doing what Edild told me; if Elfritha survived, it would be thanks to my aunt.

  We were quiet for some time. It was pleasantly warm in our corner out of the wind, and I thought fleetingly how lovely it would be to curl up in my shawl and go to sleep.

  Hrype’s voice broke the spell.

  ‘Why should someone try to kill Elfritha?’ he asked.

  My eyelids had been drooping, and I had been sitting slumped against the warm stone of the wall behind me. Now I sat up, rubbed the drowsiness away and forced myself to think. I’d had a theory, hadn’t I? Last time Hrype and I had visited the abbey, I’d worked it all out. I composed my thoughts and, when I was ready, began to speak.

  ‘There was one thing that occurred to me,’ I said. Hrype’s sudden intent gaze told me I had his full attention. ‘When we came here the first time, you insisted that we adopt the guises of an old man and his daughter, and I realized you wanted to hide our true identities from somebody. I wondered who it was, and why you didn’t want them to recognize us.’

  He went: ‘Hrmph,’ and I knew he was thinking. Then he said, ‘What did you decide?’

  ‘That you believed the abbey was dangerous to us. To me, especially, because the new fanatical priest you spoke about – Father Clement – might have learned that I’d spoken to Elfritha concerning . . . well, concerning my healing, which he probably would regard as pagan, sinful, the devil’s work. Oh, I don’t know,’ I exclaimed in sudden frustration, ‘I don’t really understand.’

  ‘You are quite right,’ Hrype said, coming to my rescue. ‘A man such as Father Clement believes there is but one true path to salvation. It is very straight, very narrow, the walls on either side are very high and there is no alternative way. He would view you as a sorcerer, a witch, and a practitioner of magic. And, worst of all, you’re also a woman.’ He gave me an ironic smile. ‘Doubly damned, I’m afraid.’

  I barely recognized myself from his description, other than the bit about being a woman. ‘I don’t do magic,’ I whispered.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘No? Then the stories I’ve heard about a certain young healer who can dowse for hidden paths and lost objects must be untrue.’

  ‘That’s different,’ I began. ‘That’s just something I can do . . .’ I stopped.

  He grinned. ‘There you are, then. It’s magic, to someone as narrow-minded as Father Clement.’

  There was a pause while I thought about that. Then I said, ‘Do you think I’m right? Do you think Herleva and Elfritha were poisoned because they’d been whispering about forbidden things?’ My words were hurting me, but I had to finish. ‘Things I’d told Elfritha, that she’d passed on to her best friend?’

  Oh, if that were true, if those two innocent young women had been harmed because of something I had done, then how was I going to live with myself? Nevertheless, I was convinced I was right. They’d sat in a corner somewhere, white-veiled heads close together, and Elfritha had told her friend all about the wonderful, thrilling, magical things her little sister got up to. Someone had overheard; somehow the conversation had reached the attention of a powerful figure in the abbey. And this person had killed Herleva, dressing her death up as a sacrifice to the spirits of the place, and then they had tried to poison my sister.

  Although I shied away from the thought, I knew who I suspected, and there seemed no room in my mind for any other possibilities. But was I right? Could such evil have been perpetrated by the person I suspected?

  I had to ask.

  ‘Hrype?’ I whispered. He turned to look at me, his face unreadable. ‘Hrype, could Father Clement be so fanatical that he would murder two young nuns, simply because they had spoken of forbidden matters?’ Even as I spoke the words, I found myself denying them. Surely no man of God could have done something so brutal, even a fanatic like Father Clement.

  The instant denial that I’d been hoping for did not come. Instead, after a long pause, Hrype said, ‘Father Clement is
strict, blinkered and powerful. His own beliefs are so strong that he truly thinks his is the only path to certain redemption. He is, I feel, hard on others because he sincerely wants them to come to his god and, when they die, be permitted to spend eternity in paradise. Everything he does – and, as I told you before, he is as tough on himself as on his flock – is with that aim in mind.’

  ‘But would he kill?’ I persisted.

  Hrype looked at me, smiling. ‘No, Lassair.’ He hesitated, then went on, ‘He is the priest of the Chatteris nuns, responsible for their spiritual welfare, and, up to a point, he would be prepared to impose much hardship and even suffering, in the form of penance, if he thought he would thereby bring an errant soul to his god.’ He leaned closer to me, the smile gone. ‘But murder is a sin, a deadly sin, and a priest such as Father Clement would no more consider it than fly off over the fens. He is no killer, Lassair. Be assured of that.’

  It was both a relief, because the thought of my sister and her friend being poisoned by a man they trusted was so dreadful, and a disappointment, because if Father Clement wasn’t responsible, who was?

  We sat there a little while longer, and then, without speaking a word, at the same moment we stood up and set off back to the infirmary.

  It was dark in the little room where my sister lay, the only light coming from a tallow lamp set beside the bed. Edild sat beside her patient, watching her closely, from time to time letting another drop or two of cold water fall on the cracked lips. Hrype wrapped himself up in his cloak and lay down in the corner behind the door. Once more, if I hadn’t known he was there, I’d never have guessed, so thoroughly did he seem to melt into the background.

  There was no sound in the room. I felt my eyelids drooping and once or twice had to jerk myself awake from a light doze. I realized how tired I was; it had been such a long day . . . Then, as is the way when you’re exhausted, all at once I was deeply asleep, lost in some worrying, muddled dream in which I had to find my way through shivering sands where one wrong footstep would drag me down to a horrible death. The thick, viscous mud was actually flowing into my mouth when once more I was kicked back into wakefulness.

  The relief of finding it had only been a dream was short-lived. There were low voices in the infirmary: the soft, whispery tones of a nun, and a man’s rumbling mutter.

  There was, as far as I knew, only one man who could be in the abbey infirmary in the middle of the night.

  Hrype had clearly realized the same thing. He was already on his feet, a deeper shade in the shadowy corner, and even as I watched, he slipped out through the partly-open door. There was a brief gust of cold night air, and I guessed he had gone out through the door that led on to the cloister.

  My aunt sat for a moment staring at the place where he had apparently vanished. Then she turned to me, and I saw the relief in her eyes.

  I heard footsteps: Father Clement was completing his rounds with a visit to the sick novice. There was just enough time to pull my shawl up over my head, concealing my face, and lie down with my eyes closed. I made myself take some deep, calming breaths. If I was going to be convincing in my pretence of being asleep, I would have to sound right. I tried out a small snore. It sounded authentic. I did another one, soon getting into a rhythm.

  I sensed someone walk into the little room. I opened one eye and, through the fringe of my shawl, I looked at the man who stood not an arm’s length in front of me.

  It was the man I’d seen before, although at a greater distance. I studied his slim, broad-shouldered physique as he towered above me. In the dim light, it was hard to make out his features, but the light eyes seemed to glitter with intelligence. Again, I sensed his great power. Again, I feared him.

  ‘How is she?’ His voice was soft, very deep, and sent shivers through me.

  ‘She is much the same,’ Edild replied quietly. I noticed that she did not look up at him, but kept her eyes on her patient.

  Father Clement murmured something – it could have been a prayer. I risked another quick glance and saw that he was staring down intently at Elfritha’s still body.

  After a few moments of silent contemplation, he slipped away as cat-footed as he had come.

  Presently, Hrype came back. Edild looked up at him. ‘Is it safe for you?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Yes. He has gone.’

  Hrype came to crouch beside me. I struggled to sit up. ‘You don’t want Father Clement to see you, do you?’ I whispered. ‘That’s why you’ve been insisting we disguise ourselves when we come to the abbey. It’s not for my sake but yours.’

  ‘It’s for both our sakes, Lassair,’ he whispered back. ‘It’s best that he doesn’t know too much about you either.’

  I thought about that. Then I asked, ‘Why don’t you want him to recognize you? What happened when you met him at Crowland?’

  Hrype smiled thinly. ‘He accused me of witchcraft. He saw me – well, never mind about that. Enough to say that I was careless enough to let him witness something he shouldn’t have done. He was frightened, and his reaction was to accuse me of one of the worst crimes he could think of.’

  I waited, but it became clear he wasn’t going to tell me any more.

  TWELVE

  I slept for a while, but soon something woke me. I opened my eyes to see that Hrype had gone; perhaps it was his departure that had disturbed me. It’s not that he would have made a noise as he got up and left – he wouldn’t; despite being tall, he moves as silently as a shadow – it’s more that he’s such a vital person that his presence or absence in a room always makes itself felt. Well, it does to me, anyway.

  I lay still for some time, warm in my cloak and shawl. I watched Edild, sitting close beside Elfritha. I noticed the slump of my aunt’s shoulders; she was worn out.

  I shook off my covers and crept across to her, crouching beside her for a while and joining in her close observation of her patient. Elfritha was breathing slowly and steadily and appeared to be deeply asleep. Was that a good sign? Or had I, in fact, mistaken for sleep the unconsciousness that precedes death?

  ‘How is she?’ I asked, when I could keep quiet no longer.

  Edild reached out a gentle hand and stroked Elfritha’s smooth forehead. ‘She is sleeping,’ she whispered.

  ‘Is that good?’

  Edild gave a faint shrug.

  ‘But doesn’t sleep heal people?’ I persisted. ‘That’s what you always say.’

  She made a faint sound of irritation. ‘Lassair, I have never dealt with a case of acute poisoning from mistletoe berries and ergot-contaminated seeds before, so I really have no idea what is good, as you so blandly put it, and what isn’t!’

  I knew she was only being cross with me because she was desperately anxious and exhausted, but all the same, her sharp words hurt.

  After a moment I felt her hand reach out and take mine. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said quickly. ‘I understand.’

  We sat together, still holding hands, looking at my sister. I heard Edild give a huge yawn. ‘Why don’t you have a sleep?’ I suggested. ‘I’ll watch for a while.’

  She looked at me doubtfully. ‘It is a very big responsibility,’ she murmured.

  ‘I’ll wake you if she – if anything happens,’ I assured her. ‘I promise.’

  My aunt looked at me for a while longer, then, abruptly making up her mind, nodded. ‘Very well. Call me if she makes any move or sound.’

  ‘I will.’

  Edild got up, stretched – I could almost hear her cramped muscles creaking – and went over to the place where Hrype had lain. She settled herself, curling up in her cloak like a kitten in front of the hearth. Within moments she was asleep. I saw that one foot was uncovered, and I reached out to tuck it in.

  Then I went back to sit beside my sister’s cot.

  They say that during the hours before dawn we are at our lowest ebb. It is the time, according to healers like my aunt, when the dying tend to slip away. It is
the time, as I well know from my own experience, when your worries press most heavily on you, so that you wonder why on earth you are bothering to struggle on.

  So it was with me just then. There was my much-loved Elfritha, my adored elder sister – kind, loving, much missed by us all since she became a nun, but still a part of the world, even behind her abbey walls. She was no better – in the privacy of my own thoughts, I did not try to fool myself – and it was very possible, even probable, that she would die. She had voided her poor suffering body, and now she lay, deathly pale, a mere skeleton covered with the thinnest layer of flesh. She had taken in nothing but a few drops of water for hours, days, and even now she was still occasionally bringing up some of the precious liquid. Unless something changed – unless we could get her body to take in the water she so desperately needed – she would not survive.

  Just then I was far beyond trying to think who had tried to kill her: who had wanted her dead and out of the way and so had attempted to dispatch her, just as he – perhaps she – had done with the man in the fen and poor little Herleva. All I could think of was that she was my sister, and I loved her, and I might be about to lose her.

  Had I had someone’s loving arms around me to support and comfort me, it might not have been so bad. Full of self-pity now, I thought miserably that at least my aunt had had Hrype to hold her when she cried. I had nobody.

  The man I loved had tried to reach me via my dreams. He had called out to me, several times, but now he called no more. My dreams of him had stopped. He had been in terrible danger, and whatever had threatened him had overcome him. He was dead; I was sure of it.

  Grieving for Rollo, already dead, and for my dear Elfritha, about to join him, I crossed my arms on my sister’s bed, dropped my head and wept.

  I am dreaming . . .

  It is twilight, or perhaps dawn. The light is unnatural; half-light. Magic light. I am close to water, for I hear it and smell it. My feet are on firm ground, but I know that the path is very narrow and that it twists and turns. It is up to me to find the safe way. Then I become aware that there are others with me, many of them, on the path behind me and depending on me to keep them from harm. The weight of responsibility sits heavily on my shoulders, pushing me down. With a great effort, I straighten my spine and stare anxiously ahead.