Days of Air and Darkness

by Katharine Kerr

  “What?”

  “You have to swear first,” Babryan said. “Just a promise won’t do. Come on, Bry. Go get your little knife. We’ll do it by the fire.”

  While Wbridda rummaged through her jewelry casket, Babryan put out all the candles so that the only light was a pool from the fire. When Sevinna and Babryan knelt down in the flickering shadows, Babryan giggled in pleasant excitement, and Sevinna caught her mood. Whatever this mysterious something was, it was much more amusing to think about than marrying a man she hardly knew. Wbridda knelt down beside them and opened her hand to show Sevinna a tiny knife with a silver handle and a blade of black obsidian.

  “Lady Davylla has a Wise Woman living in her dun,” Wbridda explained. “She’s awfully, awfully old, she doesn’t even have any teeth, but she knows everything. She makes these knives, you see. Lady Davylla gives them to her special friends, and she gave one to us.”

  “What are they for?”

  “We’ll tell you once you swear,” Babryan said. “Here, we’re going to have to have a bit of your hair and a drop of your blood, but it won’t hurt. That knife’s awfully sharp.”

  Wbridda cut off a tiny bit of Sevinna’s hair and laid it on the hearthstone, then pricked her index finger and squeezed a drop of blood onto the hair. Sevinna sucked her fingertip.

  “Now you’ve got to swear you’ll never repeat any of this to one who doesn’t know the Goddess,” Babryan said.

  “Which goddess?”

  “We can’t say yet. Just swear.”

  “All right. I swear I won’t betray the secrets to one who doesn’t know the Goddess.”

  “And to any man ever.”

  “And to any man ever.”

  Babryan picked up the bit of hair and threw in into the fire.

  “Aranrhodda,” she called out. “Aranrhodda, favor our cousin, and us, too, for bringing her to you!”

  The bit of hair caught and burned with a drift of stench in the wood smoke. Sevinna went cold, wondering what she’d just done to herself, wishing she’d asked more before she’d sworn the vow, but Babryan and Wbridda were giggling. Oh, there can’t be any harm in it, Sevinna thought, not if they’d do it.

  “There, now you’re one of us,” Babryan announced. “Lady Davylla will probably ride our way soon for a visit, and you’ll get to meet her. Oh, she’s ever so splendid.”

  “But anyway,” Wbridda said, “if you don’t like this Timryc fellow, we’ll just work a charm to turn him cold to you. You can work lots of charms when you learn how, Sevvi. There’s one to turn a man cold to you, and one to make him love you, and one to make your father or brother favor the man you favor, just lots of them.”

  “Oh, here,” Sevinna said, “I thought you didn’t even care what men did.”

  “Well, it’s all going to come in handy someday.” Wbridda shrugged. “I don’t want to marry some dry stick of a man just because Da says I have to. This way there’s stuff you can do about it, you see. Otherwise there isn’t.”

  Sevinna nodded. She did see, entirely too well.

  On the morrow, Gwerbret Tudvulc called Sevinna into his private council chamber for a little chat. Her uncle, so tall and stout and noisy, had always intimidated Sevinna, and being dependent on his charity only frightened her the more. Tudvulc sat her down in a chair and strode back and forth by an open window while they talked. His mop of brown hair and mustaches had gone quite gray since the last time she’d seen him.

  “Now here, lass. No use in mincing words, eh? I want you to take a good look at Timryc here. He’s got splendid connections, a good bit of land. You’d have plenty of pretty dresses from a man like that, eh?”

  Sevinna smiled out of duty alone.

  “But there’s no use in jumping at the first hare out of the bushes, either,” Tudvulc went on. “You’re my niece, got connections of your own, and you’re blasted good-looking, too. A pretty face is worth half a dowry, eh? So you just wait and see what kind of game we can beat out of the forest, lass. No rush. You’re always welcome at my table.”

  “His Grace is ever so kind.” Sevinna bowed her head. “I’m willing to wait for the right match.”

  “Good, good. Never know about you lasses, eh? Most of you are so eager to get that crown of roses on your head you can’t think straight.” He gave her a twisted grin that was doubtless meant to be jolly and avuncular. “Oh, the gwerbret of Buccbrael has a young son, too. Be a cursed good alliance for both our clans, and I hear the lad’s already turning the heads of the local lasses. Good-looking sort. A year or two younger than you, but young men grow faster with a wife in their bed. We’ll see what we can turn up, truly.”

  Bowing, a page appeared in the doorway.

  “Your Grace? There’s a messenger here from the gwerbret of Caenmetyn. He says it concerns an urgent matter of justice, an escaped murderer.”

  “Indeed? Send him straight in. Here, lass, you run along to your aunt and have a nice little ride.”

  Sevinna rose, curtsied, and made a grateful escape. In the corridor, she passed the messenger, a warrior with the blazon of Caenmetyn on his road-stained shirt.

  The afternoon’s expedition rode slowly along the grassy banks of the Sironaver, sparkling in the sun, until they came to a spot where willow trees had been planted to give some shade for just this sort of party. The grass had been trimmed back with a scythe, too, and beds of bright flowers made pleasant curves by the riverbank. When the others dismounted, Wbridda, with her falcon on her gloved wrist and one of the pages riding behind, went off into the grasslands to hunt. As she’d been told to do, Sevinna waited a moment before dismounting. Sure enough, Lord Timryc hurried to her side to help her down from her sidesaddle. His hands were strong on her waist, his smile carefully courtly as he set her down.

  “This is truly a lovely place,” Timryc said. “Will my lady honor me by walking down the river to see the view?”

  “My thanks, my lord. What a pretty thought.”

  As they walked, Sevinna found herself tongue-tied; all she could do was ask him questions about his life at court, but the questions had to be carefully phrased, as it would be most discourteous if he thought she were prying into his financial worth or standing. Fortunately, Timryc had no difficulty at all keeping a conversation going, especially when the subject was himself. Sevinna was amazed at how often he could mention the times the king had spoken to him or the queen had thanked him for some favor.

  Getting back to the privacy of the women’s quarters was like finding refuge from a storm. Sevinna sank gratefully into a chair and wondered if she could feign a headache to get out of sitting next to Timryc at dinner. Babryan sat down next to her and gave Wbridda a scowl.

  “Go change that dress! You’ve got blood all over your sleeve.”

  “We had a good hunt,” Wbridda said. “Two sparrows and a crow.”

  “Ugh! I don’t care. Or wait! Did you get some of the crow’s feathers?”

  With a grin, Wbridda pulled three black tail feathers out of her kirtle and held them up.

  “Those are ever so useful for charms, Sevvi,” Babryan explained. “If you don’t want Lord Timryc, we’ll work one tonight on him.”

  “Oh, splendid! Because I don’t.”

  The girls waited till late that night to make the charm. Wbridda brought one of the black feathers; Babryan, a candle end; and Sevinna, a bone stylus. They crouched down close to the hearth, and Babryan laid the candle end down a little distance from the flames.

  “We’ll let the wax soften.”

  “All right,” Sevinna said. “Now here, though, this won’t make his lordship sick or anything, will it?”

  “Oh, of course not,” Wbridda chimed in. “It’s awfully hard to make someone sick or have them die or suchlike. You’ve got to have bits of their fingernails or hair, and you’ve got to have special herb oil, and you’ve got to work the charms nine times at midnight and all do sorts of stuff.”

  “All right, then. He’s only an awful bore. I don’
t want to cause him any harm. Do you know anyone who’s ever worked this charm before?”

  “Oh, lots of people,” Babryan said. “Lady Davylla’s sisters, and then their friends. I don’t know anyone who’s ever worked the death curse, though. Oooh! That would be awful. You’d have to really hate someone.”

  “I bet Lady Davylla’s Wise Woman could do it, though,” Wbridda said. “Or one of her friends.”

  “There’s some round Lughcarn, too,” Babryan added. “We’ve got a little silver chain Lady Davylla’s Wise Woman gave us, you see. If we show it to one of the Wise Women here, they’ll know that we’re their friends.”

  “Have you talked to any of them?” Sevinna said.

  “Not yet, because it’s so hard to get away from Mam. Now that you’re here, we’ll have to think of a way to do it. We can pretend to hunt with falcons or suchlike. It’ll be ever so exciting.”

  “Let’s do it soon,” Sevinna said. “Look, the wax is getting really soft.”

  Babryan picked up the warm candle end and kneaded it into the shape of a heart. When it was cool, Sevinna scratched Timryc’s mark onto the surface, then handed it to Wbridda, who stuck the shaft of the feather into the wax. While Sevinna held the heart over the fire, the other two began to chant Aranrhodda’s name. She threw the heart into the hottest part of the fire and watched as the feather singed and flared.

  “Let his regard for her melt, melt, melt,” Babryan chanted.

  For a moment, the heart held steady, then began to twist and run. The wax flared with a plume of black smoke. Sevinna was suddenly frightened: it seemed that a face looked out of the flames, a pair of eyes, dark and grim, looking her straight in the face and marking her presence.

  “Aranrhodda, Aranrhodda, Aranrhodda!” Babryan was whispering the chant over and over. “Let his heart melt, melt, melt.”

  The face disappeared; there was only the fire and the flaring wax along a log. Sevinna felt herself shuddering as if she knelt by a winter window instead of a roaring fire.

  Black thatch covered the inn roof, the innyard stank from a dirty stable, and the innkeep kept picking at a boil on his face, but the place was the only one in Lughcarn that would take in silver daggers. All the time they were sweeping out stalls and tending their horses, Rhodry grumbled, but Jill ignored him. He grumbled about the food, too, and she had to admit that fried turnips flecked with mutton weren’t her favorite dinner, but when he insisted on wiping the rim of the tankard with the hem of his shirt before he drank from it, she’d had enough.

  “Oh, stop it! I suppose you think we should be sleeping in the gwerbret’s broch!”

  “Don’t pour vinegar in my wounds. I have stayed in the dun, and it’s the memory that aches my heart now.”

  “Huh. Do you think his grace would remember you?”

  “Most like. Ah, by the black ass of the Lord of Hell, I hope our paths don’t cross. The last thing I want is for his grace to see me now, a lousy silver dagger.”

  “If you’ve really got lice, I’d better go through your hair tonight.”

  “Just a way of speaking! You don’t need to make light of my shame.”

  “Oh, now here, my love.” Jill laid her hand on his arm and smiled at him. “It’s just hard for me to remember how shamed you feel, because to me you’re the most wonderful man in all Deverry.”

  Mollified, Rhodry returned the smile. Jill went back to thinking about her plans in peace. Having the local gwerbret remember Rhodry would be useful if he’d only agree to face him. On the other hand, if Lady Mallona had found a refuge somewhere near Lughcarn, it might be better if they kept as quiet and anonymous as possible. If the priestesses of the Moon were right, some very high-born women, who doubtless had connections at the gwerbretal court, were amusing themselves by pretending to follow the Old Lore. The holy ladies considered such pastimes dangerous.

  “Ye gods,” Rhodry groaned. “Mallona could be anywhere.”

  “Just that, but maybe we can find some kind of a trail. I’ve got an idea, you see.”

  Since it was market day, Jill and Rhodry walked round the town to look the place over. Lughcarn was a big city for that time, close to twelve thousand people, cobbled street after street lined with round houses, always topped with dirty-gray thatch. They passed the foundries, long half-open sheds, and fenced yards where deep pits gaped to smelt the ore, and sticks and chunks of black charcoal lay piled in covered sheds. At the center of town, Rhodry pointed out the gwerbret’s dun. Behind the smooth stone walls rose the tops of the broch and the half-brochs like a thick cluster of spears. Jill counted seven towers in all, each with slate roofs. Here and there in a favored window a piece of glass caught the light and gleamed.

  As they lingered, admiring, the iron-bound gates swung open, and a riding party came out on matched bay palfreys, three young lasses in linen riding dresses, draped gracefully over their sidesaddles. Behind them came a falconer and an escort of five riders from the gwerbret’s war-band. Rhodry grabbed Jill’s arm and pulled her into a deep doorway behind them.

  “Those are the gwerbret’s daughters. Doubtless Babryan would remember me, and I don’t want her to see me.”

  “Why? Did you break her heart or suchlike?”

  “Naught of the sort! The last time I saw her, she was a child with her hair back in a braid. I just don’t want to have to face her.”

  As the lasses rode slowly by, the people on the street hurried to get out of their way, the men bowing, the women dropping curtsies. The lasses hardly seemed to notice; they were talking among themselves and letting their gentle horses pick their own way through the streets.

  In the middle of town, Jill and Rhodry found the market square, cluttered with booths, built all anyhow, and farmers with produce spread out on the ground wherever they could find a bare spot. Through it all wandered shabby women with baskets on their arms, elegant women with a servant trailing behind to carry their purchases, young men hanging round and merely watching the passing show, servants hurrying on errands. Jill and Rhodry picked their way through heaps of cabbages and baskets of eggs, walked past a man with a stack of round yellow cheeses, and generally looked over the various rural people come to town to sell.

  Eventually, they saw an old woman kneeling on the ground behind a blanket spread with bunches of tied kitchen herbs, basil, chervil, and rosemary, both fresh and dried. Her gray hair was neatly caught back with the black headscarf of a widow, and her faded brown dress was scrupulously clean. When Jill knelt down in front of her, the old woman raised a quizzical eyebrow.

  “You don’t look like you do much cooking, lass.”

  “Well, actually, I’m looking for a different kind of herb, but I was wondering if you knew a woman who deals in physic.”

  “Here, there’s a fine apothecary in town. Duryn’s his name, and he has a shop over by the west gate.”

  “Well, er ah, you see, I was hoping to find a woman with herb lore, not a man.”

  The old woman sighed in faint disgust, looked at Rhodry, who was hovering nearby, sighed again, then crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Jill.

  “Now, you should have thought of such things before you ran off with a handsome silver dagger,” the old woman snapped. “Oh, your poor family! Is it too late for you to ride home?”

  “Far too late,” Jill said, thankful that she was lying about this supposed pregnancy. “They’ll never take me back now.”

  “Well, my heart aches for you, lass, but you waded into this mucky river, and now you’ll just have to dry your own clothes. You lasses! Ye gods! Thinking you can roll around with any man who takes your fancy and not have to give the Goddess the tribute she demands. Lasses weren’t like this in my day, they weren’t. We knew the right side of the blanket from the wrong one. Now, it’s a nasty impious thing you’re thinking of, and even if I could do a thing about it, I wouldn’t, and neither would any honest woman, neither. You’d best get yourself to the temple and beg the priestesses to do something about that
man of yours. No doubt he’ll try to run out on you, but our gwerbret will put a stop to that if the holy ladies ask him. Lasses! Ye gods, didn’t you think?”

  Jill hastily rose and began babbling something about having to leave. The old woman followed and caught a startled Rhodry by the arm.

  “You’d best do the right thing by this lass and marry her, Silver Dagger,” she announced. “Maybe she was stupid, but you lads are the scum of the earth, getting lasses with child and then riding on again. You had the fun of getting the baby, and now you’d best turn your hand to supporting it.”

  This tirade was attracting quite a crowd. The cheese seller strolled over, the egg woman hurried up—everywhere folk stopped and turned to listen. When a scarlet-faced Rhodry tried to stammer out some excuse, the crowd snickered and grinned. A couple of stout older men, one of them quite well-dressed in the checked brigga of a merchant, trotted over and made the old women bows.

  “Now what’s this, Gwedda?” the merchant said. “Has this lad dishonored this poor lass?”

  “He has, and now she’s with child. You men! A rotten pack, all of you.”

  “I’m going to marry her!” Rhodry squealed. “I swear it! Come on, Jill!”

  Rhodry grabbed her arm and dragged her along as he shoved their way through the snickering crowd. Once they got clear of the market square, they ran all the way back to their inn. As soon as they got into the refuge of the dark, smoky tavern room, Rhodry grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

  “You and your ideas! You might have warned me!”

  “I figured you wouldn’t have gone along with it if you’d known.”

  “Cursed right! All I want now is to get out of here. Everyone’s going to be smirking every time we walk out on the streets.”

  “There’s still the bounty. We can’t just ride away from it.”

  Rhodry groaned. Jill was about to say somewhat soothing when she noticed a little boy, wearing torn brigga and the sleeveless remains of a shirt, hovering in the doorway. Thinking he was a hungry beggar child, she went over to offer him a copper. He took it tight in one grubby fist and looked her over with solemn dark eyes.