The Quickening

by Fiona McIntosh

  Arnyld lifted a fat disc from a small table nearby and handed it to his mistress.

  ‘Thank you, you may go,’ she said.

  After the servant’s departure, she hurriedly unfurled the slightly crumpled note and placed the disc over the words to magnify them.

  She read it several times. When Lady Helyn finally looked up from Leyen’s note, her lips were pursed and her eyes reflected alarm. What she read had stunned her.

  She ran over its contents again then crushed the note and threw it into the pond. She watched its sodden mass drift gently towards the murky bottom, ensuring no other pair of eyes would ever read.

  FOURTEEN

  THE PATH SHE HAD been walking for the past two days widened into a proper road and Elspyth’s prayers were answered. People moved freely along this road. Two carts, obviously travelling together, almost knocked her down as she emerged somewhat wildly from the adjoining track, desperate to stop them. Stop them she did, nearly falling under the hooves of one of the startled horses.

  ‘Shar’s wrath!’ someone yelled.

  Elspyth fainted with relief or possibly hunger. When she regained her wits, she was lying beneath the canopy of a covered cart with several wide-eyed children staring down at her.

  ‘She’s awake!’ one of them called.

  A woman, obviously the mother of the brood, hove into view. ‘Better?’

  Elspyth grimaced and nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You gave us all a terrible fright,’ the woman said. She smiled tentatively. ‘I am Ruth. This is my family.’ She called to the front, ‘Ham, she’s awake. Stop now.’

  The children grinned shyly then lost interest in the strange woman.

  Elspyth sat up as the cart lurched to a halt. ‘Thank you for your kindness.’

  Ruth smiled, more warmly now. ‘Come. It’s time we broke our fast.’

  The mention of food made Elspyth’s belly grind.

  Ruth looked at her. ‘Time you broke yours too,’ she said, frowning.

  It was reassuring to be amongst fellow travellers again. Elspyth felt her fears subsiding at the merry voices and the sudden activity to get a fire lit, water heated, food laid out. It was a humble spread but it was a feast to her.

  ‘Eat,’ Ruth encouraged. ‘How long since your last meal?’

  ‘Days,’ Elspyth admitted. ‘Is there enough for all?’

  ‘Always,’ the woman replied.

  The men began to gather. There were two families. The second woman had older children, two boys, old enough to sit up front with their father.

  Ham, Ruth’s husband, introduced himself first and then the others. Elspyth nodded, smiling at everyone. ‘Again, my apologies for startling you. I was so keen to speak to another person. It has been so long.’

  ‘Well, whilst you eat, let us tell you about ourselves,’ Ruth said, her kind eyes encouraging Elspyth to slice some meat from the haunch that had been set out. ‘We always eat heartily at this time of the day,’ she added.

  Elspyth did as bade. As she ate she learned that the families were Briavellians — providores returning home after a successful trip into Morgravia.

  ‘What do you sell?’ she said through her contented chewing.

  One of the lads spoke up, ‘Our family are honeymakers.’

  She looked confused now as she swallowed. ‘But surely Morgravia makes its own honey?’

  They all grinned as though this was a regular question. The lad enlightened her, ‘Ah, but our bees are special. They have not been cross-bred with any others. They’re the Magurian bee, from a tiny island off the southeast coast of Briavel.’

  Elspyth was intrigued. ‘But how do you stop the bees from breeding with other strains?’

  The honeymaker family were impressed that she was taking so much interest. The father answered this time: ‘Well, my family has been in honeymaking for generations. I am the third son; there was not enough income for me to make a livelihood in Maguria. So I moved to Briavel as soon as I was old enough to leave the nest and settled on the mainland.’ He sucked at a pipe as he recalled those early days. ‘I fell in love with a beautiful Briavellian maiden, but I hated the honey on the mainland, preferring the richer lavender and clover flavours of the Magur gold.’

  His wife smiled indulgently at his words.

  He continued: ‘And so rather than the bees themselves, I suggested to my father that I might import some of our honeycomb.’

  ‘I’ll bet the Briavellians loved it too!’ Elspyth said, enjoying the tale.

  ‘It helped that our dear King Valor, rest his soul, took a fancy to it, having tried it once whilst passing through our region,’ the wife said softly.

  ‘And do you supply your lovely young Queen?’ Elspyth asked.

  Their son was eager to take up the story. ‘Yes. Apparently she eats it each day and attaches much to its health properties.’

  Elspyth nodded. ‘She is very beautiful, I hear.’

  The lad blushed. ‘She is magnificent. No one can hold a candle to her looks.’

  Elspyth grinned. ‘Then I must taste this honey of yours for it must be her secret.’

  Her companions laughed, offered around more food and tea.

  ‘And you?’ Elspyth said to Ruth. ‘Tell me about your family.’

  ‘Ham can tell you,’ she said, nodding at her husband as she began to clear away some of the debris of their meal.

  He obliged. ‘Well, our family are grape-growers and wine-makers but not just any old grapes, mind. Our vines produce the prized frostfruit, harvested very late in the year when the first bite of winter is felt. They are exquisitely sweet, very small and produce the most lush, rich wine —’

  ‘Also favoured by royalty, no doubt,’ Elspyth chimed in, amusing both families.

  ‘By your own royalty in fact,’ Ham admitted, liking her cheek. ‘We recently made a delivery to the court of King Celimus and we’ve been travelling in the north for a while. My son’s first vintage and a fine one it is,’ the man said proudly, looking towards his boy who shrugged self-consciously. ‘Don’t be bashful,’ he added. ‘You’ve a better palate and nose than any member of our family I can remember.’

  ‘And so Briavellian honey and wine finds its way across the border into Morgravia regularly now?’ Elspyth asked and the adults nodded.

  ‘That’s wonderful to hear,’ she said, meaning it. ‘Trade overcoming politics.’

  Ham nodded. ‘Yes, but only because our two products have found favour with the royals, as you say.’

  Ruth sighed. ‘It will be a lot easier when your Celimus marries our Valentyna. We can all trade more freely. Worry less.’

  ‘Do you think it will happen?’ Elspyth wondered, thinking of Wyl.

  ‘It has to,’ said the honeymaker, taking a long puff on his pipe. ‘It is the only way our two realms can become profitable. All these wars have achieved is to beggar each realm’s producers. If they marry we can forget war and our children can look forward to a better life.’

  Sounds of agreement came from those around her and Elspyth felt a surge of sadness for her trapped friend. Wyl loved Valentyna, but it seemed her duty to her realm would weigh heavier than their desire.

  ‘You said you live in the southeast of Briavel. Do you ever get to the capital?’ she asked, chewing on a fat fig.

  Ham nodded. ‘Yes, indeed. My eldest son and I travel there regularly. We were there recently in fact.’

  ‘Oh, so I wonder if you’ve heard of a nobleman called Romen Koreldy? It’s just that I know him quite well and the last time we met he was on his way to Werryl. I heard on the grapevine from fellow travellers that there was some sort of duel between him and King Celimus at the Queen’s tourney?’ It was true — she had heard as much.

  ‘We were there,’ the eldest son said. ‘It was more than a duel.’

  ‘It looked like a fight to the death,’ Ham admitted. ‘Our Queen stepped in to prevent bloodshed.’

  Elspyth was shocked. This was fresh news to her, b
ut she knew Wyl had many reasons to hate the King. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing much more there,’ Ham said, ‘but I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, young Elspyth — Koreldy is no longer with us,’ he added as gently as he could.

  She shook her head. ‘No, I imagine not. He would have to leave Briavel after that, though I wonder where he has headed. I —’

  Ruth took her hand. ‘No, you don’t understand.’ Everyone looked suddenly embarrassed.

  Elspyth turned to Ham.

  ‘He’s dead, child,’ the man said.

  It felt to Elspyth like several long minutes passed before she took another breath. The silence was painful for all of them.

  ‘You must be mistaken,’ she stammered, feeling a chill pass through her.

  Ham shook his head. ‘It happened at Crowyll — we were there the day after it took place. The town rumour is that a whore killed him, although the Briavellian Guard is saying different. What was her name, son? Someone did tell us.’

  The boy stuck his chin in the air and closed his eyes. ‘Hilda, was it?’

  ‘No. Hildyth, that’s right. According to the gossips she’s a striking woman — tall with auburn hair and feline eyes. Unmistakable.’

  Elspyth began to tremble; her whole world was crumbling about her. ‘Why?’

  ‘No idea,’ Ham admitted. ‘The story goes that her majesty banished Koreldy from Briavel. He was being escorted to a border of his choice, and he and the guard accompanying him stopped at a place in Crowyll for a smoothing and suchlike.’ He cleared his throat self-consciously, glad that the youngsters had already gone off to play.

  ‘And?’ Elspyth asked, distraught.

  Ham shrugged. ‘It happened.’

  ‘But there is no reason for it!’ she cried. ‘Why was he banished? Why killed?’

  Ruth put her arms about her. ‘Oh, Elspyth, I’m so sorry we were the ones to break the news. He must have been a good friend for you,’ she said, holding her close. She scowled at her husband. ‘Ham, tell her everything you know.’

  Her husband blushed, distressed to be seen as the villain. ‘Rumours were rife whilst we were there. Some said the whore worked for Celimus and that the King ordered Koreldy’s death. No one knows the truth of it though. And now, with our own soldiers saying it was one of them who killed him, a renegade or something, it’s all a bit baffling.’

  ‘The body — who saw it?’ Elspyth demanded.

  ‘I’m sorry to say that a close friend of ours helped to clean up Koreldy’s corpse. His… his heart had been punctured.’ Ham stammered over the words, unsure of how much detail his wife meant for him to tell. ‘Um… my friend is from the morgue and he was called in to deal with the body before it was transported to Werryl. Very trustworthy fellow. He only told me because he was so shocked at the manner of death — he said it looked as if it was carried out by a professional assassin. Apparently, everything was hushed over quickly by the Queen’s Guard, and my friend was ordered to remain silent. I’m sure he didn’t mean to tell me as much as he did. Now you know as much as I do — and I’ve told no one bar my wife until this moment.’ He glared at the others, daring them to say any different. ‘Oh, and she’d cut off his finger too — that’s another indication it was a paid killing.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Elspyth said, confounded.

  ‘The finger is proof of death. Apparently Koreldy wore a ring with a blood-red stone and marked with a special family insignia.’

  At that Elspyth broke down. It was true then. She knew the ring; knew it was Wyl they spoke of. He was dead. Now Lothryn would never be rescued from the dark magic and the pain.

  The others, except Ruth, moved away silently. Ham put his large meaty hand on her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, lass.’

  She said nothing but cried harder against Ruth’s shoulder.

  ‘Travel with us, Elspyth. You’re in no state to move around alone just now,’ the woman whispered.

  Elspyth did not know how long they sat there together or at what point her sobs subsided and the tears dried on her cheeks. She was only marginally aware of Ruth helping her back into the cart and being laid down, covered with a blanket and encouraged to sleep. She welcomed the escape from her exhaustion and pain.

  This time she dreamed of a tall woman with auburn hair and catlike eyes who had destroyed her dream of Lothryn being rescued by Wyl. It was up to her then. She would deliver her message to Felrawthy and keep her promise to the dead friend who had once walked in the guise of Romen Koreldy. And then she would rescue the man she loved.

  FIFTEEN

  THEY RAN, TERRIFIED, NOT daring to look behind or slow down, until their legs were too weak to carry them any further and their lungs protested, burning for air.

  ‘Please stop, my lady,’ Pil gasped, his body bent over. ‘We must catch our breath.’

  ‘We cannot rest, Pil!’ Ylena’s hair was wild from snagging in overhanging branches, her garments muddied and torn. ‘I daren’t tell you what they were doing.’ Her voice broke. ‘Shar’s tears,’ she gasped, all strength leaving her as she crumpled to her knees and clasped her face in dirt-smeared hands. She wept, exhausted.

  Pil was too shocked himself to offer much comfort. What had happened at Rittylworth could not be comprehended. He knew Ylena was keeping much of the horror from him and he was glad of it. The King’s men had planned the attack well, storming the monastery at the break of morning silence to ensure the monks would be in the buildings or working in their gardens. He cast his own teary thanks to whichever angels had been guarding his life and had contrived for him to be looking for the Lady Ylena when the soldiers arrived.

  Brother Jakub had asked Pil to remain close to Ylena from the beginning. He recalled Jakub’s gentle words. You are young and she will not feel too threatened by you. She has seen and experienced much sorrow at the whim of powerful men. Although he did not know the whole story Pil had gathered that Ylena was terrorised at Stoneheart by the King and his minions, which would account for her early distant behaviour. Koreldy had counselled that she was not of sound mind, warning that Ylena had witnessed a horrific murder. In the days he had spent in her company, quietly escorting her, serving her meals, generally being on hand to see to her needs, she had been withdrawn but polite. Her silence or sudden tears were the only external sign of her anguish.

  Looking at her now he marvelled at the strength that lay within the fragile-looking noblewoman. She was terrified herself, but had taken command of the situation and rallied his own flagging courage. Such bravery must run in the Thirsk blood, Pil thought; her father and her brother had been revered Generals of the Legion.

  The novice was desperate to lay his head down on the grass and drift into oblivion but he dared not for he was sure he would dream of burning bodies. He guessed they had been on the move for roughly an hour, perhaps almost two. He glanced towards the sky — barely mid-morning, he estimated.

  ‘Lady Ylena,’ he uttered gently, ‘I don’t believe we’ve been followed. I am sure we escaped notice.’

  ‘Everyone’s dead,’ she muttered, her voice flat. ‘And they’ll hunt me down until he’s satisfied I’m dead too.’

  ‘Don’t say that, my lady,’ Pil replied, fresh fear coursing through him.

  She lifted her head to look at her companion. Her eyes were red from tears and they held a wildness that unsettled Pil further. ‘Who do you think they are after?’ she demanded.

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t even know why they came.’

  Ylena laughed bitterly. ‘They were after me, Pil,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘Me and Koreldy. Where is he? He promised he would not abandon me.’

  Pil wanted to interject that she was not abandoned by the monks, they all loved her. Instead he held his tongue.

  ‘My parents are dead, my brother murdered, my guardian sent to his death, my young and beautiful new husband murdered. Doesn’t it strike you that this monarch is determined to see the Thirsk name become barely more than a memory?’


  So that was the core of her pain. He knew she had seen someone killed but Jakub had refused to say more. He had to presume then that Ylena had witnessed her husband’s death. He chose his words carefully, not wanting to deepen her grief. ‘I want to be a monk, my lady. I am not a politician. I do not understand the intrigues of the court.’

  Her expression became sad. ‘It doesn’t matter. I am hunted; the last of my line. You would do well to protect yourself by leaving me now.’

  Pil was shocked. ‘I cannot do that, my lady. I promised Brother Jakub I would take care of you.’

  ‘And who was taking care of Brother Jakub and all the other brothers? You saw some of it, Pil — each one murdered where he stood. Shar alone knows how those senior brothers suffered on the cross. How can a boy protect me when a whole community cannot?’

  Pil suddenly felt all of his young years. He understood what people meant when they talked about the blood draining from someone’s face. He could feel it now, could feel a weakness moving through his body that seemed determined to shut down his movement, his speech, even his heart, from shock and despair. Not so long ago he had been carefree, laughing with his fellow monks, eager to become a fully fledged member of the Order. And now Ylena had revealed the full horror of the massacre and his mind was filled with visions of gentle holy men being stabbed, their throats slit or swords run through their bellies… and nailed to posts.

  Every ounce of him wanted to break down and weep. To die where he sat and not have to face this ugliness any more. Instead, it was Jakub’s comforting voice he heard in his mind and he adopted a similar tone now.

  ‘We have been spared, my lady. Shar protected us by placing us somewhere unexpected when the soldiers came. And almost no one outside of the monastery knows of the grotto,’ he added as gently as he could. ‘Brother Jakub was keen for you to have a private place to bathe and rest.’

  A wan smile ghosted across her face. ‘Go, Pil. By staying with me you put yourself in much danger. I am not sure I can look after both of us. Please, be safe.’

  ‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘We must stay together as we promised Jakub. That’s my job, remember; he told me that now was the time when I would prove my worth.’