Geraint (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 5)

by Jacky Gray

  The meal passed in a set of blurred images, most of which contained his father saying something complementary about him or people raising beakers to toast him and the other winners. The first victor, from Hereward’s tribe, enjoyed being the centre of attraction, and his hand frequently patted the handle of his trophy, which he happily brandished at anyone who asked for a look at it. The second boy, from Pitivo’s tribe, seemed to be as overwhelmed by the attention as Geraint. Recognising each other’s discomfort, they exchanged a number of conspiratorial looks.

  The last course offered fresh fruit and cakes laden with nuts and dripping with honey but, to Geraint, they might have been made of wood. As the dishes were cleared away, Rattrick seemed in a good mood, lowering his voice so only his son could hear. ‘You must know you’ve made me the proudest man of all the Renegates. I don’t remember feeling this happy when we saw off the northern tribes thirteen years ago.’

  He paused to empty his beaker so Drina could fill it as she passed by with a jug of ale. ‘I wanted to give you something. I had planned to give you the two-wheeler, but you did such a good job with young Thanet I thought you deserved to have it then.’

  Geraint wanted to say he knew the real reason, but some sense stopped him from voicing the thought out loud. It was the first time his father had shown such pleasure in his achievements. A grown-up insight made him realise the moment would be spoilt, so he smiled and murmured something inconsequential.

  Beaming, Rattrick took another quaff of his ale and clapped his son on the back ‘Well now, you deserve something much bigger and better.’

  ‘What could be bigger and better than a two-wheeler?’ Geraint copied his father, emptying his beaker. He basked in the approval; this was the only reward he’d ever craved and he could not think of anything better. Unless …

  Rattrick called for more ale. ‘I don’t know. Your own hunting knife?’

  Shaking his head, Geraint pointed to the one in his belt.

  ‘Oh yes, I forgot. A golden amulet? A horse? Ask me for anything under the sun, and I will get it for you.’

  The strong ale whispered nasty messages to the hurt little boy inside who had to have a bitter nag. ‘How can you afford such gifts after losing so much?’

  ‘Losing? I didn’t lose. I won a pile of gold.’

  ‘But how? Surely you knew I could not win.’

  ‘Win or lose is no matter. Did you honestly think I would bet against my own son? Shame on you.’

  Seeing his father’s glow dim at the suggestion, Geraint wanted to restore his good humour. But the ale dredged up all the injustices he’d suffered since his mother died. ‘There’s only one thing I really want, and you can’t give it to me.’

  ‘What is it?’ Rattrick paused for a second, then the smile faded as he realised. ‘Renata.’ Touching his heart, lips and forehead in memory of her, he sighed deeply. ‘Sorry, son. I would move heaven and earth to bring your mother back, but even I can’t do that.’

  ‘But you could give me a happy memory of her.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘By letting me spend a few weeks with Tol and Janna.’

  The pain was written all over Rattrick’s face as he closed his eyes and shook his head. After a few moments, he spoke in a low, harsh voice. ‘I really wish you hadn’t asked me that. You can have anything but that.’

  ‘But I don’t want anything else. What use is an amulet and why would I need a horse when I have a two-wheeler? I knew it was too good to be true.’ He stood unsteadily, knocking his beaker and several drops of ale splashed over his breeches. Ignoring them as he climbed over the bench, his voice held years of bitterness as he spat out, ‘Anything under the sun you said. I might have known you didn’t mean it.’

  He saw his father lifting his head out of his hands to say something, but he didn’t wait to hear it, running to where he knew Ciria would give him the comfort he needed, nearly knocking Savannah over as he hurtled past.

  9 Siany

  ‘Who are you and what are you doing in my grandfather’s garden? Are you asleep?’

  Geraint slowly opened his eyes, returning back to the present world with more than a little annoyance. Since arriving at Tol’s several days earlier, he’d been drawn to the gentle linden tree, his mother’s favourite spot for meditation. This time, something strange happened. With his back to the tree, he felt a real connection, an energy rooted deep in the earth which somehow raised him up to where the uppermost branches swayed in the breeze. But it all shattered at the sound of a female voice. It wasn’t a bad voice; not shrill like many young girls, but not the mellow tones of a woman either. Just right in every way.

  The sight of the voice’s owner took away any chance he had of remembering any of her questions. A beautiful girl, shining in the autumn sunlight, surrounded by a golden glow which shimmered around her body. With her face in shadow, he couldn’t read her facial expression, but her body bristled with a nervous energy as though she might take flight if he gave the wrong answer. Then he realised, she was not real, but a spirit, sent by his mother to talk to him.

  ‘What’s your name? Did my mother send you?’

  ‘No, grandma Janna. She didn’t really send me, she just told me you were out here somewhere.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me your name.’

  ‘You didn’t answer any of my questions.’

  ‘Sorry, I was … asleep when you started talking.’

  ‘You mean meditaining?

  ‘Meditating.’

  ‘That’s what I said. Is that what you were doing?’

  ‘What do you know about it?’

  ‘Oh, I give up. There’s no point talking to you if you can’t give me a straight answer without asking lots of questions.’ She turned to go, but he didn’t want her to, yet.

  Scrabbling to his feet, he gabbled out as many answers as he could remember. ‘I’m Geraint and your granddad kindly said I could stay here. I was trying to meditate here because it’s my favourite spot in the garden.’

  ‘Siany.’

  ‘Sorry, what does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So why say something if you don’t know what it means?’

  ‘Do you know what Geraint means?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Why should I know what my name means if you don’t know what your name means?’

  Then he realised. ‘It’s your name. Siany is your name.’

  ‘No, really? Are you sure?’ She shook her head in disbelief at his obvious stupidity, looking at him as though trying to decide if someone so slow was worth talking to.

  ‘Please stay and talk, I’m not normally this dull.’

  The surprise on her expression showed how close he’d come to her actual thoughts as he tried to explain. ‘I’ve never gone so deeply into a meditation before and the shock of your interruption addled my brain. It’s fine now. Well, as fine as it ever is.’

  Without realising, he’d moved nearer as he spoke, and his face was now only a short distance from hers. The thought passed through his mind that he’d never seen anything more enchanting in his life. As his eyes examined every feature, it seemed to become even more perfect, shining with a healthy vitality which was irresistible.

  ‘I’m not staying if you’re going to stare at me. It’s not polite.’

  ‘Sorry, but I‘ve never seen anything as beautiful as you before. You’re glowing like a spirit.’ He backed away hastily, tripping over a fallen branch and landing as he’d started, with his back against the linden tree.

  Giggling at his bewildered expression, she sat next to him. ‘I like this tree, too. It seems very calm and peaceful.’

  ‘It was mother’s favourite spot when she lived here.’

  ‘If your mother lived here, you must be a relative. It would be cool to have a mysterious cousin to talk about when everyone tells stories about their brothers and sisters.’

  ‘Don’t you have any family then?’

&nb
sp; ‘Just my parents. It gets a bit lonely sometimes because they never seem to have any time to play with me.’

  He wanted to tell her they weren’t related and his mother was dead, but she seemed so desperate for him to fill the void in her life he merely nodded his agreement. Although curious about the idea of parents spending time playing with their children, he didn’t question her further because he didn’t want to seem different. As he searched for something to say which might distract her away from the subject, he couldn’t help noticing that even the part of her in the shade of an apple tree still glowed. Sensing her getting uncomfortable under his scrutiny, he said the first thing which came into his head. ‘What do your parents do?’

  Pulling a face, she picked daisies, threading them together to make a chain. ‘The very worst thing. Mother is a professor at the university, but Father is the head professor at my lehren.’

  Geraint knew of these buildings where children went every day to learn from the age of seven until they reached their majority, but he didn’t know anyone who’d ever been to one. ‘What’s it like?’

  ‘Having my father as professor? Awful. I’m not allowed to treat him like a father. It’s supposed to be like he’s some kind of stranger, but he always seems to find some reason to tell me off.’

  Knowing exactly what that felt like, Geraint murmured his agreement as she continued. ‘Mother says it’s because he doesn’t want the other children to think he’s making me the favourite, but it’s more than that. No matter how hard I try in his class, he just finds something I did wrong.’

  ‘Even if everyone else got it wrong too.’

  ‘Exactly. You’re the first person who understands what it’s like. Is your father a professor too?’

  ‘Not like yours, although he does do a lot of training, but he’s in charge and it makes him vexed a lot of the time.’

  ‘Just like my father.’ She clapped her hands. ‘This is great. It’s wonderful to have someone to talk to who knows how I feel. What does your mother do?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That’s not fair. Most boys think their mother doesn’t do anything if she doesn’t have a special job within the town, but it’s not true. My mother is always saying the mothers who stay at home and bring up the families and look after the house have the hardest jobs of all. I bet she’s a much better cook than mine is. Like grandma Janna, she makes the best apple pie you ever tasted. Oh no.’

  She leapt to her feet so abruptly he thought she was in pain or maybe she’d spotted a grass snake nearby.

  He jumped up to look for something amiss. ‘What is it? What’s wrong? Did something bite you? Are you in pain?’

  ‘No, silly. It’s nothing like that. I just remembered, grandma asked me to pick some apples for tonight’s pie. Will you be stopping for supper?’

  ‘Of course. I am living here, so I have all my meals with Tol and Janna.’ Watching the way she tilted each apple to see if the stalk would break off easily, he copied her, passing the apples so she could put them in the pocket of her apron.

  ‘Are you going to stay here forever?’

  ‘No, only a few more weeks. A reward for doing so well in my trial.’

  ‘I have my first trial at Imbolc next year, I’m not looking forward to it.’

  ‘You have a trial at Imbolc? But girls don’t do trials. Certainly not at Imbolc, that’s the last one before majority and it’s really hard. You must have misunderstood.’

  She stopped for a moment and thought, then shrugged and carried on. ‘No, I’m sure it’s right; my father announced the trials at morning assembly. All the fifth years will be studying for their initiation trial at Imbolc and the seventh years for their Beltane graduation.’

  ‘He probably just means the boys.’

  ‘No, it’s definitely the girls as well because I heard Kimbra saying her sister was chosen to carry the Brideog round the village. Maybe your lehren do it differently.’ She watched as he failed a third attempt to get the biggest apple on the tree. ‘That’s enough now, don’t bother with the last one.’

  ‘But it’s so big. If I jump up and stretch I can reach. We could find a stick.’

  ‘No honestly, Geraint. There’s more than enough here, I won’t be able to carry any more.’

  ‘It’s all right, I’ll carry some. She’s always baking, it won’t go to waste.’

  The more she protested, the more determined he was not to be defeated by an apple. He couldn’t say what made him want to show off for her; he’d never done anything so foolish or stubborn before. Grabbing the lowest branch, he pulled himself up, his feet slipping on some damp moss. Ignoring her gasp, he found a foothold and, with a huge bound, reached the heart of the tree. Unfortunately, the largest apple was on the smallest branch, so thin it could not take his weight. He reasoned if he wriggled halfway down, he could bend it low enough for her to reach the apple.

  ‘No Geraint, you mustn’t try; the branch will break.’ Concern made her voice much higher.

  ‘I’m not going to go all the way, merely enough to bend it so you can reach.’

  ‘If you think I’m going to stand under there so you can fall on top of me, you can think again.’

  ‘Well you’ve left me with no choice, I’ll have to try and get it. It’ll be your fault if I fall.’

  ‘How will it? That’s not right. Oh well, if you’re going to do it anyway …’ She stomped up to the branch and stretched out her hand, but because she was a little shorter than he, she couldn’t quite reach. ‘See, I knew it wouldn’t work. You obviously weren’t meant to get this one. You’ll simply have to wait until it falls off by itself.’

  ‘But it will bruise. It’s so heavy it may even smash when it hits the ground. Or the squirrels will get it. No, just let me move out a few more inches, then it will …’

  The crack when the branch broke was nearly as loud as the thump when he hit the ground, but not as loud in his ears as her piercing scream or the sound of his leg breaking.

  10 Wondrous Stories

  ‘Can you hear me, Geraint? Are you fast asleep? We have to go now.’ The words pierced through the fog of sleep.

  ‘Don’t fuss, Janna, leave him be. There’s no point waking him; sleep is the best possible cure for him right now, that’s what the healer said.’

  ‘But I feel badly about leaving him without telling him where we’re going.’

  ‘He knows we’re at the market on Saturnday, and Siany will be here if he needs anything.’

  Janna turned to the girl. ‘Are you sure you’re going to be all right on your own? You know what to do if anything happens?’

  ‘Yes, grandmother. I’ve got your list and I’ll go next door if there’s anything else.’

  ‘You’re a good girl, Siany. We really appreciate this. Are you sure you won’t be bored?’

  ‘No, grandfather, I have my book. I was going to read it out loud so Geraint could listen to the story too.’

  ‘That’s a good idea. The healer said he will recover faster if his mind keeps active so he’s not fretting about getting up. He will try, but you must remind him if he puts any weight on his leg it may not heal properly.’

  ‘Come on Janna, we must get a move on, the market will be opening soon and we want to be ready.’

  ‘All right.’ She couldn’t help but fuss, addressing Siany. ‘Remember to check his forehead every hour to see he isn’t too hot. Don’t worry if he doesn’t eat much, but he must drink. Small sips or he’ll be needing the bottle all the time.’

  Siany glanced at the wide-necked jug and shuddered; obviously not looking forward to that part. Hugging her grandparents, she waved goodbye, then pulled out her favourite book and looked through the index, turning to the correct page and reading the story.

  Saturnday? Story? Market? Bottle? Scattered words swam around inside the milky soup of Geraint’s mind, and he tried to repeat them out loud as though it would help them to make more sense. But it was no use. He was so tired he only wanted to sl
eep. His leg felt on fire, but a cool hand stroked his forehead and a gentle voice told him sleep was the best thing for him right now.

  Pictures formed inside his head, showing a daring young hero having exciting adventures, escaping danger and discovering hidden treasures. New images appeared: a lonely young girl being bullied by people at lehren, her only friend a scruffy dog. A handsome boy pretended to be nice to her and she thought him a prince, but Geraint could tell the boy had mischief on his mind. He wanted to warn the girl, but she couldn’t hear him because he was asleep.

  He shouted louder. ‘Don’t listen to him, he means you harm.’

  ‘Geraint? Are you awake?’

  Snapping his eyes open, he woke as though from a deep meditation, not quite sure where he was. ‘Where is Analina? You must tell her not to go to the woods with Helvar, he’ll hurt her.’

  ‘Analina? You mean you were listening to the story? I thought you were asleep. But I’ve just read that bit: Her dog ran off and she went to look for him so she didn’t meet Helvar.’

  ‘Good. There’s definitely something bad about him.’

  ‘No, he’s good. He helps find her dog and fight off the bullies.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve read this story lots of times; it’s one of my favourites.’ She blushed red. ‘I like stories with happy endings.’

  Despite her attempts to sound detached, he sensed the characters in this story were important to her. Also, that she identified with Analina, and she fancied Helvar. Before he could ask about it, she offered him some water, instructing him not to drink too much.

  ‘But I’m thirsty.’

  ‘If you drink too much you’ll need to pee a lot. Grandma Janna’s left some sugar sweetmeats for you to suck; she says it will help with the thirst. The honey and lemon ones are really nice.’

  ‘You’ve been eating my candies?’

  ‘They’re not only for you. She says it’s my reward for giving up my weekend to look after you.’

  ‘Giving up your weekend? So, I’m nothing more than a duty for you? A chore you have to be paid for. I don’t need your charity, I can look after myself. Go away and play with your friends.’ As he spoke the final words, he reached out to help himself to a candy and knocked the dish over. The sweets scattered, rolling around the table, many of them landing on the floorboards. He lay back on the bed, angry with himself for being so clumsy, but even angrier for being hurt by her words and lashing out at her. His lips formed a tight grimace as he shook his head. ‘I deserved that, but you didn’t deserve my anger. I’m sorry.’