Home From The Sea: The Elemental Masters, Book Seven

by Mercedes Lackey

  For Daffyd, the two had gotten two full sets of blown-glass floats for all of his nets and fish-traps. Only quite well-off fishermen could manage to get so many together. They were not as fragile as one might think, but they did break, and they were expensive for such a small fisherman as he to replace.

  For Nan, Idwal had brought a knife and Rhodri the matching sword of fine Toledo steel. These were obviously old, and why they had not rusted away to nothing on the sea-floor, she could not tell, and decided not to ask. She was more than touched and thrilled by the gift, she was astonished that Rhodri had actually had the insight to choose something like this for her. “I tried to find a bodice dagger, but alas, there were none down there,” he said, with a shrug and a grin.

  For Sarah, there were a curious bronze ring, and an equally curious diadem. Idwal nodded as she unwrapped them and looked at them curiously. “Spirits will recognize them,” was all he said. “If they are old enough. Some even if they are not old enough. These will give you some measure of protection, and in some cases, the spirits will follow your commands.”

  And for Mari, there were four packages, two for her and two for the baby that was coming. For the baby, there was a teething ring of ancient ivory, and a rattle made of narwhal tusk. For her… Nan didn’t recognize what the things were, but it was clear that she did. One was a mirror-like piece of black glass, the other a silver-mounted shell. She clasped both to her with an expression of amazement.

  “Eh, a good workman deserves good tools,” said Rhodri with a shrug.

  Idwal just smiled, as if he was well aware he had found something special.

  Nan and Sarah had brought more commonplace things, but since Rhodri and Idwal had never seen the like before, and Daffyd and Mari were not used to Christmas luxuries, there were many exclamations. Everyone got one of the peppermint pigs that the Welsh loved to give their children. Everyone got an orange. The Selch had an incredible appetite for sweets, not too surprising, since sugar wouldn’t survive long in the sea, so besides the peppermint pigs, the two Selch got hoards of bullseyes, cut rock, peppermint drops, lemon drops, and a great amount of the taffy that had been made up at the Manor, for the crowd there had made far more than was good for the children to have. And the baskets they had lugged down held the small goose they’d carefully roasted in their little kitchen, along with all of the usual Christmas dinner goodness.

  “’Tis the first time we’ve had something other than salmon for Christmas,” Mari said in wonder. “Not that there’s aught wrong with salmon!”

  So there was a second Christmas feast. And just to fill out all the corners of the baskets, Nan and Sarah had been knitting stockings of the softest possible lamb’s wool for Mari, Daffyd and the baby-to-come for months. None for the Selch, of course, who always went barefoot and seemed not to feel the cold, but Mari and Daffyd immediately put on a pair and reveled in the warmth.

  The Welsh, it seemed—at least when they were of families who had sufficient means and leisure to do so—celebrated Christmas all the way to Twelfth Night. New Year’s Eve was the occasion for another feast, rather than a ball or a dance as were held in London—and Idwal had asked privately that the girls not come down to the cottage for it. “It is something of an… uncanny night,” he warned. “We’ll be locking and warding Daffyd’s cottage. The Land-Ward’s mark will likely mean you will never know what’s about, but it would be best if you take no chances traveling any farther than between your dwelling and the Manor.”

  So the two took up the squire on his hospitality again, especially since New Year’s was more of an occasion for adults than children. It snowed, hard and thick, which made both of them glad they were not going down to the sea and made attending the dances in Criccieth quite impossible, and the children romped in it until they were utterly exhausted and it was easy to put them to bed. The party for the adults then began. One of the squire’s daughters played the piano, so there was dancing, and a great deal of hilarity as Squire and one of his sons undertook to teach Nan and Sarah the local dances.

  But just before midnight, there was a tremendous pounding on the door, and the music ended with a discordant chord from the startled piano player.

  “Oh no,” said Squire’s wife in dismay. “I’d hoped the snow would keep them away—”

  “That lot?” The son teaching Nan to dance snorted. “Not unless it was a blizzard. I’ll get the tribute, Pater, you answer the door. The rest of you—well, you know.”

  “What is it?” Nan asked, feeling for a sword that wasn’t at her side in automatic reflex.

  “Mostly a nuisance, dear,” said the eldest of the daughters, looking put-upon. “But it could be unpleasant. If you want to see, peep out from the top of the stairs, but don’t go down to the hall. You’re considered half-English, as we are, and—well—you’ll see.”

  Now greatly curious, Nan and Sarah went to the top of the stair above the door, and hid in the curtains there, as the sound of raucous singing came from outside. After a moment, she thought she recognized the melody, though the words were so slurred that not even Puck’s gift of the language helped her make them out.

  “Is that the Mari Lwyd song?” she whispered to Sarah, who nodded. Just then Squire came to the door, with two strong manservants, one carrying a small barrel, and the other carrying a tray of pottery mugs. They were shortly joined by the eldest son. As soon as the first verses were finished, they quickly sang in return.

  “Instead of freezing,

  We’ll lead the Mari,

  Inside to amuse us

  Tonight is Christmastide.”

  So—there would be no challenge? Well, thought Nan, Considering how drunk they sound, that might be just as well.

  But when the door was opened… a chill went right down her back. This Mari had to be the most terrifying thing she had ever seen that wasn’t already a spirit or some other dread supernatural creature. This was no half-amusing puppet meant to mock-frighten children.

  The horse skull seemed, somehow, to float on its own, though she knew it was on a pole, carried a good two feet higher than the man who personified her was tall. The gray and tattered drape was very, very long, and floated out behind him, effectively concealing him from view. The ribbons adorning the skull were old, most were the red of dried blood, or at least that was the color they seemed, and there was a wreath of dead flowers about its ears. The eyes were shining and red, and malevolent; they reflected the lamplight in a most uncanny way. And there was nothing mechanical about the way its jaws snapped. It seemed dead-alive, and if Nan had not known better, she would have been sure it was some awful thing brought back to life by magic.

  The men of the party, though dressed the same as the Mari Lwyd group that had turned up before Christmas, were clearly rougher characters, their costumes shabbier, and they were very, very drunk. But now that they were inside, they were not loudly drunk, and somehow that made them seem the more sinister and somewhat threatening, though they had no weapons on them. At least, none that Nan could see.

  But the squire had already begun filling the mugs once the first of them had cleared the door, and passing them out. Nan caught a whiff of brandy; clearly, the squire was taking no chances, he was offering them the best the house could boast.

  They filled the hall at the door, and shadows gathered around them, as if there were more of them than Nan had counted. Chills shivered the back of her neck. There was something more to this than just a band of thuggish fellows trying to get drinks out of the squire, and it had to do with that dreadful skull…

  When the first round had been drunk, a third servant appeared with a goose from the kitchen, still with the feathers on. A short carol was attempted, not very successfully, and the Mari “danced” to it, snapping her jaws at the end of every verse.

  There was something entirely horrible about the dead horse, dancing in the hall; it should have been funny, a bunch of thoroughly drunk rogues attempting the same little ceremony that the men of Clogwyn had
done. But it wasn’t. The shadows grew thicker as the Mari Lwyd danced, the air in the hall grew appreciably colder, and the carol the men sang took on sinister overtones. Nan cast a glance at Sarah. She was frowning, and slipped her hand into her pocket, coming out with the bronze ring. She put it on.

  Abruptly, the grisly head swung so that it seemed to be looking right at her.

  Sarah’s lips moved, though Nan could not hear what she said. The eyes of the Mari Lwyd gleamed for a moment with a red glare that had nothing to do with reflected light.

  Then the head shook, as a living horse would shake itself, and the song ended.

  “And now,” the squire said loudly, “A round to keep you warm upon the road, and the tribute for the troupe!”

  “The tribute for the troupe!” the men echoed, and they held out their mugs. Each mug was refilled and a silver shilling dropped into it; mugs were quickly emptied and the shilling pocketed.

  “A tribute for the Mari Lwyd!” shrilled someone, and the servant held up the goose.

  Quick as a flash the skull dipped and snapped her jaws, and came back up again with the goose dangling from them. The servant stepped back, quickly, trembling a little. It looked for all the world as if the Mari Lwyd had killed that goose herself, and as she shook her head, it was for all the world as if a great and terrible predator had hold of the bird and was shaking it to make sure it was dead. The troupe cheered.

  And then, to Nan’s immense relief, they began parading out, led by the skull, evidently content. Squire put his back to the shut door, heaving a great sigh, before ascending the stairs with his son to rejoin the party.

  “What on earth was that all about?” Nan asked, as Sarah slipped the ancient ring from her finger and put it back in her pocket. “They were—they were not at all like the group that came before Christmas.”

  “It’s a bit of a devil’s bargain,” Squire said apologetically. “There’s two Mari Lwyd troupes, one in Clogwyn, which is made up of plain folk who are good-hearted fellows who are amusing to pwnco with, and one in Criccieth who are… well, they begin the night as good enough fellows, but by the time they get out here, as you saw, they are drunk and rowdy. So we’ve made a pact with them both. Though tonight is the Mari Lwyd’s night, usually, we have the Clogwyn lot out before Christmas, for they’ll play with the children and give them a pleasurable fright, but not too much of one. Criccieth is not to come until New Year’s, and then after the children are in bed. I pwnco with Clogwyn but never with Criccieth…” He shrugged. “It just seems prudent.”

  “Their Mari Lwyd—it seemed different to me,” Nan ventured. “Less of a sort of hobby-horse and more something… I don’t know, it just seemed more unpleasant.”

  “It’s very old, so they tell me. May be over a hundred years old or older. Perhaps that has something to do with it.” He sighed. “The ministers and pastors and preachers and priests have begun speaking against these old customs, and though I love them, I tell you, I will not be unhappy the day the good wives of Criccieth tell their men to leave the Mari Lwyd in the cellar and come have a sing at the pub instead.”

  In that… Nan would agree with him entirely.

  She whispered to Sarah as they followed him back into the warmth and life of the ballroom. “What happened back there in the hall? What did you see?”

  Sarah looked at her soberly. “I am not sure,” she said, slowly. “Only that… it’s not just at Halloween and Winter Solstice that the dead can walk. That skull was… inhabited. I was very glad we had Puck’s mark on us, and the ring on my finger.”

  Nan decided that she didn’t need to know anything more, and allowed herself to be caught up to learn the steps of a lively dance called Hoffedd ap Hywell, and soon, but not too soon for her, the dark things were driven away into the night shadows with the Mari Lwyd.

  16

  AFTER Christmas, the only good way of marking the time was by the alternating Sundays and Mari Prothero’s increasing size. Dark and snowy days followed bright days, and there were more of the dark than the bright.

  Mari felt like a hibernating badger asleep in its den. She sewed and slept and often as not, Idwal coaxed the little Elemental creatures to do the chores she would have done, all but the cooking, that is. Water Elementals could not be coaxed to have anything to do with fire by any means. Rhodri did all the lifting and carrying outside, and she was sorry she had ever thought him feckless, for he was a good and faithful helper and friend. Idwal did the same inside, for it was clear from her girth that it wasn’t that she was eating too well, it was that Gethin’s “promise” had come to pass and she must be carrying twins. Soon enough, that was plain, as she felt four feet a-kicking during the rare times the babes showed some restiveness.

  “Is that possible?” she asked Idwal one night. “Could Gethin have some way of…” She blushed. “Interfering?”

  “He’s not the Master that I am, but he holds some secrets only our clan chief has,” Idwal admitted. “Those likely have to do with the well-being of the clan, so… I would have to say, it is likely.”

  “He told me, when he was angry with me, my father was a fool twice over for letting Afanyn choose what babies she’d bear.” She had thought he was just boasting at the time, but now?

  Well, he’d threatened her with twins, so that he could take the one away sooner. And he’d threatened her with boys, so there would be no more headstrong Prothero girls to make him trouble. She obviously didn’t know if they were boys, but they certainly were twins.

  “I see no problem, my love,” Idwal told her tenderly. “So, he has interfered, and you will have two fine boys, and everyone will be pleased. Then if you wish more children, we shall have whatever comes.” He laughed. “The only difficulty that I can see is trying to keep track of not one, but two headstrong young boyos with your temper. We shall have some thunderstorms, I expect.”

  “I don’t have a temper!” she objected. And he kissed and teased her, until she admitted, at last, that she did.

  She was just grateful that it was spring when she was at her most unwieldy. Counting on her fingers, she reckoned that she would be due about June. And as she grew bigger, and bigger, she began to fervently think that June could not come soon enough for her.

  Nan woke up in the middle of the night as a tremendous flash of lightning followed by a wall-rattling crash of thunder rocked the cottage. She sat straight up in bed; a second flash showed her Sarah was doing the same. And they both knew why they had awakened, and it was not altogether because of the storm.

  “Mari?” Nan shouted over the thunder, and in the other bed, Sarah nodded. Without another word, they both scrambled out of bed and into their clothing.

  What they thought they were going to do, Nan hadn’t the slightest idea—although by now they had assisted at several births in Africa, so at least they were a little better equipped to help so long as everything was normal. But Nan was just afraid that—well, it was twins. And they were Mari’s first. And if the little she knew was right, that was very dangerous for mother and babies.

  They flung their mackintoshes on over hastily donned clothing, and ran down the now-familiar path to the cottage by the sea. The way had never seemed so long, and with every flash of lightning and peel of thunder, Nan was certain that things were going horribly, horribly wrong down at the cottage.

  The sea raged closer to the cottage than they had ever seen it before, within mere yards of the door, lashing the beach as if it wanted to get inside. In a flash of lightning she saw that Daffyd had somehow anticipated this; his coracles were safely stowed behind the cottage. They pounded on the door, then Nan wrenched it open before anyone could let them in, sure that they would find Mari in travail, and the men wringing their hands without a notion what to do.

  They found themselves, blinking, in a little haven of peace and warmth.

  Four lanterns leant their light to the main room of the cottage, Mari lay exhausted, hair limp and lank with sweat, but clearly deliriously happy
, in a pile of featherbeds, pillows, and blankets by the fire where Idwal must have carried her. Idwal knelt beside her, giving her a drink from a cup, for both of her arms were rather full. She had a baby cradled in each arm, and both were sleeping. From the sound of things, Rhodri and Daffyd were cleaning up the bedroom, and Rhodri poked his head out to see who had burst in the door, as Idwal and Mari looked up at them and smiled.

  Nan gaped. “Ah—” she said.

  “Oh, you thought I’d be maundering about without a notion what was to do, eh?” Idwal chuckled. He, too, had been sweating, and from the look of things had been far more able a midwife than either Sarah or Nan would have been. “And just because I am a man, is that it? I am a Master and a Druid, I’ll make it known to you, and I have assisted at more births of human and seal than I care to tally up.” He gestured proudly at Mari. “And here are the new souls. Aled and Aneirin. My sons, these are your guardians and friends, Nan and Sarah.”

  The babies seemed more interested in sleeping than anything else, although they were probably the prettiest and least-pinched looking babies Nan had ever seen. Both had heads of thick, black hair, pink little faces, and looked absolutely perfect. She went to kneel down beside Mari. “You’re all right then?” she asked, reaching hesitantly to touch one rosebud of a little fisted hand with a finger.

  “Tired. But glad to have them out, at last,” Mari sighed, and looked to Idwal. “I think I can sleep now.”

  “And so you shall.” He came and took the babies from her, with a kiss for her and one on the top of each of the babies’ heads, and put them in twin cradles—Idwal and Daffyd had finished making the second one just in time. Mari smiled and was asleep instantly.

  “When—?” Nan asked, looking up at the Selch.