The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

  I hadn’t. ‘I regret it didn’t occur to me to bring any produce with me.’ That is the sort of thing Jass would have thought of, naturally, as would Zeph, our son. I should have thought of it, too. Perhaps Jass had even mentioned it to me, but I’d not heard him. That was not an uncommon happening, as he was fond of telling hara. ‘As the industry has grown in our town, so has the variety of produce. My chesnari works for the yard. He’s the manager for our phylarch. I’ll write to him, have him make up a hamper. I really should have thought of it, as he’ll no doubt remind me!’

  Rinawne grinned. ‘Oh, don’t trouble yourself about it. I was being presumptuous, as Wyva often likes to remind me!’ He grinned. ‘Although I do love presents! It seems we both have our weaknesses, tiahaar.’ He gestured at one of the sofas, which was upholstered in faded green and cream tapestry. ‘Please, sit down.’

  I did so and he sat opposite me, leaning back with one arm along the top of the sofa, his legs loosely crossed. ‘So you are here to invent a religion for us,’ he said, still smiling.

  ‘I wouldn’t put it quite that way,’ I replied. ‘A community benefits from shared spirituality, and it’s best if that spirituality can be drawn from the local environment itself. I’m interested in folklore, in history. The land has many tales to tell.’

  ‘To be sure,’ Rinawne agreed.

  I paused. ‘The keephar of The Rooting Boar advised me the spirits around here are very strong. Did he mean anything in particular by that?’

  Rinawne inhaled deeply through his nose, perhaps slightly impatient. ‘Hara want ghosts, they want mysteries. In your position, I’d do my best to give them.’ He grinned. ‘As you might be able to tell, I don’t follow faithfully the heritage of my home country. I’m not the most spiritual of hara.’

  ‘Not spiritual, and perhaps a sceptic,’ I said, smiling also, ‘but are there no special... energies to this area? A sceptic might give me a more accurate opinion than a dazzle-eyed believer.’

  ‘Now, here’s the thing,’ said Rinawne, leaning forward a little. ‘I wouldn’t call myself a sceptic particularly. I’ve my own tales to tell.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘There are... spots that raise my hair here and there. This is an old land, soaked in blood. We hara are sensitive to echoes, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said simply.

  Rinawne suddenly became alert, twisted his body to look out of the window behind us. ‘Ah, here is Wyva,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and organise us some tea.’

  And so he left me, before his consort and lord of this domain came into the room: Wyva har Wyvachi. The phylarch looked at the air in the doorway as if he perceived a shadow passing by, then he turned to me, smiled. ‘You must be Ysobi. Thank you for coming here.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ I replied, getting to my feet.

  Wyva waved a hand at me. ‘No need for that. Please, sit.’

  I did so. Wyva was a slim har of medium height, with rich brown hair that hung down his back, a swathe of it drawn away from his face into a band decorated with feathers and what appeared to be a rabbit’s foot. His face was finely sculpted, and suggested a sensitive character. I perceived the smallest of weaknesses in the chin, but it could be overlooked. ‘Tiahaar Rinawne told me you have accommodation for me,’ I said. ‘I’d like to thank you for that, too.’

  Wyva’s smile widened. ‘Well, you’ll need somewhere to work, won’t you? And I’m sure the place I’ve chosen will fascinate you. It’s called Dŵr Alarch, an old tower, built as a folly some hundreds of years ago. It was renovated late in the human era and used as a holiday home. In winter and early spring you can see it from here, but the trees hide it during other seasons. At night, if you light all the lamps, it can be seen from three counties, or so the story goes.’

  ‘Then I hope it has ghosts,’ I said.

  Wyva laughed. ‘Oh, plenty of them! This land does seem to retain them as much as the lichen on the rocks. There is a wealth of material out there for you to discover.’

  ‘I can already feel it,’ I said, and indeed my senses were twitching eagerly, wanting to be immersed in this magical landscape. I felt it wasn’t going to be difficult constructing a rich and mystical system for these hara, tuning in to whatever was around me.

  Rinawne reappeared, accompanied by a har bearing a tray laden with things to eat and drink. The vanilla aroma of freshly-baked cake filled the room and made me hungry. After we’d set about helping ourselves to these refreshments, Wyva told me of his library. ‘The volumes here have been collected by my family for many hundreds of years.’

  This was an unusual statement, of course. He was clearly referring to human ancestors as well as harish ones. I simply nodded, my mouth full of cake.

  ‘Among them are quite a few titles concerning local folklore. In fact, an ancestor of mine wrote three of them. You’re welcome to frequent the library as often as you wish, as if it were your own. The doors here are never locked. Come and go as you please.’

  ‘That’s generous of you.’

  Wyva made an airy gesture with one arm. ‘It’s not a problem. But for the most part, I wouldn’t be surprised if you merely wish to walk in the fields and forests. That is perhaps the true library of this landscape.’

  I nodded. ‘Most certainly, but other... people’s experiences and thoughts are very interesting. I love folklore and personal accounts. Even if it’s just down to wishful thinking or hallucination, it produces rich imagery.’

  Wyva laughed. ‘You could say that! There are some very colourful stories.’

  ‘I’ll show you over to the tower shortly,’ said Rinawne. ‘We’ll need to take supplies. I thought everything should be fresh for you.’

  ‘That’s wonderful, thank you.’

  ‘Yes, settle in,’ said Wyva, ‘then please join us here for dinner later. We can discuss how you wish to proceed. If you need volunteers, we can supply them.’

  ‘Volunteers?’ I was puzzled.

  ‘Well, for the majhahns you’ll write,’ Wyva said. ‘Get hara to perform them, get feedback.’

  ‘Oh, yes... I see.’ I paused, wondering if now was the right moment to broach what had sprung back to mind, then pressed on. ‘The keephar at The Boar seemed to think I was being appointed as your new hienama. Is that in fact what you’re looking for, ultimately?’

  Wyva laughed. ‘I think perhaps that is what hara hope for, not necessarily what I had in mind, at least not with you.’

  ‘I agree a community benefits from a spiritual leader,’ I said, ‘and perhaps I can help train one up for you, but I’m not really in the position to commit myself to staying here in that role.’

  ‘I understand,’ Wyva said amiably. ‘It wasn’t what I asked for. The hara in the town jump to conclusions.’

  Rinawne snorted. ‘Is that what it is?’

  Wyva gave him a sharp glance, said nothing.

  ‘I take it you had one before... a hienama that is?’

  I could see Wyva attempted swiftly to cover a silence. ‘We did, yes – Rey – but he left the post. Hara are simply feeling the loss of that, mainly because they enjoy the seasonal celebrations. As you said, I’m sure it wouldn’t be difficult to train somehar else to take charge of that.’

  I realised then that something had happened here. A shiver went through me, for I was no stranger to communities being affected by “happenings” concerning hienamas.

  We could see Dŵr Alarch long before we reached it, so the trees didn’t do that good a job at hiding it. The tower was hexagonal, a dark column atop its hill, surrounded by soaring beeches where crows roosted. There were many long, arched windows and it was crowned by a crenellated battlement, over which was a high, domed glass roof. ‘The top floor is a nayati of sorts,’ Rinawne told me. ‘Wyva had that roof put in around fifteen years ago, so that whoever lived here could see the stars.’

  ‘Without going outside,’ I added. I was leading Hercules, who kept bumping his nose into my back.

  Rinawne chuckled. ‘Indeed. It’s a good r
oom, however.’ Before we entered the tower, Rinawne indicated a stable where Hercules could be housed. ‘There is a field below you may use if you want him to roam free.’

  Rinawne now led me to the foot of the tower and removed an enormous black iron key from his coat pocket. Before applying it to the lock, he held it out for me to see. ‘Isn’t this marvellous? It should open a door to secrets.’

  ‘Perhaps it does,’ I said lightly.

  Again, Rinawne laughed and opened the door. ‘As long as the secrets aren’t mice and damp, I’ll be happy.’ He led the way inside.

  The entrance hall, if it could be called that, was tiny. A door led off to a hidden series of rooms, which Rinawne told me comprised a laundry, a second toilet, a generator and the heating arrangements. ‘Most ghosts can be traced to the wheezing of the boiler,’ he said. ‘Any trouble with it, and we’ll send somehar from the house. We have a har who is a boiler whisperer; he gets it to obey.’ Rinawne indicated the stone stairway that curled around the inner wall. ‘First floor is the kitchen. Shall we inspect?’

  We’d brought with us panniers of supplies and together hauled them upstairs. The steps were steep. There was a rope affixed to the wall to aid the climb and the air was chill, even though the day outside was not. The cold seeped from the very walls. Yet the long windows around every corner dispelled any tendency to gloom the stairwell might otherwise have held.

  I’d been expecting rather austere accommodation, but was pleasantly surprised when Rinawne opened the heavy wooden door upon the first room. A breath of warm air came out, scented with honeysuckle, which must emanate from a shallow brass bowl of dried flowers on the dresser. The rather dank, chill atmosphere of the stairway disappeared entirely. The floor was of tawny polished wood, as were the table and chairs, and the shelves of the large dresser were stacked with crockery. An immense cooking range dominated one part of the room, and three of the long, arched windows looked out upon the landscape. I could see a farm we had not passed, since we’d followed a path through the forest. ‘There you will get your milk, cheese and eggs,’ Rinawne said, following my gaze. ‘And meat if you want it. Choose yourself a chicken and it will be delivered, plucked and gutted, to your door in time for dinner. Have it charged to Wyva’s account.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s not unpack your stuff yet. Have a look at the rest of the place, then I’ll leave you to settle in.’

  He left the room and bounded up the stairs two at time. I followed. The next room was the living room, although Rinawne told me that in his experience people who’d stayed here usually chose the kitchen as the room in which they spent most time. However, this room was beautiful to me. The walls were a dark, muted mulberry colour, and the furniture and ornaments were Oriental in style, also of dark reds and golds. The floor was a mass of thick patterned rugs, and heavy indigo-coloured drapes hung at the long windows. ‘This is amazing,’ I said, ‘more than I expected.’

  ‘Some hara find it a bit much,’ Rinawne said, ‘a bit heavy. It’s not to my taste really.’

  ‘Well, it’s entirely to mine,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll be very comfortable here.’

  ‘Let’s show you the rest, then.’

  The next storey housed the bathroom. This had a floor of black and white tiles and an immense snowy bath that stood upon gilded, elegantly-clawed feet. The washbasin was similarly huge and along the walls brass lion heads held in their jaws an array of thick golden yellow towels. The toilet was more like a throne, as it was surrounded by a wooden alcove. There were carved arms where I might rest my own. ‘Whoever built and furnished this place liked luxury,’ I said, running my hand over the carvings above the toilet; two gargoyles and a griffon posed to gaze down upon whoever sat there.

  ‘Luxury or excess,’ Rinawne said. ‘Most of the place is the same as it’s been for a very long time. Wyva keeps it cared for.’

  ‘It must have meant something to his... family, then.’

  Rinawne nodded. ‘Heritage hasn’t gone away in this part of the world. You don’t find it often, but Wyva’s family don’t see themselves as that far apart from their earlier human ancestors. They merely underwent a change, then everything carried on as before. Well, nearly everything. Come, let’s look at the main bedroom.’

  As I turned to leave, a shiver went through me and I looked back quickly. An image went through my head of clocks, immense clocks. I saw a brief flash before my mind’s eye of this room and it was not a bathroom. The floor was still of black and white tiles, but it was mostly empty. I was aware of presences I could not see, or rather could not focus upon. ‘This wasn’t always just a bathroom,’ I blurted out.

  Rinawne came back to me as he’d already gone partway up the stairs to the next floor. ‘What do you mean?’

  I laughed, somewhat shakily. ‘Forgive me, I just had an impression, that’s all. I have a feeling this room was used... in some way... for ritual.’

  ‘Really?’ Rinawne didn’t sound convinced. ‘Well, I suppose you must pick things like that up, although I’d always believed this place to be only a folly, in every sense. But then it is very old.’

  ‘It was probably nothing,’ I said, mustering what I hoped was a plausible smile. ‘The bedroom, then?’

  ‘You’ll love it,’ Rinawne said.

  And I did. Unlike the living room, it was a light and airy space, with a wide divan covered in a gold quilt, beneath which were sheets of a delicate silvery grey. The walls were also of this dove-like colour and rolled with faint traceries of gold, so that it was like some kind of rich marble. A frieze of stylised swans ran around the top of the room. The rugs beneath my feet, laid over a golden wooden floor, were thick white fleeces. ‘Sumptuous,’ I said, inadequately.

  ‘This is my favourite room,’ Rinawne said, running the fingers of one hand lightly over the wall by the door. ‘I like light and air, and believe me a great deal of the Mynd was dark and gloom when I first came here. The house sort of squats, I think. Its ceilings are low, so you have to curb its liking for dreariness. I was allowed to make a few changes only to certain rooms.’

  I nodded, at first unsure of what to say to that. ‘Old places can be gloomy.’ I wondered then how Rinawne and Wyva had met, what circumstances had thrown them together. I had not so far detected any great passion between them, and yet they did have a son, so at one time things must have been different.

  ‘I won’t show you to the top room,’ Rinawne said, somewhat mischievously. ‘I’ll let you find that for yourself. There’s a spare bedroom beneath it, in case you should ever have guests, but it’s fairly plain to look at in comparison to the rest of the chambers.’

  ‘What does the name mean, Dŵr Alarch?’

  ‘The Swan Tower,’ Rinawne replied. ‘I believe it’s always been called that.’ He smiled. ‘Come to the house around 6.30, and meet everyhar. That will be an experience for you!’

  ‘That daunting?’

  Rinawne shook his head, grinning. ‘No, they are an interesting bunch, a host of stories all bundled together. You’ll enjoy it. I expect Wyva will ask some of the town assembly hara along as well. They’ll be curious about you.’

  I ducked my head. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Until later, then.’ Rinawne swept a bow to me. ‘Enjoy exploring.’

  And with that, he was gone, as suddenly as a phantom, but for the light patter of his feet upon the cold stairway, and I was alone in the silence of my new home.

  Before investigating the top room – and I was aware of relishing the delay – I decided to make myself some tea and unpack my belongings and supplies. As I descended the spiral stairs I was aware of the hum of the place, its non-silence that had no sound. I had no doubt that it was sentient, watching me. A spirit of place was gauging whether I’d fit in.

  Rinawne had been lavish with the supplies and I quickly filled the cupboards and cold store with produce. I put my belongings in the bedroom, the clothes, the three books, and my meagre toiletries in the bathroom. I felt these few items were
all I possessed, that I’d left nothing behind. I’d lost my interest in things some years before. A lot of the time my life felt like I was acting, waiting for the play to finish, somewhat tired with it. Perhaps this landscape would revive me, intrigue me with its mysteries. Perhaps I would learn to trust again, not least in myself.

  I made my tea and poured a second cup for the spirit of the tower. I was not yet sure completely where its heart lay, but decided to put my offering in the living room. However, as I stepped beyond the kitchen door into the cold breath of the stairwell, the basement called to me strongly, so I went down there instead. The door was stiff in its frame and required my shoulder to open it. Inside, the air smelled strangely hot, and of metal. There was a monstrous boiler in there, a fairly compact muttering generator, and a series of ancient wide and shallow sinks; presumably, the laundry area Rinawne had referred to. There was a small toilet room with more antique fittings, and a narrow window misted over with spider webs and caked dust, above a window sill drifted with dead flies. Clearly, care of the tower did not extend greatly into this lower area. Still, it was here the tower wanted me to leave the tea, so I did, on a wide wooden table near the sinks. I bowed to the room. ‘Let us be of service to one another,’ I said, and went back upstairs.

  I sat for thirty minutes or so, half drowsing, gazing out over the landscape through the long windows of the kitchen. Whatever phantoms might lurk within the stones of this place, the atmosphere was benign, comfortable. A dog was barking down at the farm, in a curious gulping, endless way. I did not like the sound of that; it was mean and hostile. Mostly likely a guardian creature to be avoided.

  Then it was time to visit the topmost room, find out if it would welcome me. Out into the gelid stairway again, fancying my breath actually misted the air, although I’m sure it could not really have done, and on up the twisting stone gullet to the top of the tower. When I opened the door to the highest room, a waft of old incense drifted out, reminding me strongly of my original home in Jesith, the resins I used to burn there. The floor was again pale wood, polished to a satin sheen, and covered mostly by a thick crimson carpet that was patterned with black geometric designs. There were several altars or shrines around the walls, all of them empty, as were the two bookcases that lay between them. The windows here had no drapes, but there were blinds that could be lowered over them. I gazed up at the glass dome above and saw this too could be robed. The blinds that cleverly moulded themselves to its shape were cobalt blue and decorated with white stars, some of which were quartz sewn into the stiffened fabric. Stars, real or not, were available at all times here.