The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

  As I left the bridge, I saw something I’d not noticed on the way across: two broken statues lying in the grass. Unwilling to stop moving, I merely glimpsed the lichened heads of eagles as I passed, then a lion’s haunch, a smashed paw; gryphons. Whatever guardians had watched this end of the bridge had been toppled and vanquished.

  When I reached the summit of the Llwybr Llwynog once more, I realised how shaken I was. None of what had happened during the last half hour or so seemed real. I found the remains of my lunch spread out and would not touch it, gathering up only the satchel and the cloth. My hands were smarting where they’d been scratched. I wanted desperately to wash them, anxious to reach familiar ground where I was welcome. Safe. I was sure now that this area was influenced wholly by the Whitemanes; it could not be regarded as Wyvachi land. As I made my way home, I heard again, as on the first day, the solitary tolling of a bell. I couldn’t discern from which direction the sound came, but it was at once soothing yet unsettling.

  Back in Dŵr Alarch, after I’d washed my cuts, I made myself strong tea and wrote up, with an unsteady hand, all I’d witnessed and felt that afternoon. Determined to examine the events rationally, I concluded I hadn’t picked up any intention of actual harm or violence on the part of the harlings, other than a vague fear they might’ve tipped me off the bridge. But really, hadn’t they simply been undisciplined and boisterous? It was absurd I’d reacted this way to their playfulness. I was unused to being around harlings. They were not like human children, (who themselves were very distant memories to me), and it was a mistake to compare them. Twig and Leaf had merely wanted to show me their home because I’d asked to meet their family. Why had I resisted so strongly? There was simply an uncanniness about the Whitemanes I’d met that repelled me as much as it attracted me. I was still shaken. I would have to meditate to calm myself, but then found that I was wary of what I might see in that meditation. I would take a bath instead, indulge in a more physical kind of relaxation. I went upstairs to the bathroom, shedding my clothes as I climbed the winding stair.

  Presently, I sank into comforting warmth and scent. I sighed and lay back in the long, deep bath, only my head above the water. I was Ysobi har Jesith, a hienama of experience and knowledge. I’d seen many inexplicable and uncanny things in my harish life, but none – that I could remember – had unnerved me as much as those two harlings had, and the bridge, the rearing statues, the har who’d called the little ferals off me. The Whitemanes must be far more than the Wyvachi had led me to believe, or was it simply my imagination working too hard, dreaming up strangeness and magic because that was what I wanted to see?

  I considered that if I’d not given in to my irrational fear and had crossed that bridge, met the har on the other side, everything might have been revealed as mundane. I’d have been invited to the house, met other hara there, maybe begun a friendship. Part of my reluctance might simply have been that I wanted the family to remain as they were to me, their mystery intact. I also thought about how it was likely they regarded me as a minion of the Wyvachi, and might have influenced me psychically to be afraid. Even I could succumb when unguarded to such basic bewitchments. If only all this had occurred to me earlier, but instead I’d given in to panic and had fled. Panic, yes, that was absolutely it. The ancient god Pan and the terror he could instil in the strongest heart. A god of the earth itself, the immanence of nature and her power. Panic could strike at any time in a landscape where the spirits were strong, especially at this time of year. I had been warned of this at the start. Now I must heed it, but not give in to it. There were lessons for me here.

  Chapter Six

  Rinawne arrived at the tower mid-morning the following day. His good humour appeared restored. I had hoped he’d show up, not least because I hadn’t decided upon the ritual locations and wanted Rinawne, with his more intimate knowledge of the landscape, to help me with that.

  ‘Have you got much work done?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes, nearly done with Cuttingtide, but I’m struggling with the locations, since the moonshawl sites are out of bounds. I’m hoping you can advise me. I need a good field and a forest glade.’

  Rinawne grinned. ‘I see the problem. Now you’ve seen the moonshawl sites, which of course are perfect, it’s difficult to replace them.’

  ‘Exactly what I thought.’ I was warmed by the fact his opinion echoed mine so completely.

  As we walked down the hill, I told Rinawne about my encounter the previous day, making light of it. ‘They seemed barely har,’ I said, ‘clearly allowed to run wild.’

  ‘They are,’ Rinawne said. ‘Don’t waste your time on that lot. They’ll not be your friends, Ysobi, because of your association with us.’ He then changed the subject, and asked how he could help me with my work.

  ‘I was thinking the festival could finish up at Meadow Mynd,’ I said. ‘The other night, Gen spoke to me about the feast. Would Wyva be happy to hold that in the gardens of the Mynd?’

  ‘I can’t see why not,’ Rinawne answered, somewhat shortly. ‘How did your meeting with Gen go?’

  ‘Pleasant enough,’ I said, and then realised this would not satisfy my companion. ‘I don’t think it went quite how he planned, but it was an enjoyable evening.’

  Rinawne expressed a snort. ‘I knew he’d try it on with you.’ He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘That really doesn’t work with you though, does it?’

  I shifted my gaze from his. ‘Well... no, not really, I suppose.’

  ‘I wonder what it takes?’ Before I could respond to that, Rinawne laughed and slapped my shoulder. ‘Be as you are, Ysobi. Let’s find your meadow and woodland dell.’ He strode ahead down the hill.

  Rinawne knew of an oak grove mid-way between the tower and the Mynd. When I saw it I realised rather grudgingly it would be adequate for my plans. I thought wistfully of the gleaming waters of the Pwll Siôl Lleuad, even though this other grove did have, beyond the oaken circle, a small pond on its western side, guarded by a single sentinel willow of great age. The oaks too were ancient; three or four had collapsed upon the ground.

  ‘You can hear the trees creaking,’ Rinawne said, sitting upon one of the fallen trunks. ‘At any time a bough could plummet down and claim a life.’

  ‘Well, that sounds safe for the festival,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, there’s plenty of room. Hara round here know the ways of the grove and even harlings would recognise the wrong kind of creak and make a run for it.’

  I walked around the grove, touching the trees, absorbing their being, their splendid age. These oaks had stood for hundreds of years, had witnessed the fall of humanity. They might even have been planted deliberately in this rough ring to provide a ritual space for humans. The trees were aloof but not malevolent. ‘We should acknowledge the guardians of this site,’ I said. ‘Do you mind?’ I walked to the centre of the grove and sat down.

  Rinawne sauntered after me. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  I was surprised he didn’t know. ‘Just sit and close your eyes, and open yourself up to the spirit of place. I’ll say a few words.’

  ‘OK.’

  While Rinawne sat obedient and quiet beside me, I didn’t pick up anything extraordinary about the site. I sensed the presence of ancient guardians, but they were slow and even a little sleepy. This was an undisturbed site in every sense, therefore perfect for my purposes. I ended our meditation and Rinawne blinked at the daylight. ‘I’ve not done anything like that for years,’ he said.

  I opened my satchel, in which I’d stowed some wine, courtesy of the Wyvachi cellar. I’d even brought drinking vessels, albeit a couple of chipped tea mugs I’d found in the back of a kitchen cupboard. I hadn’t wanted to risk breaking anything newer.

  ‘Did you ever go through caste ascension?’ I asked Rinawne, handing him a mug of wine.

  He frowned, which was also a typical Rinawne smile. ‘Some,’ he said, and took a swig of his drink.

  ‘By that you mean no,’ I said.

  R
inawne laughed. ‘Is it for hara like me? I can’t see it figures in my life. I’m har, I do what hara do, but I’ve no aim to be a mighty magus.’

  ‘Like me?’ I said, grinning.

  ‘Yes, just like you. I bet you can throw purple sparks from your finger tips.’

  ‘How else do I light my fires?’

  He chuckled. ‘Well, I’m probably not a very good example of a har. Do you think I’m squandering our gifts? Should I be lighting my own fires?’

  ‘Some tribes take caste education very seriously,’ I said, ‘and it’s important to them. I would never judge others about it. My job once was to teach in that way, and I can’t say I have glittering memories of it. In my opinion, if you needed to call upon a harish power in a crisis, you could do so, whether you’d trained meticulously or not.’

  ‘Now there’s a relief,’ said Rinawne. ‘Despite my lack of education, though, I do know a lot about folklore, about beliefs, human and otherwise. That’s my speciality, if any.’

  ‘Have you always collected stories?’ I asked.

  He laughed. ‘In a way, some collected me. I have a few tales to tell.’

  ‘Perhaps they might be helpful for me.’

  ‘Perhaps. As long as they are ones of which Wyva approves.’ He grimaced. ‘You know, I think it must be difficult to dream up a round of the year for a tribe like ours — well, for any tribe.’

  ‘Not really,’ I replied, gesturing around us. ‘The raw material surrounds us.’

  Rinawne wrinkled up his nose. ‘What I mean is... in the human era there were legends going back thousands of years, about fairies, and dark creatures, ghosts and demons. Are those our legends too, and can we build our beliefs about them? Second generation though I am, and uneducated, I know we are young as a race – a species, even – so everything feels too invented and new, to my mind. I feel more affinity to Daghda than I do to any dehar.’

  ‘I understand what you mean,’ I said. ‘But even in the relatively short time hara have lived upon the earth, they’ve created legends. I believe they bring new spirits out of the landscape, new thoughts and beliefs. They have always been there, but in a different shape. Now, we can put our own shape upon them.’ I smiled, but Rinawne didn’t look convinced. ‘Come now, didn’t you tell me you’d brought me out today to tell me more stories?’ I put my head to one side. ‘Didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rinawne grinned. ‘You talk to me as if I’m a harling – clear to see you were a teacher. But most of the stories I know are about humans.’

  ‘Tell me one.’

  ‘OK.’ He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds. ‘Some people were digging the foundations for a new house near Gwyllion – before the Wraeththu era. They found beneath a rose garden a grave, two female skeletons twined together, as if they had been buried alive.’ Now Rinawne punctuated his story with dramatic gestures to act it out. ‘Their elbows and knees had been pierced with knives of black iron’ He winced as if pierced by blades, clutched himself. ‘This was to stop them walking, of course, or clawing their way out of the soil. They were witches.’

  ‘And did digging them up free them? What happened to the bones?’

  Rinawne spread out his arms. ‘Well, of course they were reburied in the churchyard, but no one took out the iron.’

  ‘Perhaps a wise precaution.’ I laughed.

  Now his voice lowered to nearly a whisper. ‘They howled about it, though, as their sleep had been disturbed. Some people felt they should be dug up again and put back beneath the roses, but the parson said no. They must stay in hallowed ground so as to bind them thoroughly.’ Now he performed the parting of curtains, peering through glass. ‘Yet people saw distorted faces at their windows in the dark, and heard running feet along the roads, and the terrible voices. It took a while to calm down.’ He paused, asked dramatically. ‘You know that horses can be hag-ridden?’

  I nodded, smiling at his performance. ‘Yes, they’re believed to be more susceptible to unseen presences than other creatures. Witches were said to entrance them and ride them to their sabbats.’

  ‘Well,’ said Rinawne, waving a finger at me, ‘after the two skeletons were reburied in the church yard, every night a white horse would come and paw the ground above their grave.’ This, he mimed. ‘Eventually, it was traced to a house of the gentry, the gelding belonging to a lady who lived there. The horse had been hag-ridden and was drawn to its mistresses, perhaps always had been, when they were hidden beneath the roses. The lady had the horse slaughtered...’ He drew a hand across his neck, uttered a choked gargle. ‘Then all the ghostly activity stopped. The horse must’ve let the witches out somehow.’

  ‘But how could they ride the horse, or even rise from their grave, if they were pinned by iron?’

  ‘A mystery,’ Rinawne said, ‘but a good story, eh?’

  ‘Can you show me the grave?’

  ‘Yes, I can, but not today. It’s some miles the other side of Gwyllion. It’s not something you can use really, anyway.’ He paused, finished his drink. ‘Hara can be pinned by iron too. And they don’t have to be buried, either.’

  I looked away from him, sensing where this conversation was heading. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘All the tortures of iron and fire; they can be wrought with words and deeds.’

  I glanced back at him. ‘Are you speaking from personal experience?’

  ‘No, not me. I’m impervious to iron and fire.’ He adopted a more serious expression. ‘So who was the har who broke you with iron, Ysobi?’

  My first instinct was to be angry – how dare he? – but then looking into his open face I could see no malice or slyness there. He saw me broken. He wanted to know. Simple as that.

  ‘I don’t speak his name, ever,’ I replied lightly.

  ‘Why not, is it cursed?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid he might hear it.’

  My grim, hollow pronouncement, which even made me shiver, only prompted Rinawne to laugh. ‘Afraid he will trace the sound to its source and come find you?’

  ‘Not that,’ I said, somewhat irritably. ‘We’ll never meet again, but I don’t want him to hear it. He should just be allowed to forget.’

  ‘That must have been a powerful breaking,’ Rinawne said, shaking his head in wonder.

  ‘It wasn’t his fault,’ I said. ‘And that’s all I want to say.’

  ‘Aww, come on, don’t be angry,’ Rinawne said, shaking my right arm a little. ‘Don’t bury it beneath the roses. Exhume!’

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  Rinawne pointed at the willow tree drooping over the pond. ‘She is the tree of grief and lost love,’ he said. ‘And she heard what you said. Maybe her roots will eat the words and make you lighter.’

  I laughed. ‘Maybe.’

  And then, before I’d even started another thought, or begun another word, Rinawne threw me back upon the grass and kissed me. He was stronger than he looked. I lay paralysed, not sure what to think or feel. He wanted to share breath but mine was locked in my chest.

  After a while, he released me, sat up and said, ‘There.’ He looked down at me. ‘It’s polite for a har to respond, by the way, not lie there like a corpse pinned with iron.’

  ‘I was surprised,’ I said feebly. ‘It’s... it’s not why I’m here, Rinawne. I must be... careful.’

  He snorted but in an agreeable sort of way. ‘Who cares? No har need know. I’m bored to death. It will interest me.’

  ‘Is this to be part of my duties?’

  ‘For sure, make a dehar out of me. I won’t mind.’ He grinned.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘soon.’

  Rinawne rolled his eyes. ‘Soon? What does that mean?’

  I was aware of the tightness that had come to my chest. Beneath my fingers, it was as if I could feel every single blade of grass. ‘Look, you know little about me, but please respect that some things... I find difficult. I’m a recovering lunatic and need some space.’

  ‘If you don’t like me in that way
, just say so.’

  ‘No, it’s really not that. Honestly. I find you very attractive.’

  ‘Are you in the sort of chesna-bond where it’s all “this is for life, forsake all others”?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What is it, then?’

  ‘By Aru, you are relentless!’ I said. ‘I just don’t want to talk about it at this moment.’

  He regarded me, his face still set in a humourless expression. ‘That’s the sort of chesna-bond I’m supposed to be in,’ he said. ‘The archaic sort.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ I said, and lay back on the grass. I laughed. ‘Couldn’t be better.’

  ‘I’ve never abided by it, mind.’

  ‘Of course you haven’t.’ I looked up at him. ‘So why are you here?’