‘I’ll not aid you, none of us will,’ said the har.
A shiver of annoyance sliced through me, but I strove to keep my voice even. ‘I’m not your enemy. If anything, while I’m here, I’d prefer to try and heal the rift among the community. I don’t wish to sound presumptuous, but I can’t see how this feud does anyhar any good. The hara in the village and countryside are divided, aren’t they?’
The har looked me full in the face, which almost stopped my heart. No living har could look so perfect, surely?
‘Stay on his side of the span,’ said the har. ‘Safer there. Leave what is not yours to own. Write pretty words for them, so they sing and dance and believe all is well.’
‘Why are you hostile to me?’ I persisted. ‘I knew nothing of these hara before I came here. Nor of you. I’m impartial, like the land itself.’
‘That is never so,’ scoffed the har. ‘You think it is?’
‘Well, why don’t you tell me?’ I could hear the hard edge that had come into my voice.
‘Not your affair,’ he said, grinning.
‘What happened to Rey, the last hienama? You think I’m destined for the same fate, to be sucked right into the land?’
The har laughed. ‘No danger of that. For you.’
I also laughed. ‘You’re as rude as your harlings. I’ll leave you to cuddle your secrets.’ I patted the horse once more. ‘Nice meeting you. Will you give me a name?’
He considered. ‘One of them. You may have that. Ember.’
‘Ember Whitemane,’ I said aloud. ‘Like a poem.’
He grinned again. ‘You’re right. Just like that. Wyvachi are a clag-heap of muddled words. We are poems.’ With that, he clucked to his horse, who lifted its graceful head and then he was trotting out into the sunlight, towards the river.
I felt breathless, as if I’d been punched.
I went back to my tower and began to drink a bottle of wine, one of several that Rinawne had brought over the previous evening. I was disorientated, excited... Surely no coincidence that har had been there; he’d been waiting for me. The Whitemanes were playing a game. I must take care, and not be drawn into the feud between the families. Yet I could not stop thinking about Ember Whitemane. That he was beautiful beyond normal beauty was obviously a factor, but it was also the allure of the Whitemanes, their mystery. Having talked to him, I realised I felt privileged to have done so. Craziness! In the past I had several times become obsessed by surface beauty and it had always ended in catastrophe of one sort of another. Not least because beauty is simply a mask, an adornment, and what lies beneath it might not be so comely. Beauty does not guarantee accord; it is a blinding flash that can leave you sightless for a long time, and then when sight does return, the world has turned to ashes, your land is dead. I could see so clearly that Ember Whitemane might have that same effect on me; I was prone to it. At least now I was more aware of that weakness. It was as if the Whitemanes knew me intimately and how to manipulate me. But, as with Rinawne, I had their measure.
Restless and needing company, I rode over to Meadow Mynd in the late afternoon, hoping for an invitation to dinner and company through the evening. This was the first time I’d ridden to the house and Hercules seemed almost shocked when I fetched him in from the field. I fastened him into his bridle but left the saddle off. Whitemanes rode without saddles.
Rinawne was in the garden playing with Myv, and while surprised to see me, welcomed me warmly. ‘What brings you here, esteemed hienama?’ he asked as we led Hercules to the stables.
‘I want to talk with Wyva. I didn’t mention it to you before, but somehar in Gwyllion has asked me to perform a blood-bond. I think the question of the permanent hienama must be discussed. I also mentioned this to Gen when we dined together. Do you know if he told Wyva about it?’
Rinawne linked arms with me. ‘Not that I know of, but then he’d be unlikely to tell me, anyway. You know that Wyva wants you, and he knows you don’t want to take the job on. But he won’t give up. He feels you’re an old friend already, and he’d be uncomfortable with somehar new.’
I snorted impatiently. ‘Oh come on, Rin. There must be at least one har in the whole tribe who would make a good hienama. Why get somehar from outside anyway? Come to that – as I said to Gen – why doesn’t Wyva just perform the rites of passage and lead festivals himself? It’s hardly difficult work. You just need a script and I can provide as many of those as he likes.’ I decided not to mention what Gen had told me concerning the order Rey had given Wyva before leaving the community.
Rinawne made a flippant gesture with one hand. ‘Wyva is fixed in his ways. He thinks we should have a proper hienama, and that’s that with him. I doubt you’ll persuade him otherwise.’
‘Well, what makes a proper hienama? I had to train once and knew nothing when I started. All that’s required is the desire to learn and to care about the hara around you in a spiritual sense.’ I felt hypocritical saying all that, given how my pastoral care of a community had ended up, but despite my flaws, I believed what I said was the truth. I just hadn’t lived up to the standard very well.
‘He wants you, Ysobi,’ Rinawne said, grinning at me. ‘Learn to live with that and go from there. In my opinion, get somehar from outside for us and work alongside him for a few months. That might mollify our demanding phylarch.’
‘He wants me, yet so many secrets are kept from me,’ I couldn’t help saying.
‘Well,’ Rinawne began, ‘if you’d commit yourself, you might be trusted enough to know some of these secrets. Perhaps there’s more likelihood of that for you than there’ll ever be for me. Had you considered that?’
‘All right. I get your point. But it was never my plan to settle here.’
Rinawne raised a hand to his brow flamboyantly, threw back his head, and pantomimed sorrow. ‘Ah, you think so lowly of me, Ysobi. I am nothing to you.’
‘Don’t say that. You know what I mean.’ I squeezed his arm. ‘You’ve been a healing draught for me. Don’t ever think it’s not appreciated.’
‘Well, being a medicine is perhaps almost as good as being an object of adoration, I suppose.’
‘Rin, just stop it. I love being here and have no plans to leave any time soon, but even so, I don’t want to be a hienama in that way again. I enjoy the freedom of not being one. You must surely be able to imagine what it’s like being on call for every soul around, twenty-four hours a day.’
He nodded. ‘For sure. I understand. I’m just larking.’ We had reached the stables and Rinawne let go of me. ‘Myv, you take Ysobi into the house and I’ll see to the beastie.’
Myv nodded gravely and – astonishingly – took my hand in his. The harling had wandered silently behind us and I’d forgotten he was there. Had I said anything imprudent that young ears could hear and young lips repeat? I didn’t think so, but it unnerved me to think how invisible Myv had been.
The harling didn’t speak as he led me to the back door of the house, half a pace ahead of me. He was humming to himself, and it seemed to me that the tune was very similar to one I’d composed for the festival that I’d revealed only to Wyva. Perhaps Wyva had remembered it and sung it to him. When we reached the door, Myv paused, one hand on the handle. ‘I’d do it,’ he said.
‘What?’ Other than the brief greeting on my first night here, I don’t think I’d ever heard him speak before, but then, had I really been listening?
‘The hienama job. I’d do it.’
‘Really, Myv? That’s, well... thank you for telling me. But you’re a bit young as yet.’
‘We don’t always stay young though, do we,’ he said, opening the door.
I followed him into the cool dim corridor beyond, which lay behind the kitchens. ‘No, that’s true. If you’re serious, I could speak to your parents about it. There are some things I could teach you now for later in life.’
‘I’d like to do that job very much,’ Myv said.
I was so taken aback by his words I wasn’t su
re what to say. He was a harling; he might change his mind as he grew. But to belittle his desires now was a bad thing, I knew that much, even though harling-care had never figured greatly in my life. ‘OK, let’s talk about it, then,’ I said.
‘I used to help Rey all the time,’ Myv continued. He’d let go of my hand now, as we approached the family part of the house. ‘I’d help him gather things from the forest floor, and he’d teach me rhymes that the birds can understand. He taught me how to beguile fleas and sing to them so they leave a dog’s coat.’
I laughed. ‘Not even I can do that! How interesting.’
‘He knows lots of stuff like that,’ Myv said. ‘I wish he was still here. He was my friend, and...’ He frowned a little. ‘He seemed more my age than Porter does.’
It occurred to me then that Rey should have resisted his urge to live the life of a hermit and perhaps waited for Myv’s feybraiha and transferred the hienama role to him. What difference would an extra couple of years have made, when he could have bestowed a wonderful gift to the hara he left behind? I felt now that Rey was impulsive and selfish, a dreamer. He might have known the ways of the land and spoken with it, but he’d neglected the more mundane aspect of his duties, his responsibilities. I was impatient with that. But then, had he perhaps already started training Myv with the little things he’d taught the harling? Was I being too harsh? Did he have to get away quickly, had no choice? More mysteries.
I waited until after dinner before I approached Wyva. ‘May I speak to you alone?’ I asked him as we rose from our seats.
‘Of course,’ he responded, smiling. ‘Let’s go to the library.’
Rinawne winked at me as we departed and mouthed ‘good luck’. I would no doubt need it.
In the library, Wyva fussed about getting us the right kind of drink, which was missing from the cabinet where he kept his liquor. I told him I really didn’t mind what I was given, but he was deaf to that. So it took some minutes of househar calling and the tracking down of the particular pear liqueur Wyva wanted, which was eventually discovered in the kitchen where Dillory the cook had employed it to flavour a pudding.
‘Ridiculous,’ Wyva said, once the bottle was safely in his hand. ‘It’s not meant for cooking. At least he didn’t use it all.’
The liqueur was indeed very good and warmed my insides beautifully. I complimented Wyva upon it.
‘The recipe has been handed down for generations through our family,’ he said. ‘For hundreds of years.’
I glanced askance at the glass I held. He meant his human ancestors. ‘Amazing,’ I said inadequately.
‘But no doubt your hara have similar recipes, given the main trade of Jesith.’
‘Yes, they have a few, but none that old – that I know of.’
We both sipped reverently in silence for a few moments. Then Wyva asked, ‘So what is it you wished to speak to me about? The festival?’
I put down my glass on the table next to my chair. ‘No, that’s all in hand. This is more to do with the hienama problem.’
Wyva stared at me expressionlessly. ‘What are your thoughts on it?’
‘Well, you know how I feel about doing the job myself, but I do consider it important I find somehar to fill that role for you properly. I’ve thought about writing to my friends in Kyme, as perhaps Gen might have told you, but really I believe the har should come from your own community. Today, an astonishing thing was revealed to me.’
Wyva raised his brows. ‘What astonishing thing?’
‘Myv told me he wants to do the job. It seems Rey might have started training him for such a role. Myv told me about some of what Rey’s taught him. He does seem very keen, even though he is so young.’
‘You’re right, that is astonishing,’ Wyva said. He narrowed his eyes a little. ‘Even if I approved of this, and it could be done, Myv is far too young, not yet at feybraiha. Are you proposing you stay with us here until he’s old enough and will train him then?’
‘Well... I hadn’t really considered that aspect. Do you approve of it... in principle?’
Wyva sighed through his nose, took another sip of his liqueur. ‘Myv is a... strange little harling. It’s come as a great surprise to me he spoke to you at all, never mind revealed all this. I suppose you’re right – he must be very keen if he felt able, or was driven, to talk to you about it. But it warms me to know that he has ambitions, and is in that way... normal. He did spend nearly all his time with Rey, and was very upset when Rey went away. I hadn’t even thought he might have been teaching Myv. It’s certainly something to think about.’
‘How far off feybraiha is Myv?’ I asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know. It’s difficult to tell, isn’t it? He’s older than he looks so maybe just a year or so, but then he is behind with some things, so I’d always thought it might take longer with him.’
I thought then that Wyva talked about his son as if he were a horse or a dog, who had suddenly displayed unexpected levels of intelligence and capability. He certainly did not talk like a hostling, who nearly always had strong bonds with their offspring, often more so than the father. Poor little Myv. He seemed a neglected creature to me. I thought about harlings in Jesith and how cherished and included they were. ‘Perhaps you should talk about it with Rinawne,’ I said. ‘Even though Myv’s not yet mature, he can start learning. As I said, it seems Rey had already begun the process. He knows how to charm fleas!’
Both Wyva and I laughed at this.
I was rather surprised Wyva had taken my suggestion this well, so blundered on, hoping to keep him in this compliant mood. ‘In the meantime, perhaps I could help you with learning how to conduct everyday hienama duties, such as namings, bondings, and so on. Leading festivals is easy enough if you have a script.’
‘No, that’s not possible,’ Wyva said in an even voice. ‘Please don’t ask more; it’s simply not possible.’
‘OK. Perhaps one of your brothers would consider it? Just until Myv is old enough?’
‘Maybe.’ Wyva sighed and pressed the fingers of one hand against his eyes. ‘Oh Ysobi, I can sense your impatience with us. I don’t mean to obstruct you. It’s just...’ He lowered his hand, looked down at empty hearth. ‘Well, I can’t go into it, I’m sorry. As you said, it can’t be that difficult to follow a script. It’s the obvious answer. Somehar must surely be happy to do that until Myv is ready.’
‘I think it’s important you find somehar sooner rather than later,’ I said softly. ‘And I think you know why.’
Wyva raised his eyes, fixed me with a gaze. ‘What do you mean?’
I hadn’t wanted to say it, and even now wasn’t sure how to phrase it. ‘Because... because others might slither in to fill the hole that Rey left behind, and not be of your choosing. I think we both know that in a small measure this is already happening.’
Wyva expressed another heavy sigh. ‘I do know what you mean,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried to ignore it. Wrong of me. You’re right in every way. Thank you.’ He smiled at me warmly. ‘This is why I wish it could be you.’
That night, I went to bed content. Blue starlight came softly into the room and I lay drowsing, mulling over the day. I had drifted off to sleep when partial wakefulness came to me. I was aware somehar had come into the room and had sat down upon the bed. Rinawne had come to me – dangerous perhaps, to sneak from the house this late at night, when noises were amplified for those alert enough to hear them. I didn’t want him to be caught, but for now his presence was simply a comfort. I felt him slip beneath the quilt and press his body against mine. I uttered a soft sound. His right arm came about my waist, and I put my own over it.
What I found beneath my hand was not an arm of flesh and blood. My fingers gripped a skeletal limb that felt made of sticks and thorns.
Horrified, and fully awake, I leapt from the bed and plunged towards the light switch. At once the light revealed what I expected – the bed was empty.
Chapter Eight
When I woke the next d
ay, my first instinct was to extend my senses and touch the spirit of the tower so I could judge its mood. I didn’t pick up anything alarming or discomforting, so it hadn’t felt invaded in the night. Had I dreamed those forest arms around me? There was no evidence in the bed of anything having been there, no hint of soil or twig. Perhaps unwittingly, I’d invited some minor elemental being inside, and it had simply been drawn to me. I didn’t feel threatened, but would remain vigilant for further signs.
I remembered also the vestige of a disturbing dream. There had been firelight, but beyond it I’d not been able to see anything except a pair of shining eyes, staring right into me. I knew them, but could not recall the face to which they belonged. The dream, when I woke, left me uneasy.
As I made my breakfast, a resounding knock came at the tower door. My only visitor usually was Rinawne, who never knocked, so I went swiftly to see who was there. A har had come from Gwyllion with a parcel for me, which rested covered in a cloth on his cart. When I pulled off the cloth I discovered a hamper from Jesith. So Jassenah had bothered to send me gifts for the Wyvachi. I was quite surprised. I gave the post-har some coins and asked him to help me carry the hamper to the kitchen.
‘Sent from home,’ the har remarked. ‘What is it? A whole cow?’
‘No, I’m hoping for wine and other fruits of the vine.’
The har shook his head at what he no doubt considered affected southern ways.
After he’d gone I opened the hamper. Jassenah had been generous, hence the weight of it. There were two dozen bottles of wine, of twelve varieties, labelled beautifully in Jassenah’s own hand. There were three stoppered vials of different scents derived from the grapes, some raspberry cakes in a tin, cordials of various flowers and fruits, and two rounds of Jesith cheese. There was also an elaborate Cuttingtide wreath, artfully contrived of dried flowers and grasses, with a note attached: ‘To the hara of Gwyllion from the hara of Jesith. May your Cuttingtide be fruitful’.
The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel Page 12
