The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

‘An intrusion,’ I said. ‘A created entity manifested in my tower. The only hara who could possibly have known upon whom to base that form has to be a Whitemane, for no other around here knows of him.’

  ‘And how do my hara know?’ Nytethorne snapped, rubbing his throat with one hand. ‘You’ve had no true conversation with us.’

  I wasn’t prepared to answer that directly. I too folded my arms defensively. ‘Are you saying that your hara have had no interest in me since I came here? That they’ve not wished me gone, or at the very least have sought to unnerve me because Wyva brought me here?’

  He had the grace not to lie. ‘Were curious, yes. Mossamber knew Wyva would try to find somehar powerful. Wyva has his own plans, Ysobi. He’s not told you.’

  ‘And what plans are these?’

  Nytethorne shook his head. ‘Not my place to say.’

  ‘Naturally. It never is anyhar’s place to say anything around here. I believe Ember was instructed to intrigue me in certain ways, either to obstruct my work, confuse or frighten me. I don’t think he acted alone. Were you part of this?’

  Nytethorne looked disgusted. ‘No! Why send my son to do a job I could do myself, a dirty job at that?’

  That seemed to indicate he knew full well everything that had occurred. Self-justification had lowered his guard. Had there perhaps been an argument over this? ‘You don’t deny Ember invaded my dreams, then, was in fact instructed to?’

  Nytethorne sighed, lowered his head. ‘I wanted no part of this, Ysobi. Do my share from day to day, a good har for my family. I’ve no love of Wyvachi but...’

  ‘Do you know who was responsible for last night’s entertainment?’

  He walked past me to the window, sat down at the table. ‘No. That is truth. Knew the Cuttingtide plan, that was all.’

  I followed him. ‘Then I apologise for assaulting you. As you can imagine, my patience is somewhat frayed.’

  He sighed. ‘Understand. Would be angry too.’ Again, he was avoiding my eyes, staring at the table.

  ‘They are fools to attack me,’ I said. ‘I’ve no malice towards the Whitemanes.’ I paused. ‘Nytethorne, don’t you want this senseless feud to end, as I do? For the sake of your son, and for Myv’s, why continue it? Blood might not be shed, but a war is going on, beneath the surface, even in the etheric world. It is for no reason. Not now. Think about the community here, how good things could be if this ridiculous antagonism could be put to rest.’

  He said nothing, still gazing at the table.

  ‘You know, this is the downside of longevity. Petty squabbles of the young can take root and last for centuries. Grow up, Nytethorne!’

  He looked up at me then, shook his head. ‘So much guessing,’ he said.

  ‘Well, in the absence of hard fact, what else am I supposed to do?’

  ‘How about leave well alone and go away?’

  ‘I’m not going to do that, so don’t waste your breath. You think I can ride out of Gwyllion and not have a second thought for the safety of an innocent harling?’ I sneered at him. ‘Oh, maybe you can think that.’

  His eyes flashed with anger. ‘I do for my son what I must. Part of that is silence and obedience. Pelk your blood, Wyvachi-called!’

  I laughed coldly. ‘Ah, hit a nerve, did I? That was a ripe insult.’

  He put one hand across his eyes, rested his elbow on the table. ‘You don’t know,’ he said. ‘Squabble isn’t petty, isn’t now, never was. Beyond our control, but managed by us, as far as we can. Let loose...?’ He raised his head, gazed at me wearily. ‘You’ve no idea. Even we don’t know. We contain...’

  ‘What? What do you contain?’

  He shook his head again.

  ‘Is it to do with Peredur har Wyvachi?’

  Nytethorne looked horrified at these words, and yet his response was odd. ‘Was never Wyvachi... Wyvern, yes... don’t say that!’

  I sat down opposite Nytethorne at the table, reached out for one of his hands. ‘Listen to me. I have a theory. The hostility of so many years can create a thoughtform, a being. I’ve seen it, Nytethorne, at the Pwll Siôl Lleuad. Is this what you refer to, the thing you can’t contain, the thing you fear is being agitated by Myv’s desire to be hienama?’

  ‘What’s out there – never not agitated,’ he said, ‘You’re right, in a way. But’s not what you think.’ He took his hand from mine, yet only after he’d squeezed my fingers briefly. ‘Long to tell you of it, but mustn’t. Would make things worse.’

  ‘Who will speak to me, Nytethorne? I believe I can help, but I need more information.’

  He laughed bleakly. ‘Only safe har to speak to is Peredur.’

  ‘A ghost? I’m sure you know as well as I such apparitions can’t communicate that clearly.’ He said nothing and I considered. ‘All right, I can perhaps get more clues and piece them together, but... just tell me this, no names, just yes or no... Does somehar know everything I need to hear?’

  ‘Of course they do!’ he said abruptly. ‘You already know that. You tried Wyva, didn’t you?’

  ‘Well...’

  ‘Mossamber is twice what Wyva is. Lives in the past, clings to it. Does that fill in a gap, answer a question?’

  ‘Is he afraid?’

  ‘No, responsible, maybe. In love, certainly.’

  ‘With Peredur, still?’

  Nytethorne nodded.

  ‘The Wyvachi killed him, didn’t they?’ I asked gently. ‘Don’t answer, just look at me.’

  He sighed, but he did look at me. ‘Ysobi, you’re a good har at heart. Can see you’re passionate and mean well, but wish you’d turn from this tragedy. No good can come of it.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ I said. ‘Much good can come of freeing future generations. There is a solution to everything, Nytethorne.’ I took his hand again, shook it firmly. ‘Work with me on this. All I want is your approval and support. I don’t expect you to put yourself in danger.’

  ‘You can’t help.’

  ‘I can. I’m not afraid. Dare to believe I can help.’

  He smiled at me sadly. ‘Wish it was possible.’

  There was a moment’s stillness as we looked at one another. I remembered the day I’d first seen him, my dehar on the path within the forest, his arrogance. Now, here he was, his eyes open to me. I let go of his hand, stood up. ‘If you wish me to tell you what I discover, then I can meet you here again.’

  He frowned a little. ‘Yes, but... They – Mossamber – will find out. Might have already. Yoslyn and his kin have loose lips.’

  ‘Then let your family believe you’re playing me along to see what I’m up to. Don’t try to hide our meetings: tell them. Even they can surely appreciate this is a more direct and effective method than creeping into my sleeping mind. Dreams are vague and fleeting. More can be determined from a meeting face to face.’

  He nodded uncertainly. ‘Will take that risk.’

  ‘They won’t harm you, will they, Nytethorne?’

  He shook his head. ‘My kin won’t.’ He sighed. ‘Have responsibilities, Ysobi, within my family. Not your concern. You know where to find me.’

  ‘That goes for me too,’ I said. ‘The tower.’

  ‘That tower,’ he said and laughed, slid his eyes away from mine. I realised then he had visited it regularly, once.

  When I left The Boar, I found the day had darkened. Moody clouds were clotted across the sky and the air was oppressive, the light almost greenish. As I approached Hercules, the tethered horses suddenly became spooked, and jostled and grunted uneasily. I could not help but look behind me, yet nothing was there. For a couple of seconds, a pang speared through me. I thought of Nytethorne in the room above me. I thought of us touching. No! I banished the thought, and any associated images, before they could fully form. This interest in Nytethorne could be a further Whitemane attempt to befuddle me. Yet one thing I knew: in that moment he had thought of me in the same way.

  I untied Hercules, swung into the saddle, and urged him to canter away,
conscious all the time of eyes upon me, though there was really no way to tell whose eyes they were.

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time I reached Meadow Mynd, thunder was complaining to the west, a storm coming in from the not-too-distant sea. Lightning shimmered across the clouds like cracks in glass. The ancient mountains beyond the river valley looked as surly, immense and threatening as offended gods. Perfect weather in which to investigate a haunting, I thought, amused. I rode to the stables and left Hercules in the care of Mynd hara, then went to the house. A few fat drops of rain were beginning to fall. As they landed upon the ancient sway-backed tiles beneath my feet, they were dark as blood.

  Rinawne met me in the hall. He had been in the drawing room and had noticed me ride up. ‘The elements conspire!’ he announced, grinning widely. ‘I take it you summoned this storm in order to provide the right conditions for ghost-hunting!’ He seemed to have recovered his spirits. I didn’t sense melancholy in him as I had before.

  ‘I wish I could claim the storm is mine,’ I said, equally lightly, ‘but sadly no. Yet it is appropriate.’

  Rinawne took my arm. ‘Let’s have tea before we begin. I feel like it’s been too long since we saw one another in private.’

  I sensed behind this airy comment a not too hidden desire to draw something from me – a word of endearment, perhaps, or an equal admission of missing him. I kissed his cheek briefly, unable to speak words that would sound sincere. Unfortunately, my mind kept returning to Nytethorne Whitemane, no matter how hard I pushed such thoughts away. ‘Have you seen anything in the house since we last spoke?’ I asked, hoping to divert him.

  Rinawne held my gaze questioningly for a moment, and I dreaded he could see inside me, which could not be possible, for I’d raised every defence it’s possible for a har to have. ‘Well, it’s ongoing,’ he said, in a cooler tone than before. ‘A feeling of unfriendly presence, of watchfulness. There are accidents all the time.’

  ‘To hara?’

  Rinawne shrugged. ‘To everything. Plates breaking, soot on the floors, birds trapped in rooms when there was no way they could get in. Then, there are the little injuries. Nothing like Gen’s but...’ He let go of my arm and held out his hands to me. I saw cuts upon his fingers, still red. ‘Knives are alive,’ he said.

  I took his hands, held them briefly, sent a soft surge of healing energy into him. ‘Something’s building up,’ I said, ‘like this storm yearning to break.’

  ‘I feel that too,’ Rinawne said, taking his hands from mine and rubbing his fingers. ‘My dreams have been troubled. But the worst of it...’ He sighed. ‘I felt it in Myv’s room. Twice. Menacing.’

  ‘Did you ask Myv about it?’

  ‘Of course. He said he hadn’t noticed anything, but I know he’s lying. Ys, I’m afraid for him.’

  ‘What about Wyva and the others? Have you mentioned it to them?’

  Rinawne shook his head. ‘There’s no point. I know what Wyva would say, which is to belittle my fears. Gen would make a joke of it and Cawr and Modryn look at me as if I’ve grown extra eyes.’

  I smiled a little. ‘You should protect yourself. I’ll tell you how if you really can’t remember.’

  ‘Oh, I remember,’ he said, brightening a little once more. ‘I’m not afraid for myself, but for Myv. Tell me what must be done and I’ll do it.’ He took my arm once more. ‘Come, let’s talk in a more private place.’

  He led me to the conservatory, after asking one of the house-hara to bring us tea. Here, we could watch the storm, which was prowling ever closer.

  Until our refreshments arrived, we made small talk. Rinawne spoke of Myv and how he was looking forward greatly to the first of his lessons. Then the house-har arrived with the tea tray, and after his departure Rinawne broached the subject he was clearly itching to talk about, knowing we would not have any further interruptions.

  ‘Have you found out anything more about the secret past?’ he asked, pouring tea for me.

  ‘Not much. Nothing that we hadn’t already worked out for ourselves, but I’ll tell you my thoughts. In the chaos of the early days, amid all that senseless fighting, Peredur Wyvern was slain. I think he might’ve had an attachment to Mossamber Whitemane, and that somehow Peredur’s own kin were responsible for his death. But knowing what I do of the Wyvachi, and what I sensed about Medoc when I met him, I can’t credit this was some deliberate cruel or evil act. An accident, perhaps? It’s hard to know for certain, because hara weren’t quite themselves in the early days. Anything is possible. Was Peredur’s attachment to Mossamber seen as some kind of betrayal? Were rival factions competing for power in this area? These things are likely. I believe a combination of them is what lies behind the hostility between the families.’

  Rinawne had listened patiently, now he said, somewhat sardonically, ‘A love story. How quaint.’

  ‘Love is a chaotic force,’ I said. ‘It might be the noblest of emotions, but in its darkest form can raze nations.’

  Rinawne uttered a cold laugh and said mordantly. ‘How outrageous that is.’

  I felt I should steer the conversation away from this topic. ‘So, my belief, if somewhat unformed as yet, is that the toxic energy, which has permeated this land for so long, has somehow coalesced into a malevolent force, in which both Whitemanes and Wyvachi believe, and this has extended to the local population. They are afraid of it, and in the Whitemanes’ case perhaps also believe they are custodians who must contain it.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ Rinawne asked sharply. ‘Have you spoken to any of them?’

  I realised the folly of a lie. ‘I have spoken to Nytethorne Whitemane, yes, but not in any great depth. He resists me, as you can imagine.’

  ‘No, I can’t actually,’ Rinawne said icily.

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t go to the house. I spoke to him in Gwyllion.’

  ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘Hardly anything. It was like pulling teeth. He would answer questions if pressed, but I felt as if I were playing some kind of game, where only the right questions would produce an answer.’

  ‘Wasn’t a brief conversation, then?’

  I blinked at him. ‘Rinawne, I detect a note of condemnation in your voice. What’s the matter?’

  ‘Wyva won’t be pleased you’ve spoken with a Whitemane.’

  I stared at him mutely for some moments. ‘If there’s a threat in those words, I’m puzzled by it. Wasn’t it you who suggested I speak to the Whitemanes? I only did as you advised.’

  Rinawne put his hands against his eyes briefly. ‘Oh, I’m being stupid, I know. I can’t help it.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ This wasn’t exactly true, but I was acutely aware there was something I wanted to hear him say.

  He shook his head. ‘You know, I don’t think you’re aware of what you are, how you affect hara.’

  ‘Oh, believe me, I am,’ I said, with some bitterness. ‘I strive now to affect them minimally.’

  Rinawne uttered a snort. ‘You might as well give up. Nytethorne Whitemane... is... No, I won’t say it.’

  ‘I insist you do!’

  He sighed. ‘Now I’ve angered you. I’m sorry. It’s just I know you’re only lent to me by life. I won’t have much time with you. I’m no Nytethorne, I know that. He will desire you, Ys. How could he not? Look at you: tall, beautiful, strong, with eyes like the forest. Your hair...’ He reached out as if to touch it, curled his fingers into a fist, withdrew. I couldn’t help pushing my hair back over my shoulders, out of reach. ‘You are... amazing, Ys. As beautiful as the Whitemanes believe themselves to be. Yet not proud or vain about it. Do you ever look at yourself?’

  I felt embarrassed. My looks, whatever hara thought of them, had never brought me happiness. ‘No,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t interest me.’

  Rinawne closed his eyes for a moment, sighed again. ‘A stag in the forest, unaware of his own beauty. And Nytethorne...’ He grimaced. ‘Another fine animal, full of himself, yet glorious. I’
m not stupid. How could you not desire him? If there are two hara in this county that have “pair” written on them, it’s you and he.’

  ‘Don’t talk such rubbish,’ I said. ‘Honestly, Rinawne, I’m not looking dreamily for an idealised lover. Have you learned nothing about me?’ But despite these stern, disapproving words, he had of course said exactly what my more honest – and foolish – inner self wanted to hear. My body filled with a pleasant warmth and, basking in this richness, I felt benevolent and reached out for Rinawne’s hand. ‘Please don’t think this way. Emotions will cloud our judgement and our minds need to be sharp for what we’re trying to do.’

  Rinawne’s shoulders slumped. ‘I know. I said I’m sorry. But you asked, and I’ve told you.’ Tears spilled from his eyes and he made a sound of self-reproach, tried to brush his tears away.

  This was not good. Rinawne had already shown possessive tendencies and the last thing I needed was a vengeful, jealous har on my hands.

  ‘Rin,’ I said carefully. ‘I think we need to talk.’

  He continued to wipe his wilfully brimming eyes with the hem of his shirt. ‘You’re going to say something bad, aren’t you? I’m not sure I want to hear it.’

  I still held his hand. ‘Look, I explained to you how things were with me at the start. You have your life in Gwyllion, and I’ll probably be simply a brief interlude for you. But don’t harbour bad feelings towards me because of that. You’ve reached me in a way I’ve not experienced for years. You’ve helped me live again, and I hope we’ll always be friends.’ Inside, I groaned. Had I not said similar things to Gesaril, once? How in Aru’s name had I ended up in the same situation? I’d tried so hard not to. But the fact was I had loved Gesaril, but hadn’t been able to pursue it, for so many reasons. I did not, nor ever had, loved Rinawne. Now I had to limit the damage in some way. I realised that Rinawne was absolutely right in his assumptions and I didn’t want him becoming an impediment. If he should betray me to Wyva... well, I didn’t want to think about that.

  I stood up and went to crouch beside Rinawne’s chair, taking him into an embrace. He shuddered rigidly for some moments, then relaxed against me.