The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

  Nytethorne nodded almost imperceptibly, his gaze on the table.

  ‘Did it... did it take long?’

  He glanced up at me, his expression pained.

  ‘I’m sorry to ask, Nytethorne. I’m trying to keep it as simple as I can.’

  ‘Some things never die,’ he said and then, in a soft melodious voice, he chanted, ‘...On this home by Horror haunted – tell me truly, I implore – Is there – is there balm in Gilead? – tell me, – tell me, I implore. Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.’

  He looked so sad, I reached out impulsively to take hold of his hands. He did not resist. ‘Thank you. That’s a beautiful way to put it.’

  He squeezed my fingers, then let me go, folding his hands away.

  ‘You like poetry?’ I asked. ‘Even human poetry?’

  ‘Art is beyond human or har,’ he replied, shrugging. ‘It survives.’

  Peredur had died so long ago, and yet to the Whitemanes, apparently even more so than to the Wyvachi, his death seemed recent. I could tell this by Nytethorne’s sorrow, even though he had never met Peredur. He must have been an amazing har to have had such an impact. Mossamber still loved him, after all this time, and having created harlings with others. He had passed on the memory of his beloved through time. It survived. How could this cherished thing be malign? That was the mystery of it, really.

  ‘Nytethorne, I can’t thank you enough for bringing these letters to me.’

  He shrugged. ‘Thought about it. Decided if it’s meant, it’s meant. You’ll release us. If not, nothing changes. Seemed worth the risk.’

  He held my eyes, his expression both inscrutable and plain. Yet there was a table between us, and to rise from my seat and cross that distance would break the spell, I was sure of it. ‘Nytethorne,’ I said softly.

  He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed, his head dipping towards his chest. ‘Food is eaten, it is gone,’ he said. ‘Soon not even taste remains.’ He looked up at me. ‘I want to be more than food.’

  I became aware that, in his own strange way, Nytethorne felt the same way I did. For him too, glorious sunsets had become grey, cold dawns, a listless swamp where nothing lived. Even to approach a har seemed fraught with the danger that this blight would devour the blissful landscape, leaving only barrenness behind. And regrets.

  ‘I know,’ I said.

  ‘Yes.’ He smiled wanly. ‘To look is enough. To be.’

  ‘In the early days we were taught that love is canker,’ I said.

  ‘Hush!’ Nytethorne said.

  ‘But I want you to hear it. My own teacher, who claimed to have been taught by Thiede himself, said that we must not succumb to petty human emotions but strive for something greater. I wonder if somehow many of us have lost sight of that.’

  ‘Maybe teachers were wrong. We’re not capable.’

  I smiled at him. ‘Well, you should be, as you’re pureborn, and not a mess of bad memories and traumas like us incepted hara.’

  ‘Raised by them, though.’ He stared at me in silence for some moments. ‘Don’t feel pureborn. Wonder if any of us can, my kin.’ Again a pause. ‘Wyva and me – could never have it. Weren’t allowed. The moment we sucked air, we were old, as old as the earth.’

  ‘Are you saying it wasn’t just the Wyvachi...?’

  ‘No! Saying nothing.’

  I dared to murmur. ‘Show me. In your breath.’

  ‘No.’ He put his hands against his face and I longed to go to him, comfort him, but knew I mustn’t.

  Instead, I said, ‘I’m going to see Medoc in a couple of days.’

  Nytethorne raised his head. ‘You think he’ll speak?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he has distance, Nytethorne. He might feel able to.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Calasday, next week.’ I hesitated then said, ‘perhaps we should meet afterwards, some time.’

  He nodded vaguely. ‘No doubt will.’ He stood up, gathered up the letters and replaced them in his bag.

  I stood up to see him out, but he said, ‘Don’t trouble yourself. Know the way.’ He smiled then, came to me and kissed my cheek. ‘Care for yourself.’

  ‘I will.’

  How strange it was not to obey harish instinct and reach for him, draw his body close. But I knew he would only pull away and I’d risk breaking some rare magic between us. I sat down and listened to him leave the tower. Afterwards, there was a great silence, the world stilled.

  I knew I couldn’t leave the situation with Rinawne as it was, and that I would have to be the peacemaker. The day following Nytethorne’s visit to me, Pelfday, I thought I should go to the Mynd. Wyva liked it when I stayed for dinner at the weekends, and we could discuss the Reaptide festival. The weather had continued to heat up, making the air indoors stifling and unbearable. Even with all my tower windows open, I could barely breathe. Evening brought some respite, as the air would cool and a soft breeze steal across the land. On Pelfday, the sky began to darken around six o’clock. A storm was coming to land. I hoped this would freshen and clear the air.

  I planned to ride over to the Mynd around seven, since the family would generally eat around eight on this day. I pottered about the kitchen, gathering my notes together and stuffing them into my satchel. Then suddenly, the whole tower shook as the mightiest peal of thunder I’d ever heard exploded overhead. I jumped in shock, and it felt as if I was thrown across the room, because the next moment I’d collided with the cooking range, banging my hip sharply upon it. The storm had charged towards us, faster than I thought possible.

  Rubbing my hip, I went to the windows to shut them. Outside, the sky was dark purple and green, and the air felt as if it was made of lead, so heavily did it weigh upon me. There was no rain. Not yet. I stood at the window, mesmerised by the peculiar light, the prowling thunder, which now growled menacingly in a lower tone. The lightning, when it came, at first crawled uneasily amid the clouds, illuminating them in a sickly light. Then, as if a dehar of storms had thrown a trident, a triple fork of immense size was hurled from the sky. I’m sure I heard it land with a mighty crack somewhere in the direction of the Mynd. My first thought was: the house! I grabbed my satchel and ran down the stairs, wondering even as I did so whether it was sensible to go outside. This storm wanted to injure and damage; I felt this strongly.

  In the field, Hercules was standing with flattened ears, wild eyes, and a froth of sweat on his withers. He seemed petrified. I called to him in a soft voice and he came to me willingly, apparently relieved to press his long nose against my chest. Reluctantly – because of the metallic bit – I put the bridle on him, then vaulted onto his back. Whether this trip was safe or not, I was compelled to get to the Mynd.

  We cantered through the trees along the forest path, and it felt as if the undergrowth was alive around us, crawling with hidden, mysterious life. There was now continuous low yet echoing thunder that sounded almost like the tolling of a bell, or perhaps the bell was sounding alongside it, an alarm from some distant village.

  Even before we reached the exit from the trees where a wider path led to the Wyvachi estate, two hara on horseback came galloping towards me. One of them was Cawr, the other a har I recognised by sight but did not know. ‘Thank Aru!’ Cawr exclaimed upon seeing me, his horse skidding to a halt at Hercules’s side. ‘We were just coming for you.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ I snapped breathlessly, dreading what he might say.

  ‘I fear you’re too late,’ he said, ‘but then it would have been too late from the start.’ He saw my expression of horror and added, ‘The family are safe, it’s one of the stable hara. Well, the stable har. He’s been with us for decades. Come. We must get back.’

  I urged Hercules into a gallop and followed Cawr and his companion to the house. The lightning played games with us, striking the path only inches ahead of our straining horses. The animals were virtually uncontrollable, bolting in panic, but thankfully in a direction we wished for them to go.

  I expected to see
smoke or flames, or both, but upon reaching the Mynd there was no sign of structural damage to the house or outbuildings. But in the stableyard, the cobbles were covered in oily soot that was almost like tar, and a terrible reek of burned flesh hung in the air. I couldn’t prevent myself gagging but fortunately managed not to vomit.

  Cawr led me to the kitchens, where it seemed only a short time ago we’d been tending Gen’s injury. The har on the table this time, however, was beyond my help. They’d laid him on a thick canvas sheet. His right side was burned completely, the limbs merely charred bent sticks, while his left side was unblemished. He stared at the world through one remaining eye, which was quite dead. Wyva was in the room, and Gen, both of whom greeted me gloomily. Myv stood beside the corpse, looking helpless. I went to him and put my hands upon his shoulders. ‘Lighting strike?’ I asked him.

  He looked up at me, clearly relieved to see me. ‘Yes. It pierced him in the middle of the stableyard, cooked him where he stood. We couldn’t do anything.’

  I remembered Fush’s words: the ysbryd dwrg. I could visualise it prowling around the house; the lighting was its death-bringing gaze, the thunder its murderous voice.

  ‘The ysbryd plays with us!’ Gen suddenly blurted out. ‘Injures me, but lets me live, then makes me witness this. Am I supposed to feel guilty?’

  ‘Hush now!’ Wyva said, taking his brother in his arms. But Gen remained stiff, straining away from Wyva’s embrace.

  ‘This is beyond your skill,’ Gen said, staring at me with wild eyes.

  ‘It’s an accident,’ Wyva said in a calm tone. ‘Calm down, Gen, it was just the lightning. Could happen to anyhar.’

  Gen screwed his eyes shut, shook his head. ‘No, I won’t believe that.’

  ‘Ysobi...’ Wyva appealed to me. ‘Tell him.’ The meaning in his gaze was clear: Convince him, because they all need to be convinced of their safety at this time.

  I didn’t want to lie to any of them, but then I didn’t really know what was out there – not yet. ‘It’s a fierce electrical storm,’ I said carefully. ‘Anyhar out in it is at risk.’

  ‘But there,’ Gen said, his voice now little more than a sob. ‘In that place. In that exact place!’

  ‘Could happen anywhere,’ Wyva said, turning to his other brother for support. ‘Isn’t that so, Cawr?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Cawr responded, guardedly.

  Gen fought free of Wyva’s hold. ‘Fool yourself if you must, brother,’ he said, ‘but there will be more. Pray to the dehara it isn’t your son.’ With these words, he left the room, slamming the door pointedly behind him.

  Wyva shrugged at me. ‘He’s afraid,’ he said. ‘He’s not over his own injury.’

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Myv seemed oblivious to his hura’s comment and his hostling response, staring only at the dead har. Outside, rain had begun to pat softly at the windows.

  Wyva sent to Gwyllion for the coffin maker and the corpse was wrapped and placed in an adjoining sub-kitchen until this har came to fetch it. Mourning friends and relatives filed silently into the tiny room to keep a vigil with the deceased until he was taken away. Myv stayed with them, sprinkling dried rosemary and torn rose petals upon the winding sheet.

  Wyva ushered me into the main part of the house. ‘Terrible thing to happen,’ he said.

  ‘The storm is very... strange,’ I said inadequately. Was now the time to broach the matter of the ysbryd dwrg with Wyva? I could tell his defences were up and felt sure anything I said would simply bounce off him.

  ‘Nothing we can’t deal with,’ Wyva said, with appalling heartiness. ‘It’s only a storm.’

  I choked back a humourless laugh. ‘What? Wyva... Somehar is dead...’

  ‘I know,’ Wyva snapped, turning to face me. ‘His name is Briar and he’s lived with this family for over twenty years. I saw him break from his pearl. You think I don’t care? I do. You think I’m not afraid? I am. But I can’t afford to show it!’

  I stared at him, shocked. ‘I’m sorry...’

  Wyva shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. Leave it, Ysobi. Just leave it.’

  He took me to the drawing room where Rinawne was sitting with Modryn, both of them looking subdued and pale. Rinawne gave me a look of naked appeal and I smiled at him, blinked slowly to indicate there was no bad blood between us.

  Dinner was subdued that night, eaten late at ten. By this time, we’d all drunk rather a lot in the drawing room, and I don’t think any of us really felt like eating. I didn’t have the will to bring up the topic of Reaptide. I made excuses to leave early, around midnight, and Rinawne saw me out to the stableyard. The rain had washed the soot and smell away. Rinawne took me in his arms. ‘I love you, Ysobi,’ he said, ‘enough to let you be. I just want you in my life, in whatever way.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ I said, and again a needling lance of remembrance shot through me. My own lightning strike. I’d once said that to Gesaril too.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On Lunilsday, Myv arrived at the tower alone at noon. He banged the great knocker on the door several times, no doubt enjoying the portentous clunk of it. When I answered the door, I laughed and said whoever made a sound like that must surely be a supernatural creature! I thought it had been the dehara seeking entrance. Myv smiled at me, pleased. I told him to put his pony in the field with Hercules and then come up to the kitchen. This he did obediently. Upstairs, I watched him from the window taking off the pony’s saddle and bridle, his precise way of moving, the fuss he gave to the pony’s ears as it pressed its head against his chest. Hercules had wandered over to investigate – he was always a placid animal – and I saw Myv give him some kind of treat from his pocket, again rubbing the horse’s ears and laying his face against the broad neck. The future, I thought. That small being will grow into a har and the weight of a community will rest upon him, as it does upon his hostling. May the dehara give me power to ease that way for him.

  I decided that for today we wouldn’t do any work in the nayati upstairs. This would be an introductory session so we could start to get to know one another. I sat Myv at the kitchen table and offered him tea and a slice from a cake Rinawne had given me, fresh-baked from the Mynd kitchens, the day before. Myv accepted these offerings gravely. I could sense how seriously he took the job ahead – and could see his hostling in him strongly then. The adherence to duty, the ability to focus upon it.

  I had no idea what Rey might’ve told him about the hienama’s calling, but first I wanted to establish Myv’s own spiritual leanings. I asked him what he believed in spiritually, giving him credit he’d know what I meant.

  ‘Rey said to me we see and hear more than humans ever did,’ he replied, ‘mainly because they let that part of themselves wither and die. But we do more than see and hear better – we have other senses that allow us to see... beyond normal everyday things.’

  I could hear his previous teacher’s words in his voice. He recalled his lessons well. ‘And do you feel yourself that this is true?’

  ‘Yes. There’s so much all around us, all the time, that we can’t see or hear. I practice sensing. Rey said you can pretend you’re an animal and feel the world how they would feel it. This makes it easier to strengthen your senses.’

  ‘Do you know about the dehara?’

  ‘Yes. Rey said they are like the statues humans used to make of their gods, things we can put ideas into, a face for the natural forces around us. He said I should seek the dehara for myself, because they are something different for every har. He said also that I must be mindful of this when speaking with other hara. We shouldn’t always think we’re the ones who are right, because there are lots of versions of right.’

  So, it seemed like much of the groundwork had been done, mainly in that Rey had encouraged Myv to think, not just accept received knowledge and seek no further. Once invited, Myv loved to talk. He was bursting with ideas and experiences.

  ‘I saw some harlings from the other side
of the river once,’ he said. ‘They were somehow like I practice to be, except I want to be as I am most of the time. Those harlings are like animals always.’

  ‘Did you speak to them?’

  ‘No, they didn’t want to speak, and they often want to hurt you. It’s best to stay away from them, like you’d stay away from an animal who’d hurt you. I know their paths across the land and they know mine. We don’t meet now.’

  This, to me, seemed encouraging. Harlings from both clans appeared to have a rudimentary mutual respect in terms of territory. This could perhaps be a foundation upon which to build. Myv talked of his observations concerning the creatures, plants and trees of the landscape. He perceived spirit within them and found it no more unusual to speak to a dandelion than he would to a har. This, he explained, was part of the hienama’s way. ‘We do the speaking other hara can’t,’ he said.

  As I listened to him, I found more and more that I wished I could meet Rey. I approved of the education he’d given this harling. I liked his view of the natural world. He was altogether intriguing. Suddenly some words came out of my mouth that I hadn’t planned to say. ‘Do you know where Rey went, Myv?’

  His gaze slid away from mine. ‘Not... precisely,’ he said.

  I knew then he’d once made a promise not to say. I wouldn’t pursue it now. As a hienama, Myv would have to keep many promises and secrets, and I didn’t want to start bullying him into betraying them. He already knew when it was important to hold his tongue. I respected that.

  ‘You know, Myv,’ I said, ‘most of becoming hienama will be through experience alone. Rey has taught you a lot already, I can tell, and I will teach you more, but at the end of it, none of us can prepare you for what your calling might throw at you – the individual problems and situations. All we can do is help you prepare the tools of your trade and tell you of our own experiences. You’ll make mistakes – we all do – but you’ll learn from them. The trick is not to judge yourself because of it...’ I paused. One day I’d learn to practice what I preached. I couldn’t help smiling.