The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

  ‘No, I meant all hara. Not her.’

  ‘But...?’

  He closed his eyes briefly, for a moment unable to quell the pain he felt. Then he composed himself once more. ‘It has to be this way. This is her moment too, but different. She’s giving us time.’

  Myv and Rinawne sat either side of Wyva, who refused to take their hands. ‘This is madness,’ he said, his voice breaking. ‘Ysobi, take them away. You must go!’

  ‘No!’ Myv cried.

  ‘If my hara die because of you,’ Wyva spat at me, ‘the curse I’ll put upon you in death will be worse than any we face now.’

  Peredur leaned down to Wyva and took his face in his hands. ‘Shut up, you fool,’ he said.

  Wyva spat at him, tried to free himself, but Peredur did not release his grip. ‘What are you?’ Wyva cried hoarsely. ‘What sick lie are you?’

  ‘Me?’ Peredur said, silkily. ‘Look at me. Take a guess.’

  Wyva became still, stared at Peredur for a moment in silence, while those mad birds wheeled above us, shrieking so hideously I felt sure my ears must bleed. Peredur was a blade of light in all that darkness.

  Then Wyva managed to pull away, set his face into a sneer. ‘I don’t know who you are or what you’re trying to do, but go! If anyhar can end this, it must be me.’

  Peredur sighed. ‘As I said: you’re a fool. Look closer, Wyva. I am your hura. I am Peredur. Now shut up and do as I say.’

  Wyva appeared about to throw himself violently at Peredur, but Rinawne pulled him back, held him tight. I saw him take two blows to the head from Wyva’s flailing arms. ‘Liar!’ Wyva yelled. ‘Peredur is dead. Dead! You think I’m that easily fooled?’

  Peredur folded his arms. ‘I’m no liar, but we’ve no time for arguments. You want to end this curse forever? Then be still and give your son your strength. You won’t ever end this, Wyva. This is Myv’s task.’

  ‘It is him, Wyva, it is!’ Myv wailed pitifully. ‘Please believe me. Rin, tell him. Tell him!’

  ‘It’s Peredur,’ Rinawne said, somewhat hopelessly.

  I could tell Wyva didn’t believe this, but he did stop fighting, probably because there wasn’t really anything else he could do.

  Peredur leaned down to touch Myv’s head. ‘This ysbryd drwg is yours,’ he said gently. ‘Own it, Myvyen. If you would rule the spirituality of your hara and this land – claim ownership.’

  Myv nodded, his expression resigned. He squirmed away from his parents, taking the shawl with him, then sat beside his hostling. Peredur also sat down, took the harling’s other hand. We closed our circle, with Arianne and Vivi still standing some distance away from us, almost hidden by the spiralling riot of feathers.

  ‘This is your time,’ Peredur said to Myv. ‘End it.’

  In response, Myv put back his head and howled: a battle cry. Then he got to his feet, releasing the hands to either side of him. He went to stand in the centre of our circle, which we closed again around him. He lifted his arms and the moonshawl billowed around him. Then he cast it off and it fell limply to the ground, a shining pool about his feet. Beyond our circle, the black owls and swirling feathers began to condense into a twisting dark ribbon like smoke. This swarmed towards the harling and, through his open mouth, slammed into him.

  This was our second sacrifice.

  The silence that came with this was so sudden, the impact so great, that for a moment I don’t think any of us understood what had happened. Myv trembled, his pale skin mottled with threads of black like polluted blood. His eyes were reddened, staring wildly. What had we done? I saw in that moment, a hundred images: Wyva furious, physically attacking me in his grief, Rinawne distraught, then a funeral, a dozen goodbyes, Nytethorne disappointed, turning away from me, Peredur returning to his isolation in disgrace, and Arianne?

  I saw her and Vivi standing side by side outside our circle. They held hands and were singing in the old tongue, their faces and arms scratched and bleeding, their clothing torn. They did not look wholly real, but glowing, almost transparent. Ghosts. I could not tell what the song was, whether a folk song or a hymn, or just some nonsense that meant nothing. The feeling within the tune was its magic. They had bought us time. Without Vivi, the ysbryd drwg was weaker, perhaps only slightly, but enough. The women sang to the ysbryd drwg that had slammed into Myv. Their song was the essence of the ysbrydrion da, all that was good in the land.

  This moment of stillness, punctuated only by the soft, steady voices, ended. We were in no time, I’m convinced of that.

  Myv’s body contorted. He stood on tiptoe as if strings attached to him were being pulled towards the sky. His skin was mottled black, like that of a rotted corpse. His arms were stiff and twisted, as if broken. Then, he took in a deep, shuddering breath. So much power contained in such a tiny vessel. How could he survive it?

  ‘Send him strength,’ I managed to say, although my tongue was thick and dry in my mouth, barely able to shape sounds.

  I’m not afraid, Myv said, although the words didn’t come from his lips.

  Peredur also rose to his feet, pulling us up with him. ‘Gadael, ysbryd aflan!’ he cried in strong, clear voice, repeating this phrase over and over. Be gone, foul spirit! We joined our voices with his.

  Myv groaned, shuddered, his neck twisting unnaturally. I thought it must break, that he wouldn’t be able to finish his task. And then, in a jet of disgusting vomit, the egregore erupted from Myv in a black, purple-veined torrent, not only spewing out of his mouth, but from his eyes, his skin. Black birds, black feathers, malign and eternal, twisting, turning, and then... then...

  ‘Yn dod yn dda!’ Myv cried.

  Feathers turning white like a snowstorm, filling the air. And fragrance. Such a fragrance. The essence of summer, every sweet flower, every crushed blade of grass, the mown hay, the sap bleeding from the hot trunks of trees. And the feathers became petals, falling to earth, as I’d visualised the blood of Morterrius only weeks before.

  ‘This is my land,’ Myv said. ‘And here we have only ysbridion da.’

  I could feel them then, the good ghosts, absorbing the energy that Myv had expelled, taking it into themselves, spirits of the land. I saw them as a shining company, hanging in the sky – just for a moment. Then all was still, the night empty.

  Smoke rolled lazily across the burned circle, although the flames were doused. I saw Arianne standing some distance from us, still holding Vivi’s hand. It was as if she was far, far away, and would soon be farther still. Beside me, my companions were embracing, enacting each in their own way their utter relief, either through tears or laughter.

  Peredur touched me gently and I turned to see him standing right behind me. Go to her, he told me in mind touch.

  And you?

  There is nothing more I can say. I can’t embrace her now. She knows my heart.

  So I went alone to Arianne. I felt Nytethorne’s attention upon, but sent him a wordless message, and he didn’t follow me. Peredur had said goodbye to his mother before this. For him, she had already faded away.

  As I drew nearer to the women, they appeared more solid, the injuries inflicted by the birds clear upon their bodies, blood drying on their skin. Arianne smiled at me sadly, reached for my face with her free hand. I couldn’t feel her touch. ‘Thank you, Ysobi.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It’s done.’

  She nodded. ‘Yes.’ At her side, Vivi was like a convincing image of a woman; mindless, unspeaking, more of a ghost than Arianne had ever been. I don’t think she could see me. She didn’t belong here now.

  Arianne sighed. ‘Well, time to move on.’

  I nodded. ‘Do you know how or where?’

  Arianne turned her head. ‘The sunrise,’ she said. ‘When it comes. Until then, we’ll walk on the land. I hope she sees it, understands.’

  I leaned forward to kiss her cheek, kissed sweet air, nothing more. This, I realised was what Peredur had meant about not being able to embrace her. Not the pain of it, just the
simple physical inability. ‘Care for Vivi,’ I said. ‘Be happy, wherever you go.’

  ‘I will.’ Arianne kissed me too, on the lips, and for a moment I felt a faint pressure. ‘Goodbye, my friend.’

  ‘Farewell, Arianne.’

  She was our last sacrifice.

  As Arianne and Vivi walked away across the field, into the night and beyond, I heard the bell tolling once more. This time, there was no note of melancholy within it.

  When I returned to my companions, Myv jumped up and said, ‘Where’s Arianne? Where is she?’

  ‘She’s gone now,’ I said.

  Strong little Myv. He’d taken on so much, far more than most adult hara could withstand, without flinching. Now he simply sank to the ground and wept. ‘She’s dead,’ he said. ‘Really dead.’

  I hunkered down beside him, stroked his hair. ‘No, Myv, no. She’s not ended. She’s just somewhere else. She couldn’t stay here. You know that.’

  Peredur clasped Myv tightly, said nothing. His weeping was contained within.

  Myv clung to his hura, still sobbing, and as I straightened up I caught Wyva’s eye above the harling’s head.

  ‘I should hate you,’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ I replied. ‘Somehar always has to be the scapegoat.’

  Wyva shook his head slowly. ‘The risk you took... with my son...’

  ‘There was no other way. It wasn’t your fight, and yet it was everyhar’s fight – including the Whitemanes. Time for you to move on, Wyva. You can’t deny this.’

  Wyva sighed, glanced at Peredur. ‘And him?’

  ‘He spoke the truth,’ Rinawne said. ‘I’ve come to know this har. He’s who he says he is.’

  Wyva gave Rinawne a studied look and later there would be questions about what he’d said, but for now Wyva turned his attention back to Peredur and said bitterly: ‘Why?’

  Peredur remained silent, his face resting upon Myv’s hair. I could sense he was seeking words within him, finding none that could convey his feelings.

  ‘Just tell me that,’ Wyva insisted. ‘Why this silence, letting us believe...? You could’ve...’ He shook his head.

  ‘There’s only one innocent in this,’ Peredur said at last. ‘Your son.’ He kissed Myv’s hair and guided him to his hostling’s arms. Then he turned his face to me. ‘I want to go home. Come with me.’

  I was torn then. Shouldn’t I return to the Mynd with Wyva and his family? Perhaps they didn’t want me to. Suddenly, I was lost.

  ‘Ysobi and me go back to Dŵr Alarch,’ Nytethorne said decisively. ‘Rest of you go where you please. We meet tomorrow. The Mynd, if you prefer, Wyva har Wyvachi.’

  Wyva stared at him for some moments, then nodded, his mouth tight. Rinawne laid his head on Wyva’s shoulder for a moment, then stood up. ‘I’ll take Peredur home,’ he said. ‘Go back with Myv, Wyva. I’ll not be long.’ He gave me a sad look, then smiled. I know it cost him to do that.

  Mossamber would have known the battle was over, but he did not ride out to bring Peredur home, as I’m sure he wanted to, desperately. Allowing Rinawne to do this was a gesture of trust. Mossamber had laid the first brick in the foundation of a new temple.

  Nytethorne and I remained in the field as the others left. We simply stood there, exhausted, looking out over the river. Nytethorne bent down and picked something up from the scorched ground. This was a ragged piece of cloth, full of holes, falling to bits. No shine to it. No pattern. The moonshawl.

  He looked at me. I nodded.

  Together we went to the river’s edge, where Nytethorne crumpled the old fabric into a ball. This, he threw into the water, where it dissolved completely.

  Epilogue

  The end of one story is also the beginning of many others, and further stories did begin after that night. First, there had to be clarity, with Wyva sitting down with his family to discuss matters openly. I wasn’t part of that. Then there was the matter of the bridge between the Whitemanes and the Wyvachi, which as well as being a structure of grey stone was also a har of flesh and blood: Peredur.

  I went with him the first time he visited Meadow Mynd, which was the day after our battle with the ysbryd drwg. As Nytethorne had suggested, a meeting took place that day. Mossamber attended, but Peredur asked to go with me, before everyhar else. Nytethorne and Mossamber would arrive later.

  Peredur rode before me on Hercules, as he had on the day I’d taken him out of the Domain. Wyvachi hara stopped to stare as he passed them, because Peredur will always be strange, somewhat unearthly, a faerie type of creature. He asked to go to the stableyard and there Wyva and his brothers were waiting for him, along with Myv and Rinawne. The silence was absolute as Peredur dismounted from Hercules. He stood motionless for some moments. His eyes that day were rubies. I half expected him to weep blood tears from them. But the stableyard, a hundred years on, was only a yard. Blood had long since washed from the cobbles. Horses had walked over that spot. Dung had been swept from it. Rain and snow and sun had weathered the stones. What had happened there was long ago. Nothing of it remained except the survivor, a har of remarkable strength and certainty, and the love that had made his survival possible. Mossamber loved Peredur, but so did the land and its spirits. He could not be the har he’d been destined to be – that job was now Myv’s. But he could be there for Myv as friend and mentor for as long as he lived.

  That day, before the meeting, I spoke with Wyva. I couldn’t apologise to him, because I didn’t feel I had anything to be sorry for. He knew that too, I think, but he’s a proud har, had to remain somewhat surly for now to make a point. I trusted this would fade, as Wyva isn’t naturally truculent. He did, though, tell me something of what had impelled him to act. Over the weeks building up to Reaptide, he’d witnessed death and destruction throughout his domain. He’d felt helpless to defend his family and the hara who looked up to him, and depended upon him to keep things running.

  ‘Had you so little faith in me?’ I asked

  He smiled wanly. ‘Ysobi, I felt only I could deal with the curse, end it as Kinnard had tried to do years before. I was sure I was Myv’s last chance and I was prepared to give myself to the ysbryd drwg to protect him.’

  So, alone, without even the comfort of words, let alone embraces, he had planned his sacrifice. He had walked around the Mynd, experiencing his home for what he believed would be the last time. All he could think of, he told me, was the burning of the fields and that only fire could cleanse the land. When he’d been born, and the curse had been born, the land had drowned. He’d intended to call the ysbryd drwg into himself and burn it. I could see the sense in this grim idea, and I’m now sure he was always supposed to be part of our small army. When he’d called Verdiferel to his circle of fire, it had been a necessary part of our purifying ritual.

  I also spoke with Porter that day, when he came across me alone in the house, while preparations were being made for the meeting. Rinawne and Myv were showing Peredur around the Mynd, and I didn’t feel my place was with them. I was in the library, clearing the table, and Porter passed the door, saw me. I had my back to him, but sensed a living presence and turned. He hesitated, no doubt considering whether to keep walking, but then came in. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me inscrutably.

  ‘It should be easier for you now, Porter,’ I said. ‘No divided loyalties.’

  He offered me a grim smile. ‘Well, you certainly shook them up.’

  I opened a book I had in my hands, blinked at it blindly. ‘And I learned the sounds, as you told me to.’

  Porter shifted awkwardly. ‘It was best you knew. Not just the sounds. About what haunted us. Fush was right.’

  I realised this was the nearest I was going to get to an apology, but that incident seemed trivial now, in any case. ‘Bridges are important,’ I said, putting the book down on the table. ‘There is a bridge of stone, and a bridge of hara. Peredur is part of that, but so are you.’

  ‘And my hostling,’ he said, somewhat defensively.

/>   ‘Yes, him too.’ I paused. ‘Perhaps he should be told about what’s happened.’

  Porter nodded thoughtfully, then said, ‘I’m off. Work to do.’

  ‘Until later, then,’ I replied, but he’d already left the room.

  The meeting, later, in the library of Meadow Mynd, went as well as could be expected. Mossamber and Wyva were wary of one another, conversation was stilted. Gen and Cawr slunk like suspicious cats to the table. Wyva’s stance of authority and disdain was undermined by the fact that Rinawne, Myv and Peredur already knew each other. Their friendship was deep because of what they’d jointly experienced, and they talked together freely. It was difficult for both Mossamber and Wyva to be stiff, formal and distrustful in the face of their obvious closeness. In fact, to be caustic and confrontational would merely have made them look stupid, like harlings spoiling for a fight.

  The Whitemanes did not stay for the Wyvachi Reaptide rite, which would have been pushing things too far at this delicate stage. Wyva fought with wanting to forgive me and wanting to chastise and punish me. I could see he wavered between the desires to punch and hug me. Everyhar in Gwyllion knew that something momentous had happened, because the fallout from it had surged over them like the cloud of dust and smoke after an explosion. Everyhar had heard the bellow of the ysbryd drwg, whether in dreams or in reality.

  The festival necessarily had to begin later than planned, because of the Wyvachi/Whitemane meeting, and by the time those of us from the Mynd reached The Crowned Stag, the crowd outside it was huge. I saw Yoslyn was present with his family, and noticed a clandestine kind of acknowledgement pass between him and Selyf, merely a gesture. The secret society of keephara, perhaps!

  Wyva stood before the crowd and told them the truth, much as it must’ve galled him to do so. He explained that the Wyvachi and the Whitemanes had worked together to banish the ysbryd drwg. What hara might have heard last night was the roar of the entity as it perished. There was no longer a curse on Gwyllion. Myv, as its hienama, had been most instrumental in ending it. ‘Was this curse real?’ Wyva said, his voice clear and strong. He shrugged, gestured. ‘Did we unwittingly create it ourselves, fear it, feed it, make it real? This we shall never truly know. But what we do know – and certainly – is that the strength of our combined will was enough to unmake it. This is a new era for us, and what more fitting time of year to celebrate this rebirth?’ He raised a tankard. ‘Astale, Verdiferel! Come to us now in your true form, a dehar of the season.’ He drank.