A Novel

by Signe Pike

  “I want to be close to my brother,” I said. “Lailoken needs me. You have not seen it. This wound and the way he bears it. His face may be scarred, but the wound runs much deeper.”

  Rhydderch studied me. “Do you believe this will make Lailoken an enemy of the Christian cause?”

  “An enemy of the Christian cause?” I gave a humorless laugh. “Lailoken is that much already. Mungo has made certain of that.” I looked at him, imploring. “You talk of causes and allegiances. Have you forgotten? Over these past months my brother has also become your friend.”

  “Yes. In his visits these past months, Lailoken has become more to me than my own brother, I cannot deny it. But I have seen such scars of war, and I know their price. I do not know that any man has the power to ease the bent of Lailoken’s mind. And at what cost to you? No, you must allow Lailoken to come to it himself.”

  I refused to look away. “But I shall be quite safe at your father’s hall.”

  Rhydderch sighed. “Very well. I can see you will not be swayed. So be it.”

  “And nearer to a healer of my choosing,” I added.

  “Languoreth, do not test me.” Rhydderch eyed me warily and pushed back his chair to stand. “I will secure my father’s permission. But when it comes to the birth of our babe, the child’s birth must be attended to by a priest. Morcant’s babes have been so, and our child must be, too, if he will stand a chance to rule.” He leveled his gray eyes at mine. “If I consent to Partick, you must promise me that.”

  I paused, weighing it. I knew enough of healing that I could at least prepare some medicines for pain and numbing in advance. I could raise my child on the stories of our gods and our people. But Lailoken. I had heard from Brant he wasn’t eating, that he spent hours upon hours staring at the fire.

  I reached for Rhydderch’s hand and traced my thumb over the curve of his knuckles.

  “Very well, then. A priest. I can agree.”

  “And Tutgual will not be eager to let you have your way,” he warned. “You have angered him. Now you give him an opportunity to deny you.”

  I looked into his eyes. “Then we will speak first to your mother.”

  “My mother?” he laughed. “And what makes you think she would come to our aid when it was she who first demanded you stay on Clyde Rock?”

  I looked at him, curious. Could a man as clever as Rhydderch truly be blind to the true nature of his own mother? I nearly said as much, but Elufed had granted me her confidence and I dared not press my fortune. Betray her, and I did not doubt she could destroy me in ways I could not yet imagine.

  “She has been mother to a babe three times over,” I said instead. “Surely she will understand the strength of the desires that accompany a woman with child.” I waited, my heart pulsing in my throat.

  “Very well,” he conceded. “But I warn you: Do not set your mind to it. We will speak to her in the morning.”

  • • •

  Tutgual’s hall was near the center of Partick, as if the village had seen its majesty and risen up to surround it. I had only ever glimpsed it from the road; the leering soldiers posted at its corners had always caused me to quicken my horse. Now that I was married to one of Tutgual’s sons and nearly seven moons with child, my days of being leered at were behind me. Here, out of the way of sea gales, the high king had spared no expense. Pearl white and braced with dark timber uprights, its windows were cast in thick green glass that gave the impression, when standing inside any of the six private chambers, that one was drifting beneath summer water. They were the work of a Roman glazier, no doubt, most likely from overseas. The great room was decorated with oil lamps and a glittering array of silver-tipped shields. Sumptuous fleece-lined couches and elegant tables lined the room, which could feast close to one hundred, and the two rectangular stone pits set side by side in its center provided warmth. Beyond the great room stood a buttery and larder, where food from the kitchens was dressed and brought in to be served. Another small hearth burned with peat there; it was where the servants laid out their cots to sleep at night.

  “It has been too long since I’ve had occasion to visit town,” Elufed said as we stepped onto the shelter of the porch. Icicles hung from the thatch and glinted in the afternoon sun, their spindly horns dripping onto the planking where the soldiers stood alert.

  “Do hurry up, Breg. I’m entirely frozen.” She blinked impatiently as Breg moved forward to open the heavy doors. He gave a curt nod and Elufed stepped inside, dropping her cloak into the waiting hands of a servant.

  “And stoke the fires,” she called to no one in particular. “They may have been set, but they are not nearly hot enough. We have guests coming this night. I want to feel these fires blazing.”

  “It is most generous that you have invited my family to dine with us tonight,” I said to her as Desdemona helped me and Crowan with our cloaks.

  Elufed was already drifting toward the great room to inspect its cleanliness.

  “It’s true,” she called over her shoulder. “I don’t like the trouble of moving residence in winter, but I always prefer the busyness of town to the snow and sleet on that despicable rock.”

  Out of the corner of my vision I could see Crowan taking in every detail of the high king’s hall. The finely woven tapestries, the decorative railing on the stairs that led to the private chambers, the Roman statue that stood garish and out of place just beyond the king’s oaken throne at the head of the room.

  Behind me, two servants entered carrying my trunks, and Elufed turned suddenly, eyeing my stomach. “And with Rhydderch’s travels, you cannot be expected to spend your days here alone. You’re with child, after all.”

  “That’s very gracious of you.”

  “Yes,” Rhydderch said. “I hope you’ll find some pleasant diversions, Mother.”

  “Oh, I expect I shall,” she said, sinking onto a couch beside the fire. Her eyes trailed to the door, and I wondered if Elufed dared take a lover while she was out from under the watchful eyes of the king. As if reading my thoughts, she turned to me.

  “Everything will be in order for the arrival of your father and his retinue this evening. They’ll spend the night, I expect.” Her stormy eyes lit; she was thinking of my brother, no doubt. I stiffened.

  “Yes, if it is no trouble. It is so kind of you to entertain us. Lailoken, especially, has kept to his chamber since his injury. It is difficult to believe it was little more than a fortnight ago.” I locked eyes with her in the hope my meaning would not be lost.

  “Such a handsome young man. It was all such a pity.” Elufed frowned, her elegant nose wrinkling at the thought of it. “Still, we shall be glad for some company.”

  I cast Crowan an incredulous look before turning to Rhydderch. “I’ll retire to our chamber now, if it pleases you. I must see to our things.”

  “Very well.” He looked at me solicitously. “But do not exert yourself overmuch. You must rest before supper.”

  I watched as he glanced about the room and settled into a chair at a safe distance from his mother.

  “Why do you sit there? I haven’t got the plague,” I heard Elufed complain as I slowly climbed the stairs.

  “Of course you don’t, Mother.”

  My heart swelled with pity for my husband; she had already worn him weary. Outside, the sky darkened and snow began to fall.

  It was going to be a long confinement indeed.

  • • •

  Snow had piled thick on the branches outside by the time I heard the horses. I lay down my sewing and rushed to the window. The green glass distorted the snowy world beyond, but the white flanks of Cathan’s horse glowed in the darkness, and I could see the bulky wooden cart that my brother had come by.

  Crowan lifted her head. “Are they here, then?”

  I nodded and she stood on stiff legs, worry lines creasing her face.

  “Come, now, Crowan, he’s all right,” I assured her. “You know it drives him mad when you fret. Surely Thoma would h
ave forbade him from traveling to town were he still unwell.”

  “Ha” was all she said, and I knew she was right: few could tell Lailoken what to do.

  The plucking of the cruit sounded from the great room, and I glanced down from the stair to see Elufed draped over a couch with an embossed silver cup in hand, her golden hair loose in waves about her shoulders. In the trance of evening firelight she looked somehow softer, more inviting. Then a rush of wintry air gusted in as Father ducked through the door, brushing snow dust from his hair.

  “Father!” Ignoring the order of things I rushed past Rhydderch, breathing in the familiar scent of him as Father gripped me close.

  “Morken. Welcome.” Rhydderch strode to clasp Father’s arm, his eyes intent. “I hope all has been peaceful in your corner of the world.”

  “Peaceful enough,” Father said.

  Elufed rose from the couch, her pretty lips in a frown. “It was an ugly business. Let us speak of something else. It is bitter cold outside and you have traveled in the dark. Come and let our servants tend to you.”

  Father bowed to Elufed as Lailoken stepped in from the porch. He scuffed the snow from his boots, the hood of his cloak still obscuring his features. I took a tentative step forward.

  “Brother.” I smiled. “I’m so glad to see you. Here, let me help you with your cloak.”

  His blue eyes were somber as I reached to tenderly push back his hood. Behind me Crowan let out a gasp and I cringed, wishing I could have silenced her. It wasn’t the wound, though it was an angry, boiled welt. It was the burn itself that was the worst of it. Small bubbles of fluid had risen in a mottling of pearls down the side of his face, hanging from his jawline like sacks of dew. These blisters, I knew, carried the worst risk of infection, but they did not look unwell. I kept my face emotionless even as my heart convulsed at the sight.

  “You’re healing well,” I said too brightly. “I’ve missed you.”

  I reached out to help him unfasten his brooch, but he jerked away. I dropped my hand to my side as Brodyn came to grip Lailoken’s arms, his voice painfully cheery.

  “Cousin! At last, you are among the living. Come and sit by me. I’ll show you the way of it.”

  “Oh, he knows his way well enough around a cup these days,” Brant said dryly, shrugging off his cloak.

  “Pay him no mind.” Brodyn threw an arm around Lail’s shoulders, guiding him toward the fleece-lined couches. “You’re entitled to your drink, cousin, that’s what I say. Tell me, Brant misses me, does he not? He is never forthright with his feelings . . .”

  Lailoken mumbled something I could not hear as Cathan appeared and embraced me, his hair smelling of snow.

  “Lailoken does not seem to know the trouble I’ve gone through to arrange this,” I said.

  The Wisdom Keeper’s eyes trailed my brother. “Give him time, child. I know it does him good to see you. Just now he cares for no other troubles than his own. We must try to have patience.” He gave me a gentle smile. “I, for one, am glad to have you in town once more.”

  “And I you.” I clasped his hands. “But your hands are cold. Come, warm yourself by the fire.”

  Cathan cast a weary glance round the room, his eyes lingering on the Roman mosaics and the gilded shields. “I will need some drink.”

  Elufed overheard him and gestured languidly. “Drink. Of course. Bring our Wisdom Keeper and the great chieftain Morken some ale! Come, we will sit.”

  Across the room, Lailoken stared vacantly into the fire as Brant and Brodyn chattered on. His wavy hair had grown longer and was yet brown streaked with blond, and he wore it loose about his shoulders. I could see where it had nested in snarls at the base of his neck.

  I moved to stand beside them, throwing a pointed look at my cousins. Brant looked up. “Come, Brodyn. Show me these fine shields you’ve been speaking of.”

  Brodyn straightened. “Right. The shields.”

  “You needn’t treat me like an invalid. Or a dullard, for that matter.” Lail gave them a dark look.

  “He’s been like this.” Brant stood and spoke low as he nudged Brodyn toward the shields mounted on the wall. “Supposed to leave home soon to begin his training on White Isle, and now he’s even talking of setting it aside. You’ll set him right.”

  Suddenly I wasn’t so certain I could have any influence at all. Perhaps Rhydderch was right. The scar had been dealt. My brother must face his darkness alone. And yet I could not bear the thought of it.

  “May I sit beside you?” I asked. Lailoken watched me with a stranger’s eyes. I cleared my throat. “I hope you know the lengths I went to keep Crowan from flying at you with her comb.”

  Lailoken did not smile.

  Fine. If he would have no humor or niceties, I would get straight to it. I let out a puff of air. “Brant tells me you have set aside your Keeper’s training. I told him I could not believe that to be true.”

  Lail gave me a black look before settling his gaze once more on the fire, and I felt my anger mount.

  “Would you truly sit here in my own hall and refuse to speak to me, brother? Do you have any idea how difficult it was for me to escape a confinement on Clyde Rock? What I had to—” I bit my tongue.

  Better Lailoken not know the bargain I’d struck.

  Lail turned. “Tell me how difficult it has been for you, sister. Was it difficult for you, too, when you branded my face?”

  The blaze from the fire suddenly nauseated me as I remembered the clammy grip of my fingers on my knife, the sickening smell of burned flesh as it met open wound.

  “That is a cruel thing to say. What would you have had me do? Would you rather I’d let you die?”

  “Aye.” He tossed his head. “It would have been kinder. Now no man will look me in the eye. None who know my name will ever shrink in fear of me. What king will want me for his counsel when I was pressed down in the hay and slit like a sow for the slaughter? Song Keepers in faraway courts tell my tale even now.”

  “So you pity yourself, then? And you would make all of us suffer whilst you commit yourself to a wasted life staring by the fire? Sweet Gods, Lailoken. Are you so vain you cannot see beyond your appearance to the wound that festers within?”

  “You know nothing.” He turned away, his deep voice bitter.

  I fought to keep my voice even. “I know you are yet handsome, Lailoken. Your scar and your burns will heal. Some may mock you. For this you would give away all ambition for the life of a warrior, a counsellor, and a Keeper that you have always wanted? If that is so, then you are not the man I once knew.”

  Lail scoffed in disgust.

  “Yes. You will be forever scarred. But so will the tales the Song Keepers tell of you if you shrink now from your destiny,” I said. “Mark me, Lailoken. If you do not cease in this self-pity, then Mungo’s infection will only spread. Is this what you desire? To let him bend and twist you until you are unrecognizable even to yourself? Even to your own sister?” My voice broke. Lailoken risked a glance at me from the corner of his vision.

  “You needn’t shriek like a harpy. I will come to it,” he said gruffly, crossing his strong arms against his chest. “I need more time.”

  “That may well be,” I said. “But whilst you sit and stare into the flames, there is a deadly world of rough men and raiders whose shadows daily creep closer to our doors.” I stood to face him so he could not avoid the warning in my eyes.

  “I only pray you will not wait too long. For you are Lailoken, son of Morken, son of Morydd, son of Mor. I know in my heart you are bound for something greater. The Britons need you. I need you,” I said. “How do you want the Song Keepers to tell your tale? You must decide that this will be the beginning of your legacy, my brother. You cannot allow it to be your end.”

  Lailoken looked up, and I thought I saw his eyes flicker before he fixed his gaze over my shoulder. I felt the cool fingers of Elufed on my arm.

  “Elufed.” Lail stood. “My queen.”

  “Come and joi
n us,” Elufed said. “The table is set with wine and ale. Lailoken must be ravenous. It is time to eat.”

  “Of course.” I dipped my head, and Elufed slipped her arm into my brother’s. “I have been goading Lord Rhydderch to tell me of his recent dealings with Aedan mac Gabhran, king of the people of Manau,” she said. “He’s a Westman, you know. Just last week we nearly caught fifteen of his men attempting to raid our cattle.”

  My brother bent his head politely and escorted Elufed to her seat. The meat was served and soon talk of politics consumed them.

  The meat was tender and my body seemed to crave it, but after a while my head began to spin from the wine and the heat. I drew a hand across my brow to wipe the perspiration away.

  “It is blazing in here,” I whispered to Brodyn.

  Across the table, Cathan looked up. “Languoreth, you look uncomfortably warm. Have you eaten your fill?”

  I nodded.

  “Good. Then come and take some air with me.”

  I gladly reached to accept his hand as he helped me from the table. It was gnarled now, lumps forming on the fractured bone as it healed like galls on a tree. It would be difficult for him to track his observations of the stars now, with his quill hand misshapen and bent. He should have allowed me to set it.

  I looped my arm through his as we made our way past the musicians and out onto the covering of the porch. Outside, I took in a deep breath of winter, closing my eyes as the welcome chill cooled the flush of my face.

  “You look well,” Cathan said, appraising the length of me. “With any luck the babe will arrive after Beltane.”

  “With any hope.” I reached to touch the swelling of my stomach. “But Ariane always said first babes are ever late or early.”

  “Ariane was a loyal friend,” Cathan observed. “It’s only natural you shall miss her. But Wisdom Keepers will wander. You can’t have expected that she would stay with you forever.”

  “You have.”

  “Well.” Cathan stroked his beard with a laugh. “Your family has made me fat and overly comfortable.” He glanced at me. “The truth of it is, I grew too fond of my old friend Morken and his rascal children.”