The Moonshawl

by Storm Constantine

  Rinawne nodded, said in a voice striving to be steady, ‘We’ve got all afternoon, Wyva’s out. But he’ll want you to stay this evening unless you leave here before he gets back, and I thought... tonight....’

  ‘Let’s appease Wyva today,’ I said, squeezing Rinawne’s arms. ‘We can have a whole night to ourselves tomorrow. Come over for dinner.’

  ‘Well, OK.’ Rinawne seemed to cheer a little.

  I went back to my seat, picked up my teacup. ‘So, tell me what’s happened here in detail.’

  Rinawne blew his nose on the tea-tray cloth, grinned a little at this, then said to me, ‘It was on the day of the festival, mid-morning. I was taking breakfast with Wyva – everyhar else was already out and about or eating elsewhere in the house. He left to start work on the preparations for the festival and I sat there to finish my coffee. That’s when it crept up on me – this disgusting feeling. You know I’m not scared by these things, but in those moments, I was a harling again, running from a banshee in the dark. What I felt was not impartial. It was breathing down my neck.’

  ‘Did you see anything?’

  Rinawne frowned, considered. ‘Difficult to tell. I felt light-headed, disorientated. The air seemed to shimmer, but whether that was the fault of my own eyes or something outside myself, I don’t know for sure. I couldn’t move. I prayed for release, Ys, but not to a dehar, to Daghda. Maybe that old god heard me, maybe he gave me strength, but my prayer broke the spell. I ran from that room at once.’ He shook his head. ‘Horrible feeling, and I resent it happening to me in my own home. I hated being powerless against it. I’m not easily scared, and maybe what I felt wasn’t exactly fear, but it was fierce.’

  I didn’t doubt Rinawne’s capability to withstand an etheric attack because he was – as far as I knew – very strong in that respect. The mere fact this entity possessed the power to affect him physically was worrying. So far, I’d scorned the idea it had any weapon other than fear. If the entity possessed the power to paralyse a body, how far could that go – a stilling of the heart, a stifling of the lungs?

  ‘So what’s happened since?’

  ‘Well, for a start I’ve not returned to that room. I feel it’s where the energy is strongest. Wyva clearly doesn’t feel it, which is strange, but I’m glad of that. Other hara in the house appear to avoid the room, perhaps even without realising it. For me, there’s a weird sense of being watched – everywhere, even in the gardens. And of course, I felt something in Myv’s room, as I said. Did something get invited in, Ys? Did the festival cause this? Or Medoc being here?’

  ‘A combination of it all, I think. Take me to the breakfast room. I’ll go in alone.’

  ‘You don’t have to. I’d feel safe with you there.’

  ‘No, let me see what happens. If there’s anything there, I’ll pick up on it. If there’s nothing, it could indicate the manifestation is directed at you personally.’

  ‘Now there’s a comforting thought!’

  ‘I’m fairly sure it’s not that.’

  Once inside the breakfast room, I closed the door behind me, leaving Rinawne in the corridor outside. The room appeared normal at first, although by now rain was coming down hard, so the light was dim. Thunder grumbled occasionally, and through the window I could see forked tongues of lightning licking the sky above the trees. The atmosphere of the storm alone made the atmosphere oppressive.

  Breathing deeply and mindfully, I walked slowly about the room. Everything was still, oddly lifeless, as if I walked within a painting. In one spot, a flush of heat passed through me. I felt I was being observed, but in a calculating way. My measure, perhaps, was being taken. I didn’t feel that whatever lurked there was the shade of Peredur I’d experienced in my visualisations at the Pwll Siôl Lleuad. This was a cool, brooding presence, more like an intelligence than a representation of somehar dead. Perhaps, though, it could be an aspect of Peredur as created by the warring families. I felt it was certainly connected to all I’d experienced.

  I went to the window, looked out over the gardens. Rinawne had once felt something was in the drapes. I touched the heavy curtains, which perhaps had hung there for hundreds of years. In my ear, the softest suggestion of a sigh. Peredur, I thought, is this you? If it was, he was hiding in the dust and ancient threads, perhaps even held there by whatever else loomed over the room.

  I put my forehead against the fabric of the drapes, breathed in, projecting feelings of compassion, of safety. Perhaps I could coax the wisp of Peredur out. Then, something grabbed my shoulder, and spun me round swiftly. Before I could take in what was happening to me, I was slapped hard across the face and then, unmistakeably, I heard the sound of spitting, and cold wetness sprayed across my eyes. For a moment, the burning pain was intolerable, I was blinded, but it cleared quickly. There was no other visible being in the room with me. On a sideboard, in the shadows against the far wall, something fell over heavily. The thick door to the room shuddered briefly, then became motionless. I staggered back against the window, gasping for breath, almost paralysed. Rain pattered on the panes, and I could hear water falling from a drainpipe nearby, outside. The room was utterly still, while my heart pounded so hard I thought it must burst. Then there was a raw, scraping scream, the most hideous sound I’d ever heard. Not in that room, further away, higher up.

  The door was flung open and Rinawne ran into the room. ‘Ys!’ he cried and rushed towards me, took me in his arms. I collapsed against him, still struggling to breathe.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Rinawne said, lifting my head to examine my face. ‘That noise! What happened?’

  I held onto him, willing equilibrium to return and, thanks to my training, all feelings of debilitation flowed out of me. ‘I was slapped, spat at.’

  ‘I heard all that shouting, but I couldn’t make out the words.’

  ‘Shouting?’ I pulled away from him.

  ‘Well, yes. That awful voice, not harish, not even human, but cruel... so cruel.’

  ‘I didn’t hear that,’ I said.

  ‘You must’ve...’

  ‘No. I heard only the softest sigh, here in the drapes, then I was grabbed by something else, and slapped. I heard a scream, but not in here. It came from higher in the house. Did you not hear that?’

  ‘No. Just shouting in this room. I could tell it was a voice but couldn’t make out the words.’

  ‘Well that must mean – thankfully – the scream wasn’t one of the family or staff being attacked.’

  Rinawne closed his eyes briefly. ‘You see how strong it is?’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’ My voice was grim. ‘I took it too lightly, didn’t take enough precautions.’ I grasped one of his arms and led him towards the door. He didn’t resist. ‘We need to go upstairs.’

  ‘Is that wise? You look really pale. Perhaps more tea first, some wine even... as a restorative.’ He smiled uncertainly.

  ‘No, we must look. Whatever uttered that scream wasn’t the vindictive force that hit me down here. There might be residue, a clue, a trail. Lead on, Rin. You know this house.’

  There was nohar else around, as if the house was empty, although when I asked Rinawne about that, he said the staff must be in the kitchen area, the family elsewhere. This wasn’t uncommon during the day. The storm had made night of the dark oak staircase that led to the first floor, but I sensed nothing dangerous there. On the landing above, a corridor stretched to both wings of the house, again virtually in darkness. The pale ovals of windows showed at the end of each corridor. ‘It’s not here,’ I said, ‘higher up.’

  There was only one other storey to the house – the attics – as Meadow Mynd was a low and rambling building. The stairs to it were a short way to our left. Rinawne said that in the west wing about half the rooms were furnished and were the living quarters of the staff. The east wing comprised storerooms, or empty chambers, and had not been used since the human era – as far as he knew.

  ‘It will be there,’ I said, sure. ‘From the earliest times.’<
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  Rinawne continued to lead the way. I could tell he didn’t feel disturbed at all now, as if whatever had manifested had passed, but I was still drawn to the top storey, and felt it was important to go there immediately.

  The floorboards in the east corridor were bare and the ancient light fittings looked as if they didn’t work, although we didn’t need to try them. The storm was passing, and light was returning naturally outside. As on the first floor, a large oval window dominated the wall at the end of the corridor. Many doors led off to rooms on either side. Some were open, revealing clutter or emptiness. I tried every door, and even the closed ones weren’t locked. There didn’t appear to be a secret fastened away up here. Had I been wrong?

  Then, with only a couple more rooms to explore, I knew I’d found what I was looking for. We entered an empty room, no different to any we’d examined before, but the atmosphere was somehow wounded.

  ‘Rin, I need to open myself up here,’ I said. ‘You can wait outside if you’d prefer to.’

  ‘No, I’ll not leave you alone this time,’ Rinawne said in a determined tone.

  I sat down on the floor in the centre of the room, while Rinawne leaned against the windowsill, watching me. Closing my eyes, I regulated my breathing, shut down sounds from the outside one by one, until all I could hear was the sigh of my own breath.

  At first the images were fleeting and dim, like gazing down a darkened tunnel with flickering scenes at the far end. I heard a voice – female – say hurriedly, fearfully, ‘She must not see this.’ Then a pale, distorted face leapt out of the darkness, inches in front of me, snarling in fury. I was almost jolted out of my meditation, but held on.

  It was my viewpoint, yet not me who witnessed what now lay before me. The scene spread out like a bolt of shining multi-coloured silk being unrolled, fluid at first then sharpening: a figure – har from the look of him – was restrained against the wall. I saw my own hands held out in front of me. The har lunged towards me again, as if to attack, but his bonds would not reach that far.

  ‘My son,’ I said, in terrible sadness, ‘my son.’

  ‘I am not your son,’ he spat. ‘No longer!’

  His hair was ragged and matted about his shoulders, so fair it was almost white. His eyes were a deep gold and burned with a ferocious light. I could feel the pain of this woman through whose eyes I saw. She didn’t know this wild creature chained to the wall, and yet she’d once carried him in her body, birthed him. Her beauteous youngest son, now taken from her. Peredur. Her instinct was to release him, let this wild creature free to leap from the window, leave this house and never return. She knew he wasn’t safe here and yet... and yet...

  The image faded and in its place I saw only another face, this one human and female. I knew it wasn’t the woman whose experience I’d just shared. She appeared older than what I’d sensed the other woman’s age to be, with dark hair worn in two thick plaits that framed her face. Her features were strong yet refined, and I could tell that in repose or when at peace she’d have been handsome, yet now her face was twisted with hate into a visage that was barely human. She looked right at me with wide, wholly black eyes, her expression full of contempt and loathing. ‘Get out!’ she hissed, ‘Get out!’

  At once, the open doors to all the rooms along the attic corridor slammed shut, including the door to the room we were in. The window shook in its frame. I gasped and opened my eyes, as if drowning and coming up for air. The room was freezing. I could see my breath, and also Rinawne’s where he stood, stiff and wide-eyed at the window, glancing around himself. He noticed I’d come out of my meditation.

  ‘It was here,’ he murmured, rubbing his arms, ‘great dehara, it was with us.’

  I nodded and got to my feet. ‘There’s something I need to do before we leave this room,’ I said.

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Just be calm.’ I went to each wall and placed my hands flat against them, called upon the dehar Lunil to bring peace, to dispel hatred. I put as much will and energy into this task as I owned. Gradually, the air warmed up again, until the chill had fully departed. In its final wisps, I heard a soft sigh, a sob. I took my hands from the wall and stood straight, breathing deeply and steadily to centre myself.

  ‘What did you see?’ Rinawne asked, clearly aware my task was done.

  ‘I think we need to know more about Wyva’s human ancestors,’ I replied. ‘It begins with them.’

  We went down to the library – with me relating what I’d seen to Rinawne along the way. ‘Well, I think we can assume that Peredur, after he was har, was confined here by his human family,’ I said.

  ‘And he was killed because of that?’ Rinawne suggested. ‘Perhaps because hara were not supposed to let humans get too close, discover their differences. I know that much.’

  ‘I think there’s more to it than that.’

  Rinawne thought there might be records in the library from the human era. It seemed likely, given that Wyva’s family never threw anything away. There were locked cabinets, of course, where no doubt any surviving documents were stored, but other clues might linger elsewhere. We found a few more books on local history I’d missed, which included information about Meadow Mynd, but were too old to give us details about the years we were most interested in. ‘Look for a family Bible,’ I said.

  ‘A what?’

  ‘It will most likely be a huge book, a religious text. Families used to record births, deaths and marriages in them, but whether that survived into the times of the Devastation, I don’t know. Worth a look, though.’

  We found nothing of that kind. Wyva or his parents had scoured the library of ‘recent’ family history. ‘Does the Gwyllion Assembly keep any records, do you think?’ I asked.

  Rinawne shrugged. ‘Not from that far back, I wouldn’t think.’

  ‘Oh, there will be records somewhere,’ I said. ‘Somehar, somewhere, always writes the history of a place. It’s just a case of finding it. It need not necessarily be written in a book, but in letters, documents... all the minutiae of life.’

  ‘Well, maybe so, but as we’ve no idea where such documents might be hidden it seems to me the only way to find anything out is to get Wyva to tell you, or one of his brothers.’

  ‘I think we know those avenues are sealed.’

  ‘Well, the Whitemanes will know, won’t they?’

  I pursed my lips. ‘Hmmm... There’s another route, and I’ve been working on it slightly. The woman I saw in the tower.’

  Rinawne’s eyes widened. ‘Ah, yes! Could she be the presence we felt here today?’

  ‘I think it’s likely she’s the one through whose eyes I saw, but not the mean-faced one.’ I rubbed my face. ‘But I expect that whatever – if anything – I can get from her will be fragmented, mere clues to puzzle us further.’

  ‘That’s the interesting part about it, though, isn’t it?’ said Rinawne. ‘The piecing together, working out the mystery?’

  ‘Interesting when it doesn’t become threatening,’ I said. ‘I’d prefer to have hard facts now, so we know what we’re up against.’

  ‘Well, I can do some sneaking around here when it’s quiet,’ Rinawne said, ‘try to open the cabinets, see what’s inside. Between us, we might get enough information.’

  ‘True, but don’t take unnecessary risks.’

  Rinawne had been looking through a chest of wide shallow drawers, which were mostly stuffed with Wyva’s paperwork, but had once presumably held maps. The bottom drawer still did. ‘Look!’ Rinawne said, in a pleased voice. He withdrew a large sheet of thick paper, which in the human era had been laminated. When Rinawne placed this artefact reverently on the library table, I could tell it was a copy. The original had no doubt been sent to a museum and subsequently destroyed during the Devastation. Still, the copy was good and could be read easily.

  ‘This is amazing,’ Rinawne said, running his fingers across the dulled laminate. ‘The field names... most of them we still use.’

 
‘Most of them were used again,’ I corrected him. ‘It’s common among harish communities to do that. Bizarrely, although all things human are scorned, their history holds a strange appeal. It’s like a denial of the modern human era, as if by expunging its labels it can be eradicated from memory.’

  The names on the map weren’t written in the ancient local language, perhaps because Wyva’s ancestors at that time didn’t speak it. Landowners often came from across the border.

  ‘Midden’s Close,’ Rinawne said, grinning, ‘Poor Lady’s Land. Those aren’t used any more, but I love them.’

  ‘Moon’s Acre,’ I said, tracing the spidery name. This wide field lay across the river and beyond it, Deerlip Hall. ‘Is that...?’

  ‘That is the Whitemane domain, yes,’ Rinawne confirmed, his voice hardening.

  ‘Do they still call it Deerlip Hall?’

  ‘They simply call it The Domain, as far as I know. I’ve not had much social chit chat with them.’

  ‘It must be incredibly old.’ I looked for Meadow Mynd, found it; hardly more than a river and a few fields between them. Wyva’s house, it seemed, had always been named Meadow Mynd. ‘Have you never looked closely at Deerlip?’ I asked, refusing to be put off by Rinawne’s newly inflamed antipathy towards the Whitemanes.

  ‘I rode across the river once, long ago,’ he replied. ‘I was curious, naturally, because I’d been given the “stay away from the Whitemanes” lecture almost the moment I arrived here. I wanted to see what it was all about, but as soon as my horse set foot on Whitemane earth, I was chased off by a pack of Mossamber’s hounds. Hara came after them and threw horse shit at me. Shook me up. I rode home, stinking like a stable, and of course Wyva was angry with me. He warned me never to do anything so stupid again. He was right.’

  I realised from that moment on Rinawne had adopted the Wyvachi view of the Whitemanes. He had been a young outsider, brought into this nest of hatreds, in much the same way that I had. Had Wyva not spread the family infection to him, Rinawne might’ve had the power to heal things himself, years ago. But perhaps he hadn’t cared. He’d not had a son then, and had no doubt been immersed in being the consort of a very high-ranking har. And by the time he’d acquired the distance and maturity to reflect, it had been too late.