The Moonshawl

by Storm Constantine

  I was drawn to that delicate tracery of a name on the map. Nytethorne lived in Deerlip Hall. I wondered what it was like, whether it was lovingly maintained as the Mynd had been. At some point, I would see; I was sure of it.

  Before Wyva came back from his tasks about the estate, I told Rinawne how to place stronger wards about the house – precautions of salt and iron, rather than grasses and leaves – and how to hide them so they would not easily be found by the house-hara or other family members.

  He sighed. ‘This is slow. I feel something terrible is building up, but we don’t know how to fight it.’ He clasped my arm. ‘I’m such a roon-wit being jealous of Nytethorne. He does seem our only way to get any answers. I don’t feel we can wait.’

  ‘There are others, you know,’ I said. ‘Medoc, for one, and of course, Rey.’

  ‘Rey?’

  ‘I believe he tried to do what I’m doing now,’ I said cagily, ‘but was driven off.’

  ‘You really think so? Why? All he told us was that he’d lived long enough as a community hienama and craved a solitary, spiritual life.’

  ‘And you believed that without question?’

  ‘No, of course not, not wholly, although at the same time I could see that potential in him. He was a fey kind of har. Wyva argued with him for weeks before he just took off. But I do think he spoke the truth, in a way...’ Rinawne shook his head, smiled. ‘However, let’s say I wouldn’t be surprised to hear he’s now with some smaller community high in the mountains, living a life free of hostility.’

  I made an emphatic gesture with one hand. ‘So there you are – you’ve said it yourself. He was – at the very least – uncomfortable with the feud here.’

  ‘OK, point taken, but what good does that do us? Even if he knew things, we’ve no idea where he is now.’

  ‘We haven’t, no,’ I said.

  Rinawne made a scoffing sound. ‘I really can’t believe the Whitemanes do,’ he said. ‘Rey was loyal to the Wyvachi. Why would he keep in touch with them and not us? After all, Porter is here. You’re grabbing the air there, Ys.’

  ‘Well, maybe...’ I sighed. ‘So all we have as possible sources are the ghosts, whatever they actually are, and the Whitemanes.’

  ‘And Medoc, as you said,’ Rinawne reminded me. ‘We could perhaps visit him at his domain. I could act the concerned father, who’s beside himself because the hostling won’t tell him anything. He’s desperate, and frightened for his son... It’s worth a try.’

  I could tell Rinawne would enjoy playing that role. ‘It is, yes. At this point I can’t see we have anything to lose, other than him telling Wyva about our visit.’

  ‘I think we could ask for his silence,’ Rinawne said. ‘We go there on the pretext of seeking advice, and in the process hope we can extract information. It’s not beyond our skills, I’m sure. I’m busy the rest of this week with things I can’t easily get out of. How about next Lunilsday? I have that free.’

  I grimaced. ‘I said I’d start Myv’s training then, and I don’t want to let him down, or make him think he can simply be put aside. I want to get the Reaptide festival wrapped up before I start with Myv, so this week’s out for me. How about the day after?’

  Rinawne twisted his mouth to the side. ‘Maybe, although I’m supposed to help with the open hall that day.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Once every season, Wyva makes himself officially available to hara, settles disputes, helps with problems, or simply discusses plans... This custom has been in the family for centuries.’

  ‘The tasks of a feudal lord!’ I said, laughing.

  ‘He takes it very seriously,’ Rinawne said. He thought for a moment. ‘Gen or Cawr would take my place if I asked, but Wyva insists hara like to see me there. I’d have to find a good excuse for a day away.’

  ‘Visiting sites with me, of course. We need one for Reaptide.’

  ‘He might argue we could do that any time... Trust me, getting out of his precious community meetings isn’t easily done.’

  ‘I’ll mention it later at dinner. You know I can get round him to a degree.’

  Rinawne laughed. ‘Aye, he likes to keep you as happy as he can. Let’s see.’

  Wyva was in a good mood that evening, so didn’t put up much resistance to my suggestion. Cawr offered quickly to step in for Rinawne, and I suspected he probably enjoyed such events far more than Rinawne ever would. Watching Wyva over dinner, I was surprised he hadn’t picked up on the strange atmosphere since Cuttingtide. Was he really so immune? Perhaps he blotted it all out, refused to acknowledge it, because to do so would give it power. If that was the case, I understood his reasoning, even if I might not approve of it.

  Myv told me he was pleased his training would begin the following week. Now he’d put his heart into being Gwyllion’s hienama, I could tell he wanted to start work straight away. This was fine; there were parts of the job he could fulfil for his hara before he reached maturity. Simply having somehar in the role would mean much to the community. I was keen to question him carefully about what he might have seen or sensed in the house, but a family dinner didn’t allow the opportunity. I’d have to wait until next week. There was no doubt Myv was coming out of his shell, interacting more with hara around him, but that might also be the result of approaching feybraiha. Harlinghood would continue to slip away from him, soft as feathers, until the day he put it aside completely. I remembered my own childhood and how endless it had seemed. Did it seem that way to harlings too, who were children for far less time?

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next morning, I decided to visit the Pwll Siôl Lleuad again. To save time, I rode Hercules rather than walk. Each day the landscape became more fecund and lush as summer exploded within it. Soon, the heady time of Reaptide would be upon us, with all its daytime ghosts and shimmers of earthy power. Would this be the nexus point for what was happening? After so many decades of slowly writhing beneath the surface, whatever haunted Gwyllion and its hara was scratching towards the air.

  I dismounted before we reached the pool and led Hercules slowly through the trees, absorbing the ambience around us. Today, it was benign, full of floating motes – feathery airborne seeds, tiny insects and flickers of light – and the trees displayed their gaudy finery beneath the sun, which filtered down in clear rays between the high branches. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see dehara manifesting in these natural spotlights. And there was the pool ahead of me. I could smell its cool freshness; it seemed the land breathed softly. Birds called, but almost in whispers.

  I was nearly upon him before I noticed he was there, sitting naked upon a rock, half turned towards me, his legs dangling in the water. His hair was unbound, sticking to his damp shoulders and back. Nytethorne. I held my breath. A dehar had manifested. Never had I seen a more beautiful and natural sight; this creature of earth, a son of the new earth, bathing like a naiad in a forest pool, combing his hair with long brown fingers. His skin was the colour of chestnuts and from where I stood seemed to have the texture of velvet. I saw a puckered mark upon his left shoulder – the quickly healed wound, where Ember had pierced him with an arrow at Cuttingtide – but this slight imperfection made him appear only more perfect. Even as I watched, and I must have done so for over a minute, he was drying off in the filtered sunlight. He gazed into the clear, deep water thoughtfully, and then a half-seen movement shivered the air behind him. I saw Peredur, a barely visible shade, standing behind him. This vision extended a spectral white hand as if to lay it upon the old wound on Nytethorne’s shoulder. Nytethorne sighed, and the sound reverberated around the glade. Peredur withdrew and then had melted into the light and shadows.

  Suddenly, as if released from an enchantment, Nytethorne sat up straight and turned, saw me.

  ‘Excuse me, tiahaar,’ I said awkwardly, raising my hands to him, ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’

  He stared at me inscrutably for some moments. ‘This is free land, Ysobi,’ he said at last, which were
disappointing words to me. I’d expected him to say something... well, I’m not sure what, but at least meaningful, mysterious.

  ‘Would you like me to leave?’

  ‘Depends why you’re here, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I came to meditate. I’ve done so before here, picked up... certain things.’

  He shrugged, drew his hair into a coil and wound it into a loose knot at his neck. ‘How’s your nosying going?’

  I walked closer to him. There were only a couple of feet between us. ‘Slowly, but then I get so little co-operation from any har who could aid me.’ I hesitated a moment, then plunged on recklessly. ‘I saw Peredur behind you a moment ago. He stretched out his hand to touch you.’

  Nytethorne’s expression hardened, almost imperceptibly. He emitted a forced laugh. ‘Then where is he now?’

  The question seemed stupid, as if he was stamping on the magical atmosphere of both the place and that moment.

  ‘He vanished, of course, as ghosts do. Have you ever seen him here? I have. Twice.’

  Nytethorne stood up, unashamed of his nakedness. He began to put on his clothes, which lay in a heap beside him. ‘Seek to trick me as you think you’ve been tricked? Is that it?’ He laughed again, a cold horrible sound. ‘Don’t waste your talent.’

  ‘Why so hostile? I meant what I said. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.’

  ‘Then you delude yourself,’ he said, sitting down on the rock again to pull on his boots. ‘You didn’t see him.’

  ‘Well, I saw something and it definitely reached to touch you. I didn’t feel it was malign. A har with long white hair who is blind.’

  ‘He...’ Nytethorne screwed up his eyes, uttered a sound of exasperation. ‘Oh, think you’re clever, don’t you?’

  ‘No... look...’

  ‘No, you look. Some things are sacred, that’s all. Mind your tongue.’

  I remembered Wyva’s words: Somewhere in that house there is a shrine to Peredur...

  ‘I’m really sorry, Nytethorne. I assure you I didn’t mean to offend you. I only said what I saw, what I’ve seen.’

  He stared at me again, silent, his arms resting on his splayed thighs, and in his expression I could see his thoughts. He was wondering whether Peredur really had revealed himself to me, and if so, why. He could see I wasn’t lying to him. Perhaps what offended him most was that his sacred dead har had chosen to communicate with me, an outsider. I could have said more, but decided not to; this would only rile Nytethorne further and that was the last thing I wanted to do. I remained silent, hoping to project my innocence of intent and the desire to make amends. Eventually Nytethorne exhaled through his nose in a great sigh and said, ‘All is well. You can’t help your mouth, can you?’

  I almost protested, but then saw he was smiling. I risked another great impertinence and whispered to him in mind touch, Of all things on this earth, I seek least to displease you.

  He raised his eyebrows, and responded, not with words, but with what I can only describe as a purr. ‘Be on my way,’ he said. ‘Do your dreaming.’

  I said nothing to delay him, merely watched as he folded into the restless shadows of green and black. Then I sat down on the rock where he had sat.

  No more information came to me that afternoon, but then my mind was too active. Rather than concentrate on Peredur or the history of the land, I faced up to the inescapable truth that I was attracted to Nytethorne greatly; it seemed I was incapable of leading an uncomplicated life in that respect. But this must inevitably be no more than another emotional flash, like the sky filling with a thousand glittering explosions, only for those lovely sparks to fall to earth and fade. I had no faith in love any more. The desire, the chase, was more meaningful. Gratification was a brief if marvellous flare in the darkness, but in the end became only a damp firework, lying spent on the ground of day. For this showy yet intrinsically meaningless folly, I should not be prepared to cause trouble for myself again. But try as I might to be sensible and firm, the desire – the feeling – remained; the delicious yearning that compares to no other experience in life. The touchpaper, as yet untouched.

  I went back home determined to carry on with my Reaptide work and not pursue silly romantic thoughts like a harling approaching feybraiha. It was clear Rey had had dalliances with both Nytethorne and Rinawne, and surely at the very least I didn’t want to follow where he’d lain, as it were.

  I’d decided to go for a daytime ritual as I’d originally thought. I’d found one or two things in the local folklore books I might be able to do something with. I’d found a story of some high summer spirit being drawn from a pool. Perhaps that was how we could bring Verdiferel to us. I needed to meditate, rehearse my scenario, find the threads for it and weave them all together.

  Before I started work, I took a bath, and while I lay there, as ever made blissful by the warm perfumed water, I opened myself to any energy that might lurk there. I thought of the woman I’d seen, and spoke aloud to her. ‘If you can hear me, if you’re there, I’ve sore need of your help.’ But nothing came, and the clocks ticked on.

  I got out of the bath and dried myself, caught a glimpse of my reflection in the tall, freestanding mirror. Because of what Rinawne had said to me about myself, I paused to stare, trying to see this thing he’d described. I don’t think I’m beautiful in the way Nytethorne, his relatives, or even Gesaril is beautiful. But I don’t mind myself, however peculiar that sounds. My appearance has never been a great concern to me, but then I’d never had to bother with it. Inception had done all that for me. All I ever really needed was a hair brush. Now, my hair, normally a dark auburn, looked darker because it was wet. I admired the way it clung to my shoulders, back and chest, and this inspired a vision of the dehar Verdiferel arising naked from water. I felt hara would like that image for the Reaptide ritual. I turned to admire my back view, and thought how much I’d like Nytethorne to see the gifts inception had given me, learn that I could be a real har, a sensual creature of mystery, like we’re supposed to be, not just a pompous, boring academic. Then I had to chastise myself harshly for wandering into moonwit territory again. ‘Grow up, Ysobi!’ I told my reflection and turned away from it.

  Once dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, I wrote up some notes. A few bars of a tune had come to me, and I began to hum them. I found I wanted to put the words of the bell song to the forming melody and did so. The tune Yoslyn had sung wasn’t very good, I thought. I could do better. But, as far as Wyva was concerned, no doubt the bell was locked in the same drawer as the moonshawl. Could swans be brought into the ritual, though? I closed my eyes and imagined a silver swan gliding upon a dark pool, the rippling arrow of its trail in the water. Its eyes were moonstones that shone in the night and in its beak it held a white rose. This must mean something. I opened my eyes and wrote another note. Then, as I prepared to ponder some more, I heard the tower door open and Rinawne’s step on the stair. Surely he couldn’t be here just to pester me? I sighed, turned to a new blank page to hide my notes.

  When Rinawne erupted into the room, as was his habit, I could tell he was excited.

  ‘Good day and what is it?’ I asked, rather testily, my pen held pointedly above the page.

  Rinawne glanced at the table. ‘Oh, you’re working. I’m sorry, but this couldn’t wait.’

  ‘What couldn’t?’

  ‘Put the kettle on, Ys. We’ll need tea while we ponder these.’ He took a satchel from his back and emptied its contents on the empty half of the table. Documents, bound with ribbon, and letters, other papers.

  ‘You’ve been pilfering!’ I said.

  ‘You bet I have,’ Rinawne announced in triumph.

  ‘You’re right, we need tea for this august occasion.’ I put down my pen and stood up.

  As I saw to our refreshments, Rinawne tidied the papers, putting them in different piles.

  ‘Have you read any of them?’ I asked.

  ‘Briefly, enough to tell me I’d hit gold,’ he
replied. ‘Ys, I found the original document from the instatement, when the Wyvachi were given leave by Wraeththu leaders to keep their land.’

  ‘The letters derive from that time too?’

  ‘Some, but even better than that, several are from Medoc to Kinnard, after he left the Mynd.’

  ‘My dear Rinawne,’ I said, grinning, ‘that is not gold, it’s diamonds! Well done!’ I hesitated. ‘These must be returned before Wyva discovers what you’ve done.’

  Rinawne laughed. ‘Don’t worry about that. I covered my trail. Now... where shall we start?’

  The document I wanted to examine first was the most ancient, the deed that had been written up, back in those early days of formation, that granted the Wyvachi phyle leadership and also parcelled up the land in the area. While the document itself didn’t reveal anything other than that the Wyvachi became leaders in Gwyllion with the sanction of the local Wraeththu commanders, it was accompanied by letters from one of those commanders, whose name was Malakess. ‘Great Aru,’ I murmured.

  ‘What?’ Rinawne asked curiously.

  I tapped the document. ‘This name, Malakess. I knew a har in Kyme with that name. I wonder...’

  Rinawne’s eyes widened. ‘If it’s the same one? If so, maybe you could get more information from him.’

  ‘Well... possibly.’ I made a dismissive gesture. ‘He’s no longer in Kyme. He moved to Almagabra to work for the Gelaming.’ There were other reasons I didn’t particularly want to contact Malakess, not least his own relationship with Gesaril, part of the whole sorry mess. Still, it intrigued me Malakess might have been part of the administration in this area. Everyhar has a history, and incepted hara more than most.