by Gail Merritt
I asked, ‘Can you remember what it was like when you became ill? Had anything different happened to you? Had you eaten or drunk anything unusual, been bitten by anything or visited somewhere that you don’t normally go?’
‘Our wise-woman asked me those questions,’ she rasped. ‘I could tell her nothing. I had been working in the kitchen with my mother all day. I ate supper, a little bread and cheese, mended my sister’s dress and went to bed. When I woke I was as you see me now.’
‘Was it a peaceful night? Did anyone or anything disturb you?’
She smiled shyly. ‘You will think me foolish and perhaps blame it on eating cheese before I slept but I did wake in the night. I share a room with my sister, and I was shocked because I thought she was eating an apple. I could smell it, you see. I remember thinking that she must have stolen it from someone because we can’t afford to buy them, and they don’t grow anywhere around here. But when I looked at my sister, she was fast asleep. So, I went back to sleep. I had wonderful, vivid dreams that night, of horses riding the surf, I love horses and of beautiful sunny days in a garden full of flowers.’
The whole village appeared to be obsessed with apples. Could that be a coincidence? I took her hand and asked her if she wished to get well.
‘Of course,’ she frowned. ‘I have been thinking about death and I was trying to prepare for it, but something made me angry and I wanted to fight this sickness. Do you think I will get better?’
I told her that for now she must rest, eat nourishing food and together we would fight the illness. Not long after, we left the house. I used Mantle magic to restore her and did not even pause to wonder what Black Mantle would say. If I had done wrong, he could reprimand me later. Something had been different with this girl. Something made her want to live.
There were two other cases in the village, and both were battling against the urge to die. It appeared to be a facet of the illness that sufferers lost their will to live. I did what I could for them and then helped Sandor to move our few belongings to the inn. The landlord’s child was one of the victims, hence the reason for it being closed, and he offered us lodgings which we gratefully accepted. I felt that we had imposed upon Rosen and his wife enough. They needed privacy for their grief. Our rooms were small but comfortable and as we were the only guests, we shared a fine mutton stew at the family table. I declined the mutton, but the vegetables were fresh and delicious.
We were enjoying a warm jug of mead when Sandor brought up the incident between us. ‘Megwin, when you spoke to me in Rosen’s kitchen, you made no sound. How did you get into my head?’
‘I’ve never done it with a human before, except with other Mantles. I wasn’t sure if I could, but I thought you might be sensitive enough. Usually I can only exchange thoughts with animals. I’m sorry if it hurt you.’
He shook his head. ‘I knew that you spoke to animals, but I thought it was some trickery, some secret way that Mantles learn.’
‘All Green Mantles have the power but some of the other Mantles don’t.’ I allowed myself to grin. ‘When I was a novice, I used to listen to the Souran’s secret meetings. I couldn’t help it. It just happened.’
‘Can you do it with all animals?’ He rubbed his temple, remembering the pain I had caused him.
‘Most. Some have strange ways of thinking so that can be hard. I never thought I would find someone else outside the Talarin that I could share it with.’ Of course, there was one other human who had shared her thoughts with me and the one within the cave at Wyke could speak to me in my mind. ‘I wonder if you could send your thoughts to me?’
‘I don’t intend trying!’ He moved to poke at the fire. ‘I’ve always found my mouth satisfactory, thank you, and it doesn’t hurt.’
I closed my eyes. It had been a long day and if I was not careful I would fall asleep where I sat. I looked at Sandor. His eyes were already closed, a thick tendril of black hair flopping on his forehead. I put more wood on the fire and watched the embers. As a child I enjoyed finding pictures in the hot coals and as I searched I saw the same familiar caverns and fairy palaces that I had seen long ago. It was comforting and I allowed myself to doze.
Sandor woke with a start. He looked at me, questioning. ‘Can you smell the apples?’
‘Yes!’ My throat was hoarse. I felt a dart of ice shoot up my backbone and lodge itself in the back of my neck. I could smell apples, a heady perfume, rich with the sweet juiciness of summer, pleasant yet sickly at the same time. I felt my lips and mouth watering.
‘I thought someone was in the room.’ Sandor began to pace. ‘They were behind your chair and I knew you were in danger. I wanted to wake you, but I couldn’t move. Then I smelt the apples. I suppose I was dreaming but I can still smell them now I’m awake.’ He rubbed his face with his hand, and I caught his arm, checking for marks. He looked into my eyes. ‘You don’t think this sickness is caused by some sort of magic?’
‘I don’t know.’ The perfume was fading, or we were becoming accustomed to it. ‘I can’t see any reason for such magic, but I do know there’s danger in the scent of apples. All the sick children smelt it at night, just as we have done.’
Sandor scratched his head, his face somber. ‘Do you that we might have caught it?’
‘I hope not but we will know that soon enough.’ I went to the window and opened it to the night. A cool, fresh breeze swept through the room, bringing the scent of the ocean with it. ‘They dream too, the children. They have such wonderful dreams, about things they love, a whole paradise of dreams, so wonderful that Lista felt she had lived her whole life through her dreams.’ We returned to our chairs, neither of us wishing to wake alone when dawn finally came.
I heard him raking the embers of the fire and I half-opened one eye. It was daylight and he was busy preparing a brew. His face was just as handsome as it was the night before and I glanced at the backs of his hands, still the hands of a young man. My hands were as I remembered them. Relief filled my ribcage. I sat up quickly, eager to celebrate our deliverance, and found myself toppling backwards into the seat again. From his crouched position over the brew, he heard me stagger and rushed to steady me, the concern on his face frightening me.
‘I lost my balance,’ I explained. My voice was strong, and I felt healthy, I touched my cheek quickly with my hand and there were no wrinkles, but Sandor had assumed the worst. ‘Sandor, I am not sick.’ I squeezed his hand with all the force I could muster, and he winced. He might have complained but a scream from the room above sent us scrambling up the stairs.
The landlord’s daughter was standing in the doorway. She was still pale but recovering from the sickness. Over her shoulder we could see the room, a boy’s room, littered with half-finished wooden models and a crude, homemade kaleidoscope. The landlord and his wife were at the bedside, she was weeping, and he was trying to do his best to comfort her. In the bed was all that was left of the landlord’s son, now a wizened old man, his parchment skin stretched across his bones as he reached for his mother’s hand. I had an instinctive urge to run away, but Sandor was close behind me, so I allowed my body to rest against his for a moment. I had to be strong. I was a Mantle and these people would look to me for a solution. I would not disappoint them. I took the boy’s hand and asked him what he could remember. As with all the other children, there were no unusual incidents, no unwholesome food or drink, no change as to where he went, or what he did in the days before he fell ill. He had smelt apples, we all had, and had dreamed of marvellous things, great ships with green sails, brightly coloured sea creatures and stars in the night sky that turned slowly before his eyes.
Unlike his sister, he was ready for death and might have slipped through my fingers as easily as Lista, but I refused to allow him that luxury. I roared at him to cease his selfishness and consider his parents’ pain. It was enough. He pleaded with me to give him the strength to survive and I was happy to comply.
‘We smelt his apples and we were afraid for ourselves,’ Sand
or sat on the bed in my room. Once I had done what I could for the landlord’s son and caused him to sleep soundly, to recover as much strength of his own as he could, we had retreated to my room.
‘Hardly a crime,’ I told him, ‘what ever this is, it plays on the minds of its victims. All those pleasant dreams of their heart’s desire and the apples, the fruit that every child in these villages knows well but cannot eat. They are snares to capture the minds of the children while something vile, something that I am beginning to think is not a simple illness, draws all their energy, all their youth and life out of their bodies. The mind is fed with delights while the body is robbed.’ I was standing at the window, looking out towards the ocean. More and more, I was certain that this plague was not a natural contagion that could be cured by simple medication and rest. It needed Mantle magic to combat it.
That afternoon the true extent of the epidemic became evident. Messengers came from six other towns and villages in the margins of the marshes. They all had children dead or dying from the terrible wasting sickness and they all asked for my help. I was numb and needed to think. I went to the dunes and walked among them in the afternoon air. I had hoped to touch minds with the being from the marsh but the only thoughts I heard were the seagulls berating a lone osprey. The wind was beginning to rise and on the western horizon a slate-black anvil cloud gathered, its outer edges drenched in the sunset beyond. The coming storm promised to be violent as out on the dyke wall the line of stunted trees bowed in the growing gale. I pulled my cloak closer and started back across the rough heath towards the village. In other times the village would be a welcome sight after the inhospitable wetlands but now I saw little to welcome me back.
The landlord’s wife was preparing an evening meal and I asked if I might help her. I had often stirred the broth or basted meat for Channa, who wisely never gave me a task more difficult than shelling peas. A raised eyebrow from the woman told me that she also doubted my skills as a cook, and she gave me potatoes to scrub. As I stood at the deep water trough, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, my fingernails thick with soil, I wondered what Channa, or for that matter Black Mantle, would say. We lit candles and felt the inn tremble about us. The meal was wholesome, even my potatoes. The landlord’s children came down to eat, and they ate heartily, which I took as a good sign, although both still looked pale and delicate. The elasticity of their skin was returning, and their eyes were brighter. I thought of Lista and lost my appetite.
The landlord encouraged Sandor to tell them about his life and family. Roms passed through the village from time to time and were welcomed there. Often they would entertain the patrons at the inn with stories or tunes on their fiddles in exchange for a meal or a dry bed in the barn. Sandor happily obliged with amusing anecdotes about his parents and their carefree days in the red wagon.
Outside the storm was gathering fury, rattling windows through their sturdy shutters and causing the lamps to sway under the wooden lintels. Rain beat against the door and smoke from the fire occasionally eddied and returned as wind blew down the chimney. The door suddenly flew open and the landlord’s wife leapt to her feet with a scream. Sandor went to close it, but stopped, gaping into the night.
‘The storm will be gone within the hour.’ Gwythin swept in, her dark red cloak billowing like the sail of a ship behind her. She stood in the middle of the room, unruffled by the gale, untouched by the rain. The landlord’s family cowered together but she ignored them, coming directly to me and taking my hands in her own. There is little time to waste, my child. Your father lies dying in Brak and you must go to him.’
12. - Flight
I never questioned how Gwythin knew about my father or if her news was true. My father was dying in the Northern Meeds. I felt nothing, no pain, sorrow or anger at the injustice of his passing. The world about me stopped and all I was left with was an empty hollow for my mind to sink into. I vaguely heard the door shut out the dying storm and Sandor begin asking questions.
‘Your news is painful, Lady, but nevertheless it was good of you to venture out on such a night, although I see the storm does not affect you. Have you travelled far?
‘Far enough!’ I heard Gwythin’s answer as she took off her wine-red gloves. ‘The weather is of no concern to me. I came to give my message to Green Mantle,’ she regarded him with haughty indifference.
‘It is certain that you have powers, Lady but how came you by this news? Are you a Mantle?’ Sandor’s boldness drew a hiss of caution from the landlord and brought me from my daze. He went on. ‘Will the Talarin send help to these people if Megwin leaves? She is all they have, and they need her now.’
‘Young man be warned!’ Gwythin fixed him with her sternest frown. ‘You forthright manners might be taken as disrespect, even hostility among the Mantles and that could prove to be a fatal error.’ They faced each other and, when she saw Sandor stood firm, she went on. ‘So, it is perhaps your good fortune that I am not a Mantle and recognise your challenge as mere concern for your friend, Green Mantle. Commendable, no doubt, but caution should be exercised when you are dealing with our kind. We are easily insulted and quick to anger. Few are quite as affable as Megwin, child of Remwith.’
‘The hunting wound,’ I mumbled. ‘The wound was slow to heal.’
‘Do you feel his pain?’ Gwythin put her arm about my shoulders.
‘I feel nothing,’ I confessed. ‘I should feel something. I should have sensed his weakness. I should have at least known he was ailing. He’s always been so strong.’
Gwythin sighed. ‘You are too quick to condemn yourself, child. How could you feel his pain when you have surrounded yourself in the misery of this place and its people?’ She patted my shoulder. ‘That is why news first came to me.’
‘Why you?’ Before she could answer I wailed, ’What can I do? I cannot leave this village until the sickness does.’
‘I will remain and take your place. After all, I am unfettered by Mantle oaths and will be extravagant with my bounty.’ She began to unfasten her cloak, then turned to the startled landlord’s wife. ‘You, woman, I smell a fine stew in your cauldron. A sample of your hospitality, if you will.’ The poor woman scuttled to her fire, sending her son for more wood and her daughter to make a room ready for their honoured guest.
My fear was that the Meed of Brak was a long way from the borders of Dereculd and while I was busy calculating how many days travel it would take to get back home, others began to organise my transportation.
‘I will prepare your horses,’ the landlord exclaimed, rushing to the door. ‘You should take my horse too.’
‘Not necessary,’ Gwythin stopped him. ‘The horses shall remain here. I will send them to you when you need them. The gypsy has a father that I would trust with such a mission and this man,’ she waved vaguely at the landlord, ‘is needed here. The journey by horse might prove too slow and even my powers would be stretched to move you there. Fortunately, I have friends who are more than willing to take you both tonight. You will require warm apparel for the air is cold and you will be travelling swiftly through it.’
‘Both?’ I asked.
‘Your gallant gypsy here!’ She slapped his back, amused by his doubtful look. ‘He has proved himself bold in your defense. I trust him with your care. Go dress yourselves. There is little time to waste. Remember, it will be colder than any journey you have ever taken. Dress in the warmest clothes.’
Like obedient children, we hurried to our rooms and returned in heavy riding coats, festooned in hats, scarves and thick woolen gloves. I met Sandor at the top of the stairs and could not help but smile at the strange sight. With his hat down and his scarf over his mouth, I saw little more than his eyes.
Gwythin hurried us outside, with the landlord’s family watching from the safety of their windows. The rain had ceased, and the wind had its bite. The night was starless under a heavy sky and at first I could see nothing except the muddy road from the village leading to the dyke wall. We followed her toward
s the marsh, huddling together for courage rather than warmth. She paused at the first twisted tree and looked up. We followed her gaze and in the gloom I thought I saw movement, a lighter cloud, a billow of greyness in the black, two swirling, swooping shapes that grew larger as we watched.
They came together as if they were one, wheeling and gliding until they were almost within our reach. Two monstrous birds, as tall as men, with wings that sent the long grasses into eddies as they moved the air above them. Dark, shining eyes looked down on us and, in their fashion, they greeted me. In an instant, I realised these were the makers of the giant nests that festooned the cliffs of Gwythin’s island and held the remains of their past meals, including human bones. I turned to her, intent on speaking but she held up her hand.
‘Speed is vital. They know your destination and will have you there before dawn. All you have to do is hand on.’
‘Hang on?’ Sandor’s voice croaked a little.
‘The Imperial Auks have been trained to carry men for centuries. They have leather jesses on their feet. They are fashioned in a loop, which you must put about your wrists. Then you can hang on comfortably. If you must rest, just tell them and they will find a place to land but I cation you that you put them in danger if they land in daylight. Rare creatures such as they run a risk of falling prey to hunters or those foolish souls who delight in killing. They are unknown in the Five Kingdoms and would not venture there without my bidding. Now it is time. They will swoop down and you must grasp their feet as they pass. My thoughts are with you.’
No sooner had she spoken than the auks dropped from the sky and sped towards us, offering their feet as best they could. We both missed our mark and gasped as the huge bodies passed close to our heads. Sandor caught his on the second pass, clutching anxiously, wriggling one hand into the leather thong before losing his grip on the other leg. Gwythin and I both cried out.