“Yes, you must be going,” Lilith said abruptly, “for I fear that even your association with me might be bringing the doom on you. It may be that the curse falls upon the lovers of the children of Connick, regardless of whether marriage vows have been spoken.”
“Not so!” he cried. “What of Earnán? Married to a Connick daughter, he thrives yet.”
“Perhaps the scourge falls only on the first love, or the true love. For my mother, my father was both. For me, you are both.”
The balmy airs glinted with suspended pollen dust.
“I will go to Cathair Rua,” Jarred said fiercely, “but it will be to pursue the quest, not to put distance between myself and my truelove.”
Everything she knew about the perils of the teeming city unfolded before Lilith’s inner gaze. She felt torn between putting Jarred out of the curse’s reach and keeping him safe from the rigors of the metropolis.
“It seems to me,” she said after some deliberation, “the blood-burden is on my shoulders, not yours. Mine should be the task of seeking to lift it. Soon, as you know, many marshfolk will be making the journey upriver, along the Rushy Water to the city for the Autumn Fair. I shall be among them. During the three days of the Fair, I will seek the answer to the riddle. You must remain here; you have duties to perform and—”
“Two seekers can find truth twice as quickly as one,” the young man interrupted. “We shall go together to the Fair. Never since I arrived here have I attended one of the seasonal markets in the city. It is about time I visited Cathair Rua—after all, I left R’shael in order to see the world!”
He could not be dissuaded.
“Then it is happily agreed, we travel in each other’s company,” Jarred concluded after further discussion.
“Not happily,” Lilith returned, “but since you are bent on this enterprise and will brook no opposition, what can I do? I must go to the Autumn Fair whether you accompany me or not. Earnán needs my help at his stall, and neither Eolacha nor Eoin can be spared from their tasks at this time. If you stay here, I shall long for you as a fledgling longs to fly, yet I will be happy as a pig in mud, knowing you are safe. But if you come with me, I shall be happy as a lark in flight and tragic as a fish in a dry riverbed, fearing for your security.”
“My security is measured only by yours!” he said. “And now I am joyful, for soon we two shall find the answers and return to abide and wed and raise our family in this land of matchless loveliness where unseen things shriek in the night.”
They resumed their idle strolling.
“In the city, plenty of things shriek in the night,” Lilith remarked, “but they are usually human.”
“Do so many unhuman beings dwell in the marsh?” asked Jarred. “Since I have been in the marsh I have beheld only two wights, and that briefly.”
“The water-girl with her baby?”
“Even so.”
“It is rare to spy them. Marsh wights are passing secretive,” Lilith said. “But follow me and I will show you something.”
She led him through the ivied alder thickets, the blackthorns and the elders, until they came to a scoop of shoreline hidden by hanging woods. Here, drenched by glaucous shade, a set of large, flat stones jutted from the bank over the water. In the rocky crevices bloomed a profusion of water forget-me-nots; clusters of amethyst stars on lime green leaves.
“Late in the Summer evenings,” said Lilith in a low voice, “I have seen tiny folk at play here. They dive off the stones and splash in the water; they laugh and shriek in their piping voices, yet not one of them is bigger than my thumb.”
Her companion’s eyes shone as if he looked upon some enchantment. “Who are they?” he whispered.
“The siofra. They are seelie wights and will not harm mortals. Yet they have the power of glamor and have been known to play tricks on our kind.”
“What else have you seen?”
“Once, I glimpsed a trow-wife among the peat banks in the Western Reaches. Several of us were working there one day, cutting turves. A little gray woman came wandering as if looking for some lost item. As she went, she muttered to herself as though scolding, only the words were in a tongue we could not understand. Most folk were afraid, but I felt concerned for the creature; she appeared so nonplussed. I resolved to speak with her, but she flitted about so much that I could not get near enough until nigh on sunfall. On approaching, I was about to address her when something distracted my attention—I cannot recall what it was—perhaps the cry of a bird or a shout from one of my companions. When I looked again, the trow-wife had vanished.”
“Good sooth!” exclaimed Jarred. “Such a strange manifestation for the daylight hours! I believed trows to be nocturnal.”
“Indeed they are, by preference,” replied Lilith, “although the light of the sun does them no harm. But if the sun should rise while a trow is above the ground, he or she is deprived of the power to return home and becomes day-bound, forced to remain above the grass in the sight of humankind until sunset.”
“Would that I had been with you then,” commented Jarred. “I would fain catch sight of such rarities.”
“One evening we shall keep vigil here together and spy on the siofra.”
“And whether they show themselves or not, I shall be content.”
“But beware!” Lilith added with a smile. “Earnán always says, He whose curiosity leads him to seek creatures of eldritch walks a perilous road.”
Far out across the lake, a stretch of water was boiling vigorously. Above the turbulence, a white confetti of flapping gulls hovered like blowing scraps of papyrus threaded on a forest of wires. Below, a school of frenzied fish thrashed, intent on their feeding, fed upon.
The two lovers were oblivious to the play of life and death. Jarred’s eyes rested on Lilith. “No more words now. Your mouth at this moment is too pretty for anything but this.” Taking her by the shoulders, he leaned down and kissed her.
Yet her reaction was not as before. Sharply she pulled free of his embrace, crying, “You must kiss me no more!”
He stood aghast.
“My kiss is death!” she insisted. “On this matter I will have my way. Until the riddle is resolved, if ever, there must be no more contact between us.”
Unpersuaded, he made as if to take her hand, but she snatched it away, saying, “As you love me, touch me no more till then! Swear it!”
Between terror and desire she struggled. He perceived her passion tearing her spirit in twain.
He muttered, “As you wish.”
When the lovers returned to the Mosswell cottage that afternoon, they remained so intent on each other that they did not notice Earnán and Eoin coming in from an eel-trapping expedition. As he poled the punt through tall rushes, Eoin saw his stepsister and the southerner standing on a floating walkway which rocked gently beneath their feet. She tilted up her chin; the southerner bent his head and their profiles almost met.
Eoin’s eyes locked upon this cameo. His heart caught fire and burned to cinders in his chest, and he half-choked on the smoke of it.
IV
The Tale
Mild was the air, as soft and hay fragrant as the warm breath of horses. Star images floated on the waters like fallen blossoms, and the end of the pleasant day was threaded with the silver songs of a thousand trickling runnels, studded with the jewel notes of frogs.
The four members of the Mosswell household were seated on the pontoon landing outside the cottage. Lilith and Eoin dangled their feet in the water. By the light of a horn lantern, Eolacha was whittling bone needles, while Earnán mended a fishing net.
“Lilith, it is not necessary for you to be coming with me to Autumn Fair this time,” Earnán said solicitously. “Grief lies heavy on you, for all to see. Best to be remaining here with my mother. As the saying goes, City fiddlers play harsh music on fragile heartstrings. Rua is no place for anyone in need of solace and kindness. Eoin can assist me instead.”
In the midst of anguish, a r
ush of love for this warmhearted man swept over Lilith. “I thank you, sir, for your concern,” she said. “However, Eoin is needed here to carry on the work in the smokehouse. He can ill be spared. And I believe it will do me good to travel. New places and faces, the excitement of the Fair—these are things to lift the spirits, allowing scant time for brooding or self-pity.”
Earnán nodded. “Perhaps you are right.”
“Besides,” she added, “’tis an important enterprise I have in mind, a venture which can only be attempted in the city.”
“Oh? And what might that be?” Earnán put down his net hook. Eddies chortled beneath the planks of the landing stage, and a thin mist clung to the water like layers of unraveling netting.
“I intend to trace my grandfather’s origins, thereby to attempt to discover why this curse was placed on my bloodline and how it can be removed.”
Eoin sprang to his feet. “Then you will be needing me at your side!” he cried. “A young girl making inquiries amongst the citizenry … the risk to yourself is too great. The city vultures alone know how many ruffians dwell in Rua. To go unguarded among those ruffians would be folly.”
“I shall not be unguarded. I shall be with Earnán,” prevaricated Lilith. She balked at revealing Jarred’s intention of accompanying her.
“My father will be busy every day at the stalls,” said Eoin witheringly, “and you helping him.”
“During the long evenings we might mingle with the tavern crowds,” said Lilith, “asking questions here and there.”
Eoin sat down cross-legged, squarely facing her. “And what questions will you be asking the worthy patrons?” he challenged. “Did you see a young man called Tréan Connick, sixty years ago? Were you even alive and mindful, sixty years ago? Ha! I do not think much of your chances.”
Lilith’s lip trembled. “What else can I be asking?” she said. “His past is a mystery.”
“Not entirely,” Eoin said levelly. “Not to me.”
“What is your meaning?” She stared inquisitively at him.
“Once, he told me the name of his father.”
“Did he? Pray, reveal it forthwith!”
“I don’t know as I should, knowing you are intending to go gallivanting off to the city without me,” replied Eoin, assuming an injured air.
“Eoin,” Eolacha interjected quietly, “this is no game.”
The young man blushed to his ears. He swung to his feet and moodily paced the staithe, his hands in his pockets.
“I am sorry, Lily,” he said. “I understand his father’s name was Tornai.”
“Tornai,” repeated Lilith. “Gramercie, Brother. My search will no doubt be much easier now. Did he tell you aught else?”
“Naught.”
Pewit! pewit! A lapwing called from the darkness; or perhaps it was the cry of the Tiddy Mun, the eldritch Guardian of the Marsh.
Pensively, Lilith gazed out across the water in the direction of Rushford’s house.
It crossed her mind that to journey in the city with Jarred would be harrowing in the extreme because he would be so near to her all the time, yet she could never allow herself to surrender to her longing to sit close by him, to kiss him and let her fingers slide through his cardamom locks. Her imagination flew out across the water to the lamplit windows of Rushford’s house, and with her lids closed she saw him lying full length on his pallet, his visage, relaxed and innocent in slumber, more beautiful than ever. His head would be cradled in his elbow, his long hair tousled and coiled about his pillow, his lashes dark against his cheek as he slept. She longed to sprout wings, like a swan maiden, and fly to him to be enfolded in his embrace, pressed so close and hard against his body that two might fuse into one.
Four times a year a party of marshfolk would journey up the Rushy Water to the market and hiring fair for the purpose of hawking their wares: orrisroot powder for use in toothpaste and scented powders for the skin; goose feathers; goatskins and cheeses; eels smoked, salted, and pickled; and other marsh produce. They would buy or barter for goods not available in the marsh, such as linen, pottery, lime, wheaten flour, vinegar, oil, and salt. Some cut off their hair and sold it to be made into wigs for aristocrats. Others went to hire themselves out as servants and laborers for wealthy merchants and the landed gentry. Sometimes young men assayed for apprenticeships with the Artisans’ Guilds. Most folk were eager to visit Cathair Rua; mingling with outmarshers was a refreshing change, and many were the exotic sights to be ogled in the city.
Thus it eventuated that a convoy of vessels proceeded in single file along the sluggish waterway known as Rushy Water. In parts this drain was so congested with water-loving plants that both sides of the larger craft brushed tall reeds and sedges while passing through. It was an assorted procession: rowboats and dinghies, small barges, coracles, punts, even some singlemasted sailing craft whose skippers were able to hoist canvas only when the wind was exactly in the right quarter. One thing they had in common—all the vessels were hung about with bells, red ribbons, horseshoes, and other charms to ward off unseelie manifestations.
Earnán Mosswell wielded the oars of his rowboat. Saline spatters bedewed his broad face, collecting in the hen’s-feet wrinkles radiating from the outer corners of his eyes and wetting his short beard. The end of his nose, which was as round as a hazel shell, was also as brown as one. He wore a sleeveless tunic, as befitted the season, and his undulating shoulders blushed, sun reddened.
“I’ll warrant the King’s Swanherd’s rowers were making hard work of their voyage this season,” he declared, red faced and puffing as he rowed the heavily laden boat. “These clogging overgrowths must have slowed them.”
“Doubtless he will be sending a party of ditchmen to weed them out before the next Swan Upping,” said Lilith. She waved her hand at Cuiva, who was a passenger in the preceding boat. Her friend cupped her hands over her mouth and called out something unintelligible. Lilith shrugged elaborately.
“And not before time!” grunted her stepfather, leaning forward to begin another sweep of the oars.
The third crew member was Jarred. “Lay off the oars now, Master Mosswell,” he said cheerfully. “’Tis my turn to row.”
They interchanged positions. The young man’s sinews flexed as he pulled the blades against the water. “It would be easier to pull a fully loaded cart all the way to the city!”
“Wait until we go back downstream with the current,” said Earnán. “Then you will see how pleasant boating can be. Seven days to plow upstream, five days to slide down. Besides, the water is a safer and more comfortable path than the potholed highway. Mounted Marauders plague the roads and byways, but they usually ignore bog-fringed channels like this.”
Surreptitiously, Lilith watched Jarred. He looked so alive, his sinews sliding beneath his light bronze skin as he dragged the heavy boat through the water, strands of mahogany hair whipping about his beautiful face. Sunlight seemed caught in his eyes.
The gentle banks of the Rushy Water carved their way through a low-lying countryside of wet meadows, flooded peat pits, and tangled woodlands. Yellow loosestrife competed with the reeds along the shores, while shoreweed and quillwort crowded in the shallows. Skeins of swans flew out of the west to splash down amongst the multitude of wildfowl feeding on the washes.
Sometimes waterleapers could be glimpsed amongst the reeds. These freshwater-haunting wights resembled mottled yellowish green toads with wings sprouting from their backs and whiplike barbed tails. Winged they may have been, but they were flightless. The smaller ones were relatively harmless, but the adults were wont to sever the lines of fishermen and devour any livestock that fell into the rivers. They were prone to emit frightening screams to startle fishermen, who they then hauled down into the water to encounter the doom of the livestock.
Freed of the oars, Earnán returned to his troubled thoughts. He recalled Eoin’s scowl when he learned that Jarred had been granted a place in the boat. Immediately his son had begged to be included o
n the voyage. Earnán, weighed down by foreboding, had refused. He was well aware of the strife that must eventuate should the two rivals be forced into close proximity for days on end. Deep in his heart he was now relieved that Lilith had not chosen his son to be her future husband. For years he had hoped for the union: now, apprised of the doom running within her blood, he thanked the Fates his son had not been drawn into that peril. Yet he loved Lilith as a daughter and would do his utmost to help free her, if he could.
Out of the sky, a stone dropped.
“Behold, a marsh harrier!” cried Lilith, plucking at Earnán’s sleeve. “It swoops upon its victim. What a flier!” The eel-fisher’s attention returned to the present. He looked with compassion upon the sad face of Lilith, understanding full well that, like him, she was endeavoring to hide her sorrows.
The bird of prey rose skyward, a small fish wriggling in its talons like a sliver of polished steel. As they watched the harrier fly away, Earnán said to his companions, “Allow me to give you both some advice. While we bide within or near the city, you must tell no one of Lilith’s relationship to the Connicks. Something or someone powerful has wished ill upon that bloodline. Should the curser or the curser’s agents remain potent, they might well bring her into further peril. Lilith, do not reveal your full name to any stranger.”
“That is good rede,” agreed Lilith.
Jarred caught her eye. They exchanged a glance of desire for all that could not be between them and all that had been stolen from their future.
On the night following the departure for the Autumn Fair, Eoin sought sleep in vain. His mind was a battlefield. Unable to endure the confinement of his bed, he rose and dressed, then slipped from the house and rowed away across the water with no clear destination in mind. The effort of pulling on the oars focused his thoughts somewhat, and he settled into a strong rhythm. After half an hour, he roused from his angry reverie and found he had propelled himself into the marches of the Hauntings, a region normally shunned by mortalkind. To be alone in a perilous place suited his dark mood. Nosing the boat into the bank of an island, he shipped the oars and disembarked.
The Iron Tree: Book One of The Crowthistle Chronicles Page 19