by Jaine Fenn
‘No harm has been done.’
‘Why does the chieftain want to see us anyway?’
‘Arthen wants us to defend ourselves before the council.’
That didn’t sound good. ‘Defend ourselves? Why?’
‘They think your presence may have caused a return of the winnowing times.’
‘The what?’
‘It is the time when the falling fire rages. The disease comes as the Mothers will it.’ They had reached a relatively open area, flanked by two big huts, one long and low, the other taller. Firelight spilled from the high-peaked porch of the taller hut.
‘What’s that got to do with me - with us?’
‘Nothing.’ She paused. ‘But not everyone thinks that.’
He took a deep breath. ‘Kerin, did you know something like this might happen if you helped me?’
‘Aye,’ she said bitterly.
‘Then why didn’t you just leave me where you found me?’
‘Because you would have died.’
As they crossed the threshold of the big hut he murmured, ‘Whatever happens, I just want to say . . . thank you.’
Kerin gave his hand a last squeeze, then let go.
CHAPTER SIX
Arthen sat in his usual chair before the hearth, his face in shadow. All ten of the stools ranged to either side of him were occupied. Kerin was dismayed, though unsurprised, to see the position at the chieftain’s right occupied by Fychan, taking the place of his sick brother. Sending his crony Adris with Gwilym, the village’s bravest warrior, to fetch them showed that Arthen’s younger son was already making his voice heard amongst the men.
After Adris led them to stand before the half-circle of councillors he scurried across and whispered in Fychan’s ear, until a look from Arthen sent him back to wait with the men who watched from outside the circle. The other council members, none of them quite looking at her and Sais, wore expressions ranging from unease to open hostility. Gwilym remained behind them, his spear at the ready.
Arthen stood with a cracking of joints and drew out his skymetal disc, holding it flat in his palm for all to see. ‘We are convened,’ he said gravely. ‘What is decided here tonight is law.’ He turned to Kerin. ‘Kerin, I release you from am-annwn while you stand before this council. Your companion remains bound by its strictures.’
She had expected that: for all the council knew Sais was a creature of the Abyss, a servant of the Cursed One. She bobbed her head to acknowledge Arthen’s ruling. Sais looked terrified, though he stood straight and tall.
Arthen continued, ‘Kerin: the charge is brought that you have drawn a fell influence into this village, leading to a return of the winnowing times.’ Several councillors nodded, as though Arthen speaking their fears made them valid. He sat down again, looked directly at Kerin and said, ‘What say you to this, woman?’
For a moment, Kerin’s voice deserted her. Years of shame and distrust had finally come to a head: they had found an excuse to call her to account. But this was not just about her. Knowing Sais’s life also hung in the balance freed her tongue, and all at once a response sprang to her lips. ‘I believe, masters, that the Traditions speak of the realm below as a place of chaos and horror, where damned spirits are trapped in a pit of turmoil and degradation, and the Cursed One and its servants impotently rage against the light and order above.’
Men shifted in their seats, unsure what to make of what sounded more like a bard’s tale than the defence of an accused man. With thoughts of Kerin’s mother no doubt at the front of their minds, her words would cut deep. Before she lost her nerve she continued, ‘The man who stands before you is no unquiet spirit denied the grace of the Mothers, nor is he a servant of Melltith. Masters, he is a man of flesh and blood! Any of you who doubt this should touch him - or else ask Adris, who knows him to be a normal man.’
Arthen gestured. ‘Adris? Stand forward and tell us what you have witnessed.’
The lad reluctantly walked into the circle, avoiding both Kerin and Sais. ‘He attacked me!’ he said, pointing at Sais’s feet, which rather ruined the impact of his accusation. ‘When we told him he was to come before you he turned on me!’
‘Attacked you how?’ asked Arthen.
‘He tried to strangle me.’
Kerin looked at the boy sharply. Constrained by the rules of council, she could not speak up to correct him.
Arthen said, ‘And did Gwilym see this attack as well?’
‘I did,’ said Gwilym from behind them.
‘Does Adris speak true?’
‘I would not have put it quite like that. The stranger did not strangle Adris so much as fall against him.’
Someone laughed. Fychan looked annoyed and raised his hand. When his father nodded permission to speak he said, ‘But he still attacked you, did he not?’
‘Aye, he did!’
‘So he means us ill!’ said Fychan.
This got heads nodding, and several hands went up.
The first councillor Arthen gave leave to speak, Bodfan, was always quick to pass all blame or responsibility on to unseen forces. ‘Our course is obvious,’ he said. ‘This creature must be cast out - or better yet, put to death.’
Beside her, Sais gasped.
Arthen pointed to a second speaker. Cadmael’s status as a bard gave him some leeway and his views sometimes went against the common wisdom. ‘I know nothing of this individual’s intent, but I wonder about the nature of his attack. Surely a creature of the Abyss would befuddle Adris’s sight, or fill his soul with despair.’
Arthen said, ‘An interesting point.’ Then, seeing Bodfan still eager to have his say, he indicated he could speak again.
‘Even if he is not unholy, he has brought the falling fire! Better rid ourselves of him and not take the risk.’
‘Wait.’ Sais was listening in horrified disbelief, his arms clamped over his chest, as if to ward off a blow. ‘Please - you can’t mean that. I don’t even know what the falling fire is!’
Aghast faces turned to him. Sais could not speak up like this! He was doubly bound to silence, by am-annwn and by the rules of council. But of course he did not know that. Kerin put a hand out to him and whispered, ‘You cannot—’
He shook her off. ‘Listen, please! You have to understand, I don’t mean you any harm. I don’t even know how I came to be here!’
His words were drowned out as chaos erupted. Bodfan, pointing at Sais, though still without looking directly at him, started to shout, ‘Am-annwn! Am-annwn!’ Fychan was haranguing Arthen, and several others, both councillors and observers, had turned to their neighbours in shock and dismay. Many made gestures to ward off ill luck. Old Lorar got up, knocking his stool over, and began to back off unsteadily.
Sais turned to flee, but found his way blocked by Gwilym and his spear.
‘I will have silence!’ Arthen rarely raised his voice, but when he did, people listened. He backed up his words by holding up his skymetal disc.
The hubbub fell away at once, and Arthen addressed Sais directly. ‘Stranger, you are talking yourself into your own death. If you have any sense you will remain silent.’
Sais gave a tiny, sharp nod, and swallowed convulsively.
Arthen sighed and looked at his council. ‘If this man were a demon of the Abyss or some unquiet spirit sent to beguile us, I put it to you that he would use cannier tricks than fighting like an inexperienced boy and then feigning terror. I believe he is merely a mortal man.’
Howen, always a stickler for detail, raised a hand cautiously. When Arthen nodded permission, he said, ‘Yet was he not found at the mere, the place where the horrors of the Abyss come closest to the Skymothers’ Creation?’
More agreement, though muted; the men knew they had already made fools of themselves.
Kerin held up a hand and Arthen gave her leave to speak. Though fear still thrummed through her, it brought with it a strange exhilaration, and her voice did not quaver. ‘It is true he was found at the mere. But I did n
ot find him. Damaru did.’ From the expressions on the faces of some of the men, that news made them reconsider. For the benefit of the slower-witted councillors and watchers she added, ‘I humbly suggest that it would be strange indeed if one blessed by the sky were to have dealings with a creature of the Abyss.’
Though most of the councillors obviously agreed, Bodfan still sought leave to speak. ‘Flesh and blood the stranger may be, but he attacked one of our own.’
‘I suspect,’ said Arthen, ‘that he acted in fear.’
‘Yet it cannot be denied that within a day of his arrival, the falling fire was among us. Can that be mere chance?’ Bodfan looked around the circle for support.
Arthen said, ‘If I am not mistaken, the return of the winnowing times should not be so great a surprise.’ He turned to the council’s oldest member. ‘Lorar, how many years is it since the falling fire was last amongst us?’
Lorar was still settling himself back on his stool and the question had to be repeated before he responded. ‘Oh, tis true,’ he rasped, ‘we are due the judgment of Heaven.’
Fychan raised his hand. ‘Yet as Bodfan says, to have this man arrive the day before my brother is struck down surely cannot be chance!’
‘I do not think any of us can presume to know the will of Heaven,’ said Arthen.
This comment got several nods, though other hands were going up. Kerin raised hers. Somewhat to her surprise Arthen turned to her first. ‘Did you wish to add something, Kerin?’
‘Masters,’ she said, ‘I believe the Traditions say that the winnowing times come to the whole land at once. Could this one man truly be the cause of the falling fire appearing everywhere throughout Creation? Is it not more likely that his appearance is a matter of chance?’
Kerin was pleased to see that this satisfied some of the dissenters.
Fychan raised his hand again. ‘Even if this is so, might this man not be a reiver, and therefore an enemy?’
‘It is possible,’ conceded Arthen, ‘though I would have thought a reiver unlikely to throw himself on our mercy as this stranger has.’
Howen, never known for his generosity, said, ‘Even if he is not a criminal or outcast, this is no time to entertain guests! We do not want strangers here. We should do as Bodfan suggested and send him back up into the mountains.’
Cadmael spoke up. ‘That would be as good as a death sentence, even more so in the winnowing times.’
‘If that is what the Mothers will,’ said Howen piously.
Sais stood still as a tree, his face stricken. Kerin got the impression that any move, any gesture, would lead to total collapse. Though he might not be a creature of evil, nor the cause of their afflictions, he was still a threat to the usual order, and they wanted him gone. They would not let reason or compassion get in the way. And in the end, Arthen would do what was best for the village.
The silence stretched. Finally Arthen said, ‘I do not wish to have this man’s death on my conscience.’ He looked round the council. ‘And neither should you.’
Kerin began to let go a slow, relieved breath.
Arthen turned to Sais. ‘Stranger, you have leave to speak. Tell us how you came to be here.’
The breath caught in Kerin’s throat.
She wondered if Sais had not heard the question. Then he said, in a small, uncertain voice, ‘I don’t know. Honestly, I can’t remember anything before I woke up in Kerin’s hut. I don’t even know my name. I’m sorry.’
People looked surprised and confused. He spoke with an accent none had heard before, establishing him as a man from afar: they had anticipated a tale of interest, not a denial of knowledge.
Fychan had his hand up again. ‘Why should we believe this? Is this memory loss not a convenience that one of ill intent might affect?’ he asked.
Arthen frowned, perhaps tiring of his son’s troublemaking. When no one else spoke up, Kerin raised her hand. Arthen nodded to her, and she said, ‘Masters, I believe I know who he is.’
Out of the corner of her eye Kerin saw Sais’s head whip round. She kept her gaze on Arthen. ‘Not his name. But I believe he is a noble from the lowlands.’
‘Why do you say that when your knowledge of such places comes only from others?’ asked Arthen mildly.
‘My husband told me that the rich men in the lowlands live very different lives to us, and many do not have beards. My guest has had a life with little hard work, he has no beard and his ways are strange to us. And then—’ she fumbled in her apron for the pot she had taken from her hut, and stuck her hand inside it ‘—then there is this!’
She had intended to produce the fabric with a flourish, but ended up dropping the pot. The appearance of the shining cloth still had the desired effect.
Into the rapt silence Kerin said, ‘I found this with him. A man who can afford such cloth will have been missed. His people would be grateful for his return.’
She passed the cloth to Arthen. He felt the weave, then gave it into Fychan’s eager hands. The etiquette of the meeting temporarily forgotten, Fychan said, ‘Was there more of this stuff?’
Kerin felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Greed would overrule suspicion. She kept her voice uncertain. ‘I found a smaller piece as well, so there may well be more. I have been too busy tending my patient to look.’
When it had gone around everyone, Arthen nodded to show that the fabric should be returned to Kerin. Then he said, ‘We can search the mere later. This is proof he is not from the uplands. The obvious solution would be for him to travel to the lowlands with the drove.’
No one spoke up against the suggestion. Kerin pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to laugh out loud.
Arthen added, ‘Assuming he is fit to travel. Kerin?’
Her head felt light as thistledown. Possible disaster had become salvation: the drove would return Sais to his home. And it had been due, in part, to her! It suddenly struck Kerin that if she kept her wits about her, here was also her one chance to escape a life of unspoken secrets, small unkindnesses and constant drudgery.
‘He is recovering from a fever caught at the mere, master,’ she said to Arthen, ‘and his missing knowledge still causes him problems. I would say that though he can travel, it would go easier for him, and for the drovers, if he had someone to care for him.’ She paused, a tiny shiver going through her at her own temerity, then added, ‘Therefore I suggest that I be allowed to accompany the drove.’
‘What?’ said Lorar.
Howen muttered, ‘A woman on the drove? Ridiculous!’
Though unease rippled through the council, Arthen was still looking at her, indicating she retained the right to speak. She continued in a rush, ‘As well as caring for my patient, I would tend to my son’s needs. Damaru carries our hopes with him on his journey; I am sure that you would not wish his chance of success to be hurt by having suffered unduly from the rigours of the road. For myself, I would not be a burden on the men, nor would I ask that any concession be made for my sex.’
Several men had their hands up, and most had expressions of indignation and disbelief on their faces.
Arthen ignored the raised hands and addressed Cadmael. ‘What does your knowledge of the Traditions tell you? As I recall, a woman may travel if there is a good enough reason.’
‘Aye,’ said Cadmael, ‘that is my recollection too.’
Kerin had given him a reason, and she suspected that, despite refusing her initial request to accompany Damaru, he would prefer her gone. It would be easier to face the winnowing times without her around. But was the reason good enough to convince his council? In the end, they were as easily led as their own herds.
Bodfan’s attempts to gain the floor were almost comical. ‘Surely,’ he said when Arthen gave him leave to speak, ‘the last thing we should do in these troubled times is risk the displeasure of the Mothers? A woman asking to go on the drove is hardly a good reason.’
Fychan put his hand up, and Kerin’s heart sank. ‘I agree that a woman’s
word should not hold weight in council,’ he said. ‘But in this case her reasons have some merit. It is a woman’s place to care, and the drove will now carry two who require that care.’
Kerin’s eyes widened in surprise at Fychan’s unexpected support. But he was in a minority. Lorar was shaking his head and muttering loudly, Bodfan looked like he had more to say against her, and none appeared to be willing to speak up for her.
Though Arthen had now lent back so his face was in shadow, she knew he was watching her. Her mind raced, trying to find another argument the men might listen to. He had opened the way, but in the end he would not directly oppose the will of the majority.
Next to her Sais swayed on his feet, his lips pressed into a thin line.
When the mood of the hall changed, at first Kerin could not see the reason. Men became still and attention focused behind her. She turned.
Damaru was wandering towards her, his expression unhappy. He must have come home to find the hut empty and wondered at the lack of his mother - and his dinner. She reached out to him. He let her hold him and rested his head on her shoulder with a sigh.
Arthen stood. ‘I think,’ he said, relief evident in his tone, ‘that the Skymothers have just indicated the course they wish us to take.’ He put his palm out to show the skymetal disc. ‘All voices have been heard, and a decision reached: Kerin and the stranger are no longer considered cursed. And they will travel with the drove - both of them.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Walking back down the slope to Kerin’s hut, the village council began to assume an air of unreality, as though the men were manifestations of his fears, from the mouthy boy with the scarf round his head to the old fart whose opinion was probably only valid because he’d been too stubborn to keel over yet. The danger they’d posed already seemed like no more than another nightmare. But it had been real, and Sais had acted stupidly. As they ducked into the hut he said, ‘Kerin, I’m sorry.’