Solem

by Clive S. Johnson

  Janeen’s heart raced, a close, dark world of terror growing within her, fast supplanting the diminishing pain of her blindness. Without realising, she’d reached a hand out defensively only for it to be grasped by another, kneaded as though to reassure its owner as much as herself.

  “And if you don’t do it,” Sharman’s voice said, “then what will Gryff do about it?”

  “Send someone who will, I imagine, and demote me probably to scrubbing their refectory floors for the rest of my life.”

  “But when will they get to know?” and Janeen now knew, by its tensing, that it was Craith’s hand that held her own.

  “When the guide they’ll send to take her to Gryff finds out, once he’s reported back.”

  “But you won’t have sent the signal up as yet, surely, Dwelgefa?” Sharman asked, pausing. “In which case, nobody but us knows she’s here.”

  “Except Dwelgefa Woodwright,” Craith reminded them. “He’d have been expecting us.”

  “Ah, yes,” and Fulmer sighed. “He’ll have seen the smoke from Harclifferd this morning. So, if the demon’s not gone to him, it’ll have had to come to me.”

  “Not if we tell him Sharman didn’t find one,” Craith suggested.

  “Didn’t find… But I always find one.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, like Janeen coming here with her memory intact,” and Craith gently squeezed her hand a few times, bringing a little calm to her mounting fears.

  “But what if someone saw you bringing her here?” Fulmer demanded.

  “Oh, come on, Dwelgefa,” and Sharman laughed. “You’re hardly in the busiest part of The Espousal. The only other person I’ve seen all day is Craith.”

  “And what if someone saw him going down to the Lagoons?”

  “To pick my boat up, and me—but empty-handed.”

  “Then why haven’t you already been up to tell Woodwright? A whole day’s almost gone by.”

  “Ah, now, you’ve got me there.”

  “Obvious,” Craith piped up. “At least we can tell the truth in part. We can tell him the river track was too flooded to get your boat back that way, so we had to come up Sheffy, sleeping out overnight when we lost the light before reaching Athergap.”

  The silence that followed almost shattered Janeen’s frayed nerves, but Fulmer’s softened tones took the edge from her fear.

  “You know, I think the lad might well be right. It would lay the blame squarely on those of The Green. After all, it can’t be checked.”

  “Purely down to my word, then,” Sharman confidently stated.

  “And this here lad’s,” Fulmer said, and the hand holding Janeen’s own tensed, startling her.

  “I’d never say owt again’ it,” he affirmed, letting go of Janeen’s hand. “I swear I wouldn’t.”

  “You already have,” Sharman reminded him.

  “Oh aye, so I have, but…but I wouldn’t ‘ave anyway.”

  Janeen could hear the supping of more beer, then the clunk of beakers being placed back down. Someone smacked his lips together before Sharman said, “Other than me and the lad, who else visits you here, Dwelgefa?”

  “Eh? Why?”

  “Well, we don’t want anyone stumbling on the girl until she can convincingly pass as someone from The Espousal.”

  “Hang on. What’re you saying? She can’t stay here.”

  “Well, where else can she go? Where’s as out of the way as up here, and has someone skilled in the art of creating false pasts for young ones?”

  Janeen clenched her fists and steeled herself to speak. “When…when my sight comes back, I…I can always help with…with weeding and sowing, and…and mending your clothes and… and…” but her voice finally faltered.

  Sharman barely held back from laughing. “Your face, Dwelgefa, it’s an utter picture, do you know that? A picture.” He breathed in deeply, to stifle his laughter. “You’ve got to admit, though, this is the ideal place: no family or friends to complicate matters, and it’s certainly in need of a bit of tender womanly care—”

  “But that’s the point: she isn’t some old hag but a newly coming young woman,” and Janeen felt her face flush. “What would folk say?”

  “But no one but us will know, and I’m sure you can keep the girl’s honour intact, given we two do. And given what Gryff would do if they were ever to find out you’d ignored their rules.”

  “Is that a threat, Sharman? Because if it is—”

  “Let’s say it’s part of our sworn oath, eh? The oath meant to keep this girl safe…from everything, river or man.”

  Her eyes now stung with the threat of tears, the reality of the day fast surfacing through the fading fog of her mind.

  “Well,” Fulmer at last said and blew out a long breath. “Brought together as confederates, eh? As equals in a common cause bound by an uncommon crime. Ha!” He paused. “I suppose, if it has to be, then so be it.”

  A tear broke free and hesitated at Janeen’s cheek.

  “In which case, my dear,” the dwelgefa said, and a finger gently brushed away the tear, “may I offer you my warmest welcome? Welcome to my home and the labours we now seem destined to share—when your sight hopefully returns. Until then, we’ll not waste the time, my girl, never fear. I’ll think up a history for you, and make you word perfect in its reciting. Can’t offer fairer than that, now can I?”

  Janeen bowed her head and sniffed as she remembered the kiss her father had pressed to her cheek, sitting by the river. Of all the pain she’d suffered since waking to this seeming nightmare, the loss of her father now overpowered them all. It twisted her gut and burned at her jaw, her lips quivering until she remembered his words.

  “I always loved you, always will,” he’d said, and she resolved to believe him, raised her head and quietly and hesitantly thanked them.

  Craith took her hand again and fervently squeezed it. “No, Janeen, no. I reckon it should be t’other way round…but…but I can’t rightly say why.”

  He gave a short, nervous laugh, but neither men decried the lad’s words.

  14 Dawning of a New Day

  Janeen didn’t realise she was awake until a whispered conversation arose nearby. When she strained to listen, pushing her head out from beneath the rough blanket tucked in around her, where she still lay on the leather sofa, she could only just make out what was being said. It sounded like Dwelgefa Fulmer, but as though his voice came from the other side of a partially open window.

  “Don’t forget to douse my lamp before you get off, and you can leave it by the hitching post. I’ll pick it up at first light.”

  “I ‘ope he likes your beet ‘n turnip mash,” she could clearly hear Craith say, “and it don’t stain ‘is feedbag.”

  “Best I could do, I’m afraid; I’ve never had to cater for a donkey before.”

  “Thanks,” Sharman said. “It won’t take long for the lad to get Duncan hitched up, and there’s a bit of light already peeping up in the spring-rise. There should be enough to see by once we’re on our way. I only hope it stays dry; it’s going to be a stiff push getting back early enough to keep to our story.”

  “Aye, well, don’t you two go forgetting what we’ve agreed, eh?”

  “We won’t, and one of us will try get up here in a couple of weeks, to see how things are going; see if you need any help.”

  “Nay,” Craith quickly added, “I’ll get up ‘ere before then,” but then his and Sharman’s voices soon drifted off before a nearby door slammed shut. Boots then clomped across a stone floor in what sounded to Janeen like the room next door.

  At the sound of a kettle being clattered down, and a yelp and a sullen curse, she thought she’d take stock of herself. Her eyes still hurt—her biggest complaint by far—although no worse than she remembered from before falling asleep the previous night. Her sight was no longer dogged by a searing white glare, but veins and strands of scintillating silver now twitched and slithered across her vision.

  Fain
tly, she heard the clop of small hooves and a distant, unintelligible but seemingly encouraging young voice. Then the latch to the door behind the sofa rattled loudly and the boots she’d heard earlier strode in, accompanied by Fulmer’s cheery voice.

  “You awake yet, my young one?” but Janeen could only manage a surprised mumble from beneath her blanket. “Brought you some tea; probably a bit early for beer.”

  She heard a hand feeling around on what she remembered was the small table, a beaker noisily placed down. The creak of a nearby chair preceded slurping, enough to remind her of her own thirst.

  It took Janeen a while to sit up, to grope for the beaker and finally begin quenching that thirst, immediately adding a blistered lip to her litany of aches and pains. An unfamiliar taste and a sudden invigoration, though, amply repaid her haste.

  They drank in silence, the whole while Janeen worrying at the persistent worsening of the pain in her eyes. The thin streaks and strands streaming across her vision had steadily swelled and now pulsed, as though quicksilver flowed through them. She groaned as she fumbled her beaker back down.

  “Are you all right, Janeen?” Fulmer asked, worry but also what sounded like regret fleshing out his words.

  “My…my eyes are hurting more.”

  “I was hoping it would’ve settled down by now. Trouble is: I’m afraid I don’t know what to suggest; it’s not something I’ve had to deal with before. But, now I can see you in this better light, I reckon I ought to heat some more water; you’re clearly in need of a wash. A hot compress might also do your eyes some good.” The chair creaked. “I’ll go get the kettle on again,” he said as she heard him leave the room.

  Janeen’s sight soon bleached white once more, entirely this time, her eyes feeling as though hot coals had been pressed behind them. It wasn’t long before the pain became unbearable, doubling her over, her stomach cramping as she slipped from the sofa and onto the floor, groaning loudly.

  Before she knew it, Fulmer’s distinctive odour clung close beside her, his hands at her shoulders, gently trying to straighten her, worry mellowing his voice.

  “Come on, Janeen, can’t have you—”

  She retched, noisily, her shoulders shuddering, an acid edge of returned tea seeping past the corners of her mouth, down onto her hand, cold pressed against the floor. She clutched her other hand to her stomach and this time groaned mournfully.

  “Pain,” was all she could say before another spasm ripped through her guts.

  “Hold on. I’ll be right back,” and Fulmer patted her shoulder briefly before rushing off, leaving her whimpering at her growing agony.

  A clatter and a series of rattles soon swept into the room, her hand hastily grabbed and placed on the rim of a rough metal bucket.

  “Puke into this if you must, Janeen,” and he briefly mussed her hair, as though embarrassed by his show of concern.

  It seemed to Janeen as though she were staring, wide-eyed, directly at the Sun, a surge of even greater pain now weakening her limbs. She dropped her head into the bucket as another spasm speared up from her stomach, stabbing towards her mouth—but it never arrived.

  As a hand rubbed her back, the glare bleaching her sight winked out, draining her of the pain. Janeen then filled the bucket, but only with an echoing sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry, Janeen. I wish there were something I could—”

  “It’s…it’s gone!” she whimpered, her voice thin and hollow.

  “What? You mean the pain?”

  She nodded, her forehead clattering against the side of the bucket before coming to rest gratefully on its cold metal base.

  “You mean…it’s stopped?”

  Janeen clattered back another nod.

  “Maybe you’ve sicked up some of the powder…or…or whatever’s made you feel—”

  “I haven’t been sick,” she told him, startling herself at how loud her reverberating voice now sounded in her ears. Some shy strength seeped in to fill the space left by the departed pain, relief sweeping in behind it. She sighed, long and hard, before lifting her head from within the bucket and taking a deep breath.

  Her vision erupted once more. She yelped in renewed pain, bright white light almost striking her in the face. Her ears rang to the rattle of the bucket’s handle and her own pitiful groan as she dropped her head back in, rapidly returning her startled mind to that glimpse of a pain free, pitch-black world.

  It took five attempts at removing her head, at Fulmer’s insistence, before he was satisfied the bucket proved itself to be the cure it appeared to be. He finally helped her sit up on the sofa again, her head resolutely under the upturned bucket, its handle beneath her chin.

  For quite some time they both sat in silence, Janeen taking the opportunity to enjoy the absence of both pain and blinding light, although she’d not been able to drink any more of her tea.

  She’d begun wondering if Fulmer had fallen asleep when he asked, “Can you see anything now, Janeen?”

  She’d already tried, but opened her eyes again and peeped down beneath the rim of the bucket. “No, still nothing. It’s all just black, completely black.”

  Despite it, though, she somehow knew he now stared at her. “And it started getting worse after I brought you the tea?” he finally said.

  “Before that…a short while before.”

  “Not the tea then,” and she heard him slurp his own. “Bah, it’s gone cold. Do you fancy another?”

  “I wouldn’t mind trying.”

  A tap on the side of the bucket startled her. “I’ll go put the kettle on again, then,” and she felt him move away. “First, though, I’ll just pop out to the lane and get my lamp back. I nearly scalded myself brewing in the twilight, but then Sharman and the lad did have greater need of its light to…”

  The door had creaked open as he’d spoken but now slammed shut. “I wonder,” he hardly breathed. “Wait here. I won’t be long,” and this time she felt the draught of the opening door and heard his boots rush round into the other room, another door opening and closing before the receding sound of those boots came in at the window.

  She waited, listening to her own dry breath made louder within the bucket, waited as her thirst convinced her he’d clearly forgotten all about making them another brew.

  15 The Espousal of Gryff

  “Right,” the dwelgefa startled Janeen by saying as he rushed into the room. She must have dozed off. “You’re going to have to take that bucket off, I’m afraid,” and he tapped its base. “Just for a moment, mind, so I can try something.”

  Before she could get her thoughts together, he was already easing it off. She grabbed the handle.

  “Argh, no, I don’t think I can—”

  “It won’t be for long, not long enough for the pain to come back, Janeen, as long as I’ve got it right.”

  “Got what right?”

  “Trust me, Janeen,” and she hesitated before reluctantly allowing him to remove the bucket. She heard it clatter to the floor before a similar metallic smell assailed her nose as something was pressed over her eyes and around her head. The dwelgefa held it in place and waited a short while.

  “Well?” he said. “Any pain?”

  “No…not yet. Well…maybe just a hint.”

  He made some adjustments.

  “Any better?”

  Janeen waited long enough to be certain. “Nothing now, Dwelgefa, nothing at all.”

  “Fulmer.”

  “Hmm?”

  “You may as well call me Fulmer. Dwelgefa’s a bit formal for everyday use. And anyway, you can put the bucket back on now,” and he placed it in her hands before whipping away whatever was around her head. “Just a few adjustments and it should be ready for the next stage,” he said as he went out again.

  After a short absence he returned and once more swapped the bucket. Its replacement kept her just as pain free but seemed more comfortable this time.

  “Right,” he finally announced, “now for a bit of leatherwor
k,” but then paused. “Do you think you could walk, Janeen? It’s not far.”

  She thought she could, and so he swapped the bucket back and helped her from the room and into what felt like a passageway. After a dozen steps or so, it seemed to open out into a larger space.

  “My workshop,” Fulmer explained and led her to a stool. “You’re safely out of the way here so we can chat whilst I sort this out,” and once seated, she heard things being placed down a little way off.

  The sounds of scraping and rasping precluded any conversation at first, but when finished, Fulmer told her, “Your staying here poses me a bit of a problem, you know.”

  When she didn’t respond, he went on: “There’s still the little matter of your demon.”

  “My demon?”

  “The reason your family sent you here.”

  “My…my father.”

  “Your father?”

  “It’s just my dad. Mum died when I was eight.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Well, the reason your father sent you here, then. You see, Janeen, I need to know the nature of your own particular demon, not that I’m exactly skilled in dealing with such things, but forewarned is forearmed, as they say.”

  Fulmer hammered at something before asking, “So, what was it that alerted your father to your demon? And why so late in your childhood? that’s what I’d really like to know.”

  “I…I don’t know,” and she cast her mind fruitlessly back through her memories.

  “You don’t… Well, it had to be something, something obvious.”

  What sounded like shears being used against a wooden table top marked a lull in his questioning. He mumbled to himself, the occasional “Hmm, that’ll do” or “A bit more” drifting into the remove of her bucket. When it went quiet, she again had that distinct feeling she was being stared at.

  “Can you remember anything out of the ordinary that happened before your father took you to the river?”

  “Nothing…well, other than me getting up pretty early, before light. Dad was already up, though, which I suppose was a bit unusual.”