Solem

by Clive S. Johnson

  They were silent for a while, both women clearly deep in thought, until Craith asked, “So, why your particular interest in Janeen?”

  The Hartsghul grinned then opened the satchel and removed a slim tome, placing it on her lap. “This holds all we’ve yet found in the Wisdom of Solem that it itself cannot answer. Here, for instance,” and she opened the tome, “is a list of deeply mysterious people from our dim and distant past, from a time a good few thousands of thousands of years ago.”

  She told them that the list came from informal notes made by the first few generations of Waurdfilgs, from a time when an oral tradition of knowledge must have persisted, separate from the written Wisdom of Solem. “The people on this list were clearly rare individuals who could convince others of the truth of what they said, who it seemed could carry the minds of whole communities.”

  “What?” and Craith narrowed his eyes at Janeen. “You mean…who could bewitch folk?”

  “We knew, from your own testimony, Craith, that we had a demon at large within The Espousal.” Craith swallowed and avoided looking at Janeen. “But for a demon to command such loyalty of lies not only from a mere carter and a sharman but from a trained and disciplined dwelgefa… Well, you can see our interest, and why we knew this strange new demon could not be a child; a unique prospect in itself.”

  The Hartsghul ran her finger down the list of names, then stabbed at one. “Here we are: a man from somewhere called Assisi. A man named Francesco. What little we know about him is that he saved a town from predation by wolves—”

  “Wolves?” Craith uttered, and stared at Janeen’s now lowered head.

  “It seems he changed the nature of them, that he convinced both them and the townsfolk to agree to a truce—to live equitably, one with the other.”

  Janeen murmured, “He bewitched them all?”

  “Yes, Janeen,” the Hartsghul said, patting her hand. “But the question we’ve taxed the vast knowledge of the Wisdom of Solem with is ‘How?’. How did this Francesco of Assisi change the nature of both men and beasts? What power could all those on this list of like individuals bring to bear in performing what we think, in those days, they called ‘Miracles’?”

  “Miracles?” and Craith stared at Janeen’s pain-guard, at what he knew no longer lay beneath, but then Janeen leapt to her feet and stumbled from the building, tripping and falling to the bare earth beneath the tree.

  Craith would have rushed after her had the Hartsghul not stayed him, by which time Alice and Tom were helping her up, dusting her down, trying to reassure her.

  The Hartsghul only softly sighed and closed her tome before pushing herself to her feet.

  “I think it’s time we all had a bite to eat, don’t you, Craith Waindrifa? Any anyway, I’m getting too stiff sitting here. Perhaps we can have another chat this afternoon, hmm? When you’ve both had a chance to think.”

  She placed the tome back in its satchel, hoisted it to her shoulder and creaked from the Lepfyn, passing those outside without a further word.

  48 In Solem She Trusts

  Alice and Tom, having learnt from Craith of the Hartsghul’s suggestion of a meal break, took them both back to Janeen’s rooms. They’d only been there a short while when there was a knock at the front door. Tom went to answer, Alice having already begun preparing food in the kitchen.

  Craith showed Janeen to the table in the other room and sat beside her, worried by how silent she’d been since her fall at the Lepfyn. She didn’t seem to have been hurt, but all the same, she did seem close to tears. He was about to ask why when he noticed Tom rush past the door, on his way back to the kitchen and from where a hushed and hurried conversation ensued.

  A tremulous breath from Janeen broke him off from straining to hear. She now had her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  “What’s wrong?” he whispered, wary of putting an arm about her. “Did you hurt yourself when—”

  Alice came in, wiping her hands. “I’m afraid we have something urgent to sort out,” she said. “I’ve…I’ve put the makings of a meal on the surface by the sink. You just need to finish it off, and the tea’s already brewing.”

  She seemed in such a hurry she clearly didn’t notice Janeen’s distress, dropping her towel onto the table before rushing out with Tom. The door banged shut—a click signifying it had been locked.

  A thump startled Craith’s head around, to find Janeen’s fist now resting on the table.

  “What’s upset you, Janeen?”

  “They’re going to have to kill me, Craith; you do know that, don’t you?”

  “Eh? Don’t be daft, lass. You’re a demon, and this is plainly where demons belong. And anyway, they’re interested in you for what they think you can tell ‘em about this mystery they ‘ave. They seem like pretty nice folk, to me.”

  She turned away. “But they haven’t heard what I’ve yet to say. And it’s obvious they’re already worried, these people who reckon that problem demons should be thrown in the river.”

  “But why should they be worried?”

  Janeen turned to face him and took his hands in hers. “‘Carry the minds of whole communities’ the Hartsghul said. They obviously think I’m like one of those ‘rare individuals’ she’s got on her list; able to bewitch whole communities—communities like this one, Craith, like the demon-filled Fintweg.”

  “The Fintweg?”

  “Maybe it’s true; I don’t know. But they can’t afford to let such a thing happen. The Hartsghul knows that. I felt it in her, and I’m sure she…she felt something in me. They’ll tolerate my presence until they’ve solved their riddle, then, Craith, then they’ll…”

  “You’ve lost me.”

  She let out a long breath then clamped her mouth tight shut for a moment before shaking her head. “Look how smoothly this place runs, and how it’s done so for what? ‘Many thousands of thousands of years’. That’s a long time, Craith, and more than enough to prove that what they’re doing works well. They don’t want it all messed up by a girl coming in to bewitch the very heart of the perfect world they keep.”

  “But why would you mess it up, Janeen? Why would they even think you’d want to do such a thing?” but she clammed up, let go his hands and turned away.

  “Come on, Janeen; you’re holding out on me,” but then the front door clicked and they heard someone come in.

  Desmond popped his head round the door. “Hello again. Just to let you know: I’ll be outside when you’ve finished eating; to take you to see the Hartsghul again. Give me a shout when you’re ready,” at which he briefly smiled before hurrying back out. The front door clicked again.

  They looked at each other for a moment, then Craith said, “But I don’t understand, Janeen. What makes you think they’re so worried?”

  “Just look at how fast things are happening. We’ve only been here two minutes and we’ve already been shown the Wisdom of Solem, met with the Hartsghul, and another meeting to come this afternoon. And now we’ve got Desmond in place of Alice and Tom; for fear they’re becoming bewitched, no doubt. They won’t put up with me for much longer, Craith. I know it. They’ll have to get rid of me soon, and as I’m trapped here, well…there’s only one way they can do that: as the smoke of my own pyre.”

  “I’m sure you’re wrong, Janeen, and why would they think you’d want to bewitch them, anyway?”

  Janeen froze for a moment, then sniffed. “You’d best get that meal sorted. You must be hungry by now, Craith.”

  “Eh?”

  “Don’t bother about me; I don’t feel hungry.”

  “But—”

  “Go on, Craith. Get yourself something to eat.”

  “Well, only if you’ll have some with me.”

  “No, Craith; I really don’t want anything,” but Craith did, and he also needed some time alone to sort out his thoughts.

  He wasn’t long in the kitchen, though, soon back at the table, setting down a plate of food. “You sure you don’t want anyt
hing? Some tea, maybe?” but when she shook her head he sat down and tucked in.

  After a while, he paused, fork held pensively before his mouth, then narrowed his eyes at Janeen. “You said ‘But they haven’t heard what I’ve to say yet’. It’s summat to do with what Solem said to you, isn’t it? When we were coming in ‘ere; when we both thought we were about to die.”

  Janeen bit her lip. “Yes, Solem filled me with her voice then, a revelation that now sets me against the Fintweg, and all it stands for, though it’ll be the death of me, Craith; I’m sure it will.”

  “What did Solem say to you?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve said too much. More will only put you at even greater risk. If you don’t know, I can convince them I bewitched you, that you’re innocent, which you are, really; and why I love you so.”

  “But you shouldn’t worry about me, Janeen. I can look after—”

  “I do, though. I worry a lot. More than you know, and…and I don’t want your blood on my hands, along with my mother’s. I couldn’t bear that, Craith,” and she threw herself into his arms.

  He stroked her back, desperate, though, to know what Solem had told her, hopeful it would somehow suggest a way out of this mess. “But, Janeen, why not just deny Solem? Pretend you’re happy with the Fintweg and the ways of its world. Just keep whatever Solem’s said to yourself.”

  She went silent for a moment, then, in a flat voice, asked him if he’d finished his meal.

  “Eh?”

  “Go and let Desmond know we’re ready.”

  “But, Janeen—”

  “You don’t understand; I can’t deny Solem. It’s not an option. I can’t explain why. You’ll just have to trust me, Craith, whatever it brings. Trust in me—as I do in Solem.”

  “But if you’re prepared to trust her that much, it must mean you believe she’ll keep you safe.”

  “It’s not like that, my sweet. I trust Solem to lead me to do the right thing, even if it doesn’t keep me safe. So, my beloved, please, go and tell Desmond we’re ready. For my sake.”

  49 Janeen Speaks True

  When they came out of their building, Desmond took them down a narrow alleyway between it and the pavilion, away from the avenue and parallel to the metal wall. He seemed in a bit of a hurry but had to keep stopping to let them catch up, Craith cautious of Janeen’s unsure footing.

  Beyond the pavilion, running between the building and the wall, stretched a long series of animal pens. Goats and pigs seemed predominant, but there were also henhouses and the occasional dovecote.

  It struck Craith that he could see no one tending them and wondered if folk had purposely been kept away. Maybe Janeen was right, he thought. Maybe the Hartsghul did fear the people of the Fintweg becoming bewitched. There’d not been that many demons about earlier, but now the place seemed deserted.

  Both the building and the pens eventually came to an end at a leafy pergola that ran across their way, presenting a side entrance directly before them. Desmond led them in to its canopied walkway and turned them away from the wall, heading further into the Fintweg.

  Janeen breathed a sigh of relief, her footing now surer as they walked within the pergola’s living embrace. Craith wondered if Desmond had been instructed to take them this way for that very reason, or was it because it kept them hidden from sight.

  They carried on for a good few minutes before coming out onto a driveway that cut across a broad lawn. It led to a wide arched gateway within a stone wall. Behind it rose a tall, round, squat-looking tower, studded with a spiral of ascending windows. Its surmounting parapet overflowed with greenery, small trees crowded in behind. It reminded Craith of a stem of broccoli, which was how he described it to Janeen.

  He thought of Duncan, the donkey’s panniers filled with Old Mother Dredger’s produce, and wondered how his family were faring.

  But then he was sure he saw a figure draw back from a gap in the parapet’s greenery, but Desmond had forged ahead, up the driveway and to the gate. Craith guided Janeen to join him, whereupon Desmond pushed the gate open and held it for them as they entered a cobbled courtyard from which the tower almost seemed to grow. It was far taller than it looked, an ornate arched doorway at its base that beckoned them near, its door already open.

  “Just walk on up to the top,” Desmond told them after ushering them through, then he was away, hurrying across the cobbles.

  Craith stared after him for a moment, then up at the steep curve of a stone-flagged passageway that hugged the tower’s outer wall. He squeezed Janeen’s hand. “It’s a steady climb, and there’s a low step every so often, so listen out for when I tell you.”

  Their ascent seemed to go on forever, but an open doorway finally greeted them at the top, the Hartsghul herself standing within its frame.

  “Welcome to my meagre abode,” and a wry smile touched her lips. “Do come in,” and she stepped back to make way. “I hope you both had a good meal. If you’re still hungry, mind, there’s plenty of cider and meat loaf already set out for you.”

  The long, curved room in which they now stood was brightly lit by the light of a line of windows, but darkly lined with ancient cabinets and bureaus, their surfaces crammed with potted plants. A curved table ran down the centre, tall, elegant candlesticks at intervals along it deeply glossy, mahogany length, a dozen or so equally glossy chairs drawn up.

  “I thought we’d have our chat out in the garden,” the Hartsghul announced, “seeing it’s such a fine day. And it should be more pleasant for you, Janeen, to be able to ‘see’ what’s about you. This way, if you would?” and she led them down the room and into a larger one, littered with armchairs and sofas. A double-door in its inner wall already stood open, and through which the Hartsghul strode.

  Janeen stopped at its threshold, clearly stunned by what lay beyond. Carefully manicured beds and bushes and irregular patches of lawn led Craith’s eye between overarching trees to a sunlit terrace at the far side. A low balustrade ran along its furthest edge, potted plants and shrubs arranged beneath it, although they left a gap where a table stood, and a bench that faced out from the garden.

  “It’s… It’s beautiful,” Janeen gasped, then stepped outside and onto the lawn, her hand reaching out to touch its bordering plants. She stooped to a clump of bright daisies, running her hand across their delicate faces.

  “I’m glad you like it, my dear,” and a fragile smile rested on the Hartsghul’s lips. “My own private place to come and think, away from the cold stone that makes up much of the Fintweg. Later, if there’s time, I would be happy to show you around. But for now, shall we be seated? I’m sure this young man would relish a beaker of cider.” She narrowed her eyes at Craith, and he grinned and nodded.

  At ease now to leave Janeen unaided, and as she trailed behind, engrossed in the garden, Craith followed the Hartsghul to the bench. As he came beside it, he drew in a sharp breath, his mouth dropping open, his breath finally taken away by the view beyond the parapet.

  The whole of the bounding Gryffwilleal lay clearly before him, although still too high to see beyond. Craith realised that the side he’d approached Gryff’s entrance on had been the shorter, for the Fintweg ran away towards the spring-rise for almost twice its length.

  Janeen came beside him, and he described what he could see: the mosaic of varied buildings—though none reaching as high as the Hartsghul’s terrace; the patchwork of parks and gardens in between; the woods and copses; the glint of lakes and ponds; and the thread of roads and alleys and avenues with which it was laced.

  “In the very early days,” the Hartsghul said, “it teemed with demons, but eventually the flow from The Green dwindled to the trickle it is today. The bloodline beyond the Fintweg had become thinned, you see, almost to the point of being no more. So, ever since, we’ve had to bear children ourselves, to keep up our numbers; enough to perform our duties. In fact, it was my daughter, Alice, who received you yesterday.”

  “Your daughter?” Janeen said,
feeling along the bench until she stood beside the Hartsghul.

  “Please, do sit down,” and the Hartsghul lifted the thin tome Craith had seen in the Lepfyn from the table and sat herself at the end of the bench. Janeen lowered herself to sit beside her. Craith, though, continued to stand, to stare out at the wonder of the Fintweg.

  “Help yourself to cider,” the Hartsghul offered, pointing to a jug and three beakers on the table, beside a large plate of meat loaf. “You can pour me one too, if you wouldn’t mind? What about you, Janeen?” but she shook her head.

  Having poured the cider, and handed the Hartsghul hers, Craith turned to the parapet and leant against it. The sheer drop beneath turned his stomach, made him step back, bumping into the table and spilling some of his cider. He glanced again at the Gryffwilleal, then remembered the eynputna’s surprise that they’d made their way here through the forest, right the way up to the geetholden.

  “Hartsghul?”

  “Yes, my dear?”

  “What’s different about the forest around Gryff?”

  “Different?” and she fingered the tome on her lap.

  “It seemed so creepy, as though it were dead, but the trees looked like they were growing.”

  “Ah, yes, I’d heard you’d come that way: through the First Forest.”

  “First?”

  “The first to be made, back when Gryff was being built. Back when the Earth had almost no trees left…and, by then, they knew those trees were essential to saving our world. They devised a way of growing crystal trees whose leaves held a special moss, one that did all that those of a real tree could do. You see, the crystal was impervious to the harsh atmosphere of the time and it grew well, better than real trees. The trouble was, other than the cleaner air it created, the forest did little to sustain life within it. No mosses or lichens, no sap or berries, no deadwood on which fungus could grow. In the end, they had to be patient and rely on nurturing cuttings and seedlings from what was left of the real forests. So, maybe now you can see how hard won was our perfect world, and why its preservation is so important to me now.”