‘I think you lost your way more than you know,’ said Yuda. ‘This isn’t the forest of Bentivoglio. This is more like East of the Sun and West of the Moon. If you have a compass, you’ll find the needle always points south. We’re north of everywhere.’
‘Your speech is dark, stranger. I do not know of any such place. And I am becoming impatient.’
‘You took a wrong turning, Mister. And you’re not wanted here; you’re a trespasser. I’ll be frank; I don’t like you. I don’t like your face, and I don’t like your manner. You and your men can find somewhere else to shelter from the rain. You seem like a clever fellow; I’m sure you’ll find your way out of here eventually.’
The man drew his sword – it was a good sword, made from damascened steel – and pointed it at Yuda’s throat. Yuda glanced at Annat; he did not need to share his thoughts. He was irritated and amused at the same time; he had been woken from his rest by a band of fools, though he knew they were far from harmless. He shook himself, and changed his appearance.
The change passed over him like a wave from head to foot. The light from him turned the gloom of the clearing into glittering daylight. Yuda wore white, apart from the black sash round his waist, and his shirt was open. It revealed enough of the stain against his heart to show what he was; the bloody rose someone had left on him. The knight took a pace back, and raised his sword to protect himself.
‘What are you?’ he said. Annat noticed the “what”.
‘I’m the Sacred King,’ said Yuda, ‘and you’re trespassing, Mister. You’ve wandered into the Greenwood and you don’t belong here. I don’t like people who show up and start making demands and issuing threats. You’ve disturbed my rest, and my daughter, who recently finished her lying in. If you ride back the way you rode in, you’ll find your way.’
The knight looked angry. It did not help that some of his soldiers were laughing behind his back. He was clearly not a popular man; perhaps he was a harsh master.
‘I will not forget this,’ he said. ‘Not as my name is Cangrande Scaliger.’
He turned on his heel and strode away, followed by his soldiers. When they were out of sight, Annat and Yuda turned to each other.
‘You all right, Missis?’ he said. He cupped his hand over the Spider bolt against his heart.
‘I’m all right, Mister – what about you?’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘It hurts. Maybe it’s a warning. Not to forget Cangrande Scaliger, whoever he is.’
‘I didn’t like him,’ said Annat.
‘Me neither. I’m afraid I enjoyed pulling that stunt on him. The look on his face when he saw I was a ghost!’
‘You made him look stupid,’ said Annat.
‘He made a fool of himself. I drew attention to it. And for a man like that, it’s a killing offence.’
They returned to the tent where they found Genie dandling Oscar, who was making his displeasure known loudly. He was swearing in his thoughts, as if the baby Oscar and the more adult-sounding Oscar had become muddled up. Annat and Yuda sat down on the carpet beside Genie. Yuda sat on his heels; he reached out and took the squalling baby from Genie and held him up, thinking - That’s no way to speak to your mother.
Oscar stopped yelling and stared at Yuda; his eyes became round. He seemed fascinated.
- Oh my. You’re him, thought Oscar.
- What’s that supposed to mean? We’ve already met, remember?
Yuda glanced at Annat, who smiled.
- They warned me about you, thought Oscar.
- Wait – who warned you? You were only born four weeks ago, and before that you were a foetus.
Oscar screwed up his eyes and bawled again, demanding food. With a sigh, Annat held out her arms and took him from Yuda. At least she could feed Oscar, and while he was feeding he reverted to being an ordinary baby. It made her feel quite cow-like, because suckling your young was something any mammal could do. She was a wolf, and Oscar was her cub. When feeding, he wasn’t yelling at her.
Yuda went outside for a smoke, and Genie made tea. Annat fed Oscar, burped him, and changed his nappy. When all was done, she was able to put him down for a sleep in his cot. She found Yuda and Genie talking, something they found easier to do these days; they were talking about Oscar.
‘Is he asleep now, Missis?’ said her father.
Annat sat down on the ground beside them. She had never felt frumpier, with milk stains on her gown.
‘He is. That was so strange, when he seemed to know who you were.’
‘Not just strange, it’s wrong. He shouldn’t remember anything. Who the hell did he mean when he said “they” had warned him about me? I’ve known plenty of shaman-babies, and this doesn’t happen. They’re just – babies. It’s as if Oscar has already grown up, or part of him has. I don’t like it.’
‘Perhaps someone should keep an eye on him,’ said Genie, tactfully recognising that Annat and Yuda might want to discuss this in private. She touched Annat’s shoulder as she passed.
‘But…he doesn’t seem unhappy,’ said Annat. ‘I haven’t noticed anything wrong about him. I’m sure I would know.’
‘You’d think so,’ said Yuda. ‘But some of the magic we’ve been encountering recently makes me wonder just what can be done. I was afraid they’d take Oscar from you. But it would be much worse if they’d done that, and we didn’t know. So either this baby isn’t Oscar, or they’ve done something to him – planted something in him, so subtle we won’t know until it’s too late…’
Annat burst into tears. She had not thought how deeply she loved Oscar till now. He was small, and he was hers; the thought that anyone might have harmed him filled her with desperate rage.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Yuda. ‘I want to believe I’ve got it wrong. I need to ask the others what they think. But when he was talking to me, just now – it was like he was terrified, though I don’t think he was afraid of me.’
Annat could not reply. She howled, and Yuda hugged her. They clung together, both crying. Annat thought how remarkable this was, since her father never cried, or so seldom that she could recall the other occasions.
Huldis joined them. She reminded Annat of a piece of fine ivory, or sunlight through water. She brought warmth and stillness. Though she favoured a modest style of dress that covered her from neck to ankle, her gown was made from a fine, delicate fabric that revealed the contours of her body. The touch of her wrist with its lace cuff was electric; the slender bones brushed against Annat’s arm.
‘Huldis,’ said Yuda, in a choked voice.
Annat saw her smiling at them through her hair. She turned to kiss Huldis on the cheek. Cool and smooth, and soft; Annat liked Huldis so much, and there was a moment of shared affection and recognition between them.
‘You look so pretty,’ said Annat.
‘Thank you. I feel more like a dumpling.’
Annat smiled and left them, going to find Genie. She knew her father wanted to be left alone with his wife.
‘She’s right,’ said Yuda, when Annat had gone. ‘You are looking pretty.’
Huldis smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. Yuda was not the sort of man who undressed you with his eyes; he simply undressed you. He loosened the belt ties of her gown and let it slip open.
‘Are you in a hurry?’ said Huldis.
‘Always,’ he said, resting his hand against her waist.
Afterwards, they lay on the ground together, sheltered by the trees. Yuda lay on his back and Huldis on her side, both naked. His black hair was splashed across the ground like spilled ink. Huldis laid her slender arm across his ribs, touching him. It was only then she realised he was weeping silently, with his face turned away from her. Huldis was horrified; she bent over him, touching his face.
- Yuda, what is it?
- I’m sorry, Missis. I hoped you wouldn’t notice.
- Not notice you crying? Yuda, you must think me blind! You never cry.
-
It’s the baby, Missis. Not ours, Annat’s kind. We were talking just before you returned. I think he’s a changeling.
Huldis froze. She was leaning over Yuda, close enough to kiss him. She stared into his eyes; and she read his thoughts, his fears for Annat and his grandson. The baby who was the child of two shamans, conceived during the siege of Yonar. After that, Annat had laboured seven years in the underworld for the right to bring them back from the dead. Though Oscar had been born after a natural term, he had been exposed to things no normal child had ever encountered. The mind in the baby they were calling Oscar might not be his at all. And the real Oscar, Annat’s son, might be elsewhere; or he was sharing his mind with something else, a Dybbuk or demon.
- It can’t be so, thought Huldis. I have never sensed any evil.
- It doesn’t have to be evil. Zyon knows what it is. But that tiny baby thinks like an old man. He’s very droll; whoever he is, I like him. It’s just when he told me that he’d been warned about me, I was suddenly afraid. Afraid for him.
Gently, Huldis laid her hand on his chest. She had to be careful because of the scarification and the nails.
- What about us, Yuda? I’m with child by you. What if our child has been…tampered with…as well?
He looked straight up at her.
- That’s what I’m afraid of. Those babies are about the same age. It won’t be long till ours arrives.
- When she arrives, we will know, thought Huldis. And she realised she had a strength Yuda lacked. She was terrified of what her unborn child might be, but she needed to keep that fear from him. She had told him in the early months of her pregnancy that she feared what might be born from her. Now she needed to be what a woman could be, and hide something from him. Though she was a long way from her mother’s house, she could talk to Annat and Genie. This one thing she could not confide in Yuda. She touched his face where his cheek sometimes puckered when he smiled.
‘You are wise, Huldis,’ he said.
‘Not wise. I trust us. You and me. The child comes from us. She cannot be worse than us.’
Yuda twisted a tendril of her hair round his finger. ‘There is darkness in us both. And not just from the Goddess.’
‘We would not be human if we did not have darkness! And we are still human, or we would not be fucking each other.’
‘It’s funny when you swear,’ he said.
Huldis found a comfortable place on the edge of his chest, near his shoulder, and settled her head there. She touched the nails; they were part of Yuda, and difficult to ignore.
The two of them lay at the foot of a tree, shielded from prying eyes by its branches. They lay on a bed of leaf-mould and grass; somebody passing would have noticed nothing more than a glimpse of bare limbs, and a shaft of unexpected sunlight. If the passer-by had gone closer, they might have stopped with a thumping heart, thinking they had stumbled upon two corpses; except that one of the corpses turned his head towards the intruder.
‘Who is that?’ said Yuda.
‘What is it, Yuda?’
‘Nothing. I thought I saw someone there.’
He did not tell her; but he and the startled stranger had seen each other, and they knew it.
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