by Kim Wilkins
Rowan had been away from her own bed for days. Where had he taken her? And why?
The hot nerve quivered in her heart. Her eyes followed the little girl and she felt tears slipping down her cheeks. Deep breaths. Perhaps it wasn’t as bad as she feared. Wengest would never hurt Rowan, and he had no reason to think ill of Rose and take the girl away from her. Some benign explanation awaited her, surely. But until she knew what that explanation was, she would keep moving as fast as she could towards home.
Willow liked a simple life. Her days started early, before Heath was awake. She stole away every morning in the grainy dark before dawn to pray outside the front gate, begging the angel voices to come to her. Sometimes they did, with a whoosh of grey wings clattering and a tumble of words falling sharp and golden through her senses. Sometimes, there was nothing but the grindstone of her own brain. Afterwards, though, she would return to the farmhouse and stoke the fire, make the morning’s bread, tend to her father and his soiled bedclothes, then start the dinner. She and Heath fell into a comfortable, if not companionable, routine. They spoke to each other little and he spent most of his days outdoors, tending to horses and hunting food. At night she slept on the floor of her father’s room while Heath slept by the low-burning hearth.
On this particular day, she woke with a prickle in her senses that told her today would be different somehow. A vague wariness infused her as she slipped past the sleeping Heath and let herself out into the twilit morning. She paused a few moments on the doorstep, glancing around her. Nothing moved that didn’t always move, like the branches and leaves and waking birds. Yellow light lay just beyond the horizon. Sweet floral smells were damp in her nostrils. Seeing and hearing nothing out of the ordinary, she moved off up the front path and made her way across dewy grass to the front wall and gate. She checked behind her once more, then decided that surely this prickle simply meant that Maava was working in her and that he or his angels would speak directly to her this morning. Excited, she was light of step as she made her way to her usual place on a collapsed pile of stones, sat and withdrew her triangle to pray.
Maava, my lord and protector, speak to me this day that I might —
‘Please, you must help me.’
Willow’s eyes flew open. This was no angel’s voice. Standing before her, clutching a skinny child against him, was a man.
Not any man. As her gaze focussed and she looked beyond the travel dirt and pale sickliness, she recognised her stepbrother. Wylm.
‘Oh!’ she cried, then remembered herself and tucked her triangle away, climbing to her feet. ‘What are you ... where have you ...?’ She remembered the dream she’d had about him, and blushed despite herself.
‘You must help me, sister,’ he said. ‘You must help us both but I ...’ He extended his left hand, and she could see a festering wound barely covered by a filthy bandage.
‘Of course. Come with me. Come inside.’
‘No. No, I can’t. Bluebell has ...’ He appeared to be speaking with great effort. ‘She hates me. She has poisoned the opinions of others.’ He spat the word ‘poisoned’, spittle landing at her feet. ‘I cannot go in.’
‘Bluebell is not here.’
‘She’s not ... here?’ Bewilderment crept over his face. His feet faltered.
Willow realised he was seriously unwell. He clearly had a fever upon him. ‘You must come inside.’
‘I cannot, for if any of her retinue are within they will slay me immediately.’
Willow glanced back towards the house, even though the view was obscured by the high wall. ‘Heath is still here.’
‘Then I must not go in. You must bring help out. The lad is fine. He’s well and he has eaten. I had ... food ...’
Willow turned her focus to the child, whose eyes darted around like fish in a pond. ‘Is he blind?’
‘This is Bluebell’s son, Eni,’ Wylm gasped. ‘I have rescued him.’
‘Son?’
‘Illegitimate.’
Her mind reeled. She had known her sister a violent thug, but couldn’t imagine her as anyone’s lover. ‘You can tell me all in a short while. Wait here. I will get what I can for you before Heath wakes. I think ... I think I know how to treat an infected wound.’ Countless times the little cuts she caused on her own body had grown red and once one had even filled up with a volcano of pus. ‘My sister Ash left medicine.’
‘Anything you can do will help me, but I cannot wait here out in the open. Eni and I will be further into the woods. I’ve made a little space for us. You’ll find us if you call.’
He took Eni by the elbow and shuffled off over the wide stony road and towards the woods. Willow hurried back to the farmhouse. Heath was still asleep, but he stirred and rolled over when she came in. Any moment he would open his eyes. She went to the shelf above her father’s bed where Ash had put the pots and potions she used. The little stone pot full of oily balm was there. She had been instructed to use it if her father had developed any infected bedsores, but so far the king had been magically free of such things in his unnatural stasis. She also found the pot of honey and crushed coriander seeds, that would take down Wylm’s fever. Willow put the pots in her apron then tore the bottom off her father’s cloak for a bandage. In the kitchen, she seized the rest of yesterday’s bread and some cold pheasant that had spent the night under a linen cloth. With these things and a skin full of clean water she was halfway out the door when Heath woke.
‘Willow?’ he said blearily.
She paused, heart hammering. Why did she feel so guilty? This was Maava’s good work she was performing. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said, with cool righteousness.
‘Very well.’
Then the door was slamming closed behind her and she was outside. Dawn had cracked over the horizon and golden light flooded among the trees in the wood. She listened for voices. Called out, ‘Hello?’
‘Hoy,’ came Wylm’s response. ‘This way.’
She took a deep breath, and headed into the woods. Within a hundred yards she had found them. Wylm had rigged up a large piece of hide as a roof, tied among tree branches. On the ground he had laid travelling skins and blankets. Here the little boy sat, twisting a ring round and around on his finger. Wylm lay on his side. His skin was unnaturally white, thick with sweat.
‘Here,’ she said, ‘take some of this.’ She handed him the honey and coriander medicine.
‘How much?’ he said, unstopping the lid.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said, faltering. ‘All of it, perhaps?’
He tipped the pot to his lips and the medicine dripped into his mouth.
‘How long have you had the infection?’ she asked, kneeling beside him and unwrapping the wound.
‘It has been over a week since I received the wound. It looked a little better for a time, when I had it in seawater every day. But travelling on land with the lad, fiddling with dirt and ropes ...’ He winced as she turned his hand to the light to look at it closely, then returned the medicine pot to his lips.
‘And your fever?’
‘Three days now.’
‘Let me clean this wound and dress it. Tell me about the boy, tell me how you came to be here in the woods, while I work.’
Wylm turned his face away, gritting his teeth as she poured water on the wound and started dabbing at it fearlessly.
‘I found Eni at his dead father’s house on a millet farm just out of Blicstowe. He can hear, but he understands almost nothing. His eyes don’t work either. But he is Bluebell’s child. You see the ring. And I know his father was your sister’s lover.’
Willow concentrated very hard on the task in front of her, so she wouldn’t blush at the word ‘lover’. Grit had embedded itself in the wound and she had to dig a little with her fingernail to clear it out. White-yellow fluid followed it, running over Wylm’s hand and onto the blankets beneath him.
‘This millet farm, was it manned by a fellow named Sabert? Willow asked.
‘I didn’t ask his na
me.’
‘A stocky dark-haired fellow?’
‘The very same.’
‘I met him there once, Willow said, ‘many years ago when I was a child. I rode there with Bluebell. I had no idea they were... He seemed kind. It is sad that he is dead. I think I remember a small boy. This must be him.’
‘Yes, it must.’
‘You have grown, little one,’ she said to Eni kindly, then turned her attention back to Wylm. ‘You mentioned seawater.’
‘I have been at sea for six days. We were captured by raiders, and taken to King Hakon’s lair on Hrafnsey.’
‘No! King Hakon is real? I thought he was just a character made up to frighten children.’
‘As real as you or me. And a nightmare to look at.’ He paused a moment then continued with a voice full of steel. ‘All of them heathens.’
Willow’s head snapped up.
‘I saw you. With your triangle.’
‘I ...’
‘It’s all right, Willow. I have seen you with it before. I know your secret and I do not mind. Because I share it.’
‘You are ...?’
‘One of Maava’s good children, yes. Or at least I try to be. I am certain that Maava was guiding my hand when I managed to escape the island with Eni on a fishing boat. The first day was fair, but then grey clouds rolled in and the sea surges tossed us this way and that.’
Willow turned his hand to catch the morning sunlight and see if she had cleaned it properly. Satisfied, she washed it with clean water again and held it still a moment for the morning air to dry it. She became very aware that it was Wylm’s hand she was holding. Wylm whom she had dreamed of, who was now telling of his heroic escape from the monstrous Crow King. ‘Go on,’ she said.
‘I left in such a flurry of panic. I packed blankets and skins but forgot we needed water. When the rain started, the boy was cold and wouldn’t stop shivering, but at least we managed to collect enough water to drink.’
Willow glanced at the boy. He sat quite still, as though he were listening to some special music only he could hear.
‘I had to manage the sails with a wounded hand. The rope got away from me once in a stiff wind, pulling the wound open again. I thought it would never stop bleeding.’
‘Hold still,’ she said, unstopping the pot and slathering on the lotion.
‘I knew where you had gone. Eni’s father told me. He told me everything before he died, from a wound Bluebell herself inflicted in a jealous rage. He told me ...’ His voice dropped, as though he were afraid somebody may be nearby listening. ‘He told me Bluebell had confessed to having poisoned her father on purpose because he was going to convert to the trimartyr faith.’
Willow’s heart went cold. ‘What?’
‘I’m sorry, Willow. I know you think highly of your sister.’
Did she think highly of Bluebell? She found her terrifying, unyielding, yet with an uncommon kindness towards Willow. There was nothing confusing or hidden about Bluebell, and Willow found it almost impossible to believe that she would try to kill her own father, especially as she appeared to be going to great lengths to heal him.
Or appear to be trying to heal him. Who was to predict what heathens might do?
Wylm continued his story. ‘I sailed that little boat for days down the west coast of Thyrsland, looking for landmarks. It is a desolate coast, Willow. Grey mud and the skeletons of trees. A journey through a dead place. But I brought the boat in at the mouth of a muddy river, the Gemærea, two day’s journey north of here on foot.’
‘You walked? In your condition?’
‘I walked.’ He nodded. ‘I walked with the boy. And I grew more and more ill. But I found you. At last.’ He looked at the bandage. ‘And you have helped me.’
‘You need to rest. In a proper bed.’
‘I am dry and I have warm clothes to sleep in.’
‘I will bring you blankets as soon as I can. And the boy? Is he known to Bluebell’s retinue? Would he be safer in the house with me?’
‘Would you? I would be so grateful if you could take him and give him a good meal and a warm bath. I understand, though, if you can’t. It would mean you have to lie to Heath and as Maava’s soldier you might not —’
‘I will lie for the good of a hungry child,’ she said, putting some steel in her voice. She wrapped the wound, then tied it firmly. ‘The good of my nephew, if you are right about his parentage.’
‘Bluebell’s lover told me all,’ Wylm said. ‘He had no reason to lie.’
‘People often lie when desperate.’
‘He was not desperate. He was dying and he wanted the truth to come out.’
Willow touched Eni lightly on the arm. ‘Eni,’ she said, ‘my name is Willow. Would you like to come inside with me? I can make you some food.’
Eni swayed slightly. ‘Rabbit?’ he said.
‘That’s me,’ Wylm told her. ‘That’s what he calls me. Rabbit needs to sleep. Rabbit is sick,’ he said to the boy.
‘After you’ve eaten and had a warm bath, we will come back and sit with Rabbit for a while,’ Willow said. ‘All right?’ She reached for his hand and he let her take it, and pull him to his feet.
Wylm was already turned on his side, eyes closed. ‘Sleep now,’ he said. ‘I must sleep.’
‘I’ll be back,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he answered.
Eni dragged his feet across the road, so Willow used her warmest voice. ‘I know you don’t want to leave Rabbit, Eni, but I will make you some warm porridge and wash your clothes.’ She leaned closer and wrinkled her nose. ‘Yes, they are quite smelly. You can help me hang them out on the lemon tree behind the house. It’s a lovely sunny day.’ She remembered he couldn’t see, and couldn’t think of what else to say. But she did notice he had settled.
She opened the door, gears in her head turning over. Maava wouldn’t want her to lie if she didn’t have to, but neither could she tell Heath the truth. Wylm’s story about Bluebell didn’t fall outside the realm of possibility. Bluebell loved blood; everyone knew that. Somebody so enamoured with death was out of tune with Maava’s love. And certainly, Bluebell more than anyone was invested in keeping the trimartyr faith out of Ælmesse. What wouldn’t she do to ensure that she became queen? Come to me angels. Maava, send your emissaries. I need to know the right thing to do.
But no angels spoke and when she looked at the dirty, skinny boy in front of her, she decided to choose the humane thing to do. She sat Eni at the hearth. Heath was nowhere to be seen, but he had started a fire before he headed out and oats were already cooking in a hanging pot. She stirred the pot, all the while studying Eni’s face. He looked nothing like Bluebell. The ring on his finger, her father’s insignia, was the only thing that suggested he might be related to her.
Willow bent next to him, and began to untie his shirt. ‘Come on,’ she said, ‘I’ll give you one of my father’s shirts.’
When Heath returned, Eni was sitting in one of the king’s shirts eating oats, skinny pale knees and shins emerging from the bottom, in a sunbeam near the back door. Willow was rubbing lye soap on his grubby clothes over a tub.
Heath paused, looking at Eni curiously. Willow’s pulse seemed thick in her throat.
‘Willow?’ he said, not turning from Eni. ‘Who is this boy?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I found him wandering in the woods this morning while I was out looking for mushrooms. He’s blind and simple and lost.’
Heath kneeled in front of Eni. ‘What’s your name, boy?’
‘Rabbit,’ Eni said.
‘I don’t think he knows his name,’ Willow answered, ‘but with your permission I will walk to the village with him this afternoon and see if I can find his mother.’
Heath climbed to his feet once again. ‘Just be careful. Don’t tell anyone who you are or where you are staying.’
‘Of course not.’
Heath was halfway over the threshold when she called him back.
&nb
sp; ‘Heath?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think ... who do you think did ... that ... to the king?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Do you think it might have been somebody close to him?’
His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Do you?’
‘I don’t know. Just like you. I don’t know.’
Then Heath was on his way, and Willow went back to scrubbing Eni’s clothes and listening out for angel voices to tell her whom to trust.
Twenty-five
Bluebell closed the door, shutting out the daylight. Yldra’s hut had only one narrow window, tightly shuttered, and a dirt floor under the rushes. The hearthpit was literally a pit dug into the ground. Bluebell had to duck under a low beam to get into the room. Yldra stood to greet her and Bluebell saw straightaway the older woman was crippled. Her hips didn’t align and one of her feet was twisted outwards. She would never be able to travel.
Yldra held out her hand to Thrymm. ‘Ah, lovely girl,’ she said. Thrymm licked her hand gingerly. ‘You sit by the fire,’ Yldra said, rubbing her head, ‘while I talk to your master.’
Thrymm sat back and watched carefully while Yldra turned her attention to Bluebell.
‘So you are my niece?’ Yldra said.
‘I am Bluebell.’
‘You didn’t know you had an aunt, did you?’ She had very clear blue eyes, and pale skin that was remarkably unlined. Her hair was grey at the temples, but otherwise brown.
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘But your sister knew.’
‘Rose said you had spoken to her. In a sending.’
‘I did.’ Yldra spread her hands. ‘Not that she listened to me.’ She moved towards Bluebell, her leg dragging behind her. Bluebell stood very still as Yldra stopped in front of her. The older woman stood only as high as Bluebell’s breastbone. She looked up at Bluebell with her piercing gaze, and her nostrils flared slightly.