The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

  ‘Seems... heartless. Leaving a harling behind. That’s leaving more than life, in a way.’

  ‘He’s his own har,’ Rinawne said. ‘You’d understand if you’d met him.’

  ‘Did he perhaps resent his son in some way?’

  Rinawne shook his head. ‘Oh no, nothing like that. He cared for Porter so much he left him with us. It wouldn’t have been good for the harling to be carted off into the wilderness to live on sticks and berries. He’ll see his hostling again one day, but for now he loves his life here. He’s happy with us, part of the family.’

  I nodded. ‘I can’t dispute that.’ I looked Rinawne full in the eye. ‘I am not your new hienama from Kyme.’

  ‘We know that.’

  A thought came to me and I had to voice it. ‘Rinawne... I’ve been asked to create a spiritual system for this community, but you had Rey... Surely he had majhahns he used and that hara knew? Are these to be rejected now? And even before his time here I assume the hara here celebrated the seasonal festivals in some way. It seems odd that nothing has been recorded or memorised, or used again.’

  Rinawne considered me for a few moments. ‘Wyva wants something new,’ he said. ‘You see, Rey...’ He screwed up his nose. ‘Well, he wasn’t a one for fanciful words and all that. His idea of a ritual was sitting in a wood and thinking about it.’

  ‘I see. And that’s what hara did?’

  Rinawne made a dismissive gesture. ‘Oh, it was a bit more than that but not much. We had our little seasonal thinking session, then a feast, or rather a party. Wyva wants more than that, such as he’s heard other phyles have. I think secretly he wants hara in the surrounding counties to be saying to one another, “oh, it’s the Gwyllion Natalia rite next week. Are you going to it?” Understand what I mean?’

  ‘He wants theatre?’ I smiled.

  ‘I suppose you could call it that. Something more... ceremonial.’

  ‘I understand. Such events draw a community together. I’ll bear in mind what you’ve told me.’

  Rinawne sat up. ‘Good! Now let’s enjoy this elegant repast, which was so meticulously prepared by me, then go visit the Moonshawl Pool. Perhaps we can find your tallest tree.’

  As soon as the glade opened up before us, I could tell that Moonshawl Pool – or Pwll Siôl Lleuad, as Rinawne told me it was known in the old language – was an ancient sacred place, and perhaps was still regarded as such among the local hara and used for rites. The damp grass was vivid with new growth beneath our feet; Rinawne’s pony was eager to tear at it, devour it.

  Rinawne led me to the edge of the clear water. I could see that the pool was maintained by a spring and that a quick stream gulped away from it, perhaps to join with the river. Opposite me was an immense mossy rock, from which it seemed ideal for harlings to jump into the water. Sunlight came down in rods through the unfurling leaf canopy above, but even so the glade was partially in shadow.

  ‘Eldritch place, isn’t it?’ Rinawne said carelessly. ‘You should drink the water. It’s supposed to be lucky.’ He knelt down and scooped a handful to his mouth.

  I knelt beside him. ‘I’d like to meditate here for a few minutes, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Of course. Do your hienemarly thing.’ Rinawne grinned. ‘There are usually mushrooms in the hedgerow to the next field. I’ll go gathering while you ponder the mysteries of life.’

  Not until Rinawne had left me, his departure accompanied by a theatrical wave of his hand, did I stoop to drink the water. It was as cold as winter, and so pure as to be almost without taste. There was a faint sparkle to it that fizzed in my throat.

  ‘May the guardians of this site reveal to me it secrets,’ I said aloud, and then composed myself upon the grass, sitting cross-legged with my hands upon my thighs, palms uppermost and open.

  I tried to concentrate on the story Rinawne had told me, visualising the har he had named Grass coming through the trees to the pool, his harling in his arms. The image wouldn’t stick in my mind, and on the brief occasions it did, I felt Grass was always looking behind him, as if pursued. I sensed urgency. But another image wanted to impose itself across that of Grass, and it was so strong, eventually I let it have its head.

  In the mind picture, I was unsure whether it was day or night time. I caught brief glimpses of something pale through the trees, drawing haphazardly closer to the pool. Within the visualisation I got to my feet, cautiously approached whatever was weaving towards me. I saw a pale figure, its arms held out in front of it, touching the trunks of the trees, as if blind, and trying to feel its way forward. It wore a tattered white robe, and very long white hair fell over its face, obscuring its features completely, but it was not the white of human old age, more like the platinum white found rarely in hara. This must be a har. He was stumbling, disorientated, and now I could hear he was moaning softly, monotonously.

  ‘Tiahaar,’ I said softly, and the har paused. Then he began to grope his way in my direction.

  ‘Help... I need...’ The words were broken, ragged with the most awful despair, and shook me from my visualisation.

  Opening my eyes, for a moment I too was utterly disorientated, unsure even of where I was, but then the sound of breaking undergrowth brought me to my feet. This was no visualisation. A har dressed in white – a torn robe, filthy to the knees – and with long white hair hanging over his face was trying to reach me. Pitifully, he patted the trees around him, turning in a circle, his robe catching on shrub branches, tearing further. All the while he uttered that relentless, frightened moan.

  ‘Tiahaar!’ I ran towards him. ‘Stay where you are. I’ll come to you.’

  As I reached him, the har fell heavily into my arms, and I staggered backwards beneath the burden. His hands clutched my arms, the fingers digging into my flesh, then withdrawing, then digging in again. He smelled... of sickness. ‘Wraeththu,’ he gasped, ‘help me, help me...’

  And then... Then there was nothing in my arms, no sense, no physical memory even, of the weight against me. Nothing.

  ‘So this is your secret,’ I murmured shakily to the glade.

  Around me was silence, no birds singing, no rustle of life in the bushes. Not even the soft gurgle of the water as it flowed away to brighter realms.

  I sat down heavily where I stood, put my head in my hands, experiencing a strong desire to weep, yet no tears came. Something horrific had happened here once. There could be no mistake. It had left its mark, its imprint, and it was so strong it could feel like the physical weight of a har in my arms.

  Ten minutes of deep breathing restored me almost to normality, yet I could still feel quivering anxiety within me, the gift of whatever apparition it was I’d seen.

  I heard the sound of a har whistling and guessed this was Rinawne returning to me. For some reason, I knew I wouldn’t tell him what had happened; it was as if the har of my vision had begged me to silence.

  ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost,’ Rinawne remarked cheerfully as he emerged from the trees.

  I smiled, gestured with both arms. ‘Well, I went... quite deep into the landscape.’

  Rinawne rolled his eyes. ‘By Aru, don’t end up like Rey and not come out again!’ He sat down beside me. ‘No mushrooms to pick today, sadly. Shall we go back to the Mynd? You can stay for dinner again if you like. And I can show you the whole house. Would you like that?’

  I sensed he was speaking to me as if I were... well, perhaps slightly ill. Did I look that bad? I tried to pull myself together, put aside what I’d experienced.

  ‘I’d love to see the house. Not sure about dinner, though. I need to write up some notes, so I don’t forget things.’

  Rinawne slapped my shoulder. ‘Oh, plenty of time for that. You can sit in the library for a while to do your writing. The day is young. Come on!’ He dragged me to my feet.

  Rinawne had some domestic tasks to attend to, so left me alone in the library of Meadow Mynd. Although I’d intended to write up some ideas and impressions of the morni
ng, I was instead drawn to explore the packed shelves around me. There were many dull books that looked as if they’d never been read and had been put there simply to fill space. But there was plenty to interest me too – namely a row of titles on folklore and local mysteries. These were very old books, from the human era. As I examined them, some well-thumbed and fragile, my mind kept flashing back to my experience by the pool; who was that har? What had happened to him? I could still hear his horrible moaning, and the hoarse words he’d spoken. Help me... But how? I felt reluctant to talk about the episode with any of the Wyvachi, mostly because it was likely the har I’d seen was, or had been, connected with them in some way, and perhaps not in a good way. I wondered, for a moment, whether it could have been the mysterious, vanished hienama, Rey. But as far as I knew, Rey was alive, and the har I’d seen had disappeared before me like a ghost. Would this mystery be a distraction from my work? What I’d experienced during – and after – my meditation was not in any manner useful for the job I’d been sent to do. Still, there was the moonshawl to consider. Was this a taboo subject or not?

  As if in answer to my silent question, Wyva sauntered into the room. I sensed he’d been told I was here and was looking for me. ‘Ah, you’ve found the treasure trove of the house,’ he said. ‘Its heart.’

  I turned and smiled at him. ‘I hope you don’t mind me nosing around. Rinawne left me here while he had some jobs to do.’

  Wyva made an expansive gesture with both arms. ‘You’re welcome to treat our home as your own. You don’t have to ask to look at the books.’

  I considered for a few moments before asking a question. ‘I’ve heard a local legend about the moonshawl,’ I said. ‘Is there anything about it in the library?’ Some instinct made me omit Rinawne’s part in my discovery.

  Wyva gave me a strange look; wary, slightly disapproving. ‘I don’t believe there is. What did you want to know and why?’

  I closed the book I was perusing, wishing now I hadn’t broached the subject. Wyva was all prickles before me. ‘Well... I wondered whether it could be included somehow in the yearly round – the pool, the river, the meadow. I was wondering if the tree still stood.’

  Wyva continued to stare at me. ‘I’m not sure that legend is... appropriate for what we want,’ he said. ‘It comes from a difficult time in harish history, surely not one to be enshrined in spiritual practice.’

  I should never have spoken. My instincts had known it was a sensitive topic because I’d not mentioned Rinawne had told me the story. Clearly, Rinawne’s mouth ran away with him; he’d forgotten who he was speaking to when he’d told me the tale. But, in retrospect, the signs had been there he’d slightly regretted telling it to me. It was now abundantly plain to me that under no circumstances would Wyva ever allow that story to be used in my work. This was a shame, I felt, since hara already celebrated in the Maes Siôl at Midsummer. ‘I’m just mulling over a lot of ideas, jotting down notes,’ I said. ‘I don’t know the full story but won’t use it if you feel it’s not right to do so. There are plenty of other stories I can adapt.’

  ‘Yes, that would be best.’ Wyva softened, gripped my right shoulder briefly. ‘Just tell me what you plan to use, so I can advise you over what’s appropriate. It might sound silly but some of the stories from the dawn of Wraeththu are considered almost... unlucky by hara around here. You weren’t to know.’

  ‘Is there anything else I should avoid?’

  ‘Not that I can think of, but please check with me before doing a lot of work with particular legends to save yourself wasting time. It’s probably best to stick to the older material, and update that with a harish slant.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ I put down the book I was holding, aware my heart was beating fast and that I felt slightly angry.

  Wyva put his head to one side. ‘I don’t want to make your work difficult. I know how all this must sound.’

  I managed a smile. ‘It’s quite all right, and best we establish the boundaries before I waste any time, as you said.’

  ‘Will you stay for dinner again this evening?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s kind of you. Saves me cooking!’ I realised that to refuse might have seemed churlish, yet I couldn’t dispel the feeling of irritation, of being somehow thwarted. First there was the unspoken assumption I was expected to perform hienama duties, and now this – being somewhat shackled in what material I was permitted to use. Still, no job of this kind would ever be straightforward. I must simply toe the line, respect hara’s feelings, and make my work easier.

  Some moments after this – and it felt like a rescue in the rather taut atmosphere – Rinawne appeared at the library door. ‘I’m all done,’ he announced. ‘Your tour guide awaits you.’

  I bowed my head. ‘Thank you, tiahaar. I’m ready to be amazed!’

  Both Rinawne and Wyva laughed; the atmosphere became relaxed.

  As I’ve already mentioned, Meadow Mynd wasn’t one of those grand mansions with huge sweeping staircases and airy halls. The rooms were fairly modest in size, and the staircase of dark oak unimposing. The house was full of nooks and crannies, odd little window seats where somehar might curl up to read, narrow corridors leading only to bizarre tiny rooms, such as the one containing an ornate lavatory covered in baroque designs. There was a ‘gentleman’s Turkish bath room’, (a true remnant of olden times), and the ante-room to it was full of riding boots and coats of cracked leather, which looked as if they hadn’t been moved for hundreds of years. ‘Yes, relics,’ Rinawne said rather mordantly, as he noticed me inspecting these articles.

  ‘It’s like a museum,’ I said.

  ‘Exactly like a museum. Fusty and smelly. If it was up to me, I’d throw out all the junk and air the whole place, but it’s not up to me. I have a couple of rooms I was allowed to redecorate when I came here, to be more to my taste, but it was made clear that would be all I was allowed.’

  ‘Do the Wyvachi... revere objects like these?’ I asked carefully.

  ‘It’s not that. They just won’t throw anything away. Perhaps one of these pairs of rotting boots belonged to great great great Uncle Bertie. Who knows, he might come back for them?’ Rinawne grinned.

  ‘And are there ghosts here?’

  ‘To be sure – if you’re open to them. I’m not. I banish them from my thresholds. I prefer to live in the present moment. You’re always asking about ghosts, aren’t you?’ He gave me rather an arch look.

  Beyond the boot room the domestic quarters began: kitchens, pantries, laundries and so on. It didn’t surprise me to find most of the appointments in these rooms to be antiques.

  ‘I quite approve of this old stuff,’ Rinawne said, affectionately touching one of the copper saucepans hanging from a rail above the cooking range. ‘In kitchens, things can be old, because they know the food better and how to make it delicious. Just doesn’t feel right to me elsewhere. I like these rooms.’

  In a smaller kitchen beyond the main one, we came across three of the Mynd staff, who were sitting round a circular table, plucking feathers from what appeared to be game birds and gossiping together. They greeted Rinawne warmly, while awarding me wary glances.

  ‘Dinner,’ Rinawne explained, gesturing at the birds. ‘No doubt Wyva wrung their necks only an hour ago.’

  ‘Fresh,’ agreed one of the kitchen hara. The tiniest feathers floated in the air and there was a smell of blood.

  Rinawne strolled around the table, put his hands on the shoulders of the har who’d spoken. ‘This is our head cook, Dillory, and these scullions here with him are Barly and Fush. Yes, Fush. Ridiculous name.’

  The young har in question grimaced at Rinawne, but was clearly not offended.

  ‘Anyway, we are off and onwards,’ Rinawne said to his staff. ‘Keep up your excellent work.’

  He sailed out of the room and I followed.

  From there, we meandered back into the warren of the main house, with its odd little rooms. The library was the largest of them; the drawing ro
om and dining room were next in size. There was a hexagonal conservatory tacked on to the east wing of the house like a quartz growth. There were sitting rooms with clocks where at one time female ancestors might have sat with their embroidery or to read. Sunlight came dimly through the mullioned windows, fighting with heavy drapes that lolled around the frames. As well as the dining room there was a breakfast room facing east to bask in the morning sun. Here, the round table was already set for the next day’s breakfast. I wondered if, in fact, anyhar ate in there.

  Perhaps Rinawne divined my thoughts. ‘Wyva always has his breakfast here. Sometimes I join him. Sometimes the rest of them do.’

  I smiled at him. ‘I did wonder. So much of this house seems like a display of the past, to be looked at, not touched.’

  Rinawne wandered to the window, looked out upon a lawn that swept away to tall evergreens, including a monkey-puzzle tree. The other species were unknown to me, obviously brought from far countries in the distant past. ‘This is perhaps the most haunted room in the house,’ Rinawne said. His voice was almost wistful.

  ‘Oh? Will you tell me the story?’

  He turned to me, shook his head. ‘I don’t know its history. All I know is that something haunts this room. I’m quite sure it doesn’t appear to Wyva, because he comes here every day.’

  ‘And you think he wouldn’t if he... saw things?’

  Rinawne shrugged. ‘Well I wouldn’t want some sulky ghost gawping at me while I was eating, would you?’

  ‘Have you seen it?’