The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel

by Storm Constantine

  ‘You seem thoughtful,’ I said. ‘Why are you here alone?’

  He shrugged awkwardly. ‘I think Wyva and Medoc might have had words. They went off together and now Wyva is upset. He snapped at me when I asked what was wrong.’

  ‘They did argue,’ I said, deciding on the spur of the moment to be honest, even though it was Rinawne I was confiding in, hardly renowned for his discretion.

  ‘You were there?’

  ‘I just overheard them when I was strolling past. I’d gone for a walk in the woods.’

  ‘What did you hear?’

  I took a breath. ‘Rin, who’s Peredur?’

  Rinawne didn’t hesitate before answering. He spoke the simple truth as he knew it. ‘He was Wyva’s hura, like Medoc, but he died. This was long before Wyva’s parents did, or so I heard. I think he was killed during the initial struggle between Wraeththu and humans in this area.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me of him before?’

  Rinawne frowned a little. ‘There was nothing to tell. He’s just a name, a dead name. Why?’

  ‘I heard Wyva and Medoc discussing him. He’s somehow involved in this whole Wyvachi curse issue.’

  ‘Leave it, Ys,’ Rinawne said sharply.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s just their stupid obsessions about the family history. Peredur’s dead.’

  ‘But perhaps not at rest.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Rinawne said scornfully.

  ‘So says the har who once saw a banshee,’ I said lightly. ‘Maybe they want to be haunted, Rin, and maybe it’s that. Medoc fears for Myv.’

  ‘Well, he obviously fears a lot of things, which was why he fled all those years ago. Now he’s feeding Wyva’s fears. They should never have come here, and Wyva should not have visited them last night.’

  ‘You’ve changed your tune since earlier, then.’

  ‘And now you can say, all smugly, “I told you so”. Gloat away!’

  ‘Rin...’ I put an arm around his shoulders. ‘You’re unsettled yourself, aren’t you? Don’t shout at me. We’re allies, remember?’

  Rinawne sighed deeply, leaned against me. ‘I don’t want any of it. I want us all to be normal, lead normal lives, for Myv to grow up, be the hienama he wants to be. What’s wrong in that?’

  ‘Nothing. But maybe some things need to be sorted out first. I’ll help you. I promise.’

  ‘I can’t think what you could possibly do. Their wills are like iron!’

  I kissed the top of his head. ‘Don’t speak to Wyva about what I’ve told you. Trust me on that. I need to find out what happened in the past to deal with it now, and we can’t risk him becoming more defensive.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘I take it Cawr and Gen are a lot younger than Wyva so won’t know much, only what Wyva’s told them?’

  ‘I’d say so. You know...’ He looked into my eyes. ‘I think the Whitemanes might be the only hara who can tell you what happened. Perhaps you could simply go and ask them. Knock on the door and interrogate whoever answers it.’

  I laughed uncertainly to cover a kind of embarrassment. ‘Why do you think they know?’ I agreed with him, of course, but wanted to hear his thoughts on the matter.

  ‘Because I’m sure they were mixed up in whatever happened. There’s no reason for the hostility between the families, otherwise. And they’ve been here since the start, like Wyva’s hara have.’

  ‘You think I’ll be safe just going to their house and knocking on the door?’

  Rinawne grinned. ‘Anyhar else, I’d say no, but you’re different. Things just... waft over you somehow, and you’re so down to earth, and tolerate no nonsense.’

  He didn’t know me very well nor, sadly, did he know the Whitemanes. ‘I’ll sleep on it,’ I said. ‘See what ideas come to me.’

  ‘Can I come over tonight?’

  I was torn. I could see he needed company. ‘Not tonight. I need to be alone, not distracted. Tomorrow, certainly. We can talk about things.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘I’ll head off now, it’s getting late. I won’t be thought badly of if I don’t do the rounds of saying goodnight to everyhar, will I?’

  Rinawne put an arm about me, kissed my cheek. ‘No, don’t worry. Just go. Everyhar knows you’re not a partying kind of har. Wyva won’t think anything of it.’

  I was glad I’d ridden over to the Mynd on Hercules, since the idea of walking home alone through the forest unnerved me. Whitemanes might still be lurking, and now I wondered about what else might be out there. I rode at a canter back to the tower. At one point – and only for the briefest of moments – a foolhardy part of me considered going to the Pwll Siôl Lleuad and trying to communicate with whatever had visited me there. Thankfully, my more sensible mind decided against this reckless idea. I must take this operation slowly, carefully. It would be better to visit that site in daylight, which clearly made no difference to whatever haunted that spot. Perhaps also I should meditate in the breakfast room at Meadow Mynd, since Rinawne had once seen something there. The house must retain memories of the past. I needed to coax them out.

  I stabled Hercules and gave him a rub down, as the canter home had made him sweat. He munched contentedly on sweet-smelling hay as I did so, occasionally nudging me with his head. I was heartened to see how at ease he felt. If anything malevolent was around, an animal would sense it.

  The tower was as welcoming as ever. I went to the kitchen to prepare myself some tea before bed and while the kettle was boiling went up to the bathroom to relieve myself. The room was in darkness and I did not turn on the light. When I’d finished, my back prickled unaccountably and I turned quickly, stumbling against the toilet. There was a dark shape standing between two of the windows. Whitemanes! I thought angrily, ready to lash out with words and even defend myself physically if required.

  The figure stepped forward.

  I stared at it mutely, unsure of what I was really seeing. This was not a har, I could tell that at once. This was a woman. She was dressed in shabby trousers and jacket, her dark hair drawn back behind her head. She was perhaps in her late thirties, and her dark-skinned face, though beautiful, was puffy with exhaustion.

  ‘Who are you?’ I demanded.

  She frowned, spoke in a soft, cultured voice. ‘Please... You must tell me... Is it still happening?’

  ‘What do you mean? Is what still happening?’

  But then I was merely interrogating starlight. There was no one in the room with me and the silence was broken only by the ticking of the clocks.

  Chapter Eleven

  Three days passed. I took time to prepare myself for what might be a battle to come. I worked in my nayati, avoided company as much as possible, and wrote up notes of all that I had learned and the suppositions I could make from that. Wyva was easily convinced that I needed a few days to think about the next festival and start work on it. I said I’d begin teaching Myv in a week’s time. Rinawne, of course was difficult to avoid. I sensed he too was feeling the strain – a weird undercurrent that the solstice had brought with it or else awakened.

  The woman did not appear to me again during this time. I was sure she must be connected to the Wyverns, simply because she’d manifested in their tower, but her skin was dark where theirs were fair, so perhaps not a blood relative. Also, for a ghost she’d communicated in a straightforward way. I had felt the will behind her question, her determination to be there to ask it. But she wasn’t powerful enough. Not yet.

  I put another clock into the bathroom.

  During this time, I also replied to Jassenah, saying in the briefest of terms that I agreed with his assessment of our relationship and we should call it a day. I said that when my work in Gwyllion was done, I’d return to Jesith to retrieve any belongings he might not want cluttering the house, and conclude my affairs in the town. I was surprised at the anger I felt simmering inside me. I wanted to write I’ll be glad to see the back of the lot of you, because that was how I felt. But I ke
pt it polite. I wasn’t the har the Jesithians thought they knew. They could carry on looking down on this fantasy for the rest of their lives. I’d be out of it.

  When Rinawne came to visit me on the evening following the festival, I told him about my encounter in the bathroom. ‘A ghost?’ Rinawne asked, and his tone was strangely miserable for him. ‘You must be pleased. It’s all you’ve ever wanted since you came here.’ I could tell he felt that life was turning in a way he didn’t like. Wild and exciting tales were one thing; unsettling reality another.

  ‘She’s not a ghost in the traditional sense,’ I replied, ‘but she’s a memory, certainly. For some time I’ve been compelled to put clocks into the bathroom. Remember how I had a strange feeling when I first came here about that room?’

  Rinawne nodded. ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Well, I had a feeling about clocks – time I suppose – and I’m sure this is meant, and will allow me to connect with the woman. A link through time. She might have been reaching to communicate for a while, hence my compulsion.’

  ‘She’ll be a Wyvern, of course,’ Rinawne said. ‘Connected by marriage, perhaps, given her appearance, but who else could she be?’ He gazed about himself, shivered slightly. ‘This place has always been theirs.’

  I nodded. ‘Yes, I think you’re right. The tower will help me. Perhaps it too has had its fill of dark secrets.’

  Rinawne laughed softly and touched my face. ‘You’re such a strange one, Ys. Most hara would find this place spooky and disquieting, but no, you find its spookiness somehow a comfort. Dŵr Alarch shares its ghosts with you.’

  ‘Perhaps, but I think it’s also a case of the tower resenting psychic intrusions.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I shrugged. ‘Just that sometimes I feel and sense things that don’t belong here, and the tower does too.’

  ‘Does the woman belong here?’

  ‘Yes, she does. The tower felt perfectly happy when I came home last night.’

  Rinawne sighed deeply. ‘I wish you wouldn’t look into the past,’ he said. ‘I wish we could just live now. The Wyvachi’s gruesome history doesn’t belong here. Look at the summer unfolding around us, the beauty of nature. Smell the intoxicating air. Why should dark things have to exist in that?’

  I hugged him. ‘Rin, I don’t have a choice. I really believe that now. I can’t leave it – at the very least, for Myv’s sake.’

  Rinawne wriggled away from me. ‘Now you make me sound like a bad parent, that I don’t care. But I do! I just don’t want Myv sucked into this self-indulgent melodrama.’

  ‘I know how you feel, Rin. I’m not judging you.’

  ‘Whatever’s happening I can’t help feeling the Wyvachi are encouraging and feeding it.’

  ‘That might be true, but it still has to be dealt with.’

  He let me share breath with him and felt vulnerable in my arms. I knew Rinawne was strong, so it was strange he was crumbling now. I thought he’d be more like me, determined to get to the bottom of it, sweep out the closet full of skeletons and put those bones to rest.

  After our lips parted, he rested his head on my shoulder, and again expelled a deep sigh. Then he whispered, ‘It’s in the house, Ys.’

  His words shocked me, but outwardly I remained calm, knew I had to. ‘What is?’

  ‘Something came in with the season. I can feel it. That room... it’s in the drapes there. You breathe it into you even stepping into the room.’

  ‘The breakfast room?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Rin, I need to visit that room again, but not yet. I’d also like you to show me the rest of the house, perhaps before I open myself up to whatever’s lurking around.’

  ‘OK.’ He sighed. ‘I really don’t want to, but I’m willing to trust you.’

  I hoped he wasn’t misguided and that I wasn’t about to embark on a venture both needless and dangerous. But my instincts spoke clearly; I had to follow them. They knew the way.

  On the fourth day after the festival, Loitsday, I decided I must now move out from my thoughts into the landscape. It was time for me to poke around more intrusively. Nytethorne had advised me to be quiet, but perhaps noise would flush the enemy from its lair. Let battle commence. I’d had time to gather my strengths. I felt ready.

  I decided that I’d visit the Pwll Siôl Lleuad in the afternoon as I’d done before. In the morning, I’d go into Gwyllion, perhaps make some discreet enquiries. The Crowned Stag could correctly be called a Wyvachi inn, since its keephar Selyf had been appointed to the Gwyllion Assembly by Wyva and was an obvious supporter of his. The family tended not to frequent The Rooting Boar. I’d not been back there since my arrival in Gwyllion, but I remembered the keephar, Yoslyn, had been inclined to talk.

  I arrived at The Boar around noon. Few hara appeared to visit it during the day, for as before there weren’t many customers. Clearly, a couple were there simply to discuss business deals, farming business. There was no sign of the keephar but a young har not long past feybraiha was polishing the bar, humming to himself. He had a pixie-like heart-shaped face and glossy yet rather thin black hair drawn into a ponytail. I enquired whether his employer was available.

  ‘That would be my hostling, Yoslyn,’ he said, ‘and no, he’s not here at the moment. Can I help you at all?’

  ‘Are you serving lunch?’

  ‘Of course. Today being Loitsday we don’t have hot food until later, but plenty of cold fare.’

  ‘That will be fine. When will your hostling be back?’

  ‘Not till sundown. He and my father have gone to Hiyenton to barter. It’s market day there.’

  Slightly disappointed, I found a seat for myself in a fairly dark corner of the main bar room, and thought I might as well enjoy a good lunch before heading off into the forest.

  The young pothar brought me a plate of cheese, ham, bread and dark pickles – typical country fare – and a tankard of pungent ale. The other hara in the room, who were within my line of sight, occasionally glanced up at me, but with no great interest. Some might be from out of town, of course. I smiled to myself; already I expected to be recognised. How many little conceits lurk within us?

  The food was tasty and fresh, and quickly consumed. I got out my notebook and, while I finished the ale, jotted down a few ideas for the next festival. I always found Reaptide one of the most difficult to dramatise, if that’s the word. Probably the most appropriate ritual would simply be for everyhar to walk alone in summer hills and see what thoughts and dreams might come to them. While most hara liked to celebrate at night, it occurred to me that perhaps a daytime festival would be interesting for a change. Festivities could carry on into the evening.

  As I was pondering these possibilities, the inn door opened and for a moment somehar was framed in silhouette at the threshold. A jolt passed through me; it was Nytethorne Whitemane. Instinctively, I edged back into my corner, hopefully out of sight. Nytethorne went directly to the bar, where the pothar greeted him in an informal manner and handed him a key, which the young har had taken down from a board among the hanging tankards. I heard him say, ‘The usual lunch, tiahaar?’

  Nytethorne nodded, did not speak. He walked right past me, yet some distance away, and walked with odd slowness up a flight of uncarpeted stairs behind where I sat. I could hear his tread, which sounded tired. What was he doing here? Had he come for a secret liaison with somehar? Was a meeting of Whitemanes and their allies planned in this place?

  I sat for some further minutes, feeling quite disorientated. The pothar walked past me, whistling rather tunelessly, a tray in his hands, a cloth over one arm. He went up the stairs, and I heard him knock upon a door on the landing above, clearly right at the top of the stairs, since it took him no time at all. The door opened, some brief words were exchanged and the pothar scampered back downstairs, not even giving me a glance as he passed. Nytethorne Whitemane was in a room above me, so close. Had he come here only to enjoy a private lunch? This seemed
unlikely.

  I went to the bar and ordered a half tankard of ale. I was almost bursting with the desire to question the pothar but resisted this impulse. I returned to my corner table and drank half of the ale quite swiftly. Thoughts thundered through my mind, so hectically I could barely take heed of them. Then I got to my feet, drink in hand, and climbed the stairs, knocked on the first door I came upon. The friendly tankard would make my appearance less threatening, I felt.

  Nytethorne opened the door and stared at me in disbelief, said, ‘What?’

  I bowed slightly. ‘Might I speak with you, tiahaar?’ These words: as if I’d come to his home and knocked upon his door, on an ordinary visit.

  Nytethorne glanced past me towards the stairs. ‘You follow me here?’

  ‘No, I was eating my lunch downstairs and saw you pass.’ I didn’t intend to apologise for the intrusion, although it was my instinct to do so. Let him think what he liked.

  He looked directly at me again, eyes wide. ‘There’s nothing to say.’

  I smiled. ‘Of course. How silly of me. You’re here waiting for somehar.’ Still, I didn’t turn away.

  ‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘But makes no difference.’

  I took a step closer. ‘You sprang upon me in the Wyvachi gardens the other night. So now I spring upon you. Talk to me.’

  He regarded me so steadily for some moments, I could almost see his mind working, wondering whether to admit me or slam the door in my face. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘The quite usual things in the face of mystery: answers.’

  ‘What will you do with answers?’

  ‘How can I tell until I know what they are? May I come in?’

  He really didn’t want me to enter that room and yet I could tell he was torn. Something made him say, ‘Suppose so, but little I can tell you.’