by Jo Walton
He laid him safely on the muddy grass and went back to help Emer pull Nid out. As he carried her over to lay beside Leary, Ap Felim and Uthidir came to help. Soon they were singing charms Conal did not know over Leary and Nid and there was nothing he could do.
He looked up. The chariot horses had been cut free and people were seeing to them. Meithin was with Emer by the wreck looking at the mare, who was plunging wildly and struggling to breathe. They both had tears on their faces. Conal stood up and took a step towards them. He was surprised to discover that his legs quaked like a bog.
“I knew her,” Emer said. Meithin made a motion, but Emer drew her knife. “Forgive me, Barley, forgive me Rhianna,” she said, made the Beastmother sign, and plunged the knife into the mare’s neck.
Blood spurted out, covering them. The mare slumped for a moment, then swelled. The sun went behind a cloud. The mare’s flesh fell away from her bones, like cooked meat falling away from a bone in stew. Conal could not move his eyes away. The mare’s bones fell apart on the ground, and inside her there was something small and bloody and very ugly. It grew and darkened until it was unmistakably a horse, an enormous black horse, bigger than the chariot, bigger than any horse that ever was, with huge yellow teeth. Conal did not know how his legs had given way but he was sitting staring up at the great and terrible horse shape.
“Forgive me, Rhianna,” Emer said again. She was still upright, the bloody knife in her hand, and her voice shaking only a little. Meithin, who had been beside her, was facedown on the ground.
“Thou I forgive, brave charioteer of Connat,” Horse Mother said. Her voice was like the thunder of hooves towards battle. “Thou struck from mercy. But Oriel—no. This is the third time I died at Ardmachan.”
“Accident,” Leary gasped. Conal half turned and saw him sitting up, looking ghastly. Nid was still unconscious. Uthidir and ap Felim had flung themselves facedown like Meithin. “A stone struck my charioteer, and I couldn’t hold the horses. The mare was—”
“Careless and cruel are not far apart,” Rhianna said. Conal turned back to her. Her face seemed more like a woman’s now, but still with those huge rending teeth. “Once it was cruel, once it’s a tool, and now it’s a fool. Beasts are not tools to bear your burdens, they are companions. Well that you learn this. I set a curse on the folk of this dun once, now I will call it to force. And all of my beasts who are here I will take.”
Conal wished desperately that Conary or Inis were there to speak for Oriel. He cleared his throat to speak. “Mother of Beasts, we love our horses and mean them no harm. We risk them in war, but only as we risk ourselves.”
Rhianna stared at him, and her eye was like a woman’s and a horse’s at the same time. Then she nickered, and the two chariot horses and the gelding, Patches, went running towards her. Patches was still tangled in his harness. One of the chariot horses was limping. They went right up to Beastmother and pressed close. They did not seem even slightly afraid. Conal dared not drop his gaze. He felt she was weighing every time he had ever had to do with animals, from his childish fear of Blackie the bull to his killing the two chariot horses in the battle at Edar.
She threw back her head and shook it, like a horse bothered by a fly. “True are your words, son of Oriel, you love them,” she said. “And the beasts say they stay. Still, I will bring down the curse that I gave you long, long ago when the dun here was raised. When next the red tide of battle is flowing, when folk in arms cross the borders to fight, then will my curse come to make you remember, the fighting folk of Oriel will suffer that night.”
“Suffer?” Conal asked.
She reared up, dark against the sky, as tall as the dun, taller, blotting out the hill, her eyes red and her mane tossing like stormclouds. “As the mare suffered, as the mare suffered, as the mare suffered,” she said, each repetition more like thunder. Then she was gone from the paddock into the sky.
Conal sat staring up at the racing clouds, his mouth still open.
14
(ELENN)
Edar wasn’t much of a place. It was just a farm on a hill with a palisade around it, like hundreds of other farms. And the hall wasn’t big enough for everyone, even though it had clearly been extended recently and given a fresh coat of limewash. There wasn’t even a proper kitchen. The far end of the hall, the old end, had a sturdy stone fireplace. It was there that the ox had been roasted, whole. It still hung there, a little away from the fire, smelling wonderful, waiting for Amagien to come and carve it himself. There weren’t enough alcoves on the hall so trestles had been set up with boards placed over them, and everyone was lined up sitting along them, Vincan fashion. She liked being able to watch everyone. There were three tables, two of them running down the hall and the top one running across. One of them was packed tightly with the farm people, one was full of the champions and court of Oriel, including Elenn, and the top table was for the king, his family, and those who were being especially honored, including two of the farmers.
Conary sat at the centre of this table, with his family around him. Everyone was dressed in all their finery. Finca looked very dignified. Elba was wearing a new overdress embroidered with pearls. Ringabur was engaged in a long conversation with Darag about something that seemed to need lots of arm gestures. Leary put in the occasional remark. They really did look like champions now, not like boys. Conal, looking like a poet, was talking to Emer, who was looking respectable for once, with her hair combed and wearing a clean overdress. Beyond her were the two farmers, who looked clean but uncomfortable.
Elenn wished she felt more certain that Maga would approve of Emer behaving like this and being singled out. It was certainly an honor, but it might not be the right kind of honor. She hoped Emer wouldn’t do something to bring disgrace on Connat. She didn’t know what her sister could do to disgrace them, but she would never have been able to imagine half the things Emer had done already. Emer was wearing a gold arm-ring Conary had given her after the battle, and another one of thick twisted bronze snakes which Conal had given her. Elenn didn’t know if it was right of her to accept them, but she was quite glad she had them now, because she was too young to have adornment of her own and without those she’d have been the only one at the king’s table bare of it, except for the farmers, of course.
“In Lossia, they eat lying down,” Ferdia said. The other good thing about the seating was that she could sit between Ferdia and Orlam, a little way down the right side of the champions’ table. No ordinary seating arrangement would have put her with both of them for a formal feast. She would normally have been tucked away in an alcove with Emer and Atha and some of the lesser champions of Oriel.
“Lying down?” she asked, trying to picture people eating stretched out on the floor—or maybe they ate in their beds? “That’s absurd.”
“It’s true,” Orlam confirmed. “There are two songs that mention it.”
Orlam was looking especially beautiful. She was wearing a pale blue overdress, a gold arm-ring on each arm, and a circlet of silver and pearls on her head. She made Elenn feel very young. It didn’t matter if Amagien had written a song about how beautiful she was, her friend had so much more style. She herself was wearing the overdress Maga had sent for the Feast of Bel. Lacking adornment, she had made herself a headdress of dusk-purple daisies, which sat comfortably on her black braided hair.
“How do they do it?” Elenn asked.
“I don’t know,” Orlam said. “I’d imagine they’d suffer a great deal from indigestion.” They laughed.
“Where is Lossia anyway?” Ferdia asked.
“Far off across the sea, beyond Tir Tanagiri, beyond Vinca, way off farther than anyone’s been,” Orlam said, looking dreamy. “I’d like to go one day and see what’s really in the wide world.”
“Raiding?” Ferdia asked, looking interested. “My father has raided Demedia.”
“Farther than Demedia, and not raiding, just exploring,” Orlam said. “Just to see what they do and what they eat …”<
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“And how they eat,” Elenn put in, smiling. “I’d like to do that, too.”
“I’d like to eat now, I’m starving,” Ferdia said.
“Well, you’re about to get lucky. Here comes Amagien at last,” Orlam said “Be quiet.”
People were shushing each other all around the tables as Amagien came in. He was dressed in his best for the occasion, glittering with what must be every torc and arm-ring and brooch he had ever won as a poet. Elenn’s heart sank to see that he was carrying his little harp. She saw Leary whisper something to Darag and roll his eyes and wondered if they too would rather leave music until after they’d had a chance to eat.
“Be welcome to my hall of Edar, King Conary, champions of Oriel, Atha of the Isles, prince of Lagin, and princesses of Connat,” Elenn inclined her head politely as she was mentioned. Emer visibly squirmed, at the top table, though it was no more than courtesy. “Never was such a splendid company gathered in this hall, nor were such splendid deeds done at Edar as those we gather here to honor today. Edar was threatened, and on the very first day of summer. With only the folk of the farm and two chariots with their charioteers, my son Conal beat off an attack by Atha ap Gren herself and by the champions of the Isles.” Now it was Conal who squirmed. Some of the farmers didn’t look very happy to hear their part played down so much.
“Nothing can be sufficient to honor those who fought and fell, those whose names will always be remembered. This feast is my small offering for those who fought and lived to see the victory. The herd was saved, until today when one of them will be served up to you.” It was a feeble enough joke, but people were laughing at it, so Elenn made herself smile politely. Orlam’s stomach growled.
“I have made no praise song for the victory at Edar. It is a little much for a poet to write praise songs for their own family. But Gabran ap Dair has made a song, which I shall sing now before we eat.”
Everyone’s face fell a little, even Conary and Finca lost a little of their air of pleased expectancy. People kept looking at the fine roasted meat as if to ask whether letting it get cold was a good idea. Only ap Fathag settled back comfortably as people usually did while harps were tuned.
Amagien began to sing. His voice and his playing were as good as ever. Elenn had heard the song before, when ap Dair first performed it in Ardmachan, so there were no surprises. When it came to the part about the cooperation between Connat and Oriel, she glanced at her sister. Conal and Emer were both listening with sober expressions and their heads down. If Elenn hadn’t known that Emer had been brought up properly she would have wondered if they could be holding hands under the table.
At last, after much too long, Amagien brought the song to its dramatic conclusion with the charge of the bull and the capture of Atha. Atha, knowing everyone would be looking at her, was grinning back with a little malice in her expression. Elenn wondered what it would do to Atha’s reputation to have that song widely sung. She supposed it spoke well of her that she had been so honorable in defeat as to give Conal a praise name.
Everyone drummed their feet politely at the end of the song, Elenn among them. The farmers of Edar around their table were extremely enthusiastic, drumming and cheering. They liked it so much that Elenn was afraid they might ask for a repeat. The old man sitting by Emer had tears in his eyes. But at last Amagien put down the harp and picked up a carving knife. Even so, Elenn was afraid it would be hours before she got any dinner. Carving could be a slow business. A quiet buzz of conversation rose as everyone began telling each other that they would faint with hunger in another moment. Then one of the farm women came around with a tray of hot fresh griddies. Elenn thanked her and bit into one gratefully. Before the woman had reached the far end of their table with the griddies, Amagien had carved the first piece, the top of the rump, sometimes called the “hero’s portion.”
Elenn ate her griddie delicately, catching the crumbs, and watched Amagien put the first serving onto a bronze plate. Everyone watched, admiring his hospitality or just waiting for him to give the plate to Conary and get on. The air of hungry impatience was almost tangible, especially at Elenn’s table, where they could not hope to be served for some time. Instead of giving the portion to Conary, Amagien took the plate to Conal and bowed his head to his son. A silence spread out from them. Amagien spoke into that silence, his poet’s voice filling the room. “Take the hero’s portion, my son, for your victory, the first serving to honor the first among the young champions.”
Conary closed his eyes. Conal looked sickly up at his father. He reached for the plate slowly but before he could take it Leary leaped to his feet. “Conal’s victory I will honor,” Leary said loudly, almost shouting. “But I won’t sit still to hear him called first among the young champions. That is yet to be decided.”
The woman with the griddies froze, and shrank back against the wall.
“That is yet to be decided,” Conary echoed. “Divide the hero’s portion into three, ap Ross, and share it between the sons of my three sisters.”
Amagien hesitated. Finca put her hand on her brother’s arm. “Conal has earned it,” she said. “What have your other nephews done since they have taken up arms? Maybe it is time to decide.”
Conary looked at her with dislike.
“What chances have they had this summer?” Elba asked, from Conary’s other side, in reasonable tones.
Conary turned and gave her the same look. “It will be for the champions of Oriel to choose between my nephews when I am dead,” he said. “They will have plenty of time to show their prowess before that, if the gods are kind.”
A murmur ran through the hall as everyone invoked the gods to give Conary life and strength. Elenn joined in, sincerely enough.
Ferdia stood up as soon as the informal prayer was over. “We are not talking about inheriting Oriel now,” he said. “But it seems to me that the question of which of the king’s nephews is now the best among the young champions could easily be settled by some friendly contests—after dinner.”
There was a general laugh at the last two words. To her surprise, Elenn saw that Darag was frowning urgently at Ferdia.
“Very well,” Conary said, looking like a man seeing a clear way out of a maze. “We will have contests after dinner, and Orlam ap Ringabur shall arrange and judge them.”
“But she’s ap Ringabur’s sister,” Ferdia said. Darag shook his head at him fiercely.
“I am a lawspeaker of Rathadun, I am sworn to judge fairly,” Orlam said quietly, yet all the room heard her. “Nor do you see me sitting with my brother and my parents as royal kin at this feast. Is that a challenge to my honor?”
“No,” Ferdia said and sat down. Elenn breathed a sigh of relief.
Orlam looked down the table, and sighed herself. “Still, who will say that I can truly decide fairly between my brother and my cousins in such a case as this, when it will be remembered in the far time when it comes to time to choose kings again in Oriel? This is the blind spot I did not see which makes coming home a burden and not a benefit. We are all too close akin here, Conary, your lawspeaker is your niece, and your oracle-priest is your father. You had best set the contests and judge them yourself.”
“Not I,” Conary said. “That is advice, not a judgment, and I reject it. If you will not decide, I call on you to choose another to judge these contests.”
Orlam stood up and sighed again. Elenn moved a little away from her. She looked different, more serious, older. Everyone kept very quiet, hardly moving. Orlam pulled off her pearl circlet and dropped it onto Elenn’s lap. Elenn took careful hold of it; it was delicate work and could be crushed easily. Orlam let down her hair, shaking it until it was loose around her face. She extended her hands, palms up and then down.
“Before all the gods of home and hearth and of our people, and especially Damona, Lady of Justice,” she said, “I am Orlam ap Ringabur, a lawspeaker of Rathadun, and this is my judgment.” She looked all around the hall, making eye contact with everyone in
turn. She did not take any less time with the farmers than with the champions. Nobody fidgeted while she was doing it. Elenn could hardly breathe as her eyes followed Orlam’s gaze. Darag looked calm. Leary looked defiant. Conal looked desperately unhappy.
“These three young champions are the heirs of Oriel,” she said at last. “Nobody here could choose between them without room for some to say that there was bias, one way or another. There must be four contests, each arranged and judged by the other four kings of Tir Isarnagiri.” She paused, lowered her hands, and everyone drew in their breath all at once. “I do appreciate that this isn’t going to happen immediately after dinner,” she added. There was a feeble laugh. Orlam sank down beside Elenn, looking exhausted.
“And for now?” Amagien asked. Elenn offered Orlam her circlet back, but she shook her head vigorously.
“Put aside that portion,” Conary said. “Serve the rest of us first, for we are all hungry. The young men can wait for their meat until all is decided, for honor is the best sauce, as they say.”
For the first time, Darag looked as if he wanted to speak, but he just shook his head. When the woman with the griddies came to him, Elenn noticed that he took two.
Elenn offered Orlam the circlet again, under the table, questioning with her eyes. “Keep it,” Orlam said. “It’ll look good on you. And I never want to wear the thing again. But for that pressing on my head, reminding me that my mother gave it to me and it was my grandmother’s, I’d have felt I could have judged fairly myself.”
“But if it was your grandmother’s, it’s an heirloom, and I can’t take it,” Elenn insisted.
“It was given to me freely,” Orlam said. “And now I want you to have it. It won’t weigh so heavily on you. Wear it, and remember to make good choices.”
“Thank you,” Elenn said after a moment, turning it in her hand. It was very beautiful.