Consorts of Heaven (5 page)

He listened while the boy played, soothed by the music, until Kerin came over and told her son to stop.

She smiled at Sais. ‘I thought you would enjoy that, but his fingers are too tender to play for long.’

‘I did enjoy it, thank you.’ A fleeting thought chased through his consciousness and he pounced on it. ‘Did Damaru play for me while I was out of it? I remember music.’

‘Aye, he did.’ She paused, then added, ‘He said it would help.’

‘I reckon he was right.’ Perhaps skyfools weren’t so foolish after all. ‘Kerin, you’re a healer: what do you think is wrong with me? You said something about a bang on the head. Is that what happened? Have I banged my head and forgotten stuff for the moment?’

She spread her hands. ‘I cannot say. I found no injury, though these things do not always show themselves.’

‘Was there . . . anything else? You said something about sickness, didn’t you?’

She looked away for a moment, then said, ‘You had a fever, from being outside in the rain. You were delirious. You were struggling, crying out.’

‘What sort of things was I saying?’

‘I think - you seemed to think you were being attacked, or perhaps imprisoned. I could not make much sense of your words, though you did call out what sounded like a name.’

‘A name? What name?’

‘It sounded like . . . Nu - Nual? Something like that.’

Nual?
The name meant nothing to him; it had no more associations than ‘sais’ or ‘skyfool’ did. Why would he say a name in his delirium that meant nothing to him now?

‘Sais,’ said Kerin into his silence, ‘you should rest.’

‘You’re probably right,’ he agreed. Just sitting up to eat the meal had exhausted him all over again.

She blew out the lamps and settled at the foot of the bed.

He tried to relax, thinking of nothing. He listened to the wind in the thatch, the low crackle of the fire and Damaru’s snuffling snores from the bed further round the wall. Eventually, he slept.

 

Kerin woke early, feeling stiff and cold. She got up, stretched until her joints popped, then went to stoke the fire. Her gaze kept returning to the man asleep in her bed.

Since Neithion’s death, she had lived for Damaru. When the drove took her son, it would also take all hope and meaning for her. Even if her son was found worthy of Heaven, as she prayed he would be, she would not see him again. Her life would effectively be over.

But now the Mothers had sent this stranger to her. He was both a wonder and a responsibility, and the thought of him lightened her heart and sparked her imagination. As she threw oats into the pot for the morning meal, she entertained a dream in which, once he recovered his memory, he would ask her to come with him and they would leave the village together. They would rediscover his lost fortune and live happily in a big lowland home with many rooms and rich furnishings, and she would never have to cook porridge again.

Wonder he may be, but he was a mystery too. After his initial anger and frustration, his politeness and gratitude were disconcerting. How odd that a stranger - a
man
- should treat her better than her own people did.

‘Good morning, Kerin.’

She jumped, and turned to see him watching her. ‘I—You sound better this morning,’ she said.

‘I feel it. I’d like to try and get up today.’

‘As you wish. But I must go to capel after we have eaten. I will find you some clothes when I get back.’

‘Whatever you say.’ He sounded uncertain.

Of course, he had no idea what day it was! ‘I am so sorry, you would not know! Tis Sul today.’

‘Sul?’

‘Aye. The sevenday. The sabbath. So I must go to capel. You can come too, but I think you would do better to rest for now.’

‘Right.’

He still sounded unsure. And he did not bless his food. Kerin wondered suddenly whether his injury had caused him to lose his knowledge of the Skymothers. It alarmed her that he should have such a vital part of life taken from him.

Though she usually washed, and changed her skirt, for capel, with a stranger in the hut she contented herself with putting on a clean shawl, dragging a comb through her hair and changing her plain headband for an embroidered one.

She went out into a bright and pleasant day. Damaru followed, heading off into the hills as usual.

A full day without rain had put a crust on the mud. Kerin smiled at the thought that the Mothers’ tears were nearly spent, and soon the fertile fall of stars would rain their invisible bounty on the land, and all Creation would be warmed and coaxed into new life by the strengthening sun.

As she made her way up to the square, Shim came down through the huts to meet her. He looked uncomfortable.

‘Good day to you,’ said Kerin.

Shim bobbed his head. ‘Mistress, Arthen says you are not to come to capel.’

‘Why not?’

‘Three more families have been touched by the sickness and people mutter that you and this stranger from the mere have brought the winnowing times upon us.’ Into her stunned silence Shim continued, ‘He says you and the sais are declared am-annwn.’

‘Abyss-touched? No, he cannot do this! What am I saying?
He
did not do this, did he? Tis that bitch Gwellys, spreading her poison.’ Shim looked distressed, and Kerin added, ‘All right, Shim. Tis not your fault. Tell our chieftain that my patient and I will obey his command.’ She stalked off.

Though she might despise her fellow villagers’ close-minded views, that did not mean they were wrong. She had no doubt of the stranger’s innocence in this matter - and of course it had been Damaru, the sky-touched one, who had found him. But what of her? What if it had been her impiety, her doubt, her selfishness, that had brought this curse upon them all?

She must not let fear cloud her judgment. Arthen was just being cautious. If she kept to the proscriptions of being ritually unclean - not touching or talking to anyone outside her own hearth, taking her water from the lower stream, not entering the capel - he would have no cause to take this any further. People would feel comforted that she was inconvenienced, and life would continue.

And if he insisted on excluding her from the weekly service, well then, she would commune with the Skymothers alone.

She walked to the side of the village that looked down the valley. She had sat on the dyke here as a child, dreaming of what might lie beyond the far hills, back before she realised that such dreams only made her yearn for what could never be. She found a relatively dry patch and knelt down. She traced the circle of the world on her breast, then opened her arms and raised her face to the sky. Faint chanting came from the capel and she joined in:

‘Look over us, o owners of our souls, creators of our bodies, guardians of our minds.

‘We give thanks to you for bringing us out of the chaos below into the bounty of your Creation.

‘And for the future promise of everlasting joy above once we are purged of our sins.

‘We vow to keep your wishes in our hearts, and to sing your praises at all times.

‘We ask for your guidance and blessing on those still bound to the flesh and on those gone before, and for your protection from the forces of evil that wait below us.’

After speaking the familiar words, she offered up prayers to each of the Skymothers. She asked Turiach, the Mother of Mercy, that the coming plague should not take too many from the village, and that those who remained would be purified by the fire from Heaven. To speak thus of the falling fire made it suddenly, frighteningly, real, and she faltered. Why must it be this way? Why must parents be left sorrowing and children parentless? The promise of a possible reward later was surely not enough to justify the suffering. She opened her eyes, ashamed of the impious notion, surely a temptation straight from the Cursed One.

She sat, appalled at herself, unable to pray, until the damp seeped through her skirt and soaked her knees. Then she went back to the hut.

Whatever else he did today, Sais was determined to go outside; hopefully that should trigger new memories and associations. He started by testing out his body, wriggling his toes under the covers, lifting his arms, bending his legs. Everything appeared to work. He sat up, bundling the blankets around himself to protect his bare back from the wall.

Kerin returned sooner than he expected, looking unhappy. Seeing him sitting up she said, ‘You must be cold! I will find some clothes.’ She produced a patched off-white shirt, baggy brown leggings and thick woollen socks from a basket. When he asked if he could get cleaned up before he dressed she looked flustered, until he assured her he was strong enough to manage the task by himself. She heated some water and found him a relatively clean cloth. Then she lifted the wooden frame he’d seen earlier and carried it outside, saying he should call if he needed anything.

He managed to get some of the dirt off, though even after he’d scrubbed every part he could reach, his skin still felt vile. He dressed lying on the bed. The clothes were softer than they looked, though the leggings were too short. He considered trying to get up by himself, then decided to ask for Kerin’s help. The bed was high and rickety, and he still felt weak.

He called to her and she came back into the hut and helped him stand. This was the first time he had touched her, and her downcast eyes and hesitant manner implied such contact wasn’t normal. She didn’t smell as bad as he remembered; either that, or he was getting used to the general level of filth around here.

Kerin helped him to sit down by the fire, and brought over a cover from the bed to tuck round his legs. Now he was out of bed he didn’t feel quite so eager to look outside. Kerin’s hut might be primitive and dirty, but it was also familiar, and safe.

Kerin said, ‘I will start on the food,’ and began working at her table.

Aware that he posed more of an obstacle now he was out of bed, Sais asked, ‘Am I all right here? I mean, is there anything I can do to help?’

‘Help?’ She sounded surprised. ‘No, no, you stay there.’

Sais tried Damaru’s pastime, watching the fire. What he knew of the world suggested there was something odd about burning lumps of earth, though his mind failed to provide any alternative. Still, he found himself content to watch the glowing caverns of red heat collapse and reform in plumes of sparks.

Kerin mixed more oatmeal into a beige paste, then made patties which she spread out on the flat stone set over one side of the fire. A few minutes later the nicest smell he’d yet experienced began to fill the air.

When he commented on this, Kerin said, ‘Aye, tis oatcakes. For Sul.’ From her tone this was something else she expected him to know.

Damaru returned in time for the food. The cakes didn’t taste as good as they smelled; they were burnt on the bottom and barely cooked on top. However, Kerin served them with rich golden honey. Damaru stayed long enough to eat, then left, licking his fingers.

Strengthened by the meal, Sais asked if they could go out.

Kerin hesitated, then said, ‘We can, but we should stay near the hut.’

‘Why? What’s wrong?’

She put a hand out to calm him. ‘Please, there is no cause for worry. Tis just . . . some people do not welcome your coming to our village.’

If Kerin’s lifestyle was typical, then of course they wouldn’t; they probably didn’t have resources to spare for visitors. And no one else seemed to be helping her care for him.

Kerin found him some carved wooden shoes she called clogs, and made him drape a blanket round his shoulders before she allowed him to leave the hut. The outside world was both a relief and a disappointment: a relief because he could recognise things - mountains, huts, muddy ground - and a disappointment because nothing he saw held any particular significance for him.

Kerin led him to a building whose function was obvious by the smell. On the way there he had a clog sucked off by the mud; by the time they returned he was splattered in mud to the knees - at least, he
hoped
it was only mud . . .

Back at the hut, Kerin insisted on dragging the bench outside for him. The sun was warm, and Sais was happy to sit at her feet while she worked at her frame. As with the instrument the night before, after a while the name came to him. A
loom
. She worked the threads expertly, the quick tap-tap-tap of the stone weights overlaying the fainter noises of running water and the high whistle of the wind.

‘What are you making?’ he asked after a bit.

‘A skirt, to go with the drove.’

‘The drove?’

‘The men drive the yearling cattle to market every year, and they also take crafts, like our fabrics. They trade for new stock and for items we do not have, such as salt and metal.’

‘Where is this market?’

‘Oh, many weeks’ walk away.’ And, from her tone, somewhere she’d never been.

‘Are there any villages nearer than that?’

‘Aye, in the valleys to either side of this one. Penfrid and Carregogh. They are smaller than Dangwern, though.’

Though her knowledge of the world beyond her village was limited, she was happy - eager, even - to share what she did know. He doubted she’d met anyone before who didn’t already know all this. He listened politely, hoping she didn’t expect him to remember all these names, relationships, histories and anecdotes. As the afternoon wore on, he got the impression she was uneasy, and was trying to cover it up with chatter.

When the sun began to set behind the mountains, she took the loom back inside. He carried the bench; he felt well enough, and he wanted to help, even if gratitude disconcerted her. Kerin went to fetch water and fuel again, leaving Sais sitting by the fire. Damaru was still out.

When Kerin returned she began to prepare the evening meal. She was just putting the pot on the fire when the door flew open. Sais looked up, expecting Damaru.