Consorts of Heaven (7 page)

Howen, never known for his generosity, said, ‘Even if he is not a criminal or outcast, this is no time to entertain guests! We do not want strangers here. We should do as Bodfan suggested and send him back up into the mountains.’

Cadmael spoke up. ‘That would be as good as a death sentence, even more so in the winnowing times.’

‘If that is what the Mothers will,’ said Howen piously.

Sais stood still as a tree, his face stricken. Kerin got the impression that any move, any gesture, would lead to total collapse. Though he might not be a creature of evil, nor the cause of their afflictions, he was still a threat to the usual order, and they wanted him gone. They would not let reason or compassion get in the way. And in the end, Arthen would do what was best for the village.

The silence stretched. Finally Arthen said, ‘I do not wish to have this man’s death on my conscience.’ He looked round the council. ‘And neither should you.’

Kerin began to let go a slow, relieved breath.

Arthen turned to Sais. ‘Stranger, you have leave to speak. Tell us how you came to be here.’

The breath caught in Kerin’s throat.

She wondered if Sais had not heard the question. Then he said, in a small, uncertain voice, ‘I don’t know. Honestly, I can’t remember anything before I woke up in Kerin’s hut. I don’t even know my name. I’m sorry.’

People looked surprised and confused. He spoke with an accent none had heard before, establishing him as a man from afar: they had anticipated a tale of interest, not a denial of knowledge.

Fychan had his hand up again. ‘Why should we believe this? Is this memory loss not a convenience that one of ill intent might affect?’ he asked.

Arthen frowned, perhaps tiring of his son’s troublemaking. When no one else spoke up, Kerin raised her hand. Arthen nodded to her, and she said, ‘Masters, I believe I know who he is.’

Out of the corner of her eye Kerin saw Sais’s head whip round. She kept her gaze on Arthen. ‘Not his name. But I believe he is a noble from the lowlands.’

‘Why do you say that when your knowledge of such places comes only from others?’ asked Arthen mildly.

‘My husband told me that the rich men in the lowlands live very different lives to us, and many do not have beards. My guest has had a life with little hard work, he has no beard and his ways are strange to us. And then—’ she fumbled in her apron for the pot she had taken from her hut, and stuck her hand inside it ‘—then there is this!’

She had intended to produce the fabric with a flourish, but ended up dropping the pot. The appearance of the shining cloth still had the desired effect.

Into the rapt silence Kerin said, ‘I found this with him. A man who can afford such cloth will have been missed. His people would be grateful for his return.’

She passed the cloth to Arthen. He felt the weave, then gave it into Fychan’s eager hands. The etiquette of the meeting temporarily forgotten, Fychan said, ‘Was there more of this stuff?’

Kerin felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Greed would overrule suspicion. She kept her voice uncertain. ‘I found a smaller piece as well, so there may well be more. I have been too busy tending my patient to look.’

When it had gone around everyone, Arthen nodded to show that the fabric should be returned to Kerin. Then he said, ‘We can search the mere later. This is proof he is not from the uplands. The obvious solution would be for him to travel to the lowlands with the drove.’

No one spoke up against the suggestion. Kerin pressed her lips together, fighting the urge to laugh out loud.

Arthen added, ‘Assuming he is fit to travel. Kerin?’

Her head felt light as thistledown. Possible disaster had become salvation: the drove would return Sais to his home. And it had been due, in part, to her! It suddenly struck Kerin that if she kept her wits about her, here was also her one chance to escape a life of unspoken secrets, small unkindnesses and constant drudgery.

‘He is recovering from a fever caught at the mere, master,’ she said to Arthen, ‘and his missing knowledge still causes him problems. I would say that though he can travel, it would go easier for him, and for the drovers, if he had someone to care for him.’ She paused, a tiny shiver going through her at her own temerity, then added, ‘Therefore I suggest that I be allowed to accompany the drove.’

‘What?’ said Lorar.

Howen muttered, ‘A woman on the drove? Ridiculous!’

Though unease rippled through the council, Arthen was still looking at her, indicating she retained the right to speak. She continued in a rush, ‘As well as caring for my patient, I would tend to my son’s needs. Damaru carries our hopes with him on his journey; I am sure that you would not wish his chance of success to be hurt by having suffered unduly from the rigours of the road. For myself, I would not be a burden on the men, nor would I ask that any concession be made for my sex.’

Several men had their hands up, and most had expressions of indignation and disbelief on their faces.

Arthen ignored the raised hands and addressed Cadmael. ‘What does your knowledge of the Traditions tell you? As I recall, a woman may travel if there is a good enough reason.’

‘Aye,’ said Cadmael, ‘that is my recollection too.’

Kerin had given him a reason, and she suspected that, despite refusing her initial request to accompany Damaru, he would prefer her gone. It would be easier to face the winnowing times without her around. But was the reason good enough to convince his council? In the end, they were as easily led as their own herds.

Bodfan’s attempts to gain the floor were almost comical. ‘Surely,’ he said when Arthen gave him leave to speak, ‘the last thing we should do in these troubled times is risk the displeasure of the Mothers? A woman
asking
to go on the drove is hardly a good reason.’

Fychan put his hand up, and Kerin’s heart sank. ‘I agree that a woman’s word should not hold weight in council,’ he said. ‘But in this case her reasons have some merit. It is a woman’s place to care, and the drove will now carry two who require that care.’

Kerin’s eyes widened in surprise at Fychan’s unexpected support. But he was in a minority. Lorar was shaking his head and muttering loudly, Bodfan looked like he had more to say against her, and none appeared to be willing to speak up for her.

Though Arthen had now lent back so his face was in shadow, she knew he was watching her. Her mind raced, trying to find another argument the men might listen to. He had opened the way, but in the end he would not directly oppose the will of the majority.

Next to her Sais swayed on his feet, his lips pressed into a thin line.

When the mood of the hall changed, at first Kerin could not see the reason. Men became still and attention focused behind her. She turned.

Damaru was wandering towards her, his expression unhappy. He must have come home to find the hut empty and wondered at the lack of his mother - and his dinner. She reached out to him. He let her hold him and rested his head on her shoulder with a sigh.

Arthen stood. ‘I think,’ he said, relief evident in his tone, ‘that the Skymothers have just indicated the course they wish us to take.’ He put his palm out to show the skymetal disc. ‘All voices have been heard, and a decision reached: Kerin and the stranger are no longer considered cursed. And they will travel with the drove - both of them.’

Walking back down the slope to Kerin’s hut, the village council began to assume an air of unreality, as though the men were manifestations of his fears, from the mouthy boy with the scarf round his head to the old fart whose opinion was probably only valid because he’d been too stubborn to keel over yet. The danger they’d posed already seemed like no more than another nightmare. But it had been real, and Sais had acted stupidly. As they ducked into the hut he said, ‘Kerin, I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘For making an idiot of myself like that.’

‘Fear makes fools of all of us. All that matters is that it turned out for the best.’

Damaru sat down by the fire. Sais sat on the other end of the bench, facing Kerin. As she got to work on the evening meal, he asked, ‘This falling fire that the council are worried about, does it happen every year?’ He’d have expected to remember something as regular as that.

She shot him that perplexed expression he’d come to associate with answers that were obvious to her. ‘The winnowing times return every generation.’

‘And it just turns up out of the blue?’
Like me
, he didn’t say.

‘Aye, in the weeks before star-season. So its appearance now should not be such a surprise.’

Whenever
star-season
was - soon, presumably. ‘How serious is it?’ he asked.

‘Every family will be touched by it, and most who fall will not recover. Those who do will be left barren,’ she said grimly.

Pretty serious then. ‘How do the winnowing times end?’

‘With the red rain.’ At his quizzical look she continued, ‘The falling fire is no ordinary ailment. It comes when the weight of our sin has tainted us, and we must be cleansed. It cannot be cured or treated, only endured. But soon after the festival of Sul Esgyniad the rains are stained with red. Tis the blood of Consorts, shed willingly to heal and renew Creation, just as the brighter rain of star-season is their’ - she coloured, and completed her sentence - ‘just as the rain of stars brings fertility. It is all part of the Skymothers’ plan for their children.’

He’d have to take her word for that, given how little what she was saying meant to him. But the fact they considered this disease a heaven-sent curse did explain why the council were willing to send away their only healer. Then again, they obviously didn’t think much of Kerin. He was just glad he was going with her. ‘When do we leave?’

‘On the drove? In four days.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘There is much to do now we are all going.’

‘And did I hear right? Damaru’s going too?’ Sais found himself happy to talk about Damaru as though the boy wasn’t there. Perhaps, in some indefinable way, he wasn’t.

‘Aye, he goes to stand before the Cariad, the Beloved Daughter of Heaven. He will be tested to find whether he is worthy to become a Consort of the Skymothers.’ She spoke with an odd mixture of pride and sorrow. ‘Damaru is the first skyfool to be born in our village for many generations, and those few who have come before have not been found worthy. When a skyfool becomes a Consort then tis a wondrous thing for all who know him. For just as he has the sky in him while in the realm of earthly Creation, so he retains part of his earthly life when he ascends to Heaven. The Skymothers will favour the prayers of those who were known to their Consorts while they lived below.’

Damaru chose that moment to spring to his feet and make a grab for some morsel on the table. Kerin batted at his hand. He yelped, then scooted away and jumped onto his bed, where he sat and sulked.

‘Are skyfool girls this badly behaved?’ asked Sais, caught between amusement and irritation. However divine and glorious Damaru’s future might be, right now he was quite a handful.

Kerin said slowly, ‘I am not sure what you mean.’

Sais sensed he was on dangerous ground, but he needed to know what was what. ‘Sky-touched girls? Or are skyfools always boys?’

Kerin stood rigid, her expression pained. ‘For a girl to be touched by the sky is not a blessing. It is a curse.’ She turned away.

Though Sais had plenty more questions, now was obviously not the time to ask them.

 

He could lie here forever, except for the voice, the woman calling to him. She needs his help.

But he can’t help. He can’t even move.

He’s trapped - trapped, and sinking.

He opens his eyes, but the darkness remains unchanged. He wonders if it would help to panic, then decides not.

The thick, viscous liquid begins to ooze over his limbs, dragging him down. He feels the leading edge of it creep up his flank, over his belly.

Still he doesn’t react.

When it reaches his ears he can hear it as well as feel it, a slow tidal surge. He shudders as it flows into his ears, intimate, vile. He can’t hear anything now, not even the woman.

The liquid touches the corners of his mouth. Fear finally overcomes his numbness. He exerts his will to move, just a muscle, anything to escape his inevitable fate.

He can’t. He’s dead flesh. And any moment now the liquid will reach his nose, flow down into his lungs. He’ll drown from the inside out—

The crash is deafening.

Sais opened his eyes.

The darkness was filled with a vortex of sparks, blotted out by a dark figure rising in front of him. He cried out in terror.

‘Tis all right!’ Kerin’s whisper cut through his fear. She put out a hand to calm him, and everything dropped into place. He was in her hut, safe. ‘Your nightmare set Damaru off,’ she continued, moving away. ‘He broke a pot. I will calm him and clear up. Do not concern yourself.’