The World Above the Sky (5 page)

A crouched figure hidden in low scrub watched Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk step from the canoe into knee-deep water. Keswalqw stepped ashore with practised ease. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk drew her attention to an oddity up the beach. Two barrels, lashed together with a length of rope were lifted from the sand by the rising tide.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk moved toward the barrels. Some sea creature, its breathing unsuccessfully muffled, didn't wish to be seen. Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk secured the canoe. He caught Keswalqw's warning glance. They climbed the low bank and slipped quietly into thick woods, where they watched as the creature, still soaked and dripping, picked his way from his hiding place, gingerly lifting and setting his unshod feet among jagged stones.

Hatless, shoeless, and without his cape, clad in black hose, and black velvet jacket shot through with threads of gold, Antonio Zeno felt naked. He poked at the contents of the canoe. Empty containers. Heavy fur robes. Nothing of interest to an empty belly on a hot day. He made his way along the rocky shore toward the beached curragh.

Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk and Keswalqw exchanged bemused glances, at once entertained and befuddled by his peculiar, tenderfooted, toe-stepping dance among the stones. Each knew what the other thought; this was not a man, but another shape-shifter, a creature perhaps human, perhaps not—likely, because of the black jacket, a crow or raven on a spirit quest. In the waking world, beaked creatures were selfish and unpredictable. No less so in the spirit world. They'd give this one a wide berth.

“Perhaps, Aunt,” Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk said, as Antonio high-stepped it out of earshot, “it fell off the great wooden whale too.”

Keswalqw looked back to
Reclamation
. Its back was no longer covered with basking seal persons experimenting with human form. They were all naked now, clearly in man form, leaping off the wooden whale into the sea. They'd climb back up the whale's side only to leap again, happy as otters. As if by prearranged signal, they climbed back aboard, covered themselves in their wet clothing. From the stump of a great tree that protruded from the whale's back, the seal or otter persons suspended the great blanket, presumably to dry in the breeze. It was a very human thing to do. Very unlike a seal or an otter.

“Why seals would assume such pale, unhealthy forms, then cover themselves in that hot clothing?” Keswalqw wondered.

“I wonder what brought them here, of all places?”

“What their spirit quest might be is their business, not ours,” Keswalqw replied.

“Apparently they have lice. Several of the older bulls seem preoccupied with scratching themselves.”

“Yes. I noticed.”

“And the terrible stink…”

Keswalqw and Mimk
ɨ
tawo'qu'sk slipped into the brush. They cut a line directly southeast through thickening forest.

Antonio had no idea he'd been so closely observed. He was grateful the stone patch finally resolved into a long stretch of sandy beach. He abandoned his tiptoe terpsichore and made headway.

“Please,” Eugainia pleaded as they penetrated the hushed forest. “If you love me, set me down.”

Morgase's heavy dress was soaked with perspiration. Sweat beaded on Her Lady's cold, white brow.

“When your contractions should be getting stronger,” Morgase told her, “they weaken. Goddess of spring in your maiden flesh I tell you this. Bring forth this child or you will die.”

The circular meadow into which they stumbled was a silent, pleasant place edged by stripling birch.

“We need a silver fir or a seasoned oak.” Morgase staggered forward. “A child born amid these weedy birches will be pliant and weak of will.”

The clearing was dominated, dead centre, by an oblong stone. The rock, twice their height and shaped like a tongue, thrust up from the grass at an angle, its black surface polished by the dry heat of the sun.

“I beg you, Morgase. If you love me, let me sink into this strange soil—”

“Hush, child.” Morgase reshouldered her burden. “Where there's no oak, a good rock serves a Royal and Holy Birth.”

Eugainia removed a slender dagger from the folds of her mantle. “Take this knife and cut it from me.”

“Put that away.”

“God wills it.”

“God may will what He will. I tell you it's too soon for that.”

Morgase and Eugainia made slow progress to the stone.

“I beg you. If I don't lie down I will—”

“If you do lie down, you will perish.”

Eugainia cried out for her protector. “Prince Henry!”

Henry, screened from “women's business” by custom and a certain squeamishness, and a stand of young pines, responded. “Morgase? Shall I—?”

“Stay back, Henry.” Morgase forced Eugainia back to her feet. “This is no place for fainting men.”

Eugainia slumped against the standing stone, her knees about to buckle, her back grateful for the support.

“Now. Squat, child. Just so. Place your hands on my knees. Good. Look at me. Eugainia! Pull power from the stone.”

“Morgase, what will become of us in this strange place?”

Morgase recoiled as though struck.

“Morgase?”

“Niniane!”

“Niniane is back at Castle Rosslyn, in Edinburgh—”

“Send to the kitchens for honeyed barley water, girl.” Morgase stumbled toward the unseen figure behind the rock. “Impudent girl! Niniane! Come here!”

“Morgase…?”

“Look! My Lady…the maidens of the hall, spindles whirring, turn linen threads for your first...your first...child….Help me. My heart…it bursts within…”

Morgase fell, her eyes fixed on the blazing sun. Eugainia strained forward, gripped Morgase by the wrist. The slight breeze abated. The great rock began to vibrate. Leaves trembled in gentle resonance. As lightning seared the core of a standing tree, divine authority burned a channel through Eugainia. A sharp intake of breath propelled Morgase to her feet. She pried Eugainia's fingers free. “Enough. Let go.” Eugainia redoubled her grip. “Eugainia. Let go. I am well.”

Eugainia's consciousness wavered. Her grip faltered. She fell back hard against the stone, knocking the breath from her chest. She watched as Morgase's face became a mask divided: one side fixed, immobilized by joy, the other rigid with fatigue and sorrow. She fell—this time, Eugainia feared, for good. Her Shepherd's full weight lay across Eugainia's thighs. Pinned to the earth by earth itself, she thought. Please, Morgase. Don't abandon me now. Eugainia was assaulted by a strong contraction, the strongest since the Selkie Garathia had restored her to the
Reclamation
on the fish-filled Newfoundland seas. “Lord Henry!” Eugainia called. “The Shepherd of the Grail has fallen!”

Eugainia struggled from under Morgase, fell to her back, her skin sallow, her matted hair a tangle of meadow grass and crushed flowers, her skirts in disarray. She found she couldn't raise her torso.

“Lord Henry. I need you!”

Henry fought a wave of nausea. A scarlet patch of blood seeped through Eugainia's underskirts. Blood in battle honed his rage; birthing-blood defeated him. No weapon had been forged that could defend him from this inconstant force of nature, this too-frequent killer of the women he loved. Equanimity returned the instant he took and held Eugainia's hand. This was a field of battle. Nothing more or less. He knelt behind His Lady, his thighs and torso curved to support her upper body. Eugainia's back sunk into her Lord Protector. Still within her reach, she caressed Morgase's brow.

“What ails her?” Henry asked.

“Take my hand. Pray with me.” Eugainia's grip caused Henry's eyes to water.

Henry felt his breastbone vibrate. His shins, pressed to the ground, trembled. The resonance, he realized, came from the earth itself.

The great stone in the centre of the meadow pulsed then held a deep, resonant tone.

As if in answer, Eugainia vanished. Only a shimmer of light remained. The light intensified. Henry shaded his eyes. Morgase stirred, sat strong and refreshed and, to all outward appearances, completely healed. The stone fell silent. Eugainia stepped from the widening pulse of light, bent to Morgase. Morgase took her hand. Eugainia struggled to remain standing. Brusque and practical, as though her journey to the valley of the shadow had not occurred, Morgase led Eugainia back to the stone.

“Lord Henry. Fetch sprigs of willow to ease her pain. And yarrow for cleansing. Find lady's mantle. It will loosen the gate. Calophyllum will strengthen her heart and speed the pulse.”

“Morgase, I'm not schooled in women's affairs.”

“Ah. Of course. Why would you be? Then stay and tend Eugainia.”

Before Henry could object further, Morgase took a southward bearing and moved to leave the meadow. She stumbled, recovered immediately. She looked back at Henry and Eugainia. She smirked. “Oh, ye of little faith. I tripped, for goodness' sake. I tripped. That's all. You look like two lost children, newly orphaned. Straighten up, for goodness' sake, the pair of you.”

She turned. Had she taken another step, she would have collided with the shoeless figure clad in black who sprouted from the earth, it seemed, in a fungal instant. She stared at him, her hatred for the Venetian merchant raw and completely unveiled. Nor did Antonio Zeno make any attempt to hide his contempt for Morgase.

The day they'd met in Edinburgh, their instant mutual dislike had alarmed Henry. He thought that problem solved when
Speranza
disappeared in the storm. But there stood Antonio, sudden as a mushroom, frayed but unbent, a devil he knew in this strange land.

“Papist viper!” Morgase spat. “No God I could love would let you live, let alone lead you to this sacred place.”

“Morgase. Please,” Henry whispered, “this is not the—”

“I thought I'd never see a living face again,” Antonio said.

“Keep that man away from my Eugainia, Lord Henry, or I'll not be held responsible for my actions.”

“You will indeed be held responsible for your actions, Morgase. You'll find the herbs Our Lady requires. Admiral Zeno will accompany you. I'll not have the Shepherd of the Grail wandering these wild woods alone. While you search, my place is with Our Lady.”

Morgase stiffened. “Me? With him?”

“You wish me to accompany her where, exactly?” Antonio asked.

“To seek the medicines required by Eugainia.”

“My very soul recoils—”

“The old witch's charms are undiminished, I see.”

“You smug, hopped-up papist wee popinjay—”

“Enough! You will get along, the pair of you, for the sake of Our Lady. Look about you. Lost in a foreign wood. Reduced by eight in ten of our numbers. No seeds. No livestock. No provisions. Beset about by God knows what manner of men and creatures. If we are to survive, it will be because we learn to depend upon each other; you will co-operate or we will perish.”

Eugainia shifted, easing the strain on her back and thighs. “Morgase. You poison this new well before we've drunk its waters. Put your ancient grievances aside. If not for your own sake, then for mine. Henry is correct. Do as he says.”

“Antonio?” Henry asked. “
D'accord
?”

Antonio knew Henry for the leader he was, and recognized practical good sense when he heard it. If his desires in this New World were to be fulfilled, his one option was co-operation.

“For the sake of a moment's calm, if not eternal peace,” Antonio said, “shoeless and hatless though I be, I will accompany her.”

“Hold on, child.” Morgase kissed Eugainia's forehead. “Hold on.”

Morgase swept past Antonio.

“Come, viper. Close your gaping yaw and follow me. ”

Henry sat when bidden beside Eugainia. She took his hand.

“I am the moon, Lord Henry, stopped in her orbit.”

“How so, My Lady?”

“I wax and wane in the same instant,” she said. “Comes a jolt of pain, and I wish it twice as strong. The urge to push fades. Another weak jolt. It dissipates. I slip further away. Then great pain without contraction. Look how I bleed. Lord Henry. You're as white as a sheet. Can you abide my agony of blood?”

“My heart is your agony, as though my own child suffered.”

At the edge of their vision, a shadow figure stirred, then dissolved in absolute immobility. Henry scanned the dark wall of spruce.

“Don't worry, child. Though my senses reel, I'll not desert you.”

“Good. Your presence gives great comfort. The Shepherd of the Grail will not survive this day.”

“How do you know?”