Risa, page 44
That act broke the tension in the hall. Beven struck up his harp again. Benches were righted. Carys had the presence of mind to send the women scurrying around with more beer and cider. Elen caught up the wine jar again to refill her family’s cups, and those of the men of Camelot.
She caught Yestin’s eye. Well done, she tried to say with her glance.
Yestin’s shrug said, But what have we done? and Elen found she could not help but look toward the great door, closed fast against Urien’s return.
What have we done?
Outside, the rain began.
Chapter Two
Elen dreamed.
She dreamed a hawk soared free in the wild blue sky. She stood high on a green hill, watching the bird’s flight, marveling at its beauty. But then the hawk wheeled on its wing tip and dove toward her, its hooked beak open, the curving knives of its talons extended. Elen could not move, could not even struggle, as the hawk plunged its talons into her flesh. She felt skin, bone and sinew tear and screamed aloud. The hawk soared up again, Elen’s blood pouring as red rain from its wings.
Elen stood mute and stunned in her pain, her fresh blood staining her dress and cloak. The thunder of hoofbeats shook the ground and the shimmering air. A rider appeared over the crest of the hill, his cloak flapping behind him. A spear was in his hand and he hurled it impossibly high into the blinding blue sky. It pierced the hawk like an arrow and the blood-stained bird dropped to the earth at Elen’s feet. It clutched her heart in its talons and the horseman’s spear had split her heart and the bird’s in two.
Elen looked at the horseman, and saw under his helm he had eyes the color of the evening sky. She spread her hands, now covered with her own blood.
“You have slain me,” said Elen, and she fell into darkness.
Thunder boomed.
Elen shot upright. Sweat drenched her and her heart pounded frantically against her ribs. A draft curled damp and heavy around her throat, and she shivered hard. All about her, sleeping women snored, sighed and muttered to themselves, turning and reshuffling beneath their blankets, pulling closer together for warmth, but none woke, save Elen.
Elen wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop her shudders. She could still see the blood raining from the hawk’s feathers, and the eyes of the rider who looked at her so steadily.
What does it mean? Elen shivered again and outside the wind whistled under the eaves, calling out the souls of the sleepers to come and play.
Elen tossed her blankets aside and found her shoes and woolen overdress by touch. Shuffling her feet, she threaded her way carefully through the maze of beds and pallets, earning a grunt and a sleepy curse here and there as her toes prodded backs and hands. At last, her hand found the threshold and the door and Elen made her way into the great hall.
In the center of the hall, a few embers had been uncovered in the central firepit. In their orange glow, Elen saw her mother sitting on her stool wrapped in her gray, furlined cloak. She looked up as Elen came forward.
“So. You feel it, too, my daughter?” She looked toward the doors as the rain knocked hard against them. “There is more than wind and thunder out there tonight. I fear your brother will be drowned, but he insisted he be allowed to go out to the sentries, just to make sure none of Urien’s men come back to try more mischief.”
Elen knelt at her mother’s feet, huddling between the woman and the fire for her warmth. Adara lifted her chapped and swollen hand and stroked her daughter’s hair in a gesture Elen had known since she was a child. “I dreamed, Mother,” she said.
Adara nodded, as if she already knew. “Tell me your dream.”
Elen told her of the hawk and the blood, the horseman and the spear.
“Mother, I think it was Geraint, Arthur’s man.”
“Are you certain?”
Elen thought carefully, searching her feelings. “No, but it was very like him.”
Adara blew out a sigh. “Bad to worse. Very well, daughter.”
Elen bit her lip to silence a curse, against Urien, against Camelot, against prophecy and dreams. Why could they not be left in peace? It was all their father had wanted, all their whole family had ever wanted. “What do we do?”
“Tonight, nothing. Tomorrow … it may be we must call on a tie of blood to settle the truth of these things.”
“Blood?” The word sat Elen up straight.
Mother nodded. “You know of Arthur’s cunning-man, Merlin?”
Elen frowned. “The one they call No Man’s Son?”
“Yes.” Mother’s gaze grew distant, watching memories much more than the glowing coals before her. “He may have no father, but he had a mother, and she and my grandmother were kin.”
There were as many tales of Merlin as there were of Arthur, and like Arthur, not all those tales were of honor and triumph. “That is a weak tie, Mother,” Elen said uncertainly.
“But better than none.” Mother’s hands fell back into her lap. She looked at them, and scowled at their weakness. “There are other reasons I might trust him more than his master, but I did not want to have to call on that trust until I had to. Now I think I must.” She raised her eyes, staring at the stout stone walls of their home, but not seeing them. “Unless we want our men to question any alliance we might
make, we need proof of Urien’s lies.”
Elen heard those words, but in her mind she also heard them spoken differently. In her mind she heard, we must have proof that Urien lies.
Elen shifted herself until she was on her knees. Gently, she took Adara’s hands in hers. They were ice cold. “Mother …”
Let me help. Teach me what to do next. Yestin’s out there in the rain and the dark with that bright new sword … let me also be of use to our family.
Before she could speak her thoughts, a mad pounding sounded against the door, as if someone were trying to batter it down with bare fists alone.
“By all the gods, what is this now?” Mother got to her feet and strode to the doors.
“Mother …” Elen scrambled to follow. Don’t, something inside her tried to say. It’s a bad night. Leave whatever, whoever, that is outside. Don’t …
“Help me with this, Elen.” Mother laid a hand on the bar.
Elen bit back her fear and obeyed. What if it was Yestin? What if something had happened? She wrestled the bar aside and grasped the iron ring and pulled the door open.
There in the rain crouched three people. Their sodden cloaks seemed to weigh them down. One of them carried a pierced lantern. The rain hissed and spat as it fell against the hot sides. They all looked pinched and starved and their eyes were too large for their faces. Elen thought they were all three men, but she found she could not be certain.
“We seek Adara,” said one.
“Our Lady’s time has come and it goes hard with her,” said the second.
“She must have a midwife,” said the third.
They had small voices, like frightened birds. They huddled together in a tight knot, shaking, from cold, from effort, or from fear. Perhaps from all at once.
Elen thought Mother would invite them in, but she made no move. She only stared at the three strangers huddled there
“I cannot come,” Adara said quietly. “I cannot midwife anymore.” She held up her misshapen hands.
“Our Lady’s time has come and it goes hard with her,” said the second.
“She must have a midwife,” said the third.
The wind blew, whipping a curtain of rain through the door. The strangers shivered and drew closer together, and still Mother did not invite them in. Elen wondered how they had come past the sentries, and past Yestin.
“I’m most truly sorry,” said Mother. “It is beyond my power to aid your Lady in this.”
But they still did not move, and the third one only said doggedly, “She must have a midwife.”
All at once, Elen knew. She knew who she was seeing, and why they were so small and so brown, and why they came this night, of all nights, and her heart went cold and still inside her.
Mother nodded. “Very well.”
Elen drew her mother aside at once, out of the light of the tin lantern and the glow of the fire. “Mother! You cannot!”
“No, I cannot.” Adara laid her hand over Elen’s. “But you can.”
Elen’s heart thumped once. “No, Mother, I have not the skill.”
“You do,” said Adara steadily. “You have all the skill you need. It will be as any other birth. You know the ways in which you must take care. Be especially certain not to eat or drink anything until you return to our lands again.”
“But … this could take … days.” Don’t think of the other chance. Don’t think it. “How can I leave you and Yestin now?”
Don’t think how those such as stand at the door take men underhill for seven times seven years, or longer.
Adara looked deeply into her daughter’s eyes. “They have come to us for help and we cannot turn such a plea away, daughter. No matter who they are.”
Elen swallowed and tried to pull herself together, to stand as tall and proud as her mother did. “Of course. Forgive me. Let me get my cloak.”
This time Elen did not bother with caution as she waded through the women’s quarters. Curses rose in the darkness, as did worried queries.
“Baby’s coming” was all that Elen answered, pulling on her cloak and boots. Everyone would think it was Nia.
Her hands shook. It took her four tries to fasten her cloak pin. It was as well it was dark. She didn’t think she could see clearly, anyway.
Once, when she was very small, Mother went to midwife a birth and she returned at twilight the next day. There was nothing strange about this, save that when Mother returned she was usually full of stories: of the family, of the birth and how it went, of the child and how well it was likely to thrive. This time, she said only, “The babe lives and it is strong.”
The next morning, there was a new sow in the pen. None of the swineherds could say how it came to be there. She was milk-white and she bore litter after litter of strong, healthy piglets, all as white as their mother. She never savaged them as other sows might, and they never took sick no matter how cold the winter or how scarce the feed. Their pigs became famous throughout the cantrevs, and were much prized at markets and for any trade they might make.
When the sow finally died, mother forbade its flesh to be eaten. Instead, she ordered it buried by the bridge.
Everyone knew that sow had been her midwife’s fee for the birth she never spoke of. What everyone did not know was what Elen overheard Mother say to Father in the darkness and quiet.
“They wanted me to stay with them. It was only the thought of my children that brought me home.”
It was only the thought of my children. Elen had no such anchor. If these wanted her to stay, would she be able to say no?
Elen gritted her teeth tightly together and hurried back to the hall. The scene there was as it had been. The rain, the flickering light of lantern and fire, the small brown folk cringing beneath their sodden cloaks. They looked so miserable, Elen could not help but feel pity for them.
Mother took Elen’s hand and held it as tightly as she was able. She looked directly into Elen’s eyes, trying, Elen thought, to impart some of her strength and calm. “Our good neighbors here promise you will be returned to your family, safe and whole when your work is finished.”
The three little people looked up at her, blinking their sunken, overlarge eyes. Elen’s throat was as dry as dust, but she managed to say, “Very well. I am ready.”
Mother released her hand and stepped back. “You do our house proud, my daughter.”
Elen drew her hood over her head and stepped out into the rain. She did not look back as the door to her house closed behind her.
The rain was cold as winter and relentless as fury. The little men (were they men? by the flickering lantern light she was even less sure than she had been in the hall) clustered silently around her, herding more than leading her to a little cart. It was a rickety thing with a pair of soaked and dispirited donkeys in its harness. Silently, the one with the lantern held it high so she could step into the cart and find a place to sit amid sodden straw that smelled strongly of donkey. All three of her … guides climbed onto the seat. One touched up the donkeys and the cart lurched forward. Elen tried to wrap her cloak more closely around her to fend off the rain, and tried not to feel like a calf being delivered to market.
Or to slaughter. Elen closed her eyes against that thought. Home safe. They promised I would come home safe.
The cart bounced, creaked and jolted. The donkeys’ hooves squelched in the mud. The rain pounded down until she was soaked through her cloak and her hands felt numb. The little men said nothing, nothing at all.
Then the cart lurched to a halt. Two of the three little men scrambled off and came around behind. Elen peered ahead as far as rain and lantern light allowed. She could see nothing but shadow, but she could hear the river. The cart moved, creaked and tilted. The donkeys’ hooves clopped on stone. The little men behind shoved hard, and Elen had to grab the cart’s slats to keep from tumbling over. She bit her tongue until the blood came to keep from crying out.
The bridge. It was Midsummer Eve and they were crossing the bridge.
The cross found floating in the rushes … Maius Smith withheld what was theirs and was never seen again … Only the thought of my children brought me home … neither priest nor horse ever seen again … abide, abide and bring no trouble to this house … The cart lurched up the steps and evened out again. Where are you taking me? she wanted to scream. What are you doing?
Safe back with my family. They promised. Safe home.
The cart’s driver waited while his companions returned to their places. Then he touched the donkeys once more with his switch. The beasts’ hooves clopped hollowly against stone. Elen heard the familiar swirl and splash of the River Usk as it flowed around the pillars. The rain began to lessen. She peeked out from under her cloak’s hood. The lantern light showed only darkness, and a slight haze.
Fog?
Fog it was, and it grew thicker even as the rain slowed, then stopped. It was as if all the raindrops diffused and became mist. Elen could barely see the little men who accompanied her. They were shadows beneath a silver shroud. She could scarcely even see the slats of the cart that held her, and the donkeys were completely invisible. All that remained was the steady clip-clop of their hooves.
We must come to the end soon, she thought, a little dizzily. It takes but moments to cross.
But they did not. The hooves clopped against stone, and they picked up speed. The cart rattled and swayed, a loose assembly of wood and wicker driven by shadows through mist. How can the animals see? How can the driver? We’re going to fall. We’re going to hit the stairs and crash and be lost. …
The clatter of hooves that sounded so far away in the mist picked up the word. Lost, lost, lost, lost …
Then, the moon came out.
The silver light poured down thick and heavy as the mist. Elen lifted her head, feeling sudden awe at the sight of the pure white sphere overhead.
Sphere?
This moon was flawlessly full. It should not have been. It should have been waxing toward half full. Elen pressed her hand hard against her mouth to stop her scream.
Then she noticed the sound of hooves on stone had turned to the sound of hooves thudding against dirt. Then she noticed she no longer felt the wet straw beneath her.
Then she noticed she no longer rode in a wicker cart pulled by a pair of donkeys.
The floor beneath her was smooth and dry. The speed that pulled at her was dizzying. Solid sides, like a boat’s, curved around her, and behind, in the light of the strange moon, she could see a straight, flat white road rushing away.
A chariot. This was a chariot, one of the great conveyances, such as carried men in triumphant procession.
Up front, two white horses with fair manes streaming out behind them galloped steadily, not straining or snorting. Their reins gleamed in the moonlight, as if they were silver, or gold, and the driver …
The driver was a tall young man, well muscled and proud. His hair was as pale as the horses’ manes and streamed out in the wind of their passage. A deeply colored cloak fell from his shoulders. His companions were both matches for him, with their long, pale hair and their skin white as milk. Gold and gems flashed on their arms.
One of them, the one on the left, turned toward Elen and smiled. Elen felt his beauty like a blow to her heart. His eyes were still too large for his perfect face, but even with nothing but moonlight, she could see they were as green as all of summer. She could lose herself in those eyes, and she knew she would go willingly into that beauty, that mystery, that wondrous perfection. …
It was the hardest thing Elen had ever done to drop her gaze. Laughter pealed overhead like golden bells. Elen felt her heart shrivel within her. Then a second voice growled, dangerous as a wolf and as incomprehensible, and the laughter ceased. Elen realized she was panting hard.
Breathe, she told herself. Breathe. You must keep your wits. Her hands knotted together. You are the daughter of Adara. You are midwife and healer. You know the names of the gods and the ways of the other world. You are Elen of Pont Cymryd and you will uphold the honor of your house.
Pride strengthened her spine and calmed breath and heart.
Eventually—Elen had lost all sense of time—the driver pulled on the shining reins and the chariot slowed, then stopped. The man to the driver’s left turned and gestured that Elen should climb out. Beneath her feet, the road shone white and flawless. Around, she saw the shadows of a forest. She smelled the sweet scents of herbs and the sharpness of pine. There was no wind. The air was still and strangely heavy. It brushed against her skin like fine cloth as she stepped aside to make way for her companions. The driver led them onward, and Elen had no choice but to follow him. The other two fell in behind her. Elen’s shoes made no sound on the strange road. She peered ahead, trying to see where they had come to, but despite the moonlight, which should have made all as clear as day, she could see nothing beyond the chariot but vague shadows.
