Authors: Jaine Fenn
Taro muttered, ‘Yeah, thought not.’ He looked over his shoulder, scanning the crater for the cove he’d knocked over on the way through.
It was dark out there – not just night-dark, he suddenly realised, but—
He looked up.
Something huge was hovering above the crater, blotting out the stars.
Taro kicked back from the airlock to avoid the incoming spear-men, then glanced at the ground again, where he now spotted the man he’d crashed into earlier. He’d climbed to his feet and was also looking up.
So there really is a ship up there
, Taro thought thankfully.
His eye was drawn to movement overhead; a large square box had detached itself from the dark underside of the ship. It dropped straight down through the forceshield, barely slowing, though ripples of energy spread out from the contact point. As it got closer he could see that it was plain and grey, with slightly softened edges.
As the man below scarpered into the tunnel, Taro wondered if he should run too. He was a bit short on escape routes, though . . .
The box drew level with him as he hovered a few metres from the airlock, and an opening appeared on the side nearest him, revealing a woman, dressed in a hooded one-piece black suit. Her face was covered in something hard and clear.
She held out a hand to him. ‘Query: are you alone?’ she said.
‘You mean aside from the gang of angry locals over there trying to kill me?’ asked Taro, pointing back at the ship.
‘Clarification: are you the only survivor from this crashed vessel?’
‘Yeah, I am.’
An odd expression passed over her face, but she didn’t say anything.
‘Not meaning to be rude, but who the fuck are you?’ asked Taro.
‘Answer: we are here to rescue you.’
The priest and the monitor had taken the lantern with them, leaving Ifanna the candle. She picked it up carefully, shielding the flame with her hand, and went to explore the plague-house.
Save for the faint odour, and an indefinable sense of emptiness, there was nothing to indicate that the former occupants were now dead. She found honey and lentils and rice in the kitchen cupboards, and in the parlour embroidered cushions were scattered over the worn wooden seats. But in the hallway, the flowers in the household shrine had shrivelled, and the corn was covered in mould. A blue votive candle, no doubt bought when the first family member fell ill, had been burnt down to a stub. Ifanna shivered and looked away.
Upstairs, she found a small room containing storage chests and a rack stuffed with rolls of leather. Below the rack were some half-finished shoes: apparently the husband had been a cobbler. Ifanna breathed in the familiar scent of the leather. The bed in the main room was still made up, covered in a throw decorated with what Ifanna was beginning to recognise as the wife’s embroidery. Ifanna hesitated at the thought of sleeping in a bed whose last occupants had come to such an unpleasant end, before deciding that they had no further use for it and she most certainly did.
It was only after she had lain down that she saw the empty wooden crib on its stand in one corner. Tears sprang to her eyes and this time she let them fall. She was still crying into the soft pillows when she fell asleep.
For a moment she had no idea how she came to be waking up in a large, comfortable bed, not on the ground or in her cell. Then she remembered that this was a house of the dead; she found the thought reassured her, for she felt as though she too had died – though the twin aches in her head and bandaged side reminded her that she had not quite managed to escape the flesh. But she had escaped her fate; she was free.
She sat up, wary of her wound, and started to think about her circumstances. She could take what supplies she wished from this house and simply walk away. A ghost stealing from other ghosts was no sin. But
Gwas
Maelgyn and Captain Siarl had helped her when no others would, and they trusted her not to flee. It would be wrong to betray that trust.
She jumped as someone started knocking on the door. Was it the priest? Or guards from the Tyr, come to take her to the fate she had foolishly believed she could avoid? For a moment she wondered if she should pretend she was not here, but she swiftly realised that if it was monitors, they might just burst in and search the house, and if it was
Gwas
Maelgyn, he might go away again. She jumped up – and almost fell over, her head was spinning so badly. Carefully she made her way into the back room, where she peered through a crack in the shutters, trying to see into the yard.
The lone caller had a bald head covered in tattooed writing: a priest; she could not be sure it was
Gwas
Maelgyn, but she could not imagine who else it might be. She hurried down the stairs, hanging onto the rail for balance, and unlatched the door.
Gwas
Maelgyn’s wary expression dissolved into a smile on seeing her. He looked younger in the daylight. ‘At last,’ he said, though he did not sound angry, just relieved. ‘You hit your head last night, did you not,
chilwar
?’
‘Aye,
Gwas,
I did,’ she said, stepping to one side to let him in.
‘One of my fellows who serves the Mother of Mercy said that those who have sustained such a blow should not be permitted to sleep until they have recovered their senses, for there is a risk they might not awaken. When you did not answer the door, I was concerned.’
Warmth battled caution; the latter won. ‘You . . . you told the
Gwas
I am here?’ She closed and latched the door.
‘Of course not! No,
chilwar
, only Captain Siarl and I know you are still in the city.’
‘What is being said about me? About what happened, I mean.’
‘All that is known is that you and the other witch attempted to overcome your guards; she was killed, and you managed to escape – where to, none can say.’
Ifanna offered up a small prayer for Hylwen; though she had not liked the girl, Ifanna would most likely be dead now without her help.
‘Ifanna.’ The priest’s expression was hard to read in the dim light of the shuttered room. ‘What happened last night, before I found you? Why did you and the other skycursed girl decide to run away?’
‘I . . .’ What should she say? She could not lie to a priest, yet the truth would reveal her doubts.
‘You may tell me after you have eaten, if you prefer.’ His voice was gentle.
‘Aye, if you please,
Gwas
.’ How considerate of him, she thought.
‘I have fresh bread, cheese and apples.’ He held up a small sack.
Ifanna sat at the kitchen table, the priest opposite her. The food tasted wonderful, maybe because it was a long time since she had eaten such pleasant fare, or perhaps because it was the first meal of her new life. She realised, belatedly, that she should share, but
Gwas
Maelgyn waved the offer away, apparently content to sit opposite her in silence. Ifanna had watched men eat, and she had eaten with them, but she had never before been watched, and such intimate regard stirred up complex feelings. She pushed them down again: he was a
priest
, and if he chose to observe her, who was she to question?
‘So,’ he said, when she had finished, ‘what happened to make you flee last night?’
Ifanna thought she had worked out a way to avoid anything he might find blasphemous, but when she opened her mouth, she started coughing. ‘Please,’ she croaked, ‘
Gwas
. . . may I have some water?’
‘Oh, of course – I should have thought of that.’ He looked around, but soon realised there was none in the kitchen. As Ifanna continued coughing, he found a jug and said, ‘I suppose I must fetch some. I believe there is a pump at the end of this alley . . .’
He left the door ajar as he went out and Ifanna stared at the thin sliver of light, trying not to worry, though he took a long time. When he did return, the front of his robe was wet.
She thanked him hoarsely, and drank her fill until her throat was soothed and she could speak again. She wiped her lips, then asked, before she lost her nerve, ‘
Gwas
, before I answer you, may I ask something? You said that you intervened to save me because I came from the Fenlands . . .’ His presence in that alley had not been a coincidence; he and Captain Siarl had most probably followed the escort party. Not that she would mention that. ‘Forgive me,
Gwas
, but I imagine you risked – still risk – the disapproval of your superiors for what you have done. I am not sure I understand why you would take so great a risk merely because I come from a place you know of.’
The priest looked down at the table. ‘It is a fair question,
chilwar
. Although I was born in Plas Morfren, I lived in Nantgwyn for a while. After I completed my training at the Tyr I returned to the Terraced Marshes. The old Rhethor at Plas Morfren was ailing, and I had hoped, given I had studied the Traditions in the Tyr itself, that I might be considered as his replacement when he went to the Mothers. Alas, it was not to be – but I wished to serve as best I could, so I took the job of village priest when it came up, even though I had many more qualifications than were required for such a role. I was not in Nantgwyn long, for I found village life did not suit me, but it was nonetheless a part of my life I have since had great cause to reflect on.’
‘So you did what you did because I came from Nantgwyn, and you once lived there?’ Ifanna had no idea her tiny village had once been home to a Tyr-trained priest.
‘Aye,
chilwar
.’
She looked at him, and he continued, ‘Still not enough to explain my actions?’ He sighed. ‘You are right, of course. You are a very perceptive girl, Ifanna. There was more to it than that; I made mistakes while I was in Nantgwyn, and it is those mistakes for which I am now trying to atone.’
‘What sort of mistakes,
Gwas
?’ She could not stop herself asking, though she knew she should not.
He waved a hand dismissively, as though it was nothing, though Ifanna was sure that could not be the case. ‘I fell out with a man of that village. His name was Esryn.’
Ifanna felt her heart grow cold. ‘Esryn?’
‘Aye.’ He looked up, and his eyes were troubled. ‘Your father, I believe.’
‘You believe correctly,
Gwas
.’ Ifanna could manage only a whisper. She entertained a brief, ridiculous fantasy that Da was somehow behind everything that had happened, and that he would burst through the door at any moment, a scowl on his face and his belt in his hand . . .
‘I would not see that wrong perpetuated,’ said Maelgyn, ‘so I followed you when you left the Tyr. I had no clear plan, but I could not let you die.’
‘I—
Thank
you,
Gwas
,’ she said, not only for saving her, but for his honesty, for answering her question honestly.
‘I have no desire to revisit the events that caused our feud,’ said Maelgyn firmly.
‘Of course,
Gwas
, it is between you and— It is your business.’
My father has disowned me,
thought Ifanna,
and though he does not know it, I have disowned him. He is gone from my life forever
.
More gently
Gwas
Maelgyn added, ‘And I think you understand the need to atone for past mistakes.’
‘Aye,
Gwas
.’ Ifanna sat with her eyes downcast, listening to the distant sounds of the city going about its business.
‘
Chilwar
?’ said the priest, ‘you were about to explain what happened last night.’
‘It was not my idea,
Gwas
,’ she started, aware that she sounded like she was making excuses, even if she was telling the truth. ‘Hylwen – the other girl who was judged – convinced me that we should run away, because we were going to be killed.’
‘Why would she believe such a thing,
chilwar
?’
‘I— I am not sure,
Gwas
. She said that there were problems . . . in the Tyr, that is.’
To Ifanna’s surprise, the priest laughed, a bitter, barking laugh with very little humour in it. When he did not say anything else, Ifanna continued tremulously, ‘Is this something to do with the lights in the sky,
Gwas
? Are they portents of evil?’
‘Portents of evil? An interesting question,
chilwar
. Such matters are being debated even now in the halls of the Tyr.’ He lowered his voice, and she had to bend near to hear him say, ‘They are portents of change, that is for sure. Whether it is change for the better, who can say? Still, we must not gainsay Heaven, must we, even if it appears to be at war with itself.’
‘No
Gwas
,’ said Ifanna obediently, aware that he was voicing concerns he would surely never dare speak openly in the Tyr. Such blasphemy, from the mouth of a priest, should probably have appalled her, but instead, his trust delighted her.
‘Yet surely it was not the fear of living in such dark times that made you and Hylwen act as you did?’
‘No,
Gwas
. She said— She told me that the Putain Glan— they do not—’ She was stammering in her embarrassment, and at last she managed, ‘Hylwen claimed to know someone who failed as a Putain Glan, and was killed for it.’