Skin (26 page)

I had lost the knowing of the child. I found footing on a river stone and paused.
Again, I knew he was here.

My feet wobbled on the shifting stones. Then my toe touched a soft-skinned form,
lodged by the current in a crag between boulders. Dropping beneath the surface, I
stretched out my fingers but could not reach the child. I needed to go deeper, but
if I moved further into the heart of the current we would both be gone. With one
final stretch, my fingertips found a small foot. I grasped it and pulled. The body
came easily and I hauled it to the surface and then to the bank.

Tribespeople gathered as I dragged him from the water. ‘Shake him!' they cried. ‘Give
blows to his back!'

The boy's skin had begun to grey. His closed eyelids were thin and veined. There
was no heat in him. No breath at his mouth.

As I watched him dying, I saw a vision of him as he was in life: blond and rosy.
His blue-eyed gaze met mine before he turned away.

‘Suck the river from him,' hissed Cookmother. Though her lips were at my ear, I heard
her only faintly: ‘Cover his mouth with yours and suck.'

I set my mouth over his and drew a breath as deep and strong as a smith's bellow.
His ashen chest did not move. He was walking away, his fair hair glinting under a
bright sun.

My dripping braids curtained his face as I sucked again. From the base of my spirit
I called him back. A cry so raw that it split the hardworld.

The walking child slowed.

I sucked once more with the last of my strength. This time a rush of water and bile
flooded my mouth and he was back, convulsing with life as he retched, vomiting onto
the ground.

There were many gathered around us now who had seen me pull this child back from
death. Some were falling to their knees in reverence.

Then Llwyd stepped forward, his eyes shining with a wild excitement. ‘You saw that
boy!'

‘Ay, in the water,' I gasped.

‘No. Not in the water. You saw him when he couldn't be seen.'

‘She merely caught a glimpse of him as she passed,' said Cookmother.

‘No, woman.' Llwyd spun to face her. ‘Do not close my eyes to what lies before them.
This is not your story to tell.'

For the first time in my memory, Cookmother was wordless.

The boy's mother broke through the crowd and fell to her knees beside the child.

Llwyd placed his hand on my shoulder. ‘Go back to the kitchen, Ailia. Dry yourself
and take food. When you are rested, I will call for you.'

As I walked back along the river, the rain lessened and finally stopped. People murmured
as I passed them. All of Cad had witnessed my finding the boy and bringing him back
to life. All were asking how it came to be.

I waited through the afternoon and into the next morning. The kitchen was a forest
of wrung-out robes and blankets draped on poles by the fire, pouring steam as they
dried. Gradually Cookmother, Bebin and I sorted through the store pots, burning the
herbs and meal that had gone mouldy and upending baskets to dry. By highsun the following
day, the kitchen was restored but my nerves were in disarray. When would Llwyd call
for me?

For want of busying my hands I took a ground bird, freshly slain by one of the stablemen's
sons, and began to pluck its feathers for cooking. The bird was still warm under
my fingers as I tugged each plume with a pop from its pore. Blood smeared the table.

The doorskins stirred and Cookmother came through. She had to wait out an attack
of coughing before she spoke. ‘The Head Journeywoman Sulis has just arrived from
the Glass Isle,' she panted. ‘Wash your hands, Ailia, and put on your cloak. She
is with the Tribequeen and Llwyd in the Great House. They call for you now.'

I swallowed. ‘Will you accompany me?'

‘No, girl, I am not permitted.'

Lingering moisture weighted the air as I walked to the Great House. For all my grown
life I had attended here, polishing the carvings,
sweeping out floors and serving
food. Never had I entered as guest. I stopped at the threshold, shivering inside
my still-damp cloak. I knew that I would not leave this place the same woman who
entered it. Suddenly I wanted to run. Then I reached down and squeezed my sword handle
through the fabric of my skirt. I straightened my cloak, hooked the loose strands
of hair behind my ears and pushed through the doorskins.

Fraid was at the strong place behind the fire, facing the door. Llwyd sat on her
left, and on her right was the journeywoman of whom Cookmother had spoken. She was
no larger than a child, with silver braids that hung to her waist and a staff upright
in her hand.

They turned to me as I entered.

‘Come,' said Fraid.

I walked past the hearth and stood before them. The fire was hot on my back.

‘Ailia,' said Fraid, ‘this is Sulis. She has come from the temple at the Glass Isle.'

I had never met a woman who had trained to the white cloth. Twenty summers. I dropped
my head and kissed her outstretched fingers. They were clawed with age, and smelled
faintly of limewater and onion. ‘Let me look at you,' she said.

I raised my head and met her gaze. The angles of her face were entirely unsoftened
by flesh: no lips, hollow cheeks, a large, bony nose and jutting chin. Yet her wide,
grey eyes cast her harsh features with a deep soulfulness.

‘Do you understand why we have called you?' she said.

‘The child in the river…' I faltered.

‘Because you have shown strength in the visioning arts and it may indicate you for
the Isle,' she said bluntly.

‘It must be confirmed,' said Fraid.

‘She has shown it,' said Llwyd.

‘Still—' Sulis quieted them with a raised hand. ‘It must be proven. Sit.'

I lowered myself onto the small stool they had placed before them.

‘Tell me, girl, is it true that you have reached beyond the gates of Caer Sidi, and
that you brought a child back from death to life?' Sulis asked.

I looked to Llwyd, who gave the smallest hint of a nod. ‘Yes,' I whispered.

‘By what means did you find the child beneath the dark water?' asked Sulis.

‘I saw him.'

‘But he was deep in the river, how could you see his form?'

‘Not his form.' I frowned, trying to find the shape of what had happened. ‘I saw
something else...'

Sulis leaned forward. ‘And how did you retrieve him?'

‘Cookmother told me to suck the water from his chest with my own breath—'

‘No,' she said, sharply. ‘What made him turn back?'

I paused. ‘My call.'

Sulis nodded. The firelight made her grey eyes glitter.

What did she make of me? Would it be enough?

‘Journeyman Llwyd tells me that this is not the first time you have bent life to
your will?'

‘Ay. I know plantcraft by my Cookmother—' again I glanced to Llwyd, who bade me continue
with a trace of a smile, ‘—and I have set a geas that brought a maiden to death's
threshold.'

‘And she died?' said Sulis.

‘No. When I saw that I had done it, I lifted it.'

Sulis rubbed the carved indentations of her staff's handle. ‘And the fish?'

‘The fish?' I stammered. ‘Yes…it appeared to me.'

‘And where did it lead you?'

My mouth opened to speak but a stab of trepidation silenced me. Admission to the
learning I had so long craved was just within my grasp. I could not risk it now with
a confession that I had breached the tribe's most sacred boundaries. ‘The fish appeared
only briefly and was gone again. It led me nowhere.' I exhaled silently. The lie
felt comfortable. There was enough without this truth.

‘Good.' Sulis smiled for the first time, revealing small, even teeth, and looked
to Llwyd. ‘I will have her. I will school her at the Isle.' She turned to me. ‘Tell
me, Ailia, are you Cad-born? Are you skin to the deer?'

I stared at her in shock.

‘Did Llwyd not speak of this before, Sulis?' said Fraid in surprise. ‘The girl is
unskinned.'

‘Unskinned? This I was not told,' said Sulis to Llwyd.

Llwyd's expression did not falter. ‘She has been raised since suckling in Summer,'
he said. ‘She is wedded to this tribeland by time and service to its Tribequeen.
And she has shown spirit enough to learn.'

‘That is all of no consequence,' said Sulis. ‘You surprise me, Llwyd. You know we
cannot bless her learning or submit her to the temple if she has no skin. She is
half-born. She cannot learn.'

‘She has a command of life I have rarely seen, even among those of high training.
We cannot let it lie fallow.'

Sulis shook her head. ‘I'm sorry,' she said. ‘Half-born, I will not train her.' She
rose, readying to leave. ‘You are poorly considered, Llwyd, calling me here in haste
to look at a girl without skin.'

Despite my fears, I could not allow this doorway to close. Once Sulis had gone she
would not return to consider me again. I remembered Taliesin's words. It was the
Mothers' rains that had revealed me
and now I must answer to their call. ‘Journeywoman
Sulis,' I said as she walked to the doorway.

She turned.

‘I honour your judgment.' My voice trembled. ‘What would you say if I told you of
another woman without skin, without training, who had walked with the Mothers of
fire? What would you say if I told you she had learned with them and carried now,
as we speak, their knowledge with her? Would you admit this woman to the Isle?'

Sulis frowned. ‘I would say that you are a fool and she is a liar. Only from the
Isle can women journey by flesh to the Mothers, and only then after many years of
training. The only one who could journey beyond the Isle and without training, as
you have described, is the Kendra herself.'

My breath stopped. I could not think.

Llwyd stared at me. ‘Is this what has happened, Ailia? Are you she who has already
walked with the Mothers?'

‘Yes,' I whispered.

‘She lies,' said Sulis. ‘She lies to gain her admittance to the temple.'

‘It is no lie. I can prove my claim.'

‘Then show us your evidence,' said Sulis.

In one fluid movement, I stood and lifted my skirts, taking hold of my sword and
drawing it from its sheath. The dull bronze gleamed as I offered it flat in my palms,
firelight flickering over the shapes carved into the handle.

There was a long silence before Llwyd stood, then lowered himself to his knees.

Sulis also bowed her head.

Fraid looked to them, unknowing. ‘What is it?' she said. ‘Why do you bow?'

‘It is the Kendra's sword.' Llwyd began to weep. ‘She has been given the sword of
the Kendra.'

A tree is an echo of the cosmos.

All trees are branches of the one great tree that
spans all consciousness.

Its branches sprawl infinitely above, its roots infinitely
beneath.

T
HE
ROOM
SWAM
as I stared at their stunned faces. There was error in this. It was
too great a leap. I could not bridge it. I sat down, legs shaking beneath my skirt,
and laid the sword across my lap.

‘She cannot be Kendra,' said Fraid. ‘Not without skin.'

Sulis returned to her place at the fire. ‘Indeed she cannot,' she said. ‘And yet
she is marked.'

Llwyd rose and kissed my face, his beard scratching my cheek. ‘Bless you, Ailia.'
He turned to Sulis. ‘What say you now on the matter of bringing her to the Isle?'

‘I do not know,' said Sulis. ‘Never have I known an unskinned woman to be called—'

‘And yet there has not been a call for many summers.' Llwyd stood beside me, his
hand on my shoulder. ‘We all know there is great need.'

I glanced up at him, astonished. He believed I was called. He saw no error.