The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel (39 page)

‘He tried to do something about
it.’

‘Yes, although he had no chance to
succeed alone. We worked hard to
manage
the rising then, and push it
down again. Some of us were ill for weeks afterwards, weakened.’

‘Why didn’t you join forces with
Kinnard at that time?’

Peredur sighed, shook his head. ‘Do
you really have to ask that? Yes? All right... It was because Kinnard would
rather have murdered Mossamber than work with him. And because I didn’t want
Kinnard to know I lived. And also because Kinnard was the only Wyvachi who
really understood what was happening. The others would have rejected any
overtures from Mossamber, except perhaps for Medoc. But he’d already taken the
sensible way out and had fled.’ Peredur clasped his crossed knees with his
hands. ‘Part of the problem is that although the Wyvachi believe in their
curse, it’s almost a romantic ideal for them. They cherish their burden, yet
they
don’t
act. They are in denial.’

‘Nytethorne intimated Wyva might
have plans this time...’

Peredur nodded again, thoughtfully.
‘I believe so, because I’ve sensed this. But they won’t come to anything and
he’ll lose his son, possibly others, even his own life.’

‘But surely,’ I said carefully,
‘the families acting together is the only answer. You must know this, even if
the task seems impossible. I can’t understand why you haven’t encouraged this,
worked for it, even if you stayed out of it yourself?’

Again Peredur sighed deeply. ‘Why
do you make me explain things you already know? Or are you perhaps not as quick
as I thought you to be? I haven’t bothered because my Wyvachi kin are stupid.
They are unable to get over their prejudices enough to be of any use.’

‘And the Whitemanes
are
able?’

Peredur laughed softly. ‘I take
your point. No.’

‘Yet when so much is at stake?
It seems almost wanton to maintain this feud. Aren’t the Whitemane harlings as
threatened by this egregore as much as the Wyvachi ones are?’

‘Of course. That’s why we
observe the festivals in the way we do. It’s an ancient pagan tradition, an
attempt to appease the gods, so they won’t wreak havoc. It works, in its way.’

‘Or has done.’ I remained silent
for a few seconds but Peredur waited for me to continue. ‘So, are you going to
tell me the real reason I’m here?’

He remained perfectly still for
a moment, the moonstones gleaming. ‘I find it interesting that Mossamber allows
Nytethorne near you. Initially, he’d decided that Wyvachi-called were no longer
any use to us, and in fact rather a hindrance. Nothing good had come of Rey, or
any of his predecessors, so why bother with the next one? But something has
changed his mind.’

‘Have you asked him?’

Peredur nodded. ‘Of course. He
laughed. Talked about making the Wyvachi-called puppet dance. Yet both of us
know that’s not entirely true.’ He paused. ‘He knows you’re here, by the way. I
told him I’d be meeting you tonight. He said nothing. That in itself is
interesting.’

‘You could simply have invited
me over,’ I said. ‘You know I wouldn’t have refused, yet still you had to pull
the strings. I hope you’re suitably entertained.’

Peredur regarded me
expressionlessly, remained silent.

 ‘Aren’t you bored of hiding?’ I
asked abruptly, because I could sense within this har a great restlessness.
Also, he was not as callous as he made out. There was a part of him I could
feel shivering, unsure. He put up a good front, though.

He yawned carelessly. ‘No, I
don’t particularly want hara to see me. I have my rooms, my amusements. I have
my chesnari... and his sons.’

That you could not give him,
I
thought and perhaps uncharitably didn’t take much trouble to keep it quiet
within me. I think if he could possibly have gone paler, he would have done
then.

‘You don’t know how bad it was,’
he said, in a low hard voice. ‘Poisoned by my own body because I was burned
shut.
I won’t tell you more, because nohar should have to hear the details of that
and how we coped with it. Losing the possibility of harlings was a minor thing
in comparison. Being able to eat and process food properly took years to mend
to a bearable level. You have no idea what we all had to go through.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I...’

He waved a hand at me. ‘So long
ago. I was somehow meant to survive and I did. My body fought to repair itself
enough to function. The waters of what they now call Pwll Siôl Lleuad helped as
much as they could.’

There was a silence, then I
said. ‘Peredur, why didn’t you just summon me from the start?’

‘You caught me unawares,’ he
said, his head thrown back as if he were gazing at the pitted ceiling. ‘I was
asleep one day, dreaming in the afternoon, in my roof garden. I found myself
back at my pool, but for some reason I’d forgotten everything. I was just
sightless, terrified, blundering about. Then there you were, telling me not to
move, that you’d come to me.’ He smiled. ‘Well, I decided to believe it, see if
you could.’

‘You believe more than that,
don’t you?’ I said softly. ‘You don’t want to, but you can’t stop yourself. I
won’t let go of the bone until I’ve crushed the marrow from it. You
know
I can help.’

He didn’t reply for some
moments. ‘Rey tried,’ he said at last. ‘He really tried, but he’s not...
seasoned
as you are.’ He laughed. ‘Like a big old oak tree. That’s how I see you in my
head, with your autumn leaf hair, those dark summer eyes. But you are rooted,
through experience. Rey was too young, too idealistic. One fierce storm and he
was torn from the ground.’

‘I’d like to see that tried with
me,’ I said, almost as a growl.

‘Be careful,’ Peredur replied.
‘Don’t be angry, for that is weakness.’ He inhaled deeply through his nose.
‘The truth? Yes, I want to believe. I set you a test. If you uncovered the
mystery, followed the clues and found the treasure – that is, me, albeit not a
very glittery one – then you would have a chance. I threw tricks all around you
to see if you’d falter, but they seemed only to increase your resolve. If you
can’t help, I’m sure you’ll die trying.’ He put his head to one side. ‘I made
it like a story from legend. The hero has to complete tasks before he is
worthy.’

‘Ask me, then,’ I said.

‘What?’

‘You
know
. This is part
of the legend too.’

He sighed through his nose
again. ‘Very well. Ysobi. For God’s sake, get rid of it for me, will you?’

‘Gladly,’ I said.

Peredur stood up. ‘So, there is
our pact.’ He walked back to the piano, played a few wistful notes. ‘Mossamber
had this repaired for me. In the early days, it was the only thing that kept me
sane. Then, as I slowly recovered, I found my skin, my touch, could perceive
colours – not very strongly to start with. I found there were other ways to
see, that taste and smell and touch were in themselves a way of seeing. All
this strengthened over time. Gemstones help me focus. Mossamber had the idea of
the eyes. He had many made for me. Different coloured gems, with different
properties, that I could wear as I liked. Moonstones for my music, rubies for play
and for love, black obsidian for serious business. The others I don’t care for
much.’

‘Those colours would suit you
best,’ I said. ‘So I am music rather than serious business?’ I put a smile into
my voice.

‘You saw me moonstoned in your
visions. I wanted to be that when you first saw me in reality.’

I wondered then why Mossamber
had not sent this light of his life to Immanion, for the Gelaming healers could
surely have done far more for him than had been done here. They would at least
have helped him hone his clearly powerful senses. Cost wouldn’t have been an
issue; the Gelaming would take on any case like this without asking for a fee.
But then, hidden away in this corner of the world, the Whitemanes might have
believed the Gelaming considered themselves above such matters.

‘I couldn’t leave here,’ Peredur
said nonchalantly, as if I’d spoken aloud, ‘that’s the reason. I wouldn’t let
Mossamber do anything. He’d had a reprieve: I lived. But if he wanted me to
stay, then everything had to be on my terms.’

‘Do you ever go beyond the
domain?’

He shook his head. ‘No, not in
flesh. I rarely even go into the main house. I have my rooms, the attics, my
roof terrace, my music, my cats, my loved ones. Nytethorne reads to me. Ember
plays games with me. Mossamber strokes my skin to weave pictures for me. Others
come to talk with me. We enjoy beautiful food, for my sense of taste is strong.
That is almost like aruna to me... almost. All that’s enough.’

‘Well, fair enough, but perhaps
it’s time you
did
go out.’

Again a shake of the head. ‘No.’

I took a breath. ‘I think... now
is the time for transparency. Too much has been hidden, or lied about, or left
unsaid. I’ve been as guilty of that as anyhar. If we are to proceed from here,
all the webs must be swept away. Those are
my
terms.’

Peredur gave me his hard moon
stare.

‘You don’t know about your
mother, do you?’ I said.

He came back to sit beside me.
‘What about her? They never found her. Over the years, I’ve hoped somehow she
got away.’

‘Not exactly. Like you, she
tried to kill herself, after what was done to you. She felt a hideous end was
all that was left for her too. She cut her wrists in my tower.’

His hands flew to his face.
‘Christ!’

So strange to hear that
anachronistic expletive. ‘Like you, she wasn’t successful, but in a different
way. This is going to sound... well... I’ll just tell you what’s happened.’

He listened in an agitated
silence, his hands moving constantly – wringing together, touching his hair,
his face, picking at the shawls on the sofa. When I’d finished what I had to
say, without pause or question he said, ‘Bring her to me!’

I reached out to still his
hands. His skin was warm and smooth, slightly furred, made to touch. A pang of
pity shot through me and he snatched his hands away. ‘I can’t bring her,’ I
said. ‘She can’t leave the tower, Peredur.
You
must come to her.’

He put his hands to his face
again, then stood up, walked in a circle behind the sofa, making soft sounds of
distress. I twisted round to watch him, allowing him these moments without
further words from me.

Then he stood still for a few
seconds, before turning to me. ‘White is too harsh for her,’ he said abruptly,
the fingers of one hand gesturing at his face. ‘I think red, but would that be
too much like blood?’

‘What other colours have you
got?’

He made an impatient gesture.
‘Everything. Dozens.’

‘What colour were your...?’

‘Golden, after inception.’

‘Then, topaz? Perhaps?’

He nodded. ‘All right. You must
tell me, though. Come.’

I confess I got to my feet with
reluctance then, but perhaps this was the price, or a further test. He led me up
the stairs to his other room, which again was barely furnished, containing a
bed, a dressing table, a packed bookcase, a low table strewn with belongings,
and several thick rugs on the floor. What seemed to be about half a dozen black
and white cats were sleeping on the bed. Two more sat like matching porcelain
ornaments on the window casement and turned their faces to me idly to see who I
was. The room also contained a tall cabinet packed with shallow shelves. They
were laden with Mossamber’s gifts. Peredur ran his hands over them, removed a
few trays, such as those in which gem collectors store stones. Some of them
were like real eyes, staring up at me as if in shock to be disembodied. I
swallowed. ‘Maybe a pair of these ones that look... real?’

‘No!’ Peredur snapped. ‘Why
should I try to make others comfortable with what’s been done to me.’

‘Yes... I’m sorry.’

‘These are yellowish,’ Peredur
said, grabbing one of my hands and making me touch a tray.

‘I could do with light...’

He went to a lamp and turned it
on. I carried the tray over. They were just beautiful stones, I told myself,
not wanting to linger over the choice. But he would know if I didn’t examine
them carefully. 

He laughed, ‘You’re squeamish
for a magus.’

‘Guilty,’ I said, ‘at least in
this respect.’ It was peculiar I felt that way, since I could operate
surgically upon hara unflinchingly, and deal with all manner of medical
situations that might turn most hara’s stomachs. I think it was because I
knew
how these lovely stones had become necessary, the barbarity they could not
help but symbolise. Eventually, I took his hand, pressed his fingers against
two of the stones. ‘These.’

‘Give them to me.’

They were beautiful golden
stones, not spheres but concave, almost warm to the touch, slippery. I put them
into his hands. He smirked at me, hesitated for a moment, then turned his back
on me. When he turned to me once more, he held back his moonshawl mane with
both hands. ‘Well?’

‘Come into the light.’

He let me lead him.

‘Yes, just right.’ The warm
glowing colour made him less spectral somehow.

‘I need to do something with my
hair. I must look like an old witch. Excuse me a moment.’

He took his moonstone eyes with
him into another room, which I assumed was a bathroom, since I heard water
running. He came back, drying the stones carefully on a soft cloth, before
selecting a tray and placing them into an empty slot, nestled in silk. Then he
went to a dressing table, picked up a hairbrush. I watched as he made a thin
plait on either side of his face, then confined them at the back of his head
with a jewelled, tarnished silver clasp. ‘Will this do?’ he asked me, knowing
full well it was perfectly neat.

‘Yes, it’s fine.’