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Authors: Alys Clare

Mist Over the Water (8 page)

BOOK: Mist Over the Water
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‘What on earth was that about?’ Sibert whispered.
I shrugged. ‘He’s still feverish. He was probably just rambling with delirium.’
Sibert looked down at him. ‘Poor man.’ Then, after a moment, ‘What shall I do now?’
I was so grateful for his support. So much so that, following on so closely after my moment of emotion over Morcar, for the second time I almost broke down. That, however, would have been self-indulgence, and, as Sibert had just reminded me, there was work to do.
‘Find Morcar a pisspot,’ I said firmly. ‘I’ve been pouring liquid into him on and off all night, and soon there will be some coming out. If we can judge the moment right, we might save ourselves having to change his bedding all over again.’
Evidently seeing the very good sense of that, Sibert nodded and, pulling his tunic over his head even as he unfastened the door, set out to resume his foraging.
I went to stand in the alley and took some breaths of the damp, morning air. Then I went back inside and went to look through Sibert’s pack to see what I might find for us to eat for breakfast.
The day seemed to crawl by on feet of lead. Sibert managed to find not only a pisspot but also fresh bread, a little jar of honey and a piece of cheese that was dry only round the edges. He sat with Morcar for a short time to allow me to go outside, relieve myself in the communal privy and stretch my legs, walking by the water. After my long night and morning, it felt like a feast day.
Morcar slept until twilight. Then, as if the onset of darkness had reawakened his fears, he opened his eyes, stared at me and said with total lucidity, ‘Hello, Lassair. I think I should warn you that they are trying to kill me, and it is my belief that they will not rest until they have done so.’
SIX
‘
T
hey pushed me into a filthy ditch,’ my cousin said, in a voice that even the least experienced healer would have judged was quite rational, ‘and they waited up on the bank until they thought I was drowned.’ A shudder went through him. ‘I could see them, looming up above me: huge, dark shapes like ghosts in their shrouds.’
I smoothed his brow with my hand, and he turned to look at me. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered.
What had he to be sorry about? ‘It’s all right,’ I said gently.
‘It was unspeakable down there,’ he said, eyes unfocused as he confronted the horrors in his memory. ‘There was a corpse, nothing but bones and slimy, rotten flesh.’ He shuddered again, his whole body shaking. ‘But I had to stay there, I
had
to!’ he cried, as if Sibert and I had questioned his judgement, ‘I had to hold my breath and make them think I was dead. I let out a few bubbles, then I made myself stop.’ He put a hand over his eyes, and I guessed he was trying not to weep.
‘They were up there watching you?’ Sibert asked.
Morcar removed his hand. His eyes were indeed wet with tears. ‘Yes. Still, quite still, like marble images. Dear God in heaven, I thought I would die down in that foul water! I could feel . . .
things
floating around me, brushing against me, and I started to think there were maggots and leeches and foul things crawling on my skin, sucking my blood, and that . . . that body, still in its rusty armour, bumping against my face.’ The horror overcame him and he retched, bringing up a mouthful of yellowish bile. Quickly, I reached for a cloth and wiped it away. He gave me a look of thanks.
‘When I could stand it no longer I broke surface and took in a mouthful of air,’ he said, calmer now. ‘I didn’t know if they were still there or if they’d decided I was drowned and gone away. Either way, I didn’t care. Death was preferable to another instant in that ditch.’ He drew a steadying breath.
‘They’d gone?’ Sibert asked.
‘Yes,’ Morcar said with the ghost of a smile, ‘or else I’d not be here now. I managed to get myself up out of the water and half way on to the bank, although how I did it I’ll never know. Then I lay there calling out, and in the end a monk came by and went for help.’
‘They brought you back here?’ I said softly. I was still very perplexed as to why the monks had not instantly taken him in to care for him.
Morcar fixed his eyes on mine. ‘I told them to!’ he said in a hoarse whisper. Then, realizing that I did not understand, ‘I thought the robed figures who tried to kill me were monks, you see. Now I’m not so sure, but then, in my panic, I did not dare let my rescuers take me within the abbey.’
‘I see.’ Yes. It was all too clear. Morcar had faced a frightful choice between surrendering to the first-rate care of the monks, two of whom might have just tried to kill him, or being taken to his meagre, dirty lodgings where he would probably die.
He was looking at me anxiously. Hastily, I wiped the deep frown off my face, but it was too late. ‘I’m so sorry, Lassair,’ he said. ‘I found someone to take a message to my mother to send help, and it never occurred to me that the task would fall to you. I have brought you here to danger and to the deeply unpleasant task of nursing me. Can you ever forgive me?’
‘There’s nothing to forgive!’ I said, putting all the sincerity I could muster into my voice. ‘Edild would have come herself but she is presently occupied with several very sick people back in Aelf Fen. I volunteered to come,’ I added, stretching the truth a little, ‘because this sort of experience is quite invaluable to an apprentice healer like me.’
‘That’s what she told me too,’ Sibert put in, obviously keen to add verisimilitude to my tale.
Morcar managed a crooked grin. ‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Sibert and I chorused together.
Morcar stretched experimentally, then very, very carefully moved his right foot. Surprise flooded his face. ‘Oh!’ he exclaimed.
I leapt up. ‘Does it hurt?’ I was already running through what stronger pain-relieving drug I could administer that would not risk sending him into a permanent sleep. He had already had several drops of poppy . . .
But, ‘No, it doesn’t hurt,’ Morcar was saying, still looking amazed. ‘It throbs a bit, but otherwise it’s just numb.’
I breathed a sigh of relief. ‘You should drink,’ I said, pouring some watered-down willow infusion into a cup. ‘As much as you can, for it will help reduce the fever.’
Morcar looked embarrassed. ‘Speaking of drinking,’ he began.
It was Sibert who made the leap of understanding. I was ushered outside while he helped my cousin fill the new pisspot.
Morcar was still very sick. He managed to drink most of the infusion, but then, with a petulant, almost spiteful gesture that I blamed entirely on his feverish state, he pushed my hand away, spilling the dregs of the drink on the skirts of my gown.
I made him as comfortable as he could and sat beside him as he twisted and turned, muttering under his breath. I feared he was growing delirious again and, indeed, soon his moans grew in volume although he was deeply asleep, if not unconscious. I put my hand on his forehead. He was very hot.
Sibert crawled over to me, awakened by Morcar’s mutterings and cries. ‘Is he all right?’
It was a singularly dull question, but I realized Sibert was still half asleep and therefore had only a part of his wits about him. ‘No,’ I replied shortly. ‘His fever’s creeping up again.’
Sibert studied Morcar for a few moments. ‘Can’t you do anything?’
‘No,’ I repeated, cross that he was making me confront my inadequacies. Then, relenting, I said, ‘Sibert, do you think you could go and fetch me some freshly drawn water?’ We had our own supply – Sibert made sure to keep the bucket inside the door filled – but it had grown stale and warm from the fire. Sibert nodded, drew on his boots and slipped outside into the darkness.
I reached into my bag and found my little bottle of lavender oil. Pouring a few drops into the palm of my hand, I dipped in my fingers and, kneeling beside Morcar, very gently began to massage his head, from his temples across to his brow and then right up into his hairline and over his skull, extending the process I had begun earlier. Fevers were usually accompanied by severe headaches, and it could be that poor Morcar, deeply asleep though he might be, was suffering pain.
Presently, Sibert returned. The water in the bucket was icy-cold and smelled sweet. Quickly, I dipped in a cloth and, wringing it out, folded it across my cousin’s forehead. As wet cloth encountered hot skin, I imagined I heard the hiss of steam.
I willed Sibert to go back to bed because I was not at all confident about what I was going to do next, and I didn’t think I could even attempt it with an audience. Sleep, Sibert, I thought, staring hard at him. You are so sleepy.
Go to sleeeeep
 . . .
Sibert yawned, his jaws stretching impossibly wide. ‘Do you mind if I go back to bed?’ he whispered.
I hid a smile. ‘Of course not.’
‘If there’s anything you need, wake me.’
‘I will.’
He hovered beside me for a few moments –
just go!
I yelled inside my head – then he crept away. I heard rustling as he settled down, and then quite soon his breathing lengthened and he gave a few little snores.
I made myself forget him. Totally. Moving smoothly and quietly, I sat up cross-legged and deliberately forced my mind inwards. I was heading away from the familiar everyday world and venturing out among the spirits, as Edild and, lately, Hrype had taught me. I had done all I could for my cousin; now I needed help.
My aunt and Hrype, the healer and the sorcerer, have each in their own way taught me of the world beyond vision, the world where the true power lies and which is accessible to those with the skill and the strength to journey there. It took me months of summoning my courage before I even dared make my first attempt, for I knew I was not worthy and for someone like me to be audacious enough to try would surely make the spirits so furious that I would swiftly be annihilated.
I do not care to recall those first few occasions. The first time I threw up all over my aunt. The second time I scared myself so much that I wet myself. The third, fourth and fifth times nothing happened. The sixth time I had the tiniest glimmer of what lay beyond the smoky veil. Now I had ventured there twice without serious damage to myself (other than a splitting headache all the next day), and I was at last beginning to understand the vast power that lay concealed out there.
It was enormously helpful that I had found my spirit guardian – or rather, as Hrype would have it, my guardian had found me. Hrype had told me how to seek out my guardian, and for an alarming three days I’d been alone in the forest up around the Breckland, fasting, with only sips of water to drink, wandering lost along unfamiliar tracks and so bemused by fear, hunger and fatigue that I had not known if I’d remained in this world or had accidentally strayed into some other. When at last I’d collapsed I’d believed it was to sleep and dream – that’s what it felt like at the time – but Hrype told me afterwards that this was a trance, dropped on me like a soft blanket by the spirits I had come to seek, under the influence of which I was permitted to see through new eyes.
See I did.
Watch for the first creature that comes to you
, Hrype had commanded.
He is your spirit guardian, and his essence is already within you. He will recognize you and seek you out
.
The creature that came up to me, watching me intently from bright golden eyes and gently pushing his snout into my hand, was a fox. He was a young adult, lithe and slim, his rich, reddish-brown fur thick and glossy. He had spots of white on his chin and chest and his slim feet were as black as the tip of his brush.
A fox! I knew the tales they told of foxes. I had heard tell of the supernatural power that informed them when death was near; their tricky ways; their cunning and their ability to move silently and secretively. Already, I was forming a bond with my guardian, although I did not know it, for alongside these flashing images came memories of Edild as she revealed to me my web of destiny.
You are air and fire
, she told me – air like the feather-light footstep of the fox, fire like his fiery red coat –
restless, uncompromising and direct, yet you possess the ability to conceal your true self with a plausible false skin
, she had concluded, which I thought described my ability to lie fluently and credibly in a very flattering light.
I stared at the fox and he stared back at me, so intently that I felt his intelligence boring into me, questing, searching. I tensed so tight that it hurt. Then suddenly he released me, and it was as if he smiled; I swear he gave a little nod of recognition. Then there was a moment’s intense pain as something entered my mind – or perhaps something went out from it – and I understood that the fox and I were somehow united. I can’t remember any more; I slept then, or perhaps passed out, and when I woke I felt calm and strong. I got to my feet – it was dusk – and walked the many miles back to Aelf Fen without stopping to eat, drink or rest; without fear, too, for I knew my fox padded silently and invisibly beside me. It took me all night, and when I was back in Edild’s house I slept solidly for two days.
Now, as I sat on the floor beside my sick cousin, I sent my inner self striding off in search of Fox. Soon I felt him take up his place pacing at my side. He stretched his head up, and I felt his cool nose briefly touch my hand as he greeted me. He knew what we must do, for he was a part of me and had experienced all that I had experienced that day. Together we walked on, and my feet fell as softly as his. Presently, we came to the place we sought, and in my mind I cried out the words that would invite the spirits to come to us. Fox left my side, trotting round in a perfect circle, pausing briefly at east, south, west and north.
BOOK: Mist Over the Water
13.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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