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Authors: Alys Clare

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BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars
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Oh
, I prayed to the silent, watchful spirits, oh please,
please
let it have happened that way! I could not bear the thought that the woman my brother loved and wanted so much to marry might be a murderer . . .
Through the wild panic of my thoughts I heard my aunt’s quiet voice. She was addressing me: ‘Lassair, go and fetch Hrype and Sibert. Tell them I require their assistance, but don’t say why.’ She studied me. ‘Calm yourself,’ she commanded. ‘Breathe deeply and quietly.’
I did as she bade me. After a while I was in control, and I arranged my face into what I hoped was an everyday, pleasant expression. Edild was right; it would do no good to race across the village to Hrype’s house with a face eloquent of horror. It might be early yet, but enough people would be up and about for somebody to spot me and spread the word that something was afoot. My aunt was watching me closely, and she gave a curt nod. ‘Off you go,’ she said.
I hesitated. ‘Er—’
She gave an impatient
tut
. ‘What is it?’
‘Why do we need Hrype and Sibert?’
She looked at me pityingly. ‘Derman was a large man,’ she said, speaking slowly as if explaining to a child. ‘How do you think we are going to bear him back here unless we have help?’
I hurried off. Part of me was full of admiration for Edild’s courage, for surely what we ought to do was report the death to Sir Alain de Villequier and wait for him to give the orders concerning what was to be done with the body. Part of me, aware that I was equally involved in this surely risky piece of independent action, was just plain scared.
I tapped gently on the door of the house where Hrype, Froya and Sibert live. As the latch was lifted, I made sure I was smiling cheerfully. The door opened to reveal Sibert.
‘Good morning,’ I said, still smiling. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you so early, but Edild has sent me to ask if you and Hrype could come and help her with something.’
I heard quick movement from within, and instantly Hrype appeared beside Sibert. ‘What is it?’ he demanded, just as Sibert, with a puzzled grin on his face, was asking, ‘Why are you smiling like a village idiot, Lassair?’
Fortunately, Hrype didn’t appear to hear. Addressing myself to him, I said, with what I hoped was a convincing shrug, ‘I don’t know.’ As I spoke I fixed my eyes on his and tried to put my thought –
Derman’s dead, and Haward found the body
– into his mind.
I don’t suppose for a moment that he received my silent message, but he read enough in my expression to realize something bad had happened and Edild wanted to keep it secret for the time being. ‘Of course we’ll come,’ he said easily. He turned back into the little house – I could see Froya behind him, crouched beside the hearth and stirring something in a pot, the usual anxious frown creasing her brow – and said, ‘Eat, Froya. Sibert and I may be some time, so don’t wait for us.’
‘But—’ she began, the nervous frown deepening. With Froya, I suspect there is always an anxious
but
.
‘It’s all right,’ Hrype said soothingly. ‘Don’t worry.’
I thought that saying
don’t worry
to a woman like Froya was a bit like telling the wind not to blow.
As soon as we were out of earshot of the house and its neighbours, Hrype said in a low voice, ‘How did he die?’
I all but stopped dead in my tracks. He’d heard! But now was not the time to stand and wonder at my growing powers of thought transference. In any case, the credit should surely go to Hrype for picking up my wordless message rather than to me for sending it.
‘How did who die?’ Sibert was demanding in a fierce whisper. ‘What are you talking about?’
I put out my hands to each of them and drew them closer. ‘Haward went out to the island where my Granny is buried,’ I hissed. I paused to explain to Sibert. ‘We know Derman has been going there because I found a little garland he left for Ida, thinking she was still there.’ I went on to tell both of them what Haward had just told Edild and me, finishing with the frightful discovery of Derman’s dead body.
‘We must bring the corpse back to Edild’s house and determine how he died,’ Hrype said as soon as I was done.
‘That’s what she thought,’ I replied. ‘That’s why she sent me to fetch you two, because Derman’s such a big man and we need help.’
‘How is your brother?’ Hrype asked.
Thinking it was compassionate of him to be concerned, I said, ‘He’s in a bad way. He’s had an awful shock and—’
But it seemed that efficiency and not compassion had motivated the remark: ‘It would be better if he did not come with us,’ Hrype said. ‘In addition, I would prefer to view the body without—’ He stopped.
I could not think at first what he meant. Then, as a very frightening possibility dawned, I whispered, ‘Without Haward present, do you mean? Oh, Hrype, surely you don’t think
Haward
was involved in Derman’s death?’
To my surprise Hrype took hold of my hand and gave it a hard squeeze. ‘I am trying to
help
, Lassair! I know you love your brother and cannot imagine him guilty of anything so terrible, but the facts are these: Haward loves Zarina dearly and wishes to marry her, but she refuses because she will not inflict the heavy burden of caring for her simpleton brother on Haward and his family. We who know Haward are perfectly well aware that he would not even contemplate getting rid of Derman and removing the obstacle to his and Zarina’s happiness, but others, I assure you, will not be so charitable.’
I waited until my outrage receded a little. ‘So why do you want to view the place where Derman died without Haward there?’
‘Because,’ Sibert put in impatiently, ‘when Hrype and the rest of us are asked about it, we can say what our impressions were, and everyone will know they weren’t influenced by anything Haward said or did.’
I had to admit that it made good sense.
Edild had given Haward a mild sedative by the time we got back, and he was lying on my bed half-asleep.
‘He should not be forced to return to the place where the body lies,’ she said softly to Hrype. ‘He has had a very bad shock and needs to recover his wits.’
Hrype nodded. ‘The four of us will go. Between us we ought to be able to carry the body.’
I could see the sense of that. I went over to Haward and, crouching in front of him, softly called his name. He raised his head and stared at me. ‘Don’t stay here,’ I urged him. ‘Go home. Tell our parents what has happened, and they’ll look after you.’ I thought of something else. ‘Fetch Zarina, and take her with you. She’ll have to be told that he’s dead –’ despite the dreadful suspicions, she had still lost her brother, her only kin, and would undoubtedly need comfort no matter how he had died – ‘and the best place to tell her is among loving people.’
If, indeed, she needed telling . . .
The people of my family were loving, that was certain. Whether or not they would live to regret having accepted Zarina so open-heartedly remained to be seen.
Edild rolled up a blanket and tucked it under her arm. I paused to bend over my brother and kiss his forehead – at first he barely seemed to notice, but then he met my eyes and gave a quick nod, presumably acquiescing to my suggestion – and then I hurried after the others.
We did not speak as we crossed the marshy ground to the fen edge. Too soon the upright posts set in the water to mark the crossing place to the island came into view. I tried to suppress my dread.
The back of his head isn’t there any more
, my brother had said. What awful sight were we going to have to see? I shuddered, all the way from my shoulders to my feet.
Silently, Sibert took my hand. I could have kissed him.
Hrype went first on to the planks between the uprights. He moved slowly, looking over the side to the right and the left, searching the black water for what we knew was there. Very soon he gave a soft exclamation, pointing down to the left. ‘There he is.’
We hurried to join him.
Derman was floating just below the surface, face down, his sturdy, powerful arms outstretched as if he were trying to fly. The coarse fabric of his patched and darned shirt was full of air, rising like a huge bubble up to the surface. His legs bobbed gently up and down in a horrible parody of walking.
Realizing that I was looking at every part of him save the crucial area, I turned my eyes to his head.
The back of his skull had received a series of blows. Whoever had attacked him had hit him so hard that the bone had smashed. We could see the leathery white matter beneath, and that, too, had ruptured, revealing a mass of bloody pulp in which there were fragments of the skull.
All hopes of a terrible accident flew away. Had it happened as I had so hoped, had he slipped, cracked his head on the planks of the causeway and fallen, unconscious, into the water to drown, there would have been only the one blow to the head. This had been no innocent, fatal misfortune.
What poor Derman’s murderer had done to him was one of the most furious, frenzied onslaughts it has ever been my bad luck to witness.
It took all four of us to pull him up out of the water. It was as if the fen did not want to let him go and, when finally we wrestled his dead weight up on to the planks, the black mud gave out a last bubble of stinking gas as if to spite us. We were filthy, our hands, arms, bodies coated with muck, and Sibert was soaking wet, for at one point, frustrated at our lack of progress, he had armed himself with a stout stick, jumped down into the water and tried to lever the corpse up from beneath.
Edild spread out the blanket, and we laid Derman on it. We each took firm hold of a corner and, with a huge effort, lifted him off the ground. Then we set out across the mile or so of difficult terrain back to my aunt’s house.
Edild and I live on the edge of Aelf Fen, well away from the rest of the village. We prefer it that way, and so, I am sure, do the villagers. Healers are very welcome when people need us, and indeed our patients and their relatives are always grateful and fulsome in their praise and their gifts when we make someone well again. However, in most people’s minds healing is next door to witchcraft, and they are all more than happy that we don’t live right on top of them.
As we approached the path up to the house, we could see that Edild’s patients for the day had already begun to arrive. Fortunately, there were only two so far: an old man, and an even older woman. Edild gave a small sigh and indicated that we should lower our burden.
‘William and his old mother,’ she said quietly. ‘She is dying, and William will miss her very much when she goes. There is very little I can do, but he appears comforted by the tonics I prescribe for her.’ She frowned, then turned to me. ‘Lassair, go on and speak to them. Tell them to go home, and say to William that I’ll come to see his mother later.’
I ran on up the path and delivered the message. William looked at me worriedly and whispered, ‘Mother may not last till later,’ to which I could think of no answer except to agree with him. His mother looked as insubstantial as a piece of dandelion fluff, and I was amazed she’d managed to walk up from the village. I could not, of course, say so. I watched as they shuffled away and, when they could no longer see the house, went back down the path to summon the others.
We carried Derman’s body into the house, laid him very gratefully on the ground – he was extremely heavy – and Edild secured the door. There was no sign of Haward, and I hoped he was even now at home in the stoutly reassuring company of our parents. Working very swiftly, Edild removed Derman’s garments and studied the body. We all knew how he had died, and I turned away as she and Hrype studied the devastating wounds on the back of his head. Sibert, I noticed, had retreated to the furthest corner and was busy inspecting his hands.
He, however, was not an apprentice healer; I was. All too soon my aunt’s autocratic tones sang out: ‘Come here, Lassair, for it is rare that we have the chance to see what is inside the skull.’
With the utmost reluctance I did as I was told. Stepping forward, I made myself look at the great crater on the right side of the back of the head. To begin with, I had to fight the urge to be sick, for the bloody, oozing, waterlogged mess was a hideous sight. But then, listening to Hrype and Edild speculating on the brain as the source of all we do, all we are and all we think, revulsion turned to interest, and then to fascination.
‘Is his brain different from ours?’ I asked after a while.
Hrype turned to me, his eyes alert. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because he was simple,’ I replied. ‘He may have grown into a man, but he didn’t act like one. Everyone said he was like a child, but that’s not really right either. He was just . . .’ I searched for the right word, gave up and said, ‘Just
different
.’
Hrype nodded. ‘It is an enigma, isn’t it?’ he agreed. I was not sure what an enigma was, but I said yes anyway. ‘Here we have the brain of a man who was different, as Lassair says –’ he paused to prod at the white matter – ‘yet, for all that is visible to our eyes, it looks just like any other.’ I wondered how many brains Hrype had studied, but quickly decided I did not wish to think about that. ‘What happened, Derman?’ Hrype asked softly. ‘Were you born this way, and if so, why did the gods choose to make you as you were?’
BOOK: Music of the Distant Stars
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