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Beyond the Gyre
a Mushroom eBooks sampler
Copyright © 2008, Suzanne Francis
Suzanne Francis has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, to be identified as the Author of this work.
First published in United Kingdom in 2008 by Mushroom eBooks.
This Edition published in 2008 by Mushroom eBooks,
an imprint of Mushroom Publishing,
Bath, BA1 4EB, United Kingdom
www.mushroom-ebooks.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a sampler of Beyond the Gyre by Suzanne Francis. If you enjoy reading these sample chapters and would like to read the rest, you can buy the complete Mushroom eBook edition from the usual bookshops online, or find more details at www.mushroom-ebooks.com.
Prologue
This book is for Jill,
With love
Tristan rolled over in bed, opened his eyes and gave a moan of lonely frustration. Roseberry had gone to visit her mother in Kaisset again. Most of the time, he didn’t miss her. His wife’s enormous girth made her a frustrating and somewhat tiresome bedmate. She snored, for one thing, and when she turned over the bed creaked in a complaining way that Tristan could sympathize with. But right now, after the dream, even she would have provided some solace.
It always began the same way. Tristan would walk through a long hall, with many portraits lining the walls on either side. The faces were strange to him, and somewhat frightening, as their eyes followed his progress towards the far end of the room. In the distance he could see a bed — high, ornate, canopied. A sun and moon hung over the tented crown, shining on the brocaded curtains. His legs carried him onwards, and he felt a growing sense of anticipation — anticipation that centered itself in his groin, almost painfully so.
She had arrayed herself, as always, on the silken coverlet. Her long dark hair covered her nakedness like a dusky robe. Holding out her hand, she called to him: Come to me, my love. I wait for you and you alone, to fulfill all my dark desires...
He reached for her, and she threw her hair back, revealing her loveliness. Above them, the sun and moon began to glow — shining orbs of diamond and gold. They rose higher and higher until the chamber was brightly illuminated. Tristan felt the radiance enter his body, and soon he burned with the light of a million stars. Burned with lust for the Moon Queen that lay before him, ready to quench his desire in her cool dark mystery. Come, my Sun. You are my Lord and Master. Take me...
But always, just as she seemed within his grasp, the dream would end, leaving him trapped in physical need, miserably unfulfilled. Where was she? He had seen her face in a hundred chymike texts, and dreamed of her quivering loveliness many an insatiate midnight.
Tristan knew he had to find her — find her or go mad.
Holly
Katkin du Chesne Benet, common-law wife of Huw Adaryi, mother of Gwenn, Tristan, Poppy and Gwillam, felt every minute of her fifty-two years of age. She stared at her image, reflected back in wavy imperfection by a tarnished silver hand mirror. The mirror was magical — a gift from her Kymatre,[1] Neirin Mare. It had once been able to reveal the worlds between. But now it showed only Katkin’s lined face and thereby the inevitable passage of time. There was nothing magical in that.
She tugged at her unruly curls, and noted that silver now mingled with the chestnut of her hair. A year had passed since she had last peered at herself in the mirror — a year since she had cared for the way she looked.
Huw stood in the doorway. “Hurry, my Queen. I know you don’t want to miss this trip to the fishing shoals off Everruthe. Gunnar and Poppy are at the dock, ready to board. I have stowed our gear in the hold. We must go now, before the tide turns.”
Katkin sighed and rolled her eyes, since she knew Huw could not see her. Then she turned her face towards him, and assumed a pained expression. “I am sorry, Huw. My head is feeling loathsome today. I guess I have the megrim. But I will be ready in a moment.” Then, because she knew what his reaction would be, she added, “I am sure I can manage if I take some laudanum.”
He sat beside her, his face a picture of concern. “Are you unwell? Why did you not say? I will tell Gunnar that he must go without us. There is no need to use the lilies of the field.[2]”
Katkin patted his hand. “Don’t be silly. Why should both of us stay? I can lie here in bed with the curtains drawn. By the time you return I will be feeling fine again.”
“I don’t think I ought to...”
She broke in, perhaps a little too firmly. “I said go, and I meant it. With you to help Lut and Gunnar with the nets they will be able to fill the hold of the Able Drake in no time. We need the fish to dry for winter stores, and now is the best time to get them.”
“All right,” he agreed, with genuine reluctance. “I hope you will soon be better, Queen of my heart.” His dark eyes gazed lovingly into hers, and Katkin felt an all too familiar jab of guilt. She had tried and tried, for the last sixteen years, to love him, as he loved her. Every day she struggled — except this one. The day of the summer solstice.
Huw left the room, with a last fond backwards glance. Smiling now, she slipped the ring from her finger, and buried it beneath the bedclothes.
* * * *
Katkin watched with the spyglass from the top of Bird’s Hill, as the boat bobbed up and down on the waves. Gunnar and his two sons, Lut and Jakob, were aboard, as well as Poppy, Katkin’s adopted daughter. Her other daughter, Gwenn, and her granddaughter Myrie were at their house, Asavale, on the other end of the island. Gwillam, Poppy’s little brother, would be there too; he never went anywhere without Myrie. But they would be busy getting the drying racks ready for the expected haul of fish. No one would miss Katkin, or think to look for her, for many hours. Only Kadya, Gwenn’s husband, might be sitting by idly, but he was blind, and therefore no threat to her secrecy.
The sun rode high in the sky when she left the hill and walked across the wide plateau that occupied much of the island of Asaruthe. Over one arm she carried a woven willow basket. Her free hand smoothed the cream-colored linen of the new dress she had smocked and sewn. The material had come from Minbeorg. It had taken her all winter to embroider the yoke with an intricate motif of red roses and holly leaves.
Huw had admired it after she finished, saying, “Each year, you make yourself a new dress more ornate than the last, my Queen. But you have no one but us to show them off to. What is your purpose in this?”
Katkin had shrugged, saying she enjoyed the task and the pleasure of wearing the finished garment. Which was true enough, in its way.
A line of verdant holly trees camouflaged the cave opening. They loomed ahead of her, deep green in the sun, the berries glinting like many sharp red eyes. She stopped for a moment, looking about in all directions. The tumbled circle of rocks was deserted, save for a pair of black-backed gulls, and a dark-feathered juvenile. All watched her nervously, and then flew away, with mournful echoing cries.
Katkin squatted down and pushed her way through the thick foliage of the hollies. A thorn caught the skin of her upper arm, leaving a bloody scratch she did not feel. The shadowy land behind the trees hid a slender opening between two house-sized boulders. She sucked in her breath and squeezed through.
Though the mouth of the cave looked dark, a natural skylight, created by a fissure in the curving ceiling of the tunnel, provided enough pallid illumination to steer her steps towards the central chamber. There the fissure widened into a hole, which filled the hollow with shafts of bright golden radiance — enslaved sunlight, made to worship and warm this most sacred of spaces. Katkin stood for a moment, at ease, but filled with anticipation. Soon the sun would shine through the crack, and then...
She knelt, smiling, and unpacked the contents of the bag. A farl of oat bread, fresh-baked, and a stoppered jug of elderberry wine she placed on a flat rock that served as a table. Katkin hummed an old folk tune as she added a small crock of butter, and a pot of cowberry jam. Two plates and two earthenware goblets completed the setting. She frowned as she remembered the words to the song:
My love has gone for a soldier,
My soldier has gone for a love,
She is a beauty in satin,
With skin as smooth as a glove.
She stared for a moment at the wrinkled brown skin on the backs of her hands, seeing age spots where none had been last year. Sighing, she stood and checked the position of the sun, and then moved to the back of the cave, where a palliasse lay on the ground. The straw was damp and a little disheveled, so Katkin drew it together in a tidy stack. She reached into her pocket and retrieved a handful of dried rose petals and lavender buds. Carefully, she scattered them on top of the straw and then threw a quilt on top. Her hands came together, and nervous fingers sought to twist the ring on the third finger of her left hand. But she did not find it. Not on the day of the solstice.
She moved to a shadowed corner of the cave, and her makeshift shrine. Katkin spent her first winter on Asaruthe carving a tiny rough-hewn statue of the winged goddess. She had ruined many pieces of the soft cliff stone before she made a pleasing likeness. Huw offered his help, of course, but she had refused him.
Now Lalluna stood proudly on her pedestal, surrounded by bunches of dried flowers and foliage. Katkin returned to the basket and retrieved a fresh bouquet, composed of harebell and buttercup flowers that she had picked on her way across the meadow. She knelt and placed the flowers at the foot of the pedestal.
“Please let him come, my Lady. Please...”
Katkin had repeated this prayer sixteen times in the past sixteen years and in all that time Lalluna had failed her only once. She listened to the silence — it sounded like the soft breaths of a sleeping child. Satisfied, she stood and then moved to the center of the cavern, her heart beating in anticipation and fear.
The sun swung across the sky, until its celestial voyage took it over the hole in the cavern roof. She could feel its heat burning the top of her head, and she closed her eyes while raising her face upwards. The sun filled her vision with red — the color of heat, the color of passion. And then he came and laid her fears to rest.
Fyn stepped out of the sunlight, but his spun gold hair, so like Gwenn’s, continued to shine, even in the shadows. Katkin crossed the cave, savoring the moment — that blessed moment of reunion. When she reached him, he took her into his arms and held her tightly. As always, they did not converse, though it had been a year since they last met.
But his kisses spoke of need, and hers of bitter loneliness.
His fingers found the fastenings on her dress and undid them, one by one. Katkin caught one of Fyn’s hands in her own as he covered her freckled shoulders with kisses. Hurriedly, hungrily, she tugged at his shirt, and he removed it. Katkin noticed a new scar, thin and still angry-red, crossing his lean abdomen. She did not ask him about it.
He spoke for the first time as he unfastened his sword belt and dropped it to the ground. “Shall we, Katrione?”
“Yes, Tomas, we shall,” she replied, with a smile. He smiled back, bemused at her stubborn use of his old name. Tomas de Vigny he had been, once in another life — before he became Amaranthine. But Katkin would have no part of that.
She led him to the palliasse, then stretched herself upon it and looked up at Tomas. He had left the land of the living at age twenty-four, and now remained frozen in time, immortal, but not immune to hurts. His body looked youthful still, strong and supple, but inside he was old, far older than she, ravaged by battle, loss and fatigue. It made the apparent difference in their ages a little easier to bear, knowing that.
She raised her hand and he dropped gracefully beside her on the quilt. Katkin shivered in expectation of what she knew would follow. He was, and always had been, the most skilled and satisfying of all her lovers. She cast herself adrift in the warm sea of his attentions, feeling the caress of his hands and mouth everywhere with intense pleasure.
“Tomas,” she whispered. “Come to me. I am more than ready...”
The first time was always over too soon, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that they had four or five hours to spend together in the pleasurable search for satisfaction. Tomas rolled away from her, and rested on his back, and she passed the time by tracing every scar on his skin with her tongue, feeling his shivers of delight. Soon, he found her mouth with his own and kissed her roughly, then drew her on top of his body.
“Your turn,” he sighed, and closed his eyes as she sank down and wrapped him in loving warmth.
Katkin wanted to hold on to the moment — to him — for as long as she could, so she took her time, letting the passion build, until they both ached for deliverance. The sun beat upon them, filling the cavern with golden light, and it felt as though the Gods had thrown wide the door to heaven. Katkin had only to close her eyes to imagine she rose on tongues of flame.
Fyn clutched at her, wordlessly begging for more. His hips thrust in time with hers, faster and faster, until the maelstrom of climax and release took them both.
After a time, when she had kissed the sweat and the tears from his eyelids, Katkin stood and stretched. Fyn lay on the quilt, watching her. “You are beautiful. Never more so than when your hair is wild, and your cheeks are still colored with passion, my lady.”
She laughed at this, but it had a bitter ring. “And when I am old enough to be your grandmother, will you still think so, Tomas?” He stood and took her in his arms.
“You are unwise to disparage the turn of the seasons. Those of us who are so unfortunate to live outside of time cherish it. You are not the impetuous girl who once wetted an arrogant fool of a Captain with a jug of cold water. But to me, you remain just as lovely.”
Unhurriedly, they threw on some clothes against the chill breeze that entered the cave through the fissure. The sun had passed behind a cloud. Fyn crossed the sandy floor and admired the table. “Cowberry? My favorite.” Katkin joined him, and they sat together, sipping the wine and sharing a meal.
Katkin asked first, as she always did, about Lalluna, the goddess she had once served so devotedly. “When I saw you last, you said she had gone away. Do you know where she is now, Tomas?”
Fyn sighed. “I found her late last year. She has returned to the Temple and locked herself away from the outside world. When I visited her there, I begged her to go back across the heavenly plane and seek the companionship of our kind. But she would not. She says her people have need of her, and that she is at fault.”
“Perhaps they do,” Katkin murmured, as she spread some butter on a piece of the oat bread. “What is my son up to these days?”
“I know not. I may spend only a few hours in the living world, my dear. What little time I have I choose to spend here, with you.”
“And I am very glad that you do,” Katkin said, smiling, as she offered her wine in a toast. “To wicked liaisons,” she added.
Fyn tapped his goblet against hers, but gave her a sharp glance all the same. “Indeed. But have you no shame, Katrione?” He smiled as he asked this, so she would understand it was a jest, but still she answered him very seriously.
“No, I suppose not...” she said, and then did not speak again for a minute or more. Fyn sat by her side, and sipped his wine, waiting for her to continue. “I love you, and I love Jacq. You both have been part of all my lives, and will be for all my lives to come, I hope. But Huw... Well, I just don’t seem to have any room left in my heart for him. I mean, I care about him, of course. How could I not? We have been together for sixteen years on this cursed island.”
“Why don’t you leave here, if you hate it so?”
“What can I do? Would you let me go with you?” Katkin snapped back. He shook his head, as she had known he would, and she scowled at him. “I have my task, just as you have yours. The Dawnmaid has to come first.”
Katkin sighed and rested her head on Fyn’s shoulder. His hair was pungent with the scent of lavender and rose. It brought a blush of remembrance to her cheeks, knowing that the pressure and warmth of their bodies had crushed the petals and released their perfume. “I am sorry, love. I know you are not to blame. But I despise this place. It is windswept and barren, and very lonely. For me the sun shines but once a year, on this day — the day of the solstice.”
He wrapped his arms about her as she shed soft tears on his bare shoulder. Silently, they finished the last of the wine, both aware of the sun’s passage across the sky. They had another hour or two together, no more. After a moment, Fyn stood and approached the statue of Lalluna, then knelt before it reverently. He spilled the dregs of his wine into the sand, as a libation. Katkin joined him, and did the same. They stood and turned away as one, before walking back to the palliasse. Katkin undressed again, and Fyn pulled her on to the quilt. For a long time they lay together, and said nothing.
This time, this very last time, their lovemaking was measured — and sad. When it finished, they did not talk. Fyn dressed and re-buckled his sword belt. Katkin tidied her hair as best she could. Now they stood together under the rift in the cavern ceiling.
Fyn said softly, “I must go now, but my heart remains here — with you.”
Katkin smiled through her tears. “Farewell, my love. I hope, someday...”
“Nay,” he broke in, and for the first time his voice echoed the bitterness he harbored inside. “Do not hope for what will never be, Katrione. I am a walking corpse, and you have much life yet to live. Live it, in happiness, with those of your own kind.”
She threw up her hands and cried, “My country lies in ruins, Dai has betrayed me, and you will not stay. What happiness have I? What reason to live?”
Fyn shook her shoulders. “Joy can be lost, and yet found again. But if it seems far away, then a noble duty may provide some solace.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only this. My heart tells me that the final conflict is hard upon us, and this turn of the Gyre will soon be at an end. One we both love lies in darkness, bereft of hope. She needs you. Go to the Temple, as soon as you may.”
Katkin nodded, and as he embraced her, she said, “Then we will meet again on the last battlefield, you and I. Even if it is in death, we will be together, and then there will be peace for all.”
“In death?” Fyn closed his eyes and said forlornly, “I only wish it could be so. Farewell, my dear.” He stepped away, and left her. Her surroundings now seemed monochromatic, and Katkin shivered. Slowly she drifted around the cave, collecting her belongings, and packing them away in the basket. There were no tears, only a brittle resolve that would soon be shattered in the secret spaces of the night, in silent lamentation for what she had lost, again and again.
Katkin exited the cave, and then made her way across the meadow, swinging the basket in the long grass. She swore and ducked behind a tor when she saw Huw in the distance, heading towards her on the same path. After a moment, he walked by with his head down, oblivious to her presence. She waited until he had passed from sight on the next rise and then hurried back home.
* * * *
“Wait for me!” Poppy called, as she slipped and slid down a high dune. Gwillam and Myrie, who were well ahead of her, did not slacken their pace.
Her brother looked back. “Wait for yourself, sluggard. We will have finished all the gooseberries by the time you catch us.”
He and Myrie dived behind a hummock of sand and shrubs, shrieking with laughter. Poppy slowed her pace, for she had seen another figure approaching. Jakob. Or was it Lut?
She could not tell the twins apart unless she talked to them.
“Hallo, Poppy!” he shouted, as he spied her from the bottom of a nearby dune. “Stop a minute. I want to ask you something.”
Jakob then. Lut would never be so forward.
She stopped and waited as he strode up the loose sand towards her. He gave an easy grin when he reached her side. Poppy wondered to herself how two people as alike as Jakob and Lut could have such very different personalities. “Hello, yourself,” she said. “Jakob, isn’t it?”
He nodded. “Have you seen Myrie? Ma wants to cut her hair today. She has been looking all over for her.”
Poppy lowered her eyes and studied a flowering vine that snaked along the ground at her feet. “No. I haven’t seen her. Did you ask Ikor[3] Kadya if he knows where she is?”
Her lie fooled Jakob. “No, I will stop by his cottage on my way back to the byre. Are you coming over to help with the milking?” He gave her a sideways glance, his blue eyes half closed. “We can walk there together. If you want to, I mean...” His voice trailed off, and he thrust his hands into the pockets of his breeches.
She looked towards the gooseberry patch with longing, but decided there would be trouble if Jakob caught Myrie and Gwillam together. After tucking her arm through his, she led him back up the dune.
“I thought you said your Ma had a headache this morning,” Jakob said. “But I saw her, a couple of minutes ago, when I was looking for Myrie on the tops. I saw your Pop, too. He sure looked angry.”
Poppy frowned and changed the subject. Whatever difficulties her parents had, it was none of his business. She said, “I wish I had your long legs, Jakob. Look at you, you aren’t even winded. It takes me twice as many steps to climb this hill. I am such a weakling!”
He laughed at this and peered at her legs, which were alluringly bare, for she had tucked her long skirt into her belt. Despite her complaint, her limbs were well muscled, the skin smooth and brown.
“What are you complaining about now? Let’s have a look at those legs, Miss Brunner,” he said. He dropped to his knees before her and squeezed her calf. “Feels pretty good to me.”
Poppy let out a hoot of laughter. “Is that your best diagnosis?” she said teasingly. “Perhaps I had better get a second opinion.”
Jakob’s hand slipped upwards, past her knee, to the silky skin on the inside of her thigh. “Hmmm...” he said, more softly. “Do you have any discomfort if I press here?”
“No, Doctor,” she answered promptly. “But I do have a pain.”
“Where?”
“Right here!” With a quick twist, she flipped a foot-full of sand into his face and ran away, laughing. But the look that she gave him over her shoulder was frankly inviting.
Jakob struggled to his feet and chased after her, while brushing the sand from his cheeks and eyebrows. She headed towards a copse of birches they both knew well. He caught her underneath their shapely white trunks. A second later, she was in his arms.
After kissing him for a moment, Poppy pulled away. She rubbed her chin and asked, “When are you going to start shaving? Every time we kiss, I get a rash on my face. Katkin is getting very suspicious.”
Jakob pulled her close again. “Dad won’t let me. He says a proper Northman must have a beard. I am sorry, Poppy.” He stroked her chin tenderly, and she ruffled his long blond hair.
“Don’t worry, I can always think of some story to tell her.” She stared up at Jakob. “Don’t you think we ought to be getting back? Bessie doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
He gazed back at her. “Poppy...” He brought up his hand to touch her cheek. “Have you thought any more about what I asked you? You promised you would tell me your answer today.” His face colored, leaving brilliant crimson streaks on his cheekbones that made his freckles disappear.
“Was it today I said?” she asked. “I guess I forgot. I... I need a little more time, Jakob.”
His face fell. “But Poppy, you know I love you. I want to show you. Why won’t you let me? We are both old enough...”
She shook her head. “I am, maybe. But are you so sure you are ready?”
This made him angry. “I am not a child!”
Poppy smiled and shrugged. “Don’t get so huffy. I was only teasing.”
Jakob was not mollified. “That’s right. You were teasing. That is all you ever do, Poppy.” His grip on her arm tightened and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I want you so much. It is all I think about. It is driving me insane. Please say yes. Don’t make me wait any longer.” His left hand slipped down the front of her peasant blouse and groped for her breast. Poppy gave a cry and tried to back away from him, but he did not let her go.
Incensed, she raised her head and gave him a ringing slap across the cheek. He laughed and shook her by the shoulder. “Come on, stop being so coy. It isn’t as if you have a lot of choice. Who else are you going to do it with? That idiot Lut?”
Poppy pushed him away and rubbed her arm. “I don’t have to give myself to either of you,” she said primly.
Jakob sniffed. “As long as we are all stuck on this stinking island it will have to be one of us. And obviously it is going to be me.”
“Is it? And why is that?” Her big brown eyes flashed with annoyance.
“Because you want me. Just like I want you.” He pulled her close again and kissed her. She did not try to escape. “See,” he said, triumphantly. “It feels good, does it not? And I can make it even better. Let me please you, Poppy.”
Poppy flushed. “Don’t pretend you know what you are talking about.”
“Oh, really? I’ve been with women before. I haven’t had any complaints.”
“I don’t believe it. How could you...”
He said smugly, “Don’t forget that I get to leave this backwater twice a year with Dad, to go to Minbeorg for supplies. Plenty of willing girls there, down by the docks. I took my first at age thirteen.”
“Thirteen?” Poppy repeated in disbelief.
“Yes. So what? I was tall, even then. I told the woman at the bawdy house I was eighteen. The gold piece I gave her made sure she didn’t ask any more questions.”
She looked skeptical. “And I suppose Ikor Gunnar just waited outside the door for you?”
Jakob shrugged. “Dad was busy seeing to the loading and Lut was helping him, of course. I slipped away for a couple of hours. I caught hell when I got back, but I didn’t care. It was worth it.” He stepped closer, making her aware of the difference in their heights. Her head reached to just below his collarbone. He wrapped his fingers around her arm again, quite loosely, the promise of his strength and authority undeclared between them. But Poppy did not feel afraid.
“I don’t care if you have been with a hundred girls,” she said firmly. “I haven’t made up my mind yet, so you will just have to go on waiting until I do.” She glared at him for a moment, and then turned away, saying casually, “See you back at the byre.”
She headed towards the cow shed, over by Ikora[4] Gwenn’s big house, Asavale, in a sheltered valley on the west side of Asaruthe. The afternoon sun beat down on her bare head, and she paused to pull her fichu over her long brown hair, and then wrap it around her shoulder. She considered Jakob’s request as she did so.
Poppy was not naive. Her physician mother had made quite sure that she understood the ways of intimacy between men and women. Though Poppy had demurred at Katkin’s offer of herbs to prevent pregnancy, saying she had no need of them, her mother, giving her a sharp look, had said, “Come to me when you do. With those boys of Gwenn’s sniffing around, it is only a matter of time.”
That had been three years ago, and since then she and Jakob had become more than friends, but she still could not convince herself that she wanted a sexual relationship with him. The herbs weren’t always effective, for one thing, and then there was—
Lut appeared above her. His thick blond braids flashed in the sunlight as he made his way on the path, with his head down. She called, and he looked up without speaking in return. He waited while she scrambled up the slope towards him. Poppy smiled and a bright red tinge spread over the skin on his face and neck. “Hello, Lut.”
He nodded in return, with his eyes locked on the patch of sand between them. She stepped a little closer, so she could make eye contact. “Are you looking for Myrie?” Another nod, accompanied by a quick backwards step.
“I saw her a while ago. With Gwillam. They went over to that patch of wild gooseberries by the long rill.”
Lut cleared his throat. Poppy waited as he twisted the beaded wristlet he always wore. His Adam’s apple bobbed a couple of times. Finally, he blurted, “Thanks.” His blue eyes narrowed with worry. The feeling overcame his shyness. “You didn’t tell Jakob, did you? Ma sent him to look for her, too.”
Poppy smiled reassuringly. “Of course not. I wouldn’t do that, Lut. We had enough trouble the last time he caught them together. Anyway, I saw him not long after. He was heading to the byre to see to the cows.”
They stood for a moment in silence. The sun went behind a cloud, and a shadow passed over them. Poppy shivered. She let her shawl slip to her shoulders, and hugged it for warmth. “Lut?” she asked softly. “Do you want me to show you where they are?”
He shook his head.
Poppy gazed at him helplessly. “Well, I guess I will see you later then.”
“Bye,” he said, and turned away.
“Bye,” she answered, as she studied his retreating back. His shoulders were wider than Jakob’s, probably because he did most of the net-hauling on the Able Drake. Jakob was the quicker thinker of the two, always ready with an excuse to avoid hard work. He was a talker, was Jakob, and Poppy enjoyed his company, at least until he had started pressuring her to give herself to him. But Lut...
Poppy hurried after him. “Wait!” He glanced back over his shoulder, and slowed his pace. “I forgot something. I wanted to ask you how Jepper was doing.”
His expression looked wary. “His leg is getting better. Your Ma splinted it.”
“Is he out with the other goats yet?”
Lut shook his head. “Too little. I made him a pen in the yard.”
He turned to go again, and Poppy laid a hand on his arm. “I think it is wonderful how you climbed down the cliff to rescue him, Lut. He would have starved to death otherwise.”
Lut froze and looked at her hand. She dropped it to her side. Slowly, he turned to face her. “Poppy,” he said softly, hesitatingly. “What do you want?”
Now it was her turn to stammer. “I... Nothing. I just want to talk to you. I mean, I want us to be friends, that is all.” Lut continued to look at her seriously.
“I thought you just wanted to spend time with Jakob.”
“Lut, why would you say that?”
“He told me so. He said that you were...” Lut stopped.
Poppy stared at him and a prickly feeling edged up the back of her neck. “What did he say? Tell me!”
Lut turned from her. “I got to go find Myrie. See you later.” He strode away, and Poppy tore after him. She dove in front and thrust her finger at his chest.
“I asked you a question, Lut!” He didn’t speak, so she demanded, “Answer me!”
“Jakob told me that he... that you...” He stopped again, in an absolute paroxysm of shyness.
Now Poppy felt certain she knew what he had been about to say. “He told you that he and I were lovers.”
He nodded miserably. Poppy fumed, “That lying braggart. I never.... You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” he murmured. “Of course I believe you. Jakob lies about all sorts of things. A couple of months ago he said he had been studying all morning with Pop, when actually he took the Able Drake and sailed her to Everruthe. Dad thrashed him when he found out.” Lut grinned at Poppy. She smiled back, thinking that she had never heard him say so many words in a row before.
“How did he find out?”
His smile grew wider. “Myrie saw him, and she told your brother. Gwill told Ma and she told Dad. He was plenty mad. We aren’t supposed to take the boat out on our own.” He paused and then raised his eyes to meet hers. “Do you want to show me where the gooseberries are? I really do have to find my sister.”
Poppy nodded happily. They walked together in companionable silence for a few moments and then Lut asked, “What is Pop teaching you in the afternoons?”
“I am learning Secunian. Ikor Kadya has a manuscript that he wants me to translate. A journal written by a ship’s Captain, named Josiah Tavish. Katkin took it from the Registrumhallen[5] in Scarfinda.”
“Why is it so important?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know, exactly. So far, it seems to be about cargo, and seamen. There is quite a bit I don’t understand — entries on navigation and currents and things like that.”
For a moment, it appeared Lut’s shyness would get the better of him, but finally he offered, “I could maybe help you with that, if you want me to. I know a little about sailing.”
Poppy gave him a brilliant smile. “Would you, Lut? That would be wonderful.”
They reached the birch grove. Lut gave her an odd glance as they passed through, but did not say anything.
Myrie and Gwillam had finished the last of the gooseberries when Lut and Poppy rounded the side of the dune. Gwillam grinned and waved. Poppy’s little brother was four years younger than she, but already the same height.
Myrie gave two clicks of her tongue as Lut patted her long dark hair affectionately. He knew she didn’t like to be touched anywhere else. Myrie didn’t talk like a normal person, although she was sixteen years old. Nor did she go to lessons with the others.
“Did you like the gooseberries, Myrie?” Poppy asked her, with a smile. Myrie smiled back, but her eyes were cloudy and unfocussed. She could look, no doubt about that, but she didn’t always see.
“Click clack clicketty,” said Myrie in reply.
Gwillam said, “That means she thought they were sour.”
Poppy replied, “Well the both of you will be lucky not to get a stomachache after all the fruit you ate. Now come on. Ikora Gwenn wants to give Myrie a haircut.”
Myrie lifted her head and shrieked, then dove down the hill towards the beach. Poppy shrugged when Lut frowned at her. “Sorry. I forget sometimes that she can understand what I say even though she can’t speak.”
Gwillam spoke. “Don’t worry, Poppy. I can catch her. Tell Ikora Gwenn I will bring her to Asavale in a moment.”
Poppy turned to Lut. “Do you want to walk to the byre with me?”
He nodded, shy again. Poppy, intent on cementing their friendship, thrust her arm through his as they walked to the top of the hill. At first he stiffened and tried to pull away, but after a time he seemed to relax, and started talking again. “Myrie is lucky to have Gwillam. No one else can understand what she says. He is a good friend to her.”
Poppy nodded. “I wish Jakob felt the same way.”
“Me too,” said Lut, and sighed. “Ma has talked to him about it lots of times. She says Myrie needs someone to watch over her, but he always argues that it ought to be one of us.” He snorted. “As if he would be bothered. He barely says two words to her in a day.”
Poppy couldn’t answer him for a moment. They were climbing the steepest part of the path that led up the cliff face and she needed all her breath as she clung to the rope rail that Gunnar had made for Arkady. Finally, they emerged on the top of the plateau that stretched east and west along the axis of the island of Asaruthe.
Panting, she turned back to admire the view. The sweep and curve of a sheltered bay spread below them, and beyond that, the ceaseless boom of the surf. Poppy gestured out to sea, “Look! I can see the Able Drake.”
Lut shaded his eyes with his hand. “Dad and Pop are on board. They must be going fishing again.” That he had two fathers did not strike him as odd in the least, although he knew enough not to mention it when they went to Minbeorg.
Poppy tutted. “I hope Ikor Kadya will be careful. If he fell in...”
“Dad would fish him out again,” said Lut, with the confident admiration of one who respected his father above all others.
“But he has only one leg. What if he couldn’t get to him in time?”
“Then he’d throw a rope.”
“Ikor would not be able to see a rope!” Poppy said crossly, but Lut shrugged.
“He is a good swimmer, Poppy, you know that. He could stay afloat for ages.”
They left the cliff’s edge and walked across the tops, staying well clear of the knots of sheep scattered about. Many of the ewes had lambs, which fled towards their mothers with bleats of alarm as Lut and Poppy passed. But a solitary lamb stood still, trembling, as they approached it.
“Where’s this one’s Ma, do you suppose?”
Poppy shrugged. “I don’t know, but it seems very unhappy. What should we do, Lut?”
Lut stared past the lamb, to where a ewe lay sprawled in the green grass. “Od’s Swallow! Not another one!” He strode past the lamb, which skittered away. Lut knelt and examined the dead sheep in disgust. A predator had torn out her throat. “Ma is going to have fits when she hears about this.”
Poppy joined him at the dead sheep’s side, holding her nose against the smell of decay.
“It is the second sheep she’s lost in the last month. One of the dogs is getting at them. We keep Bridie and Wink penned, so it must be yours.”
Poppy bristled. “It isn’t our dog, Lut Strong Arm! How dare you suggest such a thing?”
“Well, what else could it be? There aren’t any other predators on this island.”
“I don’t know. But Jolly would never attack a sheep. He is a good dog.”
“Jakob said he saw your dog running loose on the tops just last week. If Gwillam can’t keep...”
Poppy rounded on him. “Don’t be such an idiot, Lut! You just said yourself that Jakob can’t be trusted. He probably just wanted to get Gwill in trouble.”
He backed away from her wrath, waving his hands. “All right! All right! You win. Don’t take my head off.” The orphaned lamb behind them bleated pitifully.
“What should we do? If we leave the poor thing out here it will die.” Poppy’s eyes filled with tears.
Lut grinned. “Quit worrying. I will carry it back to the house with us now. It can go in the pen with Jepper.”
Poppy flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks, Lut. I am sorry I called you an idiot.” They converged upon the lamb, which took off towards the cliff edge. Poppy looked on in alarm. “Oh no! Lut, stop her, or she will fall, just like Jepper!”
Lut put on a burst of speed. The lamb had almost reached the edge, running flat out, bleating in terror. He dove clumsily, and just missed the lamb’s back foot as it stumbled and headed in a new direction, skirting along the precipice. Poppy watched with her hand over her mouth as Lut gained his feet and chased the lamb again, calling to her to cut off its retreat. She hurried across the field, but not quickly enough to catch the fleeing animal. Just ahead, the ground fell away where a slip had claimed part of the cliff face.
The lamb disappeared over the side. A second later, so did Lut.
Poppy screamed in terror and ran for the edge of the cliff.
Birch
Lut’s blond head popped from below the rim. “What?” Then, seeing her stricken expression, he added, “Are you all right, Poppy?”
She hurried forward until she reached the break. Her relief at the sight of him standing unhurt on a wide ledge just a few feet from the edge made her shriek crossly. “Am I all right? I thought you had fallen down the cliff, you ass!”
Lut seemed not to notice her irritation. “Good. Give me a hand, will you?” He had hold of the lamb’s back leg, as it dangled over the two hundred foot drop to the rocks below. “I’ll pass it to you. Mind you hang on to it, eh? I don’t want to have to run another race with that one. Once is enough.”
Poppy did as he instructed. She handed the wriggling lamb back to Lut once he had scrambled out of the cut and he draped it across his shoulders, holding its feet in the front. The lamb relaxed, and lay on its side. Lut trotted across the field towards home.
Poppy cried, “Wait for me! What’s your hurry?”
“Got to get this little one back to the house. It is probably dehydrated — and hungry, too. Ma’s got some special mix she makes for the foundlings. We’ll bottle feed it for a few days and it should be fine.”
She smiled at him, much impressed. “You are full of surprises, Lut.”
He blushed. “What do you mean? I am just Lut, the quiet one. Jakob gets all the attention around here.” He stared at her for a moment, and Poppy thought she saw a flicker of jealousy in his eyes. Then he looked away again.
“I just meant that you know so much — about sailing and sheep herding, and...”
He gave her a shy grin. “Just because I don’t talk doesn’t mean I don’t know things.”
The high green roof of Ikora Gwenn’s house came into view. Several goats cropped the sod on the top, crossing back and forth on the steeply sloping sides.
Gwenn was blond and rawboned, like her sons. She stood when she saw Lut approaching with the lamb, and Myrie, who had been sitting on a stool at her feet, scampered away. “Myriadne!” she called, exasperatedly, but the girl had already left the yard, running towards Gwillam’s house. She threw the comb and scissors down in disgust.
“Shall I catch her, Ikora?” Although Gwenn was, in one sense, her adoptive sister, Poppy felt uncomfortable with the idea that the huge, ex-warrior before her could be as closely related as that. Ikora, for the fact that Gwenn had married Patre’s brother, seemed so much safer.
“No, thank you,” said Gwenn in resignation. “I was almost done. She doesn’t care what her hair looks like, anyway.” She took the lamb from Lut. “What happened here?”
Poppy explained about the dead ewe. Gwenn burst into a torrent of colorful cursing, a relic from her days as a Fynäran raider. “If I find out which dog is responsible, I will tie a stone to his neck and throw him off the cliff!”
“Ikora Gwenn!” Poppy stared at her unhappily.
She growled unrepentantly, “Those sheep are our main livelihood, Poppy. Without them, we would not be able to trade for all the things we need from the mainland. Do you understand?”
Poppy sighed and nodded.
* * * *
“Gwenn came over here earlier,” said Katkin to Huw, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between them.
“Oh? Why is that, my Queen?” Huw stopped eating and looked over at Katkin, frowning.
“She thinks Jolly has been after the sheep. Jakob said he saw him on the tops.”
Poppy threw down her fork and cut in hotly, “Jolly didn’t do anything! Jakob is a liar.”
Huw smiled at his daughter affectionately. “Now, Poppy, calling people names will not remedy the situation.” He asked Katkin, “Has Jolly been running free?”
She shook her head. “Not as far as I know, Huw, but I can’t watch him every minute. But Gwenn insists we should get rid of him anyway, since he is not needed for the herding.”
Gwillam choked on his food. “No! He’s mine. You can’t...”
Katkin said, automatically, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Gwill.”
He quickly chewed and swallowed. “I won’t let you do anything to Jolly, Patre.” He lifted his tear-filled eyes to meet Huw’s.
“I will have a talk to Gwenn after supper,” said Huw. “Now,” he said brightly, “How were your studies today?”
Gwillam cheered somewhat. “I am learning trigonometry. Ikor says I have a great mind for mathematics.” Katkin smiled and patted his head.
Poppy sniffed. “He would never say that about me. I can barely add two and two.”
“But you are learning Secunian, are you not? Your gift is for languages, Poppy. How is the translation going, anyway?” Katkin’s eyes were bright and sharp.
“Well, I am trying, but it is difficult. Lut said he would help me though.”
Huw and Katkin both spoke in astonishment. “Lut said?”
Poppy nodded. “I had quite a long talk with him today. He really is very nice, just shy.”
A look passed between her parents. “Well, isn’t that something?” Katkin said, after a moment. The talk passed to other subjects, and then Huw left the table, saying he would walk across to Gwenn’s house. Poppy and Gwillam did the dishes, while Katkin mended one of the fishing nets. Once the sun sank below the level of the cliffs, she got out several oil lamps, made from large whelk shells, and hung them from the ceiling.
Poppy thought Gwillam still looked troubled, and when he went outside, she followed him. She found him sitting in Jolly’s pen. “You didn’t do it, did you boy?” he asked, and Jolly whined in return.
She sat beside them. “Don’t worry, Gwill. Patre will sort it out. I don’t think Jolly would hurt a sheep, and neither does he.”
But Gwillam shook his head. “He’s doing it to get back at me.”
“What on Yrth do you mean? Who is?”
“That sneak, Jakob. Because I told Ikor Gunnar that Myrie saw him on the Able Drake.”
“Gwillam, you don’t know that.”
“Yes I do,” he said stubbornly, as his hands rubbed Jolly’s thick fur. The dog licked his face. “Yes, I do. And I won’t let anything happen to Jolly. You’ll see.”
* * * *
The next day, Katkin, Huw and Poppy sat around the supper table, all staring at Gwillam’s empty place. That morning, he had not been in his room, nor was Jolly in his pen. Huw and Katkin had hunted all day for him without success. Poppy picked at her fish and potatoes as they discussed plans for a more extensive search in the morning. She looked up when a curious noise drifted through the open windows. It sounded like the keening wail of some discontented beast.
Huw jumped from his chair as the sound grew louder, crying, “What in the gods’ names is that?”
The door flew open and Myrie entered, dragging her breathless father by the arm. Her deafening wails subsided as she gazed around the room, and then started again as soon as Myrie realized that Gwillam was not there. Arkady shrugged hopelessly.
“I am sorry. She has been like this ever since this morning. Gwenn brought her to me when she couldn’t stand it any more. Then Myrie made me come over here.”
The girl’s screams continued as she crawled into a corner, rocking back and forth with her eyes tightly closed. Katkin had to shout to make herself heard.
“We have been looking for him all day, Kadya. I don’t know what else we can do.” She frowned. “If Gwenn had not made such a fuss about that sheep, this never would have...”
Huw broke in. “It does not matter, my Queen. We must do something to help poor Myrie.” He squatted before the girl and patted her hand awkwardly, which made her howl even louder.
Poppy said, “Patre, let me try.” She grabbed her brother’s oldest toy, a stuffed floppy-eared rabbit. It had been living on the mantelpiece since Gwillam abandoned it, five years earlier. She knelt beside Myrie and gently tucked the rabbit into her arms. Myrie hiccupped a couple of times, clutched the rabbit to her chest, and fell asleep.
Arkady gave a sigh of relief as Katkin explained what Poppy had done. Then he asked, “May she stay here tonight? Now that she is quiet, I don’t want to disturb her.”
Katkin said, “Of course. And tomorrow we will find Gwillam and then she will be happy again.”
* * * *
Sleep eluded her, though Poppy closed her eyes and forced herself to lie still. Finally, with a frustrated groan, she rose from her bed and crept down the ladder, then tiptoed into the kitchen, thinking a cup of milk might help to settle her nerves. Myrie still lay by the fireplace, with the rabbit clutched in her hands. She sighed, and muttered in her sleep, “Click, click, click...”
Poppy crossed the stone floor to check on her. Myrie had curled into a ball, hugging the rabbit to her chest. The room felt very chilly, so Poppy found a blanket and draped it over the sleeping girl’s shoulders.
Myrie turned over and thrust her arm up, as her clicks became both mournful and more insistent. Poppy did not want her to wake in a strange room, alone and frightened, so she grabbed another woolen blanket and some pillows from the settle and stretched out beside Myrie. Her presence seemed to be a comfort, for Myrie’s clicks subsided and she began to snore. A few moments later, Poppy slept too.
Poppy had a dream, and Myrie was in it. They both stood before a vast mirror, ornately framed in silver, and their reflections stared back at them. Myrie’s reflection spoke, and she used real words. “When are you coming? We need your help!”
The real Myrie clicked questioningly. The mirror spoke again. “The Infirmarie. You must hurry, or there will be no one left to save.”
The sparkle that flashed from the glass blinded Poppy, as though the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. It left an afterimage on her retina — bright green and shaped like a flower. Her reflection cried, “Watch for us, in the mirror,” as a second reflection joined the first. Suddenly Poppy looked down a long tunnel, with ever-smaller images of her and Myrie disappearing into its depths. She grew dizzy and then she fell, plummeting past her reflected selves, twisting and turning. At the end of the tunnel, she stopped, caught fast by some unseen hand.
Now she saw a room, dark and dank. A box, something like a coffin, lay in the center. The chill air smelled like decay, and Poppy felt very afraid. But her legs insisted on carrying her closer to the box, though she somehow knew the noisome stench issued from it. She looked down.
What she saw made her scream and scream, and then she woke.
Myrie patted her hair.
“I had a dream, Myrie,” Poppy whispered. “It frightened me very much.” She stared at the girl who lay at her side. Myrie’s deep blue eyes were dark and opaque, like a pool of turbid water.
Myrie said, “Clack, click,” sympathetically, and closed her eyes. Poppy, strangely comforted, did the same. After a little while, she slept again.
In the morning, Myrie pressed herself close to Poppy’s side as Katkin said, “All right, is everyone ready? Today we are going to look all along the water’s edge, and on the tops by the tors. We must not stop searching until Gwillam is found.” She could not keep the worry from her voice.
Huw added confidently, “We will bring him home today, my Queen.”
Katkin sighed. “I will never forgive myself if something has...”
He shook his head and looked towards Myrie, who stared vacantly at the rabbit still clutched in her fist.
Poppy took her hand. “Myrie and I will look on the south side, over by the old fishing shack.”
“Good. We should meet back here at midday for a meal. By then we will have him, I am sure.” Huw headed out the door, leaving Katkin standing in the kitchen. Her hands twisted her apron strings.
“Be careful with Myrie. Don’t let her wander. I am going to the beach to meet with Gwenn and Gunnar. Just shout if you need help.”
Poppy nodded and left the cottage, with Myrie trailing behind her.
They crossed the yard, and the chickens crowded around them, expecting their morning ration of grain. Poppy shoved them out of the way with her boot. The path to the south side of the island wound across the tops. They did not get far along it before Myrie stopped. She clicked at Poppy urgently, and tugged at her hand.
“Myrie? What is it? We have to go to the fishing shack. Gwillam may have slept there last night. If we get to him first we can help him hide Jolly.”
“Mmmm...”
Poppy stared at her in surprise. “What are you trying to say?”
“Mmmm...” the girl said again. “Mirrr...”
“Mirror? Is that what...”
But Myrie was already running back towards the house.
When they reached the door, she flew straight in and up the ladder to Katkin and Huw’s room. Poppy wondered how Myrie had known about the mirror. Her mother took it out of her keepsake chest only once or twice a year.
Myrie found the chest, and tried the lid, then clicked a few times in a thoughtful way. She closed her eyes and placed her hand over the keyhole. The next click came from within the box. She smiled and flipped the lid open.
Poppy stared at her, very quizzically. She forgot to whisper. “Myrie, how on Yrth did you do that?” But Myrie only clicked happily, as she retrieved the mirror.
Poppy peered down, and saw her reflection right next to Myrie’s, just as she had in the dream. Myrie blew a stream of moist breath on the glass, and it fogged. “Myrie!” said Poppy impatiently, and made to wipe it away. But the moisture evaporated on its own, and when the mirror cleared, their faces had disappeared.
Now Poppy could see Gwillam, huddled in a dark hole, with Jolly at his side. He held his arm close to his chest as though it were injured. She could see the tracks of tears on his grimy face. Poppy gave a cry of alarm and snatched the mirror from Myrie.
The scene in the glass changed. Jakob, or perhaps Lut, strode across the tops, followed by a rough-coated brown dog that Poppy had never seen before. He took the dog to the highest paddock and let it run amongst the sheep. Poppy watched in alarm as the dog caught a young lamb and shook it, as the other sheep fled in terror. Lut, or Jakob, smiled triumphantly and picked up the body.
Poppy sputtered, “That... That stinking liar! He owns the dog that has been getting after the sheep and he blamed it all on Gwill. Look, Myrie!”
She turned to show Myrie and then gasped in horror. Myrie had dumped out the rest of the contents of Katkin’s chest on the quilt. A silvery robe lay in her hands, and she clicked excitedly. Poppy forgot her wonder at the strange mirror pictures, and hurried over to Myrie.
“You can’t have that! Katkin will be very angry if she finds out we went through her things.” She tugged at the robe, but Myrie held on to it. Poppy dared not pull too hard, in case it tore, or Myrie started to scream. Desperately, she grabbed Gwillam’s rabbit and held it before her. “Look Myrie, here is the rabbit. We must find Gwillam and give it to him. He will be sad without it.”
Myrie clicked agreeably and reached for the rabbit, so Poppy took the robe from her. The silver fabric felt smooth, almost uncannily so. It was warm to the touch and the warmth made it feel almost like a living thing. A tingling calm filled her, along with the deep, earthy scent of patchouli. Poppy could not imagine where her Matre could have gotten such a strange garment.
Azothe...
Poppy looked at Myrie. “Did you say something just then?”
Myrie clicked vacantly. Poppy shook her head. “Of course you didn’t. I must be out of my mind.”
Quickly, she folded the robe and put it back in the chest, then gathered the other small objects that Myrie had scattered about on the quilt. Several amulets lay there, including one made of some bright red, soft stone. But the image of Gwillam, hurt and alone somewhere, drove all curiosity from Poppy’s mind. She dumped them unceremoniously into the box and then shut the lid.
“Come on, Myrie! We must find Patre and tell him about Gwillam.”
* * * *
Later, as all the residents of Asaruthe crowded into the small sitting room at Ruthecombe, Poppy told the story of Gwillam’s rescue. “Myrie made it work. She breathed on the mirror and then I saw Gwillam. I didn’t know where he had fallen, but Myrie recognized the cave right away, I guess because she and Gwill used to play there. And then I saw...”
Huw spoke. “Is there more to this story, my little flower? You must tell us if there is.” Poppy’s eyes filled with tears as she stared at Lut. He looked away from her. “I saw one of the twins — I don’t know which one — on the tops with a strange dog. He killed the sheep that Lut and I found.” Jakob’s head snapped up.
“What is this rubbish? Poppy is just trying to protect that brat, Gwillam. Where would either of us get another dog from, anyway?” He stood, waving his arms. “You can’t prove it was one of us.”
Lut twisted the bracelet on his wrist. “It... It wasn’t me,” he said, finally, and no one doubted that this was the truth.
“Well it wasn’t me, either,” Jakob blustered.
“So,” said Gwenn, intractably. “That leaves Jolly. Now, if we have finished here we can get on with...”
A high-pitched wail made them all cover their ears. Myrie ran to the center of the room. “Wait,” said Gwillam. “Myrie has something to say first.” Myrie subsided into clicking again. She went on for some time and then Gwillam translated. “She says that there is another dog on the island, named Dagger. A wild dog that belongs to Jakob. He brought it back from Everruthe.”
Jakob could hardly speak at first. A muscle in his jaw worked rapidly as a bright red stain crept from his throat to his face. Everyone else in the room kept silent. At last he growled, “He is making it up. Myrie’s as crazy as a blind magpie, anyway. Look at her! Her stupid clicks don’t mean anything. I don’t...”
Everyone started speaking at once, asking questions, making accusations. Arkady’s voice rose over the din as he thumped his cane hard on the floor. “Let me speak! I heard a strange dog barking a couple of weeks ago. I told you about it, remember, Gwenn?”
Katkin raised an eyebrow at this. “You already knew of another dog on the island, Gwenn?”
Gwenn looked chagrinned. “Well, I just thought, you know... Kadya can’t see and he must have made a mistake.”
“But his hearing is excellent,” Huw commented dryly.
Jakob, forgotten in all the excitement, tried edging out the door. His frowning father rose and limped towards him. “Tell me the truth. Is there another dog?” Jakob stood, eye to eye with Gunnar, and he could not look away. After a tense moment, he nodded and Gwenn swore in disgust. Gunnar said to his son, “Go and fetch it and then wait for us in the woodshed. Your mother and I will be along presently.” Jakob opened his mouth to argue and Gwenn stood, shaking her head.
“We had better go with him now, to make sure nothing else happens, Gunnar.” She looked over to Gwillam. “I am sorry,” she said stiffly. “Jakob will be punished for this.”
Gwillam buried his face in Jolly’s fur and did not say anything in return.
That's the end of the sampler. We hope you enjoyed it. If you would like to find out what happens next, you can buy the complete Mushroom eBook edition from the usual online bookshops or through www.mushroom-ebooks.com.
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