14

Highways and Byways

Candle slept a deep, dreamless sleep, safe in that high fortress, surrounded by thick stone walls and the slumbering members of its inmates. She slept through the dawn bells and the noisy commotion of twenty women getting dressed in the light of the morning. When at last she did wake, she stretched, wondering where she was and why the ceiling was stone and not thatch.

Her memory came flooding back and her hand flew to her face. Her blindfold had slipped off in the night. Covering her eyes with one hand she fumbled in the narrow bed and gasped in relief when her fingers located the thin strip of material. She reattached it quickly, blinking against the clean fabric and looked around the room, which was empty. She need not have worried. She let out a deep sigh of relief and decided it was time she got going. Truly, if it wasn't for the demon-possessed mistress of this place she would consider staying...but she didn't want to share a roof with a demon. Once was enough.

She dressed quickly in the clothes Delen had found for her the night before. It felt strange to be wearing trousers in the colours of the Ancestor's Own. Ishbel wouldn't recognise her in a crowd, she thought, turning to look at her reflection in the bronze with some satisfaction. Glancing out of the window she saw the rain had stopped, although the clouds were still low. Or maybe the castle was so high they were in the clouds.

A clanking from the doorway drew her attention.

"Oh, there you are, sweet pea," said the housekeeper, whose name Candle had forgotten. Was it Ia? "I thought you looked like you needed some rest, so I left you to sleep. There'll be some lunch in the mess if you are hungry."

"Thank you," said Candle, brightening at the thought of a meal. Her eyes were drawn inescapably to the chains on the old lady's ankles. What in the Night Nation was the old lady capable of that she needed to be kept in chains? She tried not to stare.

"What time is it, please?" she asked, for something to say.

"An hour past the noon bell," said the old woman, clanking across the room and tutting at the mess in one of the corners.

Candle collected her belongings from under the bed. There wasn't much - her candle, her flint, Jotham's flask and the half loaf of bread she had lifted from the dining room table the night before. She bundled them all up and made her way down to the dining hall. She wondered if the lunch would be as good as last night supper.

She was not disappointed. Savoury pies filled with onion, potato and carrot were available, washed down with more of the hot sweet tea which seemed to be plentifully available. Candle was a little disappointed not to see Delen or any of the other inmates that she recognised, but she sat at a table and ate in comfortable isolation, watching the comings and goings of the others. It was a little like watching a beehive in action, a sort of organised chaos. Everyone seemed to be busy or on their way somewhere, and everyone seemed to know where they belonged.

Just as she was finishing up, Delen and Locryn came in and waved to her. Well, Delen waved to her while Locryn scowled next to her.

"Still eating?" Delen asked with a laugh.

"It's very good," said Candle.

"Ready to travel?"

"Yes," said Candle.

"Where did you say you were from again?" asked Delen, as they walked to the moongate.

"Gelliwic."

"It's a long way to walk," said Locryn, pointedly. "Han Oglen must be at least two hundred leagues from here."

"I was visiting friends in Sterlester," said Candle, hating herself a little for the ease of the lie. But it sounded so natural, and so plausible.

"We're so sorry," said Delen, and Locryn nodded, looking contrite. They walked on in awkward silence.

"Please say goodbye to the others for me," said Candle to them, as they approached the moongate, "and thank you."

"I wish you would stay," said Delen, throwing her arms around Candle, much her surprise. She tried not to flinch at the contact. When was the last time someone had touched her in kindness? She had a distant memory sitting on her father's knee listening to stories when she was very small. Before she had come such a disappointment. She felt the sting of tears and blinked ferociously, glad of the blindfold.

They arrived in the court of the moongate. Candle hadn't got a good look at it on her way up to the castle but she looked now. The moongate was huge, clearly meant to transport more than just people. Its height alone was imposing, reaching at least thirteen feet high. It looked big enough to ride an auroch through. The moonsilver runes worked into the arch sparkled and pulsated with magical power. A few faded spirits wriggled and twisted inside the gates arc, striving to break free but they were contained within it by the power of the runes. Candle felt a brief thrill of excitement.

"Where do you wish to travel?" asked the Gwavas Gatekeeper, formally.

"Gelliwic, please," she said to him and he picked out a jar and offered it to her. It was packed with dark red soil, quite unlike the tawny clay of the mountain slopes, or the sandy soil of the isthmus. She scooped out a small hand full of earth and held it in her palm, ready for the ritual. She had always hated this part. While moon gates were useful in the extreme, the right to use them had always seemed barbaric, not to mention painful. Wincing, she cut her finger on the offered piece of iron and dripped a small drop of blood on the earth, wrinkling her nose in distaste. The soil was so red her blood offering was immediately indistinguishable from the soil.

She knew very little about Gelliwic, she thought, staring at the blood-soaked soil. What did it look like? What grew there? What art did the people make? But it was too late to back out now. She looked back at Locryn and Delen, who were watching her. She raised a hand in farewell and turning towards the gate she took a deep breath, stepped forward. She scattered the blood-soaked soil across the threshold.

"Gelliwic," she said and the moongate ignited with a dazzling flash, like lightning rippling over a still pond. The spirits were instantly burned away and Candle could see the green hills where the dusty mountain slopes of Guardian Peak should be. She stepped through the circular opening of the gate and stepped out the other side into a forest glen above Gelliwic, two hundred leagues to the north.

Her first impression was of humid air. The air was so heavy with moisture it felt like she was swimming through it. It was also buzzing with insects. There was no one guarding the moongate on the Gelliwic side, so Candle arrived unannounced. She gazed around her feeling disconcerted. The vegetation was lush and vibrant green that she had only ever seen before as a colour of paint. The soil beneath her feet was indeed a deep, rich red, the path a slashed wound cut into the forest landscape. Candle looked back to the moongate but it had closed already and all she could see was more green, and the village she had come seeking in the valley below.

The village was small and rural, with small rondavels built within large, unfenced gardens. Laurels, ashes and forest elders were dotted throughout. She had never seen so many trees. The whole scene was bucolic. Candle could see that finding her mother's relatives would be an easy matter. Everyone in Gelliwic must know each other intimately.

Feeling suddenly nervous she made her way down the gentle slope to the centre of the small village. The shops were simple stalls with awnings set up in the shade between the buildings. The items on sale were mostly food, although there were some cloth merchants and one table set up with parchment, books and maps. She wandered down the short street making a show of looking at the merchandise. Everyone greeted her and asked her business. As she had suspected they recognised her immediately as an outsider. The people of Gelliwic were darker of skin and hair than the Havi. She saw brown eyes of various shades aplenty but no one with blue eyes.

"Welcome, young lady," called a shopkeeper. His selection of fruit and vegetables lay on the table between them, and Candle pretended to look them over. "What brings you to our fair village?"

"I'm looking for some relatives," said Candle. "I was told they live here or lived here in the past. Do you know the Blackbrights?"

The shopkeeper looked confused.

"No, sorry little one. There is no one who lives here by that name?"

"They might have moved? Or died?"

"I have lived here my whole life," he said. "I am sorry to disappoint. Can I interest you in some bananas?"

"Are you sure? Oto and Inga Blackbright? Parents of Morwenna? No? Um... Is there anyone here by the name of Hallow? Or Elbolton? No? I'm sorry to have bothered you."

She wandered through the village and asked a few more people. The answer was always the same. No one had heard of her mother or her parents or her grandparents on her mother's side. No one had blue eyes. She lingered at the bookseller's stall and looked at her maps. There were several of the Eastern Reaches, one even showing Sterlester, Gwavas and Hanternos and their surrounding bothys. She had no rings to pay for it, but made a mental note of where they were...just in case.

Eventually, feeling deflated she retreated into the surrounded forest and sat down with her back against the trunk of a large forest elder. She stared up at the sky through the canopy and watched a couple of vervet monkeys scamper through the branches. Tears prickled in her eyes and she squeezed them shut. It made no sense. Why had her mother lied to her? To all of them? Where was Lady Enys really from? It had been a foolish hope, to imagine she might have relatives that would accept and love her. It had been foolish. She was foolish. She hugged her knees and let the tears flow.

She cried for a while until she was all wrung out and had no more energy for self-pity. She sat staring into space for a while feeling numb, fingers curled in the moss at the base of the tree. Eventually, she realised she was hungry and pulled a slightly squashed pie out of her pocket. She ate it discontentedly, staring up through the web of branches.

What now?

She could go home? No, not an option. She could beg for shelter from the denizens of Gelliwic? Unappealing. She could travel through the moongate to any number of far off locations and go on adventures...Rasmus would never find her but it was foolhardy and would most likely result in her death. She had no illusions about her ability to keep herself alive. Not after her time in the fell. She could find a position as an art teacher or some kind of tutor. She could share her education. Her fingers found the edge of her blindfold and ripped it off in frustration. She would not be able to make decent art with a blindfold on, and with it off... no one would want her near them.

Perhaps she could find an unoccupied bothy, take up farming and live out her life in safe, boring, isolated glory. Of course, she had no idea how to farm and no practical skills. Or she could join the Ancestor's Own. Her heart leapt at the thought. That was what she wanted to do, but the idea of sharing a roof with a demon... of living amongst convicts and violent criminals serving their time...learning to fight...

Actually, she thought, learning to fight didn't sound so bad. If she learned how to fight she would not be so afraid all the time. She would be able to look after herself in the twilight. Thinking of the twilight, she looked up at the sky. Whatever she did she needed to do it quickly. Twilight was approaching. She knew Gelliwic was in the northern territory of Hen Oglen which meant their twilights were less...violent. People slept easier in the Kingdom of Hen Oglen, for the shades found them less interesting, the Night Nation further away. The stone circle around Gelliwic was small and glowed only faintly. It had not been maintained for a while and the fact seemed to bother no one. The warding wall was knee height, quite unlike the more substantial fortifications of their neighbours to the distant south. Still, Candle was not keen to knock on a strangers door and ask for sanctuary. She was even less inclined to take up residence as the village beggar.

Slowly she walked back up the hill to the Gelliwic moongate, which glowed softly with subtle magic. She hesitated in front of it. From here she could travel almost anywhere across the continent. Anywhere she chose.

She looked at all the pots of soil, of every consistency and hue. Each ceramic vessel was painted in neat letters with the name of the place the soil was from. There were names she knew and those she had never heard of. One day, she promised herself, one day she would travel and see each and every one of them. But first, she had to learn to take care of herself.

She grabbed some rocky soil out of the jar marked "Gwavas', hesitated, and then cut her hand and squeezed her blood onto the familiar mountain soil of the Reaches. The moonsilver runes glowed brightly, as she scattered it and the gate ignited. She stepped through once more, trying very hard not to think of the demon that lived in the castle beyond.