Sais gestured for her to come over, and Kerin crept along the landing. He held the door to his room open. As he closed it behind her she saw Fychan’s bed was empty.
‘Monitors took him!’ whispered Sais urgently.
‘What did they say?’
‘Nothing! They just asked who he was and told him to come with them.’
‘Did they speak to you?’
‘No.’ He sat down on his bed. ‘But . . . once they’ve spoken to him, I reckon they’ll want to.’
Kerin’s mind raced. ‘I am not so sure. This must be about the Cariad - remember how Meilyg said he was boasting in the tavern? Word must have got back to the Tyr.’
‘Yes, but why the hell did they let him go and then recapture him - no wait, he said the Cariad was with him all the time, didn’t he? There must be another faction in the Tyr, opposed to her. God, I wish I knew what was going on in there!’
‘There is something else you might not know - one of the Escorai has disappeared. There are all sorts of rumours - that he’s ill, or dead, even that he has run off with one of the Putain Glan.’
‘The what?’
‘The sacred harlots who serve the physical needs of the priests.’
‘Another quaint local custom! I wonder where Einon fits into all this? I didn’t think he was anyone’s first choice to lead the drove, then someone tried to kill him, and now he’s staying clear of the Tyr.’
‘I think we need to talk to him,’ said Kerin. ‘He has already said he may enlist my help.’
‘That’s good. I saved him from the assassin at Plas Aethnen, so he owes me.’
‘I did not know that.’ Kerin thought for a moment. ‘We should wake him up, now. We should ask him for his help, and see how he reacts. I suspect he will be even more worried than you about the monitors coming here, and the combination of begging for his help and his own fear might just convince him to confide in us, or at least make him careless enough to let information slip.’
‘Kerin, you have a surprisingly devious mind.’
‘Thank you. I think.’
Sais knocked on Einon’s door. Kerin stood at his shoulder. On the third knock, a sleepy voice said, ‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Sais. We need to talk. It’s urgent.’
‘Ah, wait a moment.’ Einon opened the door with an expression between annoyance and apprehension. His bleary gaze flicked over Kerin. ‘What is it, Chilwrau?’
‘Monitors came, just now,’ said Sais, ‘and took Fychan. Can we come in, please?’
Einon whispered, ‘Aye, quickly!’ He closed the door behind them, then ordered, ‘Tell me what happened!’
Sais recounted his rude awakening while Einon paced. When they were done he said, ‘Thank you, you may go. I need to, ah, to—’ He looked over at his paper-strewn table.
Kerin and Sais exchanged glances. Kerin said, ‘Gwas, please, can you tell us anything of what is happening? We are afraid, and we know nothing.’
Einon pulled at his lip with long, ink-stained fingers, then sighed. ‘I, ah, I am not sure myself.’
To Sais, Kerin said, ‘Tis as we feared.’ Then to Einon, with a desperation only partly feigned, ‘Gwas, what should we do? I fear for my son if he goes into the Tyr when all is in turmoil.’
‘Take heart: there are those who remain true. But—’ He stopped and looked at the table again. ‘You may, ah, you may help me greatly.’ He strode over and began to gather his papers. ‘Kerin, will you take these and keep them safe? The monitors would not, ah, disturb a skyfool’s room.’
Kerin saw the look Sais was giving her - here was Einon’s secret. He moved forward and said, ‘Let me help you, Gwas.’ He picked up a piece of paper, then stopped, peering at the squiggles covering it.
Einon looked at him. ‘What is it?’
Sais shook his head. ‘Nothing, probably.’
‘Chilwar
,
do you - are those, ah, are these symbols known to you?’
Sais pursed his lips. ‘Perhaps . . . but then, writing’s only for priests, isn’t it?’
‘Aye. It is, here, but I already know that you, ah, come from a far land.’
‘And the idea of people being able to read and write there, that’s one you could handle?’
‘I - perhaps I could. This is, ah, a time of great change.’
‘What are these papers anyway?’
‘I am not sure I should, ah, tell you.’
‘And I’m not sure I really do recognise this.’
For several heartbeats the two men stared at each other.
Then Einon’s shoulders sagged. ‘I doubt it will mean much to you anyway. I have devised a symbol I call heb. It allows, ah, it allows new ways of counting.’
‘But now you want us to hide your work,’ said Sais. ‘Why is that, Gwas?’
‘I - I think there may be those, ah, those in the Tyr who would misuse it.’
‘Misuse it? How?’
‘It—’ Einon grabbed the table for support. ‘This discovery is related to the Cariad’s most sacred place, the Sanctaith Glan, but in what way, ah, I do not yet know.’ He blinked rapidly, getting control of himself again. ‘So have you, ah, seen these symbols before?’
In response, Sais reached across the table and pointed to a particular mark. ‘Is this your “heb” symbol?’
‘Aye, it is.’
‘Where I come from, we call it zero. And those numbers with the dashes? They’re negative numbers.’
‘Negative numbers,’ echoed Einon, his expression unreadable. ‘Mothers preserve us.’
When the priest said nothing more, Sais asked, ‘What’ll happen if Fychan isn’t back in time for Damaru to go into the Tyr?’
‘I, ah, I am not sure. The Traditions state that the boy’s nearest male relative must stand guardian.’
‘His nearest male relative is several weeks’ walk away. But his mother is here. In a situation like this, can’t Kerin go in with him?’
‘It would not be right,’ he said with a frown.
‘Does it explicitly say so anywhere?’
Einon hesitated, no doubt running through the Traditions. Finally he said, ‘There is nothing to forbid a woman accompanying a male guardian to the tests, though it is most irregular. But she can only go as well as a man, not instead. The Traditions are clear that the boy must have a male relative with him at all times.’
‘Does it have to be a blood relative?’ asked Sais.
Kerin suddenly saw where this was going. Her heart jumped into her mouth.
‘What do you, ah, mean?’
‘What if she was married? Could she go in with her husband? He would be the boy’s father, legally speaking.’
‘In the eyes of the Mothers a man is responsible for his woman and any children she has borne, aye,’ Einon said.
‘Thank you, Einon. We’ll keep these papers safe for you.’
Carrying the stack back to her room, Kerin asked, ‘Did you really recognise what Einon has written here?’
‘Yes, though he’s a messy worker. Comes of using a quill and having to pay a fortune for your paper, I suppose. Forbidding zero - and advanced maths - would be another way of keeping your people primitive. I’d imagine it is forbidden knowledge, even if someone in the Tyr wants it.’ Then, almost to himself, he added, ‘Though if there’re examples in the Tyr, that also implies there’s Sidhe technology in there.’
‘Is that bad?’
‘Yes and no. It means my chance of finding a communication device is higher, but it also implies the Sidhe have been in this Sanctaith Glan place Einon mentioned.’
‘But you will be going into the Tyr anyway?’
‘I have to.’
‘So . . . you will be marrying me after all?’
‘Yes, I will.’ He looked at her with frank admiration. ‘If that’s all right with you.’
Not so long ago, this would have been the fulfilment of a dream. But the woman whose greatest hope was for a kind and caring husband had been left behind on the road. This was the only way to get them both into the Tyr. She had to find the truth and, if it was as Sais said, save Damaru from falling into the hands of the Sidhe.
‘Aye,’ she said. ‘It is. Shall we ask Einon now, then?’
They returned to Einon’s room to find him stuffing clothes into his pack.
‘Are you leaving?’ asked Sais.
‘I hope not. But I must, ah, be prepared.’
‘Then we’ll ask another priest.’
‘Ask them what?’
‘To marry us.’
Einon looked between the two of them, his eyebrows almost comically high.
‘We need to get married today,’ Sais said, ‘to provide Damaru with a male guardian.’
‘Ah, of course. I - I will do it, but it cannot be in capel. We can use Ebrilla’s yard.’
Ebrilla swept into action as soon as Sais announced their intentions, and would not be gainsaid. ‘You must both go to the bathhouse - you have time if you are quick. And I must go out too! We need more than small-beer in the wedding cup, and I have no oil in the house save that for cooking and the lamps!’
Walking back from the baths under a lowering sky, Sais turned to Kerin, a strange, sad expression on his face. ‘Kerin,’ he said, ‘if we both get out of this in one piece, you should divorce me.’
‘Divorce you?’ Even though her passion had matured into friendship, to have him state such intentions before they were even married bruised her heart.
‘Yes, assuming that’s possible. Or I can divorce you, if it’s easier.’
‘A man can unbind himself from a willing woman by a public declaration of his reasons in capel.’ Perhaps he might not divorce her, but would choose to live with her . . . if he did not leave. If they both survived.
They found Gorran loitering outside the house when they got back. ‘Mothers’ blessings!’ he said brightly as they went in.
‘Are you not coming to the ceremony?’ asked Kerin.
The boy shook his head. ‘The Gwas asked that I wait here, and tell him if anyone approaches the house.’ His tone made it obvious that he thought the request odd, but would not consider disobeying a priest.
Ebrilla had bought flowers and woven a chaplet for the bride. Wearing the skirt that was her last link to Dangwern, and with a strand of blossom hanging over one eye, Kerin walked into the tiny yard to be married to Sais.
Einon spoke the words of joining with an officiousness better suited to a great capel than a cramped yard. The ceremony was witnessed by her son, two relative strangers and an indifferent cat. Sais, of course, had to be prompted, both to speak his vows and to anoint Kerin’s forehead. Then they were sharing the wedding cup, and Kerin had wine for the second time in her life and, for the second time in her life, became a man’s wife.
Afterwards, when Kerin went to take Damaru back up to their room, Ebrilla chided her, ‘Tis your wedding day! I am sure your blessed child can amuse himself for a while with peas and rice in the dining room; I will keep an eye on him while I cook.’
Kerin, her head in a whirl, said, ‘You have done so much for us already. Please do not trouble yourself further - we are not required at the Tyr until later this evening.’
Ebrilla lowered her voice and said, ‘Precisely. And it would not be fitting to enter the Cariad’s presence without consummating your union. Now go you to your husband, woman.’
She did as Ebrilla said. When the door closed on his room, she and Sais looked at each other, then spoke at the same time.
‘Did you wish—?’ she began.
‘I think we—’ he started.
They both stopped, and burst out laughing. Finally Sais said, ‘God, Kerin, come here.’ He held out his arms.
She came over and let him hold her. Part of her, a low part, wanted more.
He pulled away and said, ‘I think we need to prepare ourselves for the Tyr.’
‘How? We have no way of knowing what we will find.’
‘Which is why we need these.’ He pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle from under the bed. ‘I’m sorry, this isn’t exactly a romantic wedding gift,’ he added. Inside were two knives, one short, one long.
‘Where did you get these?’
‘The short one is Fychan’s - hopefully I’ll be able to give it back to him some time - and the long one belonged to one of the reivers. I’d recommend you take the smaller one - unless you know how to use a knife?’
‘Only to prepare food or cut cloth.’ She laughed uncertainly. Kerin would never have imagined herself spending her wedding night - well, afternoon - this way: being taught how to knife-fight by a stranger from a different world.
The clouds outside lifted at sunset and as darkness fell they did lie together for a while, though chastely, giving comfort rather than spending passion. Kerin cried a little, and he stroked her hair.
She trusted Sais as she trusted no other living man. She loved him too, and always would, but it was not the love of man and wife. It was a strange kind of friendship, born of adversity and misunderstanding, built on trust and the knowledge that they were both outsiders.
Despite the short notice, Ebrilla had prepared an impressive wedding feast: smoked river-fish, seared meats in spicy sauce, rice fried with vegetables and fresh herbs, a long plait of wheat-bread, and afterwards, fruit chopped into cream with sweet pastries still hot from the oven. They also drank the rest of the wine. Kerin, too nervous to eat much, was tempted to drink to give herself courage, but limited herself to one cup. From the laughter and shouts outside, not everyone was being so restrained this evening.
She took Ebrilla aside after the meal and thanked her for all she had done. The old widow brushed off her thanks, saying. ‘A prayer to the Mothers when your boy ascends to take his place in the sky will be reward enough.’ Kerin hoped she would be granted that wish.
When Rhidian arrived to accompany them for the last time, Sais met him in the parlour with Kerin, who sat demure and silent. Sais introduced himself as Kerin’s husband, and said that Fychan was indisposed. No lies, merely incomplete truths. As they had hoped, Rhidian was pleased that a man had finally come forward who Kerin would defer too, even if that man insisted she attend the final test. Sais’s argument was that though she was a woman, she was Damaru’s relative by blood, which Sais was not - and Rhidian already knew how difficult Damaru could be without his mother.