The Wolf Will Spoil Them (chapter five)

Chapter Four1

5.
The Embalmed & the Slipped Shoe2

Muslin curtains diffused the autumn light straining through the bedroom window. Lying on a rug beside the bed, the large dog anxiously sat up and whined, preceding Barone’s rough, hacking cough. He reached for the cup of water on the bedside table. But it tipped over, spilling onto the floor. The dog leapt out of the way and barked in tandem with the mounting violence of Barone’s coughs. He pulled his hand away from his mouth for an instant to see it lightly splattered with red-tinted mucus. 3

Down the hall, his wife called out to him, her voice moving closer. “Barry, here,” she said as she rushed into the bedroom, holding out a vile. 4

As Barone swallowed a taste of the medicine, Junip wiped off his hand. It was a moment before he could speak.5

“I want Riane,” Barone croaked out. “Bring Riane home.”6

“Ria cannot see you, Barry. She is too young to be near you, now. When you are better, love.” Junip’s words streamed from her mouth as if rehearsed, but she could not look her husband in the eyes. His pallid, gaunt face frightened her—foretold what was soon to come.7

Barone closed his eyes and grasped Junip’s hands. “No, no,” he said. “I want my Riane. I want to tell her I am sorry. Tell her I am sorry, June.”8

Junip bit her lip, but that could not keep her from crying. “Riane will come home, Barry. All she needs to know is you love her, and she does know that.” 9

Barone weakly shook his head, unconvinced. “Write to her. Tell her,” he urged his wife. “Or ask Uill to write to her.” His voice grew tight as he fought to hold back another storm of coughs.10

“Yes, yes,” Junip assented, searching for the bloodied handkerchief among the bed linens. “I will ask Uill.” Yet, she knew their son’s previous letters detailing Barone’s illness remained unanswered. Either their daughter had somehow not received the letters or she could not find the courage to return home.11

***12

Efé sat on the uncomfortable step to Rizon and Portour’s coach. She was not allowed to go inside and not allowed to go near the coffin, not until the men removed the body to Ifan’s tent. So, she sat, waiting and sighing. Listening to the men argue about the corpse grew tiresome half an hour ago. Twice, the deputy rode back into town for more support and a higher authority. Tinmon and Prince Lyen (and a decree from King Garit) attempted to prove that they had the ultimate word in the matter, but the mayor of Blàir and the Solscion priest would not concede. Nor would the wolves. Efé could hear them from where she sat, even over the bickering men. She was happy to know Ifan had culled himself from the debate and was working with two guards to continue setting up his large tent. The small farming town had no inn or lord’s estate.13

The late afternoon was dry and hazy here, and bitterly cold. The sky looked like a turbid, grey ocean—a rippled gloom that rather mirrored Efé's emotions. Gusts of wind barreled across the flat meadow, shaking the heavy coaches and wagon. Efé held to the handgrip as she attempted a prayer to the Goddess Salama, in hopes of developing her own inner peace to share with the men and wolves on the other side of the coaches. The words and concentration kept leaving her.14

“Efé?” Rizon asked through the door.15

Efé turned her head and pressed her ear to the lacquered wood. “Yes?”16

“Can you make them go away?” Rizon’s voice sounded close, as if she were sitting just inside the door.17

“The men?” 18

“The wolves.”19

Without touching her, Efé sensed Rizon’s paranoia. “Are you afraid of the wolves, sadiqati?” When Rizon did not respond, Efé said, “I know a wolf song you can sing to them, to quiet them. You cannot make them leave.”20

Rizon still said nothing. Efé pressed her palm against the door, certain she would be unable to reach through the wood, but her curiosity had mutated into frustration. She desperately wanted to know what Rizon kept secret; she felt it was very important.21

“You know what you are, sadiqati? You are a person of water. In Ilysiam we recognize a connection to one of four elements in people. Ifan is a person of water, as well.”22

Efé heard Rizon sigh then ask, “What does that mean?”23

“It is simple, Rizon. Of the four elements, which would you say Portour embodies?”24

“I hardly know Portour.”25

“Captain Tinmon, then.”26

“I know even less of him. Could you teach me the wolf song, Efé?”27

Efé turned around to face forward and leaned her head against the door as she translated the song into Rizon’s language. Rizon was a quick learner and had a pretty voice, though she seemed rather shy about singing. Once Rizon had committed the children’s ditty to memory, Efé and Rizon sang together, each in her native tongue. On the third round, the wolves’ howling and snarling completely ceased and even the olies were quiet. 28

“A person of water,” Efé began after the song, “is calm and quiet—a person who hides and controls emotions.”29

“I cannot hide or control my fear,” Rizon countered.30

“Fear is a reaction, and is quite unlike other emotions, Rizon. People of water often seem distant and shy, except to their own kind.”31

“And the Solscions have astrology to categorize people,” Rizon teased. “Were you born under this particular constellation then you would be an organized and democratic person...”32

“The stars are not of our world, and have nothing to do with us. Fire, earth, air, and water are part of our nature. Most every person resembles one of the elements. A rare few resemble a combination of two. Even rarer individuals have a kind of dominance over their elemental nature. I began to wonder whether you caused the rain this morning.”33

“You believe I can cause rain, but you will not entertain the idea that a man can transform into a wolf.”34

Efé twisted around to face the door again. “I never said I did not believe. I—”35

The grazing olies startled as the townsmen’s horses galloped away, carrying their riders. Efé hopped down from the step to watch after them, wondering what would cause them to be in such a hurry. The coach door opened and Rizon, pulling on her coat, stepped out.36

“I do not know what happened,” Efé informed her.37

“There is a man with a scythe.” Rizon pointed her thumb to the east, indicating the other side of the coach. “Let us go see.”38

Efé peaked around the coach’s covered trunk, noticing Ifan and the guards standing motionless around Ifan’s large, beige tent. It was nearly erect, but they seemed more interested in the commotion taking place by the monument. Sneaking closer to the edge of the trunk, Efé finally caught a glimpse. Prince Lyen, Tinmon, and Portour stood near the glass coffin speaking with a rugged, dark-haired man holding a scythe. She was suddenly surprised, however, when Rizon came up from behind her. Walking steadily and purposefully, Rizon asked Efé to follow her and to sing the wolf song as she passed by.39

As Rizon and Efé stepped around the trunk, Ifan took notice. Efé tried to pretend she did not see her husband shaking his head. Instead, she focused on the large harvesting instrument, forgetting to sing until Rizon whispered a reminder.40

“Rizon, you should be resting,” Ifan chided, but in vain. He called after them a couple more times; however, Efé felt determined to participate, and she projected her determination onto Rizon.41

Still, Rizon slowed significantly within a few yards of the glass coffin. She seemed to reach a point where she could go no farther, and Efé noted the wolves were just visible from where they now stood. Glancing back at Rizon, Efé noticed Rizon’s hand reaching for something hidden inside her coat. Whatever the object, Rizon just held onto it.42

Prince Lyen, Tinmon, Portour, and the local man holding the scythe stood only a few paces nearer the monument, and, still in conversation, they joined Rizon and Efé. On closer inspection, the stranger did not appear as threatening with his greying hair, prominent frown lines, and the scythe’s blade lowered to the ground, disappearing in the tall weeds. Efé returned the man’s smile. The prince took it upon himself to initiate introductions.43

The local’s name was Hywel Dìon, and he was the father of the girl in the glass coffin. Rizon interrupted the prince as he began listing her achievements to ask about the commotion. Hywel looked to Prince Lyen, who nodded.44

“Those...” began Hywel, his voice strained with anger. “Those gaoidean coirbte refuse to let me bury my girl.”45

Efé nearly grabbed Rizon’s hand in hopes of finding the translation for gaoidean coirbte, but decided against it. She did not want to undo the progress they made toward friendship by invading Rizon’s beloved privacy. Instead, she touched Tinmon’s hand, but he was not paying attention to Hywel.46

“They do this.” Hywel glanced back toward the coffin then covered his face and turned away. “Blasphemy.”47

“Why?” Rizon asked, her hand releasing the object hidden inside her coat and balling into a fist at her stomach.48

Hywel shrugged. “To keep ‘er from rising again.”49

The monument and the body inside the glass drew Efé's gaze. She could just barely see the head resting on a thin pillow through the space between Prince Lyen and Portour. Ifan had tried to preserve his first wife; however, her family took her body away. He explained he’d been near mad with grief at the time, having lost his wife and the baby in the same hour, but Efé could not imagine the horror of never being able to touch the earth again, to be confined in glass forever. Still holding Tinmon’s hand, she absentmindedly squeezed his fingers, unsure of what painful emotion flooded her.50

“Ef—” Tinmon complained, tugging his hand out of hers. He stumbled back a couple of steps, shaking his hand as if Efé had burned him.51

Shocked, Efé felt a swell of inappropriate giggles building and she covered her mouth with her hands to keep them inside. As Tinmon moved away from their group toward the tent, Efé called out an apology after him. Rizon, meanwhile, promised Hywel they would remove his daughter from her current state and lay her to rest in the fashion he saw fit. Before the appreciative man could thank Rizon, she tactfully requested his permission for Ifan do perform a noninvasive examination of the girl. Hywel leaned heavily on his scythe for a few moments. Efé filled her mind with only hopeful thoughts—thoughts of one day coaxing Ifan into husbandhood, and then fatherhood. She could not help peeking at Ifan, who had returned to setting up his tent. The future was vast and uncharted, and it contained a profusion of wonder. Efé assured herself that the current delay would not last long.52

“You have my permission,” Hywel assented.53

After deciding he did not want to view the removal of his daughter’s body, Hywel followed Rizon and Efé back toward the coaches. Hywel left his scythe outside, which made Efé feel more comfortable in his presence. He no longer appeared intimidating; his expressions reminiscent of Ifan’s. Rizon took the seat next to the grieving father and offered him some water.54

Efé was happy to be out of the cold. Her cheeks still burned from the icy wind, but she could feel her fingers again. Trying not to worry about being asked to touch the corpse, Efé offered a couple of comments on the weather. The following silence crept by awkwardly and slowly. Ifan could easily fill such intervals with interesting chatter. Even the abrasive sound of shattering glass could inspire no one to conversation. Before the solemn quiet became too uncomfortable, Prince Lyen opened the door and stepped up into the coach, taking his seat beside Efé.55

“Now,” began the prince as he rubbed his hands together, “Mr. Dìon, would you tell us what you can.”56

Hywel released a doleful sigh before proceeding into his tale. He first told them about his daughter, Rhoswen—how she was the only family he had after his two sons died in the war, how she worked the farm with a man’s strength and conviction, how alive she was. After an emotional pause, Hywel continued. The wolf came next.57

“They used to stay to the woods north of ‘ere, but those woods are gone, now. Still, they never come this far south. Then, one day, one of ‘em walked right up to Rhoswen while she was in the field. Didn’t harm her; just watched.”58

Efé looked at Rizon, wondering if they might be sharing the same thought. Rizon seemed to be holding her breath, her hand clinging to the wolf-claw talisman she wore.59

“He come back the next day. Just followed her as she done her chores. The next morning...” Hywel tried to keep in the sob that choked off his speech.60

“Rhoswen was gone,” Rizon finished for him.61

Hywel shook his head. “Worse,” he whispered, staring at his empty palms.62

The prince leaned forward, a grave expression on his face, and inquired, “Sir, is that wolf part of the—”63

A rap on the door interrupted Prince Lyen. The prince stood, having to stoop for his height, and opened the door.64

“Forgive me, Yðar Hátign,” Portour softly began. “Doctor is ready for Efé.”65

Efé crossed the short distance to the door and let Portour fetch her down like a child. As they thrashed through the tall grass, Efé considered holding his hand, but worried he might be thinking of the corpse. She was both curious and terrified of confronting the image. The glimpses she’d stolen of Rhoswen’s body were, thus far, mild and reminded Efé of porcelain dolls. Efé was certain, no matter how the body appeared, it would not feel like porcelain. Her chest suddenly felt very tight.66

“You are scared?” Portour asked.67

Swallowing proved difficult and loud. “Yes. Did you know, Portour, that every culture is afraid of the dead? They may revere them, treat them like kings, or even toss them aside like discarded husks, but every culture—every person—harbors an uneasiness of dead things.”68

“Except...” Portour suddenly feigned distraction as he watched Tinmon and three of the guards clearing land for their campsite.69

When he did not continue, Efé urged him on.70

“There was man in my village who stole dead girl’s body from grave. He kept her in cellar where he spent much time. Then smell got very bad his mother expelled him and corpse from her house.”71

Efé grimaced at the mental picture Portour’s story evoked and tentatively stated, “There are always exceptions, I suppose.”72

Portour’s chuckle was quite infectious; Efé found it difficult to keep from smiling. They were at the entrance to Ifan’s large tent, and Efé did not want to go inside still tickled by Portour’s demeanor. After a couple of deep breaths, Efé pulled the unfastened canvas flap aside and stepped into the long, lit room.73

Ifan, who leaned over instruments and papers on a collapsible table that wobbled whenever he touched it, turned as Efé and Portour entered. Further to the rear of the main section of tent, Iver (the tallest Eldinese guard) was in the process of hanging a third lantern from the ridge pole. Between the two men stood a tall cot, which held Rhoswen’s blanket-covered body. The cot was set against the left side of the tent, so to allow for a pathway from the tent entrance to another room separated by a flap (presumably an office and sleeping quarters). 74

“Designed after Voracinian triage tents,” Ifan explained, exhibiting his enthusiasm. “The canvas has been weatherproofed.”75

Efé did notice it seemed much warmer in the tent than she expected. However, this was all trivial compared to her foremost thoughts. She knew what Ifan wanted—to touch Rhoswen and perhaps see what the girl’s spirit left imprinted on her body, the way Efé had touched the Queen Mother after her death and ascertained the dying wishes the queen could not voice. Only Ifan knew how Efé unintentionally gleaned more than the dead queen’s last requests for those left behind. 76

Her expression must have professed her concerns, for Ifan rushed to Efé's side and gathered her close to him. He caressed his fingers to her cheek to silently commune with her. His gentle thoughts explained that Rhoswen had been dead for nearly two months and the probability of any remnants of her consciousness remaining was negligible. Ifan was able to hide the image of Rhoswen’s body from Efé's probing mind.77

Taking another deep breath, Efé pushed away from Ifan, recalling the memory of being aboard a ship pushing away from her homeland ports. As Efé moved toward the table-high cot, Iver disappeared into the back room of the tent. He swiftly returned with a collapsed rope and wood folding chair. The chair was opened and placed next to the cot, and Efé sat down beside Rhoswen, wondering whether the girl would consent to this invasion of her privacy.78

Thinking it best to warn whatever might be left of the girl’s consciousness, Efé quietly introduced herself and informed Rhoswen of her intentions. “I am sorry for what has happened, and I would not ask this of you if there was no hope of your memory helping us to stop this wolf-man. I am concerned with those memories alone. Your secrets you may keep. Should I stumble upon them, rest assured that I will keep them.”79

After a moment’s hesitation, Efé lifted the rough blanket enough to uncover Rhoswen’s right arm. The white sleeve of the dress came a few centimeters short of Rhoswen’s wrist, the hem uneven and, obviously, hastily stitched. Despite weeks spent underneath the autumn sun, protected only by glass, the skin remained a greyish-white. And the odor was quite unfamiliar to Ef&#;too faint to be repulsive, but it turned her uneasy stomach. Efé closed her eyes and swallowed, making sure to breathe through her mouth. Reaching out deliberately, Efé's hand found the edge of the cot and felt for Rhoswen’s arm.80

The initial contact between Efé and the corpse’s fingers felt like skin touching ice. Efé was caught between relief and disappointment. Opening her eyes, she removed her hand from the girl’s and pulled the blanket back over the arm.81

“Efé?” Ifan asked.82

“Do you know, rohi, if her right arm was separate from her core?” Efé hardly recognized her own voice.83

Ifan moved to Efé's side, removing his cravat from around his collar. Then he tied the white cloth over Efé's eyes, informing her that he would pull back the blanket from the head and guide her fingers to the temple. Careful to grasp only the sleeve of her coat, Ifan pulled Efé's hand forward until she felt the cold again.84

This time, however, the cold encompassed an immense pain. Efé winced and jerked her hand away. She sensed Ifan crouch down beside her, and he asked what the matter was. Shaking her head slightly, Efé reached out and found Rhoswen’s right temple on her own, preparing for the pain. Before she was aware she was touching the corpse, the nauseating burn of... warmthlessness flared out and sliced down into her bones. Her head filled with the sound of a blaring howl. Bracing her left wrist with her right hand, Efé continued contact. She searched for any sound resembling a voice, and was heart-broken to realize the howl was Rhoswen. One word was distinguishable in the melee of pain and noise: please.85

Efé pulled back her hand again, turning from the cot. She stood and tried to walk away, tearing off the blindfold, but lost her balance and fell to her knees. Ifan caught her in his arms. His warm hand touched her face, conveying only loving and safe thoughts.86

“You are like ice, mo gradh!” he exclaimed, helping Efé to her feet.87

“No,” Efé contradicted as she shook her head. “It is not I. It is Rhoswen. We have to burn her.”88

---89

When Hywel returned from his farm with a cart of uncut firewood, Efé began to instruct Portour and the guards on how to build a funeral pyre. They cleared a spot away from their camp—a place approved by Rhoswen’s father, and began stacking the logs and fuel. Dusk was falling into evening. The diffused sunlight melted on the western horizon, and the wind became so icy their vision blurred. 90

Tinmon had just finished building and lighting a campfire. He joined the pyre group to build another fire to keep them warm until their task was complete. Efé glanced back at the campsite with its three medium-sized tents and Ifan’s large tent. Ifan would soon finish his limited autopsy and write his report, and then he would wrap Rhoswen in a shroud of bed linens Hywel had brought with him. They would carry her body to the pyre and set it alight. And she will then be warm, Efé comforted herself. Looking back at the pyre, she was glad to see it coming along so quickly.91

“No!”92

Efé, Portour, and the guards turned toward the camp, startled by the shout. They could just barely see Rizon hopping down from her coach in the dimness. She’d forgotten her coat and hurriedly tramped through the grass toward them. Ifan and Prince Lyen had also heard her shout and exited Ifan’s tent. Hywel, who stood near the campfire, joined the prince and Efé's husband as they rushed after Rizon.93

When the group from camp reached the pyre site, Rizon astonishedly shook her head and asked, “What are you doing?”94

Before Efé could respond, Tinmon stepped forward, shrugging out of his coat, and offered it to Rizon. “Here, you proprietor of common sense.”95

Rizon took the captain’s coat, but neglected to thank him. Instead, she repeated her question to the group standing around the pyre.96

“We have to burn Rhoswen’s body,” Efé explained. “It is what she wants. It will give what remains of her spirit peace.”97

“You cannot burn her,” Rizon contended. “You do not know with what compound she was preserved.” Rizon looked over her shoulder at Ifan. “Do you?”98

Ifan lowered his chin, his hand scratching his forehead. Efé could tell he had not thought of the danger. “I could ride into—”99

“Glister—” Hywel began, interrupting Ifan, but he seemed uncertain of how to finish the word. “Glister...” He shook his head.100

“Glycerol?” Rizon aided.101

Hywel nodded. “Yes. The embalmer said it was a glycerol-based concoction that ‘e gave Rhoswen.”102

Rizon sighed and turned back to Efé. “You cannot burn her on a pyre. Glycerol releases a toxic gas at low temperatures. You will have to start the fire first and then place her body into it. You will have to dig a pit.”103

Efé turned to look back at the disheartened guards; they were already exhausted from the long day. “Are you certain?” she asked.104

“Yes.” And Rizon sounded quite sure.105

“Well, how are you certain?” Tinmon put to her. His arms were crossed and his face set like stone, though Efé assumed it was because of the cold and not animus toward Rizon (that was all passed).106

“Professor Adair published an insipid paper on various fuels and, for my life, I cannot forget anything I read. Even if I wanted.” Rizon shivered in the strong gust of wind and pulled the uniform coat’s collar up to shield her face. Her gazed dropped for a moment. When Rizon broke from her secret thoughts, she stated, “And if someone will fetch my coat and the shovels, I will help dig the pit.”107

“You will not,” Ifan countered. “Rizon, I will need your help.”108

Efé reminded herself to find out why Ifan now treated Rizon as if she was suddenly fragile.109

Rizon handed back Tinmon’s coat without meeting his gaze and walked with the prince, Hywel, and Ifan back to the campsite. Portour and Iver followed to retrieve the shovels. When they returned, the digging commenced. With three men able to dig at a time, and the earth not as hard as they feared, the task took just over an hour. After filling the pit with the wood and kindling and setting it afire, Rhoswen’s shrouded body was carried through darkness to the pit in a lantern-lit procession. Her bearers carefully laid her on the ground. 110

Strangely, not one member of the party, including Hywel, was a practicing Solscion. The Voracinian members had all taken up a rather new religion sweeping the country, Libraism. Efé knew little of it; she and Ifan were Ilysiamists, though Ifan never prayed to “her” gods. And as far as Efé knew, the three Eldinese guards were non-religious. Concerning Portour’s religious affiliation, much of his culture and beliefs were a mystery to her, still. She wondered if Hywel wanted anything said. Efé grabbed Ifan’s hand only to find that he entertained her same thoughts.111

Prince Lyen crouched next to the body and began speaking. He was barely audible over the growing clamor of wind and the small inferno. “Life is infinite,” he proclaimed in a clear voice. “One can only move closer to truth and understanding. We set you free from the worries of this existence, Rhoswen Dìon.” 112

When the prince straightened, he nodded to two of the guards, who lifted Rhoswen’s body (her father touching her one last time). Then the guards carefully dropped her into the flames as the other two guards laid more logs over the body. An odd noise distracted Efé from her own emotions. She looked at Rizon, who stood between Portour and the prince. Rizon’s hands covered her mouth and she trembled with the sobs she held in. In the firelight, Efé looked on, mystified as tears flowed from Rizon’s wide eyes, and as the prince put his arm around her. Ifan worried, as well, about Rizon. He mentally noted how the prince needed to support her, and Efé realized Ifan was correct—if not for Prince Lyen, Rizon would have collapsed to the ground. Upon convincing himself that Rizon was in good hands, Ifan turned his concerns to Efé.113

“I am well,” she told him quietly. The truth, however, was that Efé felt as terrified and distraught as Rizon appeared. She did not think she could continue on this dismal path without her family. Her elder brother, Kolt, would know what to do in this hopeless situation; he would know the perfect incantation to relieve the mind of unwanted thoughts and despair. Longing for her family caused a hollowness inside. Efé attempted to shield the feeling from the others, but Ifan’s heavy sigh seemed to suggest she had failed.114

---115

The fire would burn most of the night. Prince Lyen invited Hywel to join their camp, but Hywel said he needed time to himself and, after bidding everyone a farewell, he departed for his farm. Portour, Tinmon, and the other guards finished lugging gear and supplies from the wagon and coaches to the tents. Ifan began roasting the ham, given to them by Hywel, over the campfire, and he opened some of their food stock and passed around crackers and dried fruit. 116

One of the guards (Efé could not tell which one), who stood near the slab of stone that had held the coffin, shouted that the wolves were gone. Iver and Tinmon joined the guard and searched the area, their lanterns doing little against the darkness and tall grass. Efé could sense, though, that the wolves had indeed departed. The guards concurred; there was no sign of the wolves. 117

As Efé waited on the water to heat for tea, she glanced at the men gathering around the fire with makeshift seats and noticed Rizon was absent. Leaning close to Tinmon, who sat beside her on a leftover log, she asked if he knew where Rizon had gone. He said nothing, but glanced toward the coaches. Then he reached behind them and pulled a large rectangular case onto his lap and opened it to reveal a stringed instrument with a fretted neck and pear-shaped body. Tinmon pulled it out of the case along with a plectrum and began to tune it.118

“I have drawn her out before with this. Let us see if the magic works a second time,” he softly joked, and he winked but there was no smile in it.119

So, Tinmon entertained them with several songs and stories while they ate, and he brightened the mood a little. He did not succeed in coaxing Rizon to join the party around the campfire, though. Efé thought everyone seemed exhausted and, like herself, wanted to put this first day behind them, and they soon headed toward their respective tents. 120

In Ifan’s large tent Efé grabbed her husband’s hand, curious why he did not check on Rizon or send her food, but his thoughts centered on Efé. Ifan’s internal voice usually filled his mind. At this instance, however, Efé found images of herself: laughing at Tinmon’s nonsense, whispering in Tinmon’s ear, throwing herself into Tinmon’s arms at the Feadruim inn. And the feeling that accompanied these scenes was not anger or disappointment (nothing like jealousy), but rather like regret or guilt. Ifan attempted, feebly, to extract his hand from her tight grasp.121

“Rohi,” Efé sighed. “You mustn’t...” She found it impossible to project her feelings in a way that Ifan was able to understand her love for him.122

When Ifan pulled back his hand again, Efé let it go. Ifan blew out the lanterns as he moved toward the back room, and Efé followed, feeling like the cold and darkness emanated from her, undulating from her skin as if she were an anti-sun.123

Ifan halted just as he pulled back the flap to the sleeping quarters. “Efé, you exaggerate your unpleasant emotions,” he whispered with a sly look forming on his face. He kissed her forehead as she slipped past him into the anterior of the tent where a thin mattress lay on the canvass floor. It had two pillows and was thickly covered with linens and topped with a beaver fur blanket.124

Efé noticed her smaller trunk sat to the right of the bed, next to Ifan’s. The sight was comfortable, and she imagined it as a safe barrier keeping the horrible day away from this moment. Looking at Ifan, who was already undressing, Efé sat down on the mattress. It was narrower than their bed at Cathair Dearg, but Ifan never seemed to mind how she clung to him as they slept.125

“We have been married nearly two months,” she observed to him, broaching the subject he did not want to discuss.126

“Are you sleeping in your dress?” he asked, avoiding the matter.127

Efé began unlacing her bodice. “Why did you not see to Rizon?”128

“I knew she would not be eating with us. She ate earlier, while the pit was being dug.” Ifan opened her trunk and pulled out her nightshirt, then he stepped to the bed and sat down beside her. “Once she was away from the pyre, she seemed better.”129

“Why did she not eat with us?”130

“She says the smell of pork upsets her.”131

Efé thought that was an odd statement. The aroma of roasting pig smelled wonderful and appetizing to her. “She is a strange woman, rohi. I think she agrees with Portour—that the wolf-man can transform.” Efé pulled her shift over her head, exchanging it for her nightshirt which Ifan handed to her. “Were there signs of a—”132

“Stop,” Ifan interrupted, touching her cheek and kissing her temple. In his mind, she could see the sparkling mist of Lagan Ceò; it was an image for her, not what was truly on his mind. When he pulled away so she could shove her arms into the sleeves, he asked, “Do you still mistrust her?”133

“She hides much.”134

“We all do. Not everyone is as sharing as Captain Tinmon, Efé.”135

Efé wondered whether Ifan wanted certain thoughts and events to be secret from her. “She had something hidden in her coat today.”136

“I suspect it was the knife the captain lent her.” After noticing Efé's curious expression, he added, “For the wolves.”137

For a very long while neither said a thing, Efé lost in her thoughts and Ifan waiting on Efé, expectant. Once Efé's determination to continue the initial conversation she’d planned had returned, she reminded him, again, how long it had been since their wedding.138

“Ifan, you say you trust Baba. And he says everything will be all right.”139

Ifan frowned, but Efé resisted the urge to touch his hand. “He did not say it would be ‘all right,’ Efé. Your father said it would not be like my first marriage, and,” he sighed and smiled, “indeed, it has been quite dissimilar.”140

Disgruntled by his attitude, Efé crossed her arms, frowning herself. “You know that is not what Baba meant.”141

Unexpectedly, Ifan raised his hands as if to cradle her face, stopping just short of touching her. “You must not read me, Efé,” he warned in a serious tone. “Swear.”142

Efé swore and mentally imagined pulling a lever that would shut off her ability, though she always thought it was more like closing a door and trying to ignore voices in the next room. As Ifan’s hands caressed her face, Efé focused on only the corporeality of the contact. Never before had Ifan gazed upon her as he now did, nor touched her in this way. Efé nervously clutched Ifan’s shirt as he leaned in close, as if to kiss her mouth.143

“I could never, never lose you, mo gradh,” he whispered.144

“You won’t,” Efé assured him. She tried to explain that they could be intimate and prevent pregnancy, but they both knew, eventually, Efé would insist on a having a child.145

“Best not to open that door. Not yet.” Ifan pulled away from Efé and blew out the last lantern, signaling the end of the conversation.146

Efé found herself, once again, going to bed disappointed.147

Morning came softly, the tent glowing pale orange in the morning light. Efé lay still for a moment, staring up at the roof, too cold to move; Ifan had turned his back to her in the night. Now, however, she noticed he was staring at her, and she wondered how long he had watched.148

“The sun, rohi,” she said as she lightly touched his stubbled cheek with the back of her hand.149

“How is the earth today?” he inquired.150

Efé was quick to her feet, hopping over Ifan’s form to her clothes. “I do not know; let us go see.”151

Ifan laughed at her enthusiasm and got up as well.152

Outside, the cloud cover of the night before drifted westward, leaving large openings for the sun to reach through to the earth. Efé and Ifan stepped out into the busy scene. The guards’ tent had already been taken down and loaded, and they were now working on the prince’s tent. The fire was going, waiting for Ifan to fry cuts of leftover pork and brew tea. Efé, barefoot with her stockings and boots in hand, walked the cold earth, heading toward Rhoswen’s grave as Ifan moved to the campfire.153

The pit had been filled in and a marker constructed of field stones stood at the head of the grave. As Efé paid her last respects, Tinmon joined her. He waited to speak until she glanced at him.154

“You will die from cold, ciar caileag,” he warned, nodding at her bare feet.155

Efé smiled, rather nostalgic at hearing the name Ifan used to call her. The day felt good—new, and the air lighter; a tranquility reached up from the ground to her feet. In her mind, there were no heavy thoughts of Rhoswen or the other girls. Deciding it time to return to the camp, Efé thought of challenging Tinmon to a race as she would her brother, but she remembered Tinmon’s injury. They strolled back to the fire and breakfast, sharing light chatter about the weather.156

Breakfast was nearly at an end when Portour voiced concern over Rizon’s continued absence. The prince suggested that if she had not returned in an hour, they would drive to Hywel’s farm and collect her there. Ifan inquired why and when Rizon had gone.157

“Not long before you woke,” Tinmon informed. “She did not say much, only that she wanted to see him on her own.”158

“She mumbled something about promise to make,” Portour added.159

They finished eating, and then finished dismantling the camp and loading the wagon and coaches. Ifan glanced at his pocket watch as the last few bags were packed and the olies rounded up. He shook his head and told Efé it was nearly half past nine. Efé glanced southward, but saw no one on the horizon. She did not say so, but she thought Rizon might have abandoned their party.160

One of the olies stubbornly avoided capture. Efé left Ifan’s side to aid Tinmon and Egan, the Voracinian guard, as they attempted to herd the animal toward the coaches. The rest of the party laughed, but a small shout cut them short. With everyone quiet, Efé could hear more shouts from the south, just on the other side of a shallow hill. Efé suddenly felt queasy and full of dread. She glanced at Tinmon, who had transformed from bumbling herdsman into a soldier, braced for whatever would come over the hill. He returned her gaze, then looked back to the coaches where the others stood, waiting.161

Their wait did not last long. Just then, Rizon appeared on the hill, and she was running fast. Efé noticed Tinmon relax, but only for a moment for behind Rizon followed a small and irate mob of townsfolk. Tinmon hastened to Efé and picked her up in his arms, then rushed her back to the coaches and Ifan, followed by Egan. Efé heard Rizon shout Portour’s name, followed by a stream of words she did not recognize. Portour, though, understood, and he disappeared into the coach he shared with Rizon as Tinmon set Efé down beside her husband. Portour sprang out of the coach, loading his rifle. He pointed the barrel to the sky and fired the round. Efé jumped at the sound (the way she startled the first time she heard the report in Feadruim) and noticed the tenseness of her entire body. Ifan put his arm around her, pulling her against his side.162

The warning seemed to do its work, but Portour loaded another bullet into the gun. The crowd slowed their pace. Efé's stomach lurched as she noticed Rizon slow as well to glance behind her. Rizon marched the remaining distance at a swift pace with her arms crossed against her chest.163

“She is injured,” Ifan observed.164

Efé looked at Portour to see if he would run out to Rizon and escort her back, however he had his rifle aimed at the townsmen stalking Rizon. Looking around at Tinmon, Efé found him with his crossbow, positioned in front of the prince and mouthing something. Rizon did not seem to need an escort, though. As she came within a few yards of the coaches, Tinmon moved forward to meet her, said something, then let Rizon walk to the others alone while he remained near the wagon. Efé focused past him, on the townsfolk. She recognized many from the previous afternoon: the sheriff, the deputy, the mayor, the Solscion priest who lead the way. Ten in all; their clamor sounded larger than their numbers.165

Rizon, out of breath and grimacing, came right up to Ifan. She still held her arms against her chest, but Efé could not see any physical injury—no visible wounds. After swallowing, Rizon asked for Ifan’s help.166

“Did they break your arm?” he asked, looking from her left arm to the crowd still headed their way.167

Rizon shook her head, but only slightly. “I fell. Dislocated my shoulder; it has happened before.”168

Ifan nodded and pulled her toward a coach. Efé went to follow, but Rizon told her to stay and calm the riotous crowd. After catching Efé's dubious expression, Ifan asked her again how the earth was.169

“She is good, Ifan, but...” Efé lost her words when he kissed her forehead. So, she stayed outside as Ifan saw to Rizon’s arm.170

Turning around, she noticed the crowd’s pace slowed considerably, and several of the men pointed to the stone slab and Rhoswen’s grave. They all seemed wary of Portour’s weapon. Efé could see fist-sized stones in some of the men’s hands.171

When Tinmon thought the townsmen were close enough, he shouted for them to halt, raising his crossbow. “We will speak with the priest and mayor. The rest of you will retire to your homes!”172

Efé felt a swell of pride for the captain. She inhaled and exhaled deeply, focused on relaxing her nerves.173

The priest, in his red and yellow tunic, stepped forward, holding up the Solscion Scriptures. “We told you to not remove the girl! What have you done?!”174

Efé could not resist the rage building in her chest.175

“I will not shout at you all morning,” Tinmon replied. “Bring your mayor and send the others home.”176

The priest turned around to his neighbors and spoke to them and, after a few words and several hand gestures, all but the priest and mayor retreated. Ifan and Rizon exited the coach just as the priest and mayor passed Tinmon. Rizon appeared to be relieved of pain and her arm in working condition.177

The stout mayor crossed his arms as he and his companion neared. They came to a halt in front of the prince, but said nothing, the priest glaring wrathfully at Rizon.178

“What is the meaning of chasing one of my companions like hunters after lame prey?” the prince questioned the two men, his voice and stance authoritative.179

The Solscion priest turned his attention (and glare) to Prince Lyen. “How dare you question me.” 180

Efé saw the prince’s eyebrow twitch, and she thought he appeared amused.181

The priest continued, “I do not care if you were sent by the king—the king of any land. You first sacrifice the Dìon girl to your barbaric gods in an unholy blaze, carrying on doing Sol-knows-what. Then that striopach,” he paused to point out Rizon, who seemed bored and almost impatient, “murders Hywel Dìon.”182

Glancing again at Rizon to gauge her reaction, Efé noticed her expression was unchanged. The information was nearly impossible to process: Hywel was dead. Except for Rizon, the rest of their party seemed as shocked as Efé, and they all looked at Rizon.183

The prince recovered more quickly than the others and resumed the conversation with the priest. “Forgive me for not introducing myself properly yesterday, Brother Tiernay. My name is Lyen, second son of the King of Voracina.” The prince then produced his identification, causing the priest and mayor to gawk and bow. “You will understand that my intentions were to keep my identity secret for the safety of myself and my companions. I now request you to speak of this to no one. Our actions are sanctioned, not only by your own government, but by myself—the prince of an allied kingdom. If you have any formal charges to place against Miss Goode, I will not stand in the way of justice. Let your sheriff file the accusation, and I will make sure the incident receives a proper investigation. You will, however, allow my companions and me to depart; our business here is concluded and our mission calls us on.”184

Prince Lyen did not wait for a reply, but turned and stalked toward his coach. Portour and Tinmon escorted the mayor of Blàir and Brother Tiernay past the wagon, watching their journey toward town. The other guards set about capturing the final olie and harnessed him to the wagon. The prince must have watched the priest and mayor’s departure for, as soon as they were out of earshot, he shouted for Rizon.185

Rizon startled at the call and looked to Ifan and Efé. “You will want to hear this as well,” she told them.186

Inside the prince’s coach, Rizon explained the cause behind the accusation of murder. As Portour and Tinmon had stated earlier, Rizon went to Hywel’s farm to make him a promise—they would find the wolf-man and bring him to justice. Rizon then let her gaze fall to the floor.187

“He did not answer my calls at the door, and it was unbarred, so I entered. I found him hanging from the second-floor banister; he’d killed himself. I do not think I condemn his action. To lose your entire family...” Rizon rubbed her face with her hands, gasping as she pulled them away to look at her palms. Efé glimpsed the bright red abrasions on the insides of her hands. “I went up the stairs to pull him onto the landing, but he was a heavy man. I called out for help, but his farm is set apart from the town and I was sure no one would hear me. As I was leaning over the banister to lift him again, I slipped over and landed on my shoulder. Not a moment later, one of his neighbors came in and saw the scene. She must have concluded that I murdered him.”188

“We should go back to town,” Ifan suggested. “I can determine an approximate time for Hywel’s death, clearing Rizon.”189

Prince Lyen shook his head. “No. I am done with this place. Nothing will come of the charges, I assure you.”190

Rizon thanked the prince, and, with Portour and Tinmon riding in the second coach, they set off. Sure to avoid driving through Blàir, they took a country lane connecting with the road to Bailaura just west of the town. Within a few minutes, though, they were stopped again. Rizon let down a window to see what the matter was, and informed the prince that a messenger’s horse had slipped a shoe and Portour was lending the man aid. Iver then came to the window, asking to speak with the prince. Efé opened the coach door then stood aside as Iver related news of another attack—a recent attack, occurring the previous night. The messenger had been on his way to the nearest city to request a doctor.191

“Where?” Prince Lyen asked, anxious.192

“Southeast of here,” Iver replied. “The rider says we take the south road at the fork we only just passed. He will show us the way.”193

Efé did not know what to think. An attack so close, and back on Eldinese soil. Her hands began to tremble, wondering how her predictions for a good day were without merit, for today now promised to be worse than yesterday. After Iver left with Prince Lyen’s instructions, Efé closed and latched the door then slipped back to Ifan’s side, overwhelmed with disconsolation. She could not remember ever feeling so much sadness and hopelessness. Rizon stood and paced the small floor of the coach, humming the children’s song Efé had taught her, showing obvious signs of distress. And the prince leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands. Ifan put his arms around Efé, whispering calm and soothing words, but she did not process their meaning.194

195

196

to be continued...