Alys Clare - Music of the Distant Stars

Zarina isn’t like the other girls, either in our village or any other in the vicinity. She isn’t really like anyone. She’s got hair so black it almost looks blue, and her eyes are a greenish-gold colour that changes according to what she’s wearing. Her skin is smooth and silky, the colour of pale oak wood. She’s only a year or so older than me, but she seems ancient, somehow, as if she’s seen a lot and has had to learn how to look after herself. Haward met her at the Lammas Fair, where she was in the company of a group of travelling entertainers. It was unclear whether or not they were her kin, but either way she had no compunction about staying behind when they moved on — she’d met Haward by then — and now she lodges with an elderly widow in the village and spends her days doing laundry. If — when — she marries my brother, she’ll make an interesting addition to the family.

Zarina, however, comes at a price, and that price is her brother Derman. I don’t know how Haward feels about his prospective brother-in-law, for we have not spoken on the subject. Knowing Haward as I do, I imagine he will readily make room in his life for poor Derman if it means he can marry his beloved Zarina. My brother is full of what the Christians say characterized Jesus Christ: a sort of all-encompassing loving kindness that accepts people for who and what they are. Had Derman been evil, malicious, spiteful or sinful, it might have been a different matter, but what ails him is not his fault — Zarina says he was born that way — and Haward is not likely to hold such misfortune against him. If Haward and Zarina marry — and I am all but sure they will — then the family and the rest of Aelf Fen will just have to make the best of it and accept Derman, even if he does look like a gargoyle and frighten little children. Zarina has implied that he cannot support himself and, as she is apparently the only living relative who cares whether he lives or dies, it is up to her to take charge of him. I suppose we’ll get used to him, given time.

I handed Derman into the care of his sister — our knock on the door must have woken Zarina, for she answered it with loose, tumbled hair, a sleepy expression and a tattered old shift clutched loosely around her body, and even under those circumstances she looked absolutely lovely — and, waving aside her thanks, I hurried away.

Edild was already up. She was stirring the breakfast porridge as I arrived and I noticed bread and a pot of honey on the table; she knew I would not have broken my fast before I set out, and clearly she wished to have food ready for my return.

One look at my face told her something was wrong.

‘What?’ The single word cut the tense silence in the tidy, fragrant little house.

Swiftly, I told her. Her face went pale, and her eyes widened in shock. Without another look at the carefully-prepared meal that lay waiting for us, she grabbed my arm and dragged me back along the track to the burial island.

We did not speak as we hurried along. Sometimes we ran, then we would slacken our pace for a while and reduce it to a fast walk. When we crossed the planks on to the island, both of us were red-faced and sweaty. I knew, even before Edild laid a restraining hand on my arm, that this was no way to approach my grandmother’s grave. We helped each other, Edild rearranging my hair and I hers, each of us straightening the other’s robe as best we could. Edild took a large, folded square of linen from her sash, and we both wiped our faces. By now our breathing was almost back to normal; my aunt took my hand, and together we stepped up to the stone slab.

We each took a corner and pushed hard. The slab moved quite readily; I recalled that earlier I’d managed to put it back in its rightful position by myself, and it was, naturally, much easier with two. Then we stared down into the grave.

I heard Edild mutter something — a prayer, an incantation, I did not know — as gently, lovingly, her hand dropped on to Granny’s brow in a caress. Then, the due observance of the grave’s rightful occupant accomplished, Edild turned to look at the interloper. Kneeling right beside her, I now took in the details that my horrified eyes had slid past the first time.

The second body was quite short, wrapped in a length of grubby cloth that looked like cheap, coarse linen. The cloth seemed to have been knotted clumsily around the body’s waist, for it made a bulge that was not in keeping with the narrow shoulders and the slight build. Was it a youth or a young woman? It could have been either. .

Edild was carefully unfastening the linen, concentrating on the head. Soon she had uncovered the hair — which was a chestnut shade, long, glossy and curly — and then the face.

The young woman had been comely. Not beautiful, perhaps, for her cheeks were round and her mouth was wide and full. I knew, from that very first look, that this girl would have been fun. Young as she was — she must have been about my age, and I was just seventeen — already there were laughter lines around her eyes and the suggestion of dimples in her cheeks. Alive, she would have been the sort of girl who smiled readily and convulsed into giggles at the least excuse.

And now she lay dead in my grandmother’s grave.

I swallowed the sob that threatened to burst out of me and made myself concentrate on what Edild was doing. She had gathered up the folds of linen at the head of the corpse and, in response to her nod, I did the same at the feet. Then, very carefully, we raised the body and laid it on the ground beside the stone slab.

Outside the narrow confines of the grave, it was much easier to remove the enshrouding linen. Quickly, Edild untied the knots that bound it and folded it out of the way. Now we could study the girl’s clothing. She wore a gown of faded red, beautifully sewn with embroidered borders at the neck and cuffs, the colours of the silks chosen by an expert eye. The gown was not new, for not only had the fabric faded but, in addition, it was too tight for her. Her full breasts strained against the cloth, and she had recently let out the waist, where bright-red darts showed up to indicate she had altered the seams. Her hands lay folded over her stomach, and I was about to point out to Edild something I had just noticed when I was struck by something far, far more important.

I raised my eyes and looked at my aunt. She, too, had seen; I knew it from her face.

‘Two people lie dead here on the grass, Lassair,’ she said quietly.

I nodded, too sad to speak.

The young woman had been pregnant.

I was sent back to the village for help, leaving my aunt sitting on the ground beside the young woman and the child that swelled her belly. As I hurried away I could hear Edild’s sweet, soft voice in a lament. It was a comfort, if only a small one, for had it been me lying there, I could think of nobody I’d rather have to plead for me with those who take in the souls of the dead.

I dried my tears and forced myself to walk faster. I had a job to do, and there was no time for sentiment.

I wanted very much to run for my parents’ home. I no longer lived there — it was more practical to live with Edild, in the place where we both worked — but all the same, I saw my parents and my brothers regularly. Particularly in the recent days since Granny’s death; mourning her as we did, it seemed that we had all moved closer, as if to try to fill the huge gap she had left. I would have given much, just then, to be able to fly to my home and throw myself in my father’s strong arms while my mother made me something soothing and comforting to eat.

I could not do that. Instead I turned off the track to the village and headed for Lakehall.

Lakehall is where the lord of our manor lives. His name is Lord Gilbert de Caudebec, and he’s fat, easy-going and not very bright. He is married to Lady Emma, whose intelligence far outstrips that of her husband. Fortunately for us, she’s a good woman. Lord Gilbert and Lady Emma have two little children, and there’s a rumour going around in Aelf Fen that she is expecting a third. The rumour is accurate. Healers get to know these things, although of course neither Edild nor I would dream of breaking a professional confidence.