Alys Clare - Out of the Dawn Light

He opened the bag and took from it a neatly folded square of fine linen, hemmed with tiny stitches. This object was Hrype’s own; it was the first magic tool that he had made and even now he could readily recall the day he had cut the cloth and sewn those careful stitches. He had been eight years old.

He spread the linen square on the earth, smoothing it until there were no bumps or wrinkles. Then, holding the leather bag in both hands, he closed his eyes and murmured a long incantation, calling on the spirits of the place, on the ancestors, on his personal guardians and, pleading and supplication in his chant, on the gods themselves. When he sensed that they were with him, he upended the bag and, as its contents rattled down on to the linen square, opened his eyes.

The rune stones were made of jade, so fine that, held up to the fire, the light of the flame could be seen through them. The jade came from the east; from the vast lands beyond the great inland seas where his ancestors had travelled and traded, pushing onwards, always onwards along the rivers that penetrated the huge, unknown interior. Hrype did not know which of his sorcerer ancestors had cut the raw material and made the rune stones; whoever he was, he — or perhaps she, for women too were sorcerers — had done a skilful job and the rune stones were very beautiful.

They also held prodigious power.

Hrype gazed down at them, lying there in the pattern in which they had fallen. The gold-filled incised marks on their surfaces glittered in the firelight, giving the stones the illusion of movement. Of life. Quickly he read them, his agile mind making connections and forming pictures as he had long ago been taught. He breathed a sigh of relief. Then he looked again, for something had caught his eye.

He stared for a long time then finally sat back, his eyes closed as he pondered. The runes were almost always ambiguous and it took a well-trained mind to penetrate the smokescreen that frequently they threw up. The way in which they had fallen tonight gave one message — the first aspect that Hrype had read — but underlying that there was something else.

Something that both puzzled and, he had to admit, worried him. He was puzzled because, although the question he had framed in his mind had to do with fire and air, the underlying aspect warned of danger from water.

He sat for so long that anyone observing him would have thought he was some stone figure, left from a bygone age. Eventually, barely aware that he was stiff and very cold, he collected up the rune stones, clutched them for a moment in his hands as he uttered his thanks, then put them away in their pouch and fastened it to his belt. He trod out the dying remains of his fire and scuffed at the earth until its small scar barely showed. Then he went home.

I smelt the fire the moment I woke up. I raced to open the door and peered out. Just visible far along the track, at the point where it curved round to approach Lord Gilbert’s manor house, I saw a long pit from which flames rose so high that they would have burned off my hair.

I made a whimpering sound in my throat.

Instantly Edild was at my side. ‘The flames will have died down before you walk,’ she said calmly. ‘Now, come and eat your breakfast. You will need your strength today, for deep concentration is draining.’

She might have been referring to a day spent doing nothing more alarming than learning new remedies. Her serenity pulled me back from the brink of hysteria and, to my amazement, I found myself munching a slab of buttered bread spread thickly with honey — Edild was spoiling me — and drinking a sweet and pungent brew which, I was quite sure, was mildly alcoholic.

When I had finished eating she marched me outside to the small, enclosed yard behind her cottage and ordered me to strip. Then she helped me wash all over, from my hair to my toes, rinsing me with fresh, cool water in which rose petals floated. She wrapped me in a length of linen and proceeded to comb the tangles out of my hair. When it was almost dry, she deftly plaited it and coiled it round my head. I struggled into a clean under shift and then she fetched one of her own gowns and helped me put it on over the top, fastening a pretty girdle around my waist.

She stood back and inspected me. Then, at last, she smiled. ‘You look fine, Lassair,’ she said. She had something in her hand and now she stepped forward and held it out. On a length of leather hung a round disc of fine, smooth wood, into which was etched the sigil for protection. The sigil showed up deep, dark, brownish-red and I knew that it had been coloured with her blood.

She put the leather thong over my head and tucked the amulet inside my under tunic. Then she gave a nod of satisfaction. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said.

I believed her.

They came for me in the middle of the morning.

There was a sharp rap at the door and as Edild opened it I saw four of Lord Gilbert’s men. They did not say anything — they did not need to — and I stepped outside and took my place between them, two in front of me and two behind. I saw Edild walking beyond the guards on my right and Hrype appeared out of nowhere and took up the same place on my left.

Their silent presence was immeasurably reassuring.

Protected by my escorts, we set off up the track. I kept saying under my breath, Boots of ice. I will not be harmed. Once or twice I put up a hand and touched the amulet hanging on its thong between my breasts.

So many villagers had gathered, lining the track on either side and milling over it, that I felt the fire pit before I actually saw it. Its heat came at me in waves, beating against my face. Then the people parted and I saw what lay ahead of me.

Edild did not give me any time for the fear to race in. She bent down and, sweeping up the skirts of my gown, twisted them deftly and tucked the end in my belt. I almost laughed then because, amid the vast presence of the fire pit and what I must now do there, I was more worried in that instant that everyone could see my bare legs. Well, I told myself, at least they’re not fat and hairy with thick chunky ankles like Goda’s. .

Lord Gilbert stepped forward, flanked by more of his men. Behind him stood Baudouin de la Flèche, his black eyes fixed on me. Lord Gilbert squared his shoulders and, after one anxious glance at me, stared over my head and said in a booming voice, ‘I call on those here present to witness the trial by ordeal of Lassair of Aelf Fen, here before you. She claims that Sibert, accused of the murder of Romain de la Flèche, is innocent of the charge because she was with him at the time of the murder. Baudouin de la Flèche, the dead man’s uncle, has brought forth a witness who says he saw Sibert commit the act of murder. Lassair agrees to walk the glowing coals and avows that God will prove that her word is true by protecting her from harm, and the priest here present’ — for the first time I noticed the black-clad figure, frowning his disapproval as if he would have liked to stop proceedings there and then — ‘will inspect her wounds after three days.’

Her wounds . .

I quailed. Beside me Hrype hissed, ‘Boots of ice! You will suffer no harm!’

There was no more time. Lord Gilbert nodded to the guards and their captain shouted, ‘Proceed!’

I stepped forward. Edild walked on my right, Hrype on my left, although they were too far away for me to touch them even with my outstretched fingers.

I do not need to touch them, I told myself. They are with me, their strength and their will supports me.

I closed my eyes for an instant, fiercely bolstering my energy until I sensed it flare up bright-hot, white-hot within me. I am made of fire, I told myself. Fire is my element.

Fire will not harm me.