Page 9 of Elemental Truth (Mysterious Fields #3)

9

OCTOBER 31ST ON A WELSH MOUNTAINSIDE

T hey had been sitting up on the side of a mountain for perhaps thirty minutes. She’d been set up here since she got back from the Powell estate, around four that afternoon. Emeline had gone down to meet Vitus at the portal, and to walk back up with him.

Thessaly had curled up with the stone to her back. Something, despite the cold and chill, had been utterly reassuring. Out here, there were just the elements. Rock and scrubby brush did for earth. There was a bonfire in front of her, for fire. A few of the hollows she could see held little bits of water from the most recent rain. And there was absolutely a good stiff breeze for air. Being here, with all of that, together, helped much more than she’d expected.

And she’d needed the help. She wasn’t far from Bryn Glas, though it depended on how she counted the distance. Horizontally, only about three quarters of a mile. Climbing added rather a lot of effort, especially as Thessaly had dressed for warmth. She had on long silk stockings, two layers of ritual robes, and the most encompassing cloak in the house. That had been Aunt Metaia’s, kept for occasions like this. It had pockets, and down in the bottom, Thessaly had found a handkerchief - clean - and a note that Thessaly herself had passed to her two years ago.

She hadn’t stopped crying since.

Vitus and Emeline had come up the path. Emeline had looked unsure what to do, and Vitus had just sat down, offered his shoulder, and hadn’t asked. At least Thessaly had managed to get things set up before completely losing any grip on herself. They were sitting on multiple layers of folded wool blankets, charmed to stay warm through the night. The bonfire was going well; she’d started it right at sunset. And there were half a dozen protective charms around the bit of ground they’d claimed for this.

There likely wasn’t too much to be worried about. The local wildlife would either avoid people or could be kept out, at least if she remembered to do the goat-repelling charms, which she had. They weren’t so much goat-repelling as encouraging the goats to be attracted elsewhere, and those had been set yesterday and wouldn’t wear off for another four days. Maybe five. The mountain ponies would avoid a fire, being more sensible, and the badger sett she knew about was lower on the mountain.

And while the lore held with all sorts of wandering spirits - the tailless black sow, or the white lady without a head - they would stay well away from the fire. That was why this vigil required commitment. Being at home was one thing, being by the bonfire was another, both safe enough as long as everyone stayed put. Travelling from one to the other, however, that could be a problem.

Now, Thessaly sniffled, and rummaged for that handkerchief, since it was easier to get at than the ones she’d put in her bag. “Sorry.”

Vitus cleared his throat. “You’ve nothing to apologise for.”

“I didn’t even explain.” Thessaly hadn’t, really, beyond what he ought to wear and bring with him. He deserved better, and she certainly did not want to pick up that abysmal habit from the Fortiers. They’d had to do it by letter, and that made her somehow oddly reticent. She’d like to be the sort of person who wrote long, thoughtful, romantic letters. It turned out that even on a good day, she was the sort of person who remembered to say he wanted warm socks, but who couldn’t come up with poetical descriptions of a day, a desire, or her beloved’s face. Not in words, anyway. She could do it in images, often enough, that was the illusion work. And perhaps having something in front of her, not purely held in the mind.

She sniffled again, and Vitus shrugged. “You told me enough. That we’d be out here all night, with the bonfire. The rest of it can wait until you want to tell me.” He hesitated, then he asked, more carefully, “Was it rough this afternoon, then?”

Thessaly nodded a couple of times. He didn’t push more, just turned away to the picnic basket Thessaly and Emeline had brought up that afternoon. He pulled out one of the flasks, charmed to stay warm, and offered it to her. She took it, fumbled opening it, then pulled off her gloves and tried again. That time worked better, and she poured out some tea into the cup that covered the top. Then she curled her hands around it, taking a cautious sip. Once she’d had about half of it, she offered the cup to him, and he took it.

“This afternoon was all formal. It, at least it was about Aunt Metaia, not Childeric? I mean, actually missing her.” That made her feel in the pocket again. “Before you got up here, I found a note in the pocket. The cloak was hers. It was something I’d passed her two years ago. Also at All Hallows. And I just?—”

“Of course you did.” Vitus considered, letting the quiet just be, not speaking for maybe a minute. “My grandmother— Mama’s mother— she died about five years ago. And it hurt so much, then, every time I wanted to tell her something. She’d lived with us. I spent a lot of time with her.”

Thessaly blinked at him. “Oh.” She then added, promptly, “I’m sorry for your loss. What was she like?”

“A bit like Niobe will be in fifty or sixty years? Only not about talismans. She did embroidery and that kind of detailed sewing. Enchantments on cloth. Sometimes it was, I don’t know, a blessing for a handkerchief. Sometimes it was protective enchantments, though mostly she collaborated with someone else for that. Can I look at the cloak, the hem of it, for a minute?”

That was not a question Thessaly had expected. “If you like? There’s plenty of hem.” A rather extravagant amount of it, in fact. She wriggled a little. “Here, there’s the bottom corner.”

Vitus nodded, and there was plenty to let him pull it up toward him. The fire was bright enough they could see fairly well, or at least Thessaly assumed he could as well. He peered at it, turning it in his hands, then nodded. “See, there? I don’t know what all of it does, but those are embroideries. That one is for warmth. That’s sensible for a cloak. That one for keeping out the damp. I think all our clothes as children had both.”

“Was she the sort that thought you needed to be wrapped up against every possible chill?” Thessaly asked. “Nanny was.”

“Yes, like that. But she trusted her own charms, and that was easier, mostly?” Vitus smiled a little. “I was thinking, this week, what she’d think of me. Many things.”

“Did she approve of the talisman making? That must have been when you were well into your apprenticeship.” Thessaly tried to do the maths in her head, she knew he’d told her.

“Mmhmm. I’d got through the early stages. We were starting to talk about whether I could do a trip to Europe. Seeing where the stones come from matters, as well as meeting all the people who do different work. Niobe’s a wonder, but she also thinks it’s important to see how people who aren’t her do things. If — when, I suppose— I take apprentices, I want to do the same thing.”

There were about ten questions Thessaly wanted to ask now, but she made herself focus. “And your grandmother?”

“She left some money. Enough that we could make it work, not a lot in absolute terms? But that’s all right. I sort of enjoyed living with whatever family in the trade had a spare room and needed a little extra coin. It was certainly far more interesting than a hotel would be. Learning all about the food.” He hesitated, and then added, “Perhaps sometime I can show you some of that.”

“I’d like that.” It slipped out of her mouth before she could handle it like a Fox should, hedging the question a bit. She would love to travel with Vitus, she would love to do many things with Vitus. Only, the past had a grip on her, and the present was complicated, and who knew what that meant about the future. She swallowed, then said, “What else do you want?”

Vitus gestured at the fire. “We don’t need to talk about this now. I don’t know if you have customs about that.”

“This is about remembering, and that’s the past. But it’s also a liminal time. A hinge in the year.” Thessaly considered. “The Welsh for it is Nos Galan Gaeaf, the night before the first day of winter. A spirit night, that’s ysbrydnos.”

“So, should I hear voices calling from the dark? Don’t go to them.” Vitus wasn’t flippant, but he said it a little lightly and Thessaly flinched. He took a breath. “Not a thing to tease about, no. And I paid attention in Ritual class and Protective magics, to that kind of thing.”

“We’ve protections. And we’re a good way from any of the places that lore worries about. Cemeteries or crossroads. But Gwyn ap Nudd might ride with his hounds, something of the kind.” She added, quickly. “Emeline and I did the protections earlier. All the traditional ones, and some other practical ones.”

Vitus twisted to take her free hand in his, setting the flask between his knees. “Thessaly, I trust you’ll keep me safe. For one thing, you’re a much better duellist than I am. For another, this is land you know and I don’t.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” She had so many things she wanted to ask him. Now they had time. They were absolutely not going to be interrupted until dawn, but that particular question was now right there, in front of her.

“No.” He rearranged the flask so it was less likely to topple. “Give me a minute to figure out how to put that. Tell me about what we’re doing here.”

“We’re remembering. We’re talking. If we see something, like a shape in the distance, or hear something, pay attention to it, but don’t go to it. It might be an omen. I’m not skilled at divination, but if you wanted to do some, we could try. I brought nuts. I’ve learned enough about reading what they do when they’re tossed into the fire. It’s thinking about those we’ve lost, recent and not so recent, and what that means for the future. How we go into the winter, I guess. We keep the bonfire going until dawn.” She glanced over at him. “I haven’t ever done it on my own before, but I know how it goes.”

“With your aunt and your mother?” Vitus asked.

“Not Father, no. Different customs there. And with some of the other Powell relatives. We’d go up there, sometimes, though once Aunt Metaia had this house, usually she and Mother and a few of the cousins would be here.”

“So this is, it’s not just a custom you’re keeping. It’s in the same place. All right.” Vitus considered. “And at least one of us should stay awake, which really means probably both of us.”

“It’s not very kind to leave one person having to tend the fire, no. If there were a lot of us, it’d be different. We could take turns.”

“Well. We’ll manage then,” Vitus said, a certain note of stubbornness in his voice.

“Also,” Thessaly said, “I’d rather not take them, but I brought potions for that, for both of us.” She tried to keep the reason out of her voice, but Vitus noticed it. Why wouldn’t he? It was rather obvious.

“You haven’t been sleeping well? Again, still?” Vitus hesitated. “I could make a better talisman for you, if you like, but is it the sort of thing where you ought to talk to a Healer?”

Thessaly rubbed her face. “I did on Tuesday. It’s— some of it is that I just feel all on edge. I want to find what Aunt Metaia was working on, and I can’t for the life of me figure out where she’d have hid anything. And if I’m not looking for it, I keep coming back to thinking about who could have wanted to hurt her that much.”

“And?” Vitus squeezed her hand. “There’s a bit more than that?”

“And.” Thessaly looked out at the heart of the bonfire, watching the flicker of the blue of the hottest flames shift to the reds and oranges and yellows. “I keep having dreams about Childeric. Nightmares. The other ones aren’t as much? About being asleep, and him opening the door, and coming in, and knowing what he’s going to demand. It’s ridiculous, of course, because he never actually did anything like that.”

“Did he threaten it?” She hadn’t told him, not more than brushing past it. She nodded, once. “So it was in your head, just lurking there.”

There wasn’t anything useful to say to that at all.