Year of the Unicorn

2 Brides—Twelve and One

The halls of the Abbey were dim with the winter twilight. Here and there a wall lamp gave off faint light, which did not draw back the arras of shadows. To leave the fireside and the company in the great hall was to step into another world, but it was one I knew well. I passed the chamber of convocation. No light showed beneath its ponderous but time warped door. The Dames must all have turned to their cells in the wing forbidden to their guests.

Their guests—as I sped along that dark and chilly corridor I thought of those guests. Not those who had been so long housed at Norstead that they had become a part of its life, but rather the party which had ridden in before the last close down of night, who had shared our board and fare about the long table.

Lord Imgry, very much in charge of that company—his brown beard cut short to the jaw line for the better wearing of battle helm, its wiry strength shot here and there with silver, which showed again above his ears. His was a strong face, but with determination and will in every line of it, deep graven. This was man to yield not to any plaint, save when it pleased his own plan to do so, when that yielding meant advantage.

With him two others, lesser men, and one who had little liking for their present task. Soldiers used to the ordering of their coming and going, never looking beyond those orders to what prompted their giving—now ill at ease and more centred upon that unease than upon the surroundings which gave it cause. As for the troop of men-at-arms—they had retired to quarters in the village.

Last of all—the brides. Yes—the brides! My acquaintance with weddings had been limited to those of village maids, when I had accompanied the Dame delegated to represent the Abbey at such festivities. Then there had been smiles, and if tears, happy ones, and singing—a festival, in truth.

Tonight I had faced across the board a new kind of bride. They wore the formal travel garb, robes well padded against winter blasts, skirts divided for the saddle, and, under their cloaks the short tabards, each embroidered with the arms of their houses, that they might proclaim their high birth to the world. But there were no loose locks and flower crowns.

There is a saying that all brides are fair of face on their wedding days. Two or three of these, now glittering of eyes, feverishly flushed, too talkative, were notably pretty. But there were heavy, reddened eyelids, too pallid cheeks, and other signs of misery among them.

And in my ear had sounded the too-carrying whisper of the Lady Tolfana sharing her knowledge of the gathering with her seat mate.

“Fair? Ah, yes, too fair as her sister-by-blood, the Lady Gralya would tell you. Lord Jerret, her bedmate, is a notable lifter of skirts. It seems that lately he fingers, or would finger, robes closer to home. Thus you see Kildas in this party. Once wedded to a Rider she will not trouble that household again.”

Kildas? She was one of the feverishly alive brides. Her brown hair was touched with red gold in the lamp light, and she had the round chin, the full lower lip of one fashioned for the eyes of men. Even behind the stiff tabard there were hints of a well rounded body, enough to inflame the lecher her sister’s lord was reputed to be. A reason good enough to include Kildas in this company. Her seat mate was a thin shadow to her ruddy substance. The ’broidery of her tabard was carefully and intricately wrought. Much care and choice had gone into that stitchery, as if it were indeed a labour of love. Yet the robe beneath it was well worn and showed traces of being cut from another garment. The girl sat with her lids tear puffed, downcast and scarce ate, though she drank thirstily from her goblet.

I searched memory for her name—Alianna? No, that was the small girl at the far end. Solfinna—that was it. While Kildas had been sent forth in fine trappings, mayhap salving in some small way the consciences of those who had so dispatched her, Solfinna wore the thread-bareness of poverty long borne. Daughter of an old but impoverished house no doubt, with no dowry, and perhaps with younger sisters to be provided for. By becoming a bride she put the lords under obligation to serve her family.

In spite of Sussia’s suggestion, none of the girls was ugly. By the covenant they could not be diseased nor ill formed. And several, such as Kildas, were fair enough to marry well. For the rest, youth granted them some pleasantness or prettiness—though their unhappiness might cloud that now. I began to consider that the Lords of High Hallack were fulfilling their part of the bargain with honour—save that the brides were unwilling. But then, in High Hallack, weddings did not come of mutual liking and regard, not among the old houses, but rather were arranged alliances. And perhaps these girls were not facing anything worse than they would have faced in the natural course of events.

It was easy to believe that until I looked upon Marimme. She did not display the strained vivacity she had shown in the hall, but now sat still, as a bird when a serpent eyes it coldly. And she ever watched Lord Imgry’s face, though she made no attempt to attract his eye, rather turned her gaze from him quickly when it would seem he was about to return it. Had he broken the news to her yet? I thought not. Marimme, who had never been able to retain her composure when faced by small difficulties of the day, would have been in hysterics long since. But it was also plain she suspected something.

And when it did come...Plans made on the spur of the moment may go awry, but also may those which have been most carefully wrought over days and years. I was shield-backed now by my own sense that this was one of those times when Fortune not only smiled but put out her hand to aid, and that I needed only to keep my wits about me to have matters go as I willed.

So now that the feast was past—mock feast and shadowed as it had been—I sought my own answer for what must happen soon. The shawl over my arm I whipped about my shoulders. To have sought my own would have perhaps marked my going, so I had one found on the back of a chair—dull green instead of grey, but no colour in the night.

The way I took was a private one long known to me by my labours in the still room, and it was to that chamber I went, crossing the winter blasted garden at a run. There were snow flakes, large and feathery, falling. A storm such as this was another stroke of good luck. Within the still room the chill was not yet complete, and the good scents hung in the air. What I had come to do must be done swiftly and yet with care.

There were bags on a side shelf, each quilted into pockets of different sizes and shapes. One of these in my hands—and then, moving with care, for I dared not show a light, I made my way about the cupboards and tables, from shelves to chests, thankful that long familiarity made my fingers grow eyes for this task. Phials, boxes, small vials, each to its proper pocket in the bag, until at last I slung over my shoulder such a bag of simples and healing aids as Dame Alousan had supplied to the war bands. Last, not least but foremost, I groped my way to a far cupboard. It was locked by a dial lock, but that was no bar to me who had been entrusted with its secret years ago. I counted along a row of bottles within, making that numbering twice, then working loose a stopper to sniff.

Faint indeed was the odour—sharp, rather like the vinegar from the orchard apples. But it told me I was right. The bottle was large and difficult to carry. However, to try to decant what I needed for my purpose was impossible here and now. I gripped it tight between crooked arm and breast as I relocked the cupboard.

There was always the chance that Dame Alousan might find it in mind to check her storehouse, even at this hour and season. Until I reached my own room I was in danger of discovery. Yet in me the exultation grew with the belief that all was moving as I wished.

My small chamber was in a turn of the hall, a meeting place between the corridor of the Dames’ cells and the portion given to visitors and boarders. Lights shown dully about the frames of some of the latter doors, but only the night lamp was alive at the far end of the cell hallway. My quick breath slowed as I closed my door behind me, though I had as yet taken only the first and far lesser steps on the path I had chosen to walk this night.

I set spark to my own lamp on the small table and set down thereon the flask I had brought out of the still room. A tray—so-then the small horn cup always used for medicinal doses, a spoon—all laid out. Last of all—the dose! I poured with care-filling the smaller bottle from my cupboard with the colourless liquid out of the flask. This much, no more—then—into it drops—five, six—from another phial. I counted under my breath, watching the mixture and its changing colour, until it was a clear and refreshing green.

Now—to wait—And deep inside me grew a wonder as to how I could be so sure that this would be the way of it. My long suppression of my “power”, if that was the word one might apply to my strange bits of knowledge and feeling which warred against controls I kept on them, might that not now have led to deception, a self-confidence which could defeat me? I could not sit still, but stood by the narrow window looking out into the night and the snow. There were lights in the village, marking the inn where Lord Imgry’s escort now took their ease. Beyond that only the dull dark of the dale. North—the brides were riding north to the waste border—down Norsdale, and on past the Arm of Sparn, into Dimdale, and Casterbrook, and the Gorge of Ravens—well, off the map of our knowing—

Yet all the time my eyes watched the outer world my ears listened for sounds of the inner one, for I had carefully left my door ajar to better that hearing. And in me excitement bubbled and boiled.

The swish of a robe, the quick beat of slipper heels on uncarpeted stone—All that was in me wanted to rush to the door, throw it open to greet who came. But I kept control and at the scratch of nails on the wood, I moved with deliberation.

It was no surprise to front the Lady Sussia. Nor was she in turn amazed, I was sure, to find me still dressed as if I awaited a summons.

“Marimme—you are needed to tend her with your heal-craft, Gillan.” Her eyes swept past me to the table where waited the tray and its burden, and there was the faintest curve of smile to her lips as she glanced back to me. Again there were no words between us, but understanding. She nodded as if agreeing to some comment unheard by me.

“I wish you good fortune for what you do,” she said softly. But it was not of heal-craft that she spoke, and we both knew it.

I went down the hall, bearing the tray. As I came to the door of Marimme’s room I saw that it also stood ajar and there were voices to be heard. One was low, a murmur which seldom arose to intelligible speech. The sound of it stopped me, struck against the confidence which had been heady wine for my drinking all evening.

Abbess Yulianna! To govern any Abbey-stead was a task demanding wit and force of character which made any Abbess a formidable adversary. And Yulianna was not the least of those who had ruled here. To play my game before her required far more skill than any I thought would be demanded of me. Still I had long passed the point where withdrawal from battle-to-be was allowed.

“—maidish vapourings! Yes, Lady Abbess, this I will make allowance for. But time marches along the hills. We ride with the morn to keep our covenant. And she goes to the marriage made for her! Also she goes without wailing. I have heard you are skilled in heal-craft. Put down her some potion to end these mad humours she has treated us to this past hour. I would not take her gagged or tied in the saddle—but if that must be—so it will! We keep our bargain with those we have hand-sealed to the treaty.”

Not choleric was Lord Imgry—no—cold and as one stating facts which not even the winds and tempests of the heavens could nay-say. He was one who would be as unyielding as the earth and the stone bones of the Dales.

“Those who use heal-craft for ill are not among us, my lord.” As unyielding in turn was the Abbess. “It remains, do you wish to reach your trysting place with a girl out of her wits with fear? For this is what well may happen should you force this matter—”

“You enlarge upon this past all reason, Lady Abbess! She is startled, yes, and she had heard too many wild tales. Makes she any marriage she will do it to order and not to silly liking. We tryst within three days, so we ride in the dawn. By honour are we bound to give twelve and one brides into their lords’ care. Twelve and one we have under this roof tonight. We do not take fewer with us—”

I steadied the tray upon my right hand and scratched upon the door with my left during the small interval of silence which followed his cool statement, one which he certainly did not intend to be challenged.

There was an exclamation and the door was opened. Lord Imgry looked out and I dipped knee in curtsy, but as would an equal in blood.

“What’s to do?”

“The Lady Sussia says that heal-craft is needed,” I schooled my voice. I waited an answer, not from him, but from her who stood by the bed on which lay Marimme. Her veil was pushed a little back so that her face was in the light. On it, however, I could read no expression as Lord Imgry stepped back to allow me entrance.

“Come in then. Come in and be about your work—”

I think he paused then because he did not know just how to name me. Though my underrobe was drab of colour, I wore neither coif nor veil. Instead I had on a feasting tabard bright with stitchery. No crest for a nameless, landless one, of course, yet the fabric was richly stiff with an intricate design of my own wandering fancy.

But for now the Lord Imgry was not my concern. I continued to watch her who looked over his shoulder. And towards the Abbess Yulianna I launched the full force of what power of will I could summon, even as an archer on a field of grave doubt would loose the last of his shafts at the captain of the enemy. Though in this time and wise I did not wish to compel foe but one who might stand my friend,

“This is not your healer,” Imgry said sharply.

I waited then for the Abbess to nay-say me in agreement. But rather did she move a step or two aside and wave me to the bed.

“This is Gillan who is help-hand to our healer and lessoned in all such matters. You forget, my lord, it is past the Hour of Last Light. Those of the community must soon be in the Chapel for night prayer. Unless the need approaches great danger, the healer can not be summoned from such a service.”

He gave a bitten-off exclamation, but even his confidence could not prevail against the custom and usage under this roof. Now the Abbess spoke again:

“You had best withdraw now, my lord. Should Marimme awake from her swoon to find you here—then perhaps needs must we again have the wailing and crying which you so dislike—”

But he did not move. There was no scowl on his face ...only the lines of determination which I had marked at the table grew a fraction deeper. For a moment there was silence and then the Abbess spoke, and now her tone was that which I had heard now and again, infinitely remote and daunting.

“You are her guardian-by-rule-and-blood, my lord. We know well the law and will not move against your will, no matter how ill we think your decision. She shall not be spirited away in the night—how could she be? Nor is it necessary for us to give oath on such a point under this roof!”

He did then look a little ashamed, for it was plain she had read aright his thoughts. Yet at the same time her voice carried the conviction of one taking that oath she had denied the need for.

“My daughter,” again her eyes sought mine and held them. I could not read her thoughts. If she read mine, or guessed my intention, she did not reveal the fact. “You will heal as you can, and watch through the night, should that be needful.”

I made no direct answer, only bent knee in curtsy, and that more deeply than I had to my lord. He was at the door, still hesitating there. But as the Abbess advanced upon that portal he went, and she, followed, closed it with a click of falling latch.

Marimme stirred and moaned. Her face was flushed as one in a fever, and she breathed in. uneven gasps. I set the tray on the table and measured by spoon a portion of the liquid into the horn cup. I held it for a moment in my hand. This was the last parting between present and future. From this point there was no back-turning—only complete success, or discovery and ill will of the kind I could never hope to escape. But I did not hesitate long. My arm behind her shoulder raised Marimme. Her eyes were half open, she muttered incoherently. The horn cup to her lips...then she swallowed with soft urging from me.

“Well done.”

I looked around. Sussia stood by the door, but it was safely closed behind her. Now she came forward a step or two.

“You will need anally—”

That was true. But why—?

Again it was as if we were mind to mind, one thought shared.

“Why, Lady Gillan? Because of many things. First, I have more than a little liking for this soft creature.” She came to the end of the bed and stood looking down at Marimme. “She is a harmless, clinging one of the kind who find the world harsh enough without bending and breaking under blows never meant for their shoulders. No—you—and I—we are of a different breed—”

I settled Marimme back on her pillows and stood up, putting down the horn cup with a hand I was pleased to see was steady.

“And second, I know you, perhaps better than you think, Gillan. This Norstead has become a prison to you. And what other future could you look to but endless years of like living—”

“The dusty years—“ I had not realized I spoke aloud until I heard her small chuckle of amusement.

“I could not have said it better!”

“But why should my fate be a matter of concern to you, my lady?”

She was frowning a little. “To me that is also a puzzle, Gillan. We are not cup-fellows, nor sister-friends. I can not tell why I wish to see you forth from here—only that I am moved to aid you so. And I think this is truly a venture for you. It is one which I would have chosen, had I been allowed a choice.”

“Willingly?”

She smiled. “Does that surprise you?”

Oddly it did not. I believe that Sussia would have ridden on such a bride trek with tearless eyes, looking forward with curiosity and desire for adventure.

“I say it now again, we are of one breed, Gillan. Therefore this abbey is not for you, and since there is naught else within High Hallack for you—”

“I should go forth with a high heart to wed with a shape-changer and sorcerer?”

“Just so.” Still she smiled. “Think what a challenge and adventure that presents, my Gillan. Greatly do I envy you.”

She was right, very right!

“Now.” she spoke more briskly. “What dose have you given her? And what do you plan?”

“I have given her sleep, and shall give it again. She will wake refreshed a day, perhaps more, from now. And also she will awake with soothed mind and nerves.”

“If she sleeps here—“ Sussia put finger tip to lips and chewed upon it.

“I do not intend that she shall. In her sleep she will be open to suggestion. As soon as the Hour of Great Silence begins I shall take her to my chamber.”

Sussia nodded. “Well planned. You are taller than she, but in the morning dark that will not be marked. I will bring you riding robe—and with her tabard, and the cloaks—You can be allowed some weeping behind a wind veil. I do not think Lord Imgry will question if you walk with face hidden to your horse. But there is the leave taking with the Abbess, she is to bless the brides at the Chapel door—”

“It will be very early, and if it snows—Well, there are some things one can only leave to chance.”

“A great deal in this ploy must be left to chance.” she countered. “But what I can do, that I will!”

Thus together we pushed onward my plan. Marimme lay at last in my bed and beside it I did on the underclothing for a long winter ride, setting over it the divided robe Sussia brought me. It was a finer stuff than I had worn for years, though plain of colour, being a silver grey to match the cloak she also gave me. Over it the tabard was a bright splash of colour, the striking hippogriff of Marimme’s crest picked out in bright scarlet with touches of gold, prancing over a curve of blue-green representing the sea.

I braided and pinned very tight my dark hair and then coiled a travel veil and hood over that, leaving veil ends loose to be drawn mask-fashion over my face. When I was done, Sussia surveyed me critically.

“To one who knows Marimme well, this would be no true counterfeit, I fear me. But the Lord Imgry has seen her little, and those you will ride with on the morn do not know her at all. You must use all wits to keep the play going until they are past the place from which they might return. The time for the meeting with the Riders comes very close, ill weather in the highlands could mean more delay, so Lord Imgry would not dare return. After all, he needs but twelve and one brides, and those he shall have. That will be your safeguard against his wrath when discovery is made.”

And that was the only safeguard I would have. A little shiver ran through me, but that I would not let Sussia guess. My confidence must be my armour.

“Good fortune to you, Gillan.”

“I shall doubtless need all such wishes and more, too.” I replied shortly as I picked up the bag of herbs and simples I had earlier packed. Yet at that moment had I been given a chance to retrace all I had done that night and be free of the action I had embarked upon, I would have scornfully refused it.

Back in Marimme’s chamber I rested for the rest of the night, having fortified myself with another cordial from my store, so that while I did not sleep much, I was vigorous and eager when there was a morning scratching at my door.

I had my veil about my head, my cloak over my arm. For a moment I did not move to open and then I heard a whisper:

“Ready?”

Sussia again. When I came forth she put her arm quickly about my shoulders as one who supported a friend in distress. Thus I adopted my action to her suggestion, and walked in a feeble, wavering fashion down to the hall. There was food waiting: cakes of journey bread and hot drink. And of this I managed to eat more than appeared with Sussia sitting as a cup-companion, urging me on in a solicitous fashion. She told me in whispers that she had warned off Marimme’s other friends, saying that I was so distraught that their sympathy might prove disastrous. And after Marimme’s hysterical fit of the night before when the news was broken to her, they believed this readily.

Thus it went as we had hoped. When Lord Imgry, who had avoided me heretofore, came to lead me forth, I went bent and weeping, so I hoped, in a piteous fashion. The last test came as we knelt for the Abbess’s blessing. She gave each the kiss of peace and for that I needs must throw back my veil for a moment. I waited tensely to be denounced. But there was not a flicker of change on the Abbess’s face as she leaned forward to press her lips to my forehead.

“Go in peace, my daughter—“ She spoke the ritual words, but I knew they were truly meant for me and not Marimme. Thus heartened, I was aided by Lord Imgry into the saddle and so rode out of Norstead for ever, after some ten years of life within its never-changing walls.