It was on a chilly day in what should have been late summer that Fial saw Taru slowly wandering in the oakwoods on the slopes behind the Overlord’s House. The migratory birds seemed to have sensed the approaching cold and many were leaving earlier than usual to winter further south or in the lands closer to the ocean. Fial had watched them, and then turned her gaze to watch Taru walk briefly down to the riverbank, though being there seemed to increase his melancholia; it was too bleak. So he had turned to climbed back among the trees. And Fial had followed.
She had known that Taru was there or thereabouts having espied him as she sat on a rock further along the bank. She wanted to speak to him – to see him – so she followed. She did not cry out, though, for the doubt that often assailed her had not completely departed, despite his previous, evident interest in her and delight in her company.
It was very overcast, and the path was damp and gloomy, bestrewn with fallen leaves, and even the occasional branch that had fallen across it from the storms of the previous few days.
Fial made sure that Taru heard her before he saw her – her arrhythmic song drifting up the path as she climbed the gentle slope. He was smiling when she came round the bend. If anything, he was more pleased to see her than she him, for her joy was tempered by the knowledge that she would have to go away again soon. Permanently this time. That was why she had disappeared for a bit; there were things she had had to see to, perhaps with a certain amount of duty within them, but also with cores of hope for future contentment – if not happiness.
But then she did not really understand what being happy as an adult meant; as a child – definitely – with wonder and awe at the bounty of the Goddess’s world around only slowly fading under the strictures of measurement and structures. Yet she still maintained they did not have to disappear too completely under day-to-day precepts; keeping artistic endeavour in crafts, awareness of beauty in sweeping floors; and not allowing order to exercise too much tyranny. Yet she struggled to keep this all in her heart: she could still hold onto them as intellectual concepts (making the base world easier to deal with), but the easy acceptance she had had for the fundamental truths of creation were no longer with her. Perhaps never would be again.
The first task Fial had had to undertake was to go to the Temple Compound in An Uaimh to discuss her entry into the Priestesshood: she had decided to enter, but they had yet to accept her devotion. She was also going to visit Nessa and spend some time with her family, especially attending Damnat’s wedding.
Fial had considered not going to the nuptials – a serious and prolonged consideration – with her as the maiden-older-spinster-sister, still on the shelf, being an object that would perhaps overshadow the bride, with people asking Why? But her parents would not hear of it and Damnat said she was being ridiculous: how could she get married without her big sister being there? So what if she was not yet married, after all she, Damnat, had jumped at the chance to get hitched, even though only just of age; people would simply consider Fial as more discerning. Damnat had laughed.
Although she and Fial were not similar characters, they had retained the unconditional love for each other that had permeated their first few years together, before Fial had itched to move outside her father’s walls. And Damnat was the only one of her family who had not changed towards Fial when she had become withdrawn.
Fial was unconvinced by Damnat’s argument, but she did agree to attend. It was what she probably wanted anyway.
And she did enjoy herself; yet not really because of having to meet lots of people she scarcely knew and only sometimes cared about, but because of the elation in her sister’s eyes. Odar was not someone Fial warmed to particularly, remembering him from before he had met Damnat when he had seemed somewhat arrogant and offhand. But her sister loved him, and he made her happy, and that was enough for Fial. She would flatten him if he hurt her, mind.
Yet though Fial told Taru few details about her sister’s wedding, it was enough for Taru to ask asked how her parents could afford such an opulent affair; she changed the subject, asking Taru how he had been.
“Not great, to be honest: I was ill for quite some days – confined to bed.”
He then went on to explain about going to the Tower of Arden with his friend. They had heard about this ancient structure, rumoured to be a dark place, in a dell near the upper reaches of the Dawlish Stream. It took them all day to reach there. Even so, they could discern an even darker darkness around the uncrenelated three-tiered Tower. Everything was quiet.
“Only I was brave enough to enter.”
Inside was a square hall with red tiles and basalt pillars, and a spiral staircase up which Taru had climbed; he was feeling numb with fear by then, but seduced by the lure within. He walked through a second hall and down a passage to an ancient throne room.
“Against my will, I was forced to sit on the wrought-iron throne.”
The nightmare that followed had so weakened him that it took him more than a moon to recover; but he talked briefly of the trees that were twisted and deformed by the poison that ran in their sap, their enormous thorns; the mad, fat-belled harpies that screeched at him as they swooped down; and the lament that had come when he had accidentally broken a small branch from one of the trees.
“But my friend saved me, and now I’m all right.”
Fial did not pretend to follow or understand it all, perhaps any of it, which did not seem to bother Taru, but they agreed to meet again the following day in the woods behind the House, and indeed for the next day and the day after that. The weather improved for them, though there was still a fair amount of rain at times.
“I’ll take you to a place I know,” said Fial, on the fourth day: ”a secret place where no one else can come. Just you and me. A peaceful place away from the bustle of the lands nearer the water.”
She led Taru up the slope for a considerable way before diving down an almost unnoticed track – narrow and overgrown. She twisted and turned through the understorey till she came to the base of a cliff jutting out from the sloping woodland floor, almost twenty feet in height; beyond it the ground began to climb more steeply. Fial led Taru around the edge of the cliff, though they could only climb safely on their hands and knees. At the top of the cliff was ledge, only about eight feet deep. They clambered onto this and, though the sun had dried it enough for them to sit comfortably, for the moment they just stood and looked out at the view.
Below them the ground ran down to where the River Alken opened out into Lake Luhvet. The House and the village of Mellor beneath its hill were visible to their left; and to their right the expanse of Luhvet shone in the autumn sun. Opposite their vantage point they could see the woods of rowan and elm that clothed the arm of the mountains between the vales of Cumdivoc and Hodnet.
In contrast to the previous few days they did not talk much; they just stood and then sat on their exposed hide-away. Fial looked at the sky and at the birds congregating before they flew she knew-not-where.
Then Taru erupted into her silence: “What are you doing this evening?”
“I’ve got to return home,” Fial replied, eventually.
“You’ve got to?”
“Yes. I’ve been away for quite a long time and ...”
“I know: you’ve said.” Taru cut across her. “Though I don’t know why you …”
“I’ve explained.”
“But not …”
“Do we have to go through this again? I had to go and see my old nanny – I haven’t seen her for some time. She is very special to me.”
“That’s not what you said before!” Then Taru wilted under Fial’s gaze. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry. Are you sure you’re not free tonight?”
“Yes. And I can have done more than one thing then. But I can see you the day after tomorrow – though after that last, controlling outburst I’m not sure I want to.”
“I’ve said I’m sorry.”
“But it’s not a good sign.”
“And I would love to see you the day after tomorrow, although I wish you were free tonight.”
“What’s so special about tonight?”
“I’m going to a party, a birthday party, and I was going to ask you …”
“I’m not sure it’s my sort of thing. Lots of people I don’t know. Noise and crush. But in any event …”
Taru nodded, showing obviously that he had understood; but Fial was not sure he was disappointed at her refusal. Did he really want to introduce her to his friends? And without her he would probably get drunk; Fial was not keen on his drinking, so he did not do it when he was with her, or even due to meet her. That day after the party would give him a chance to recover.
They spoke only a little more before Fial decided it was time for her to go. They climbed down from the rock, Fial leading Teague back towards the river, till they came to a small grassy glade with a clear view to the woods across the water.
“I think I’ll sit here awhile,” said Fial. “I won’t keep you – go to your party. See you the day after tomorrow. Here. For me. All right?”
Taru tried to remain with her, but Fial would not have it, and so he pottered off down the slope before returning home.
*
They met again as agreed, the day after the day after Nantö’s birthday, but Fial found Taru listless, as though he was still under the influence of drink.
He talked disjointedly about the party, about the others there (as if Fial would know them), and about his performance of a song about the White Goddess – which he attempted to receipt to Fial, though she stopped him soon enough. The verses she heard were enough to strongly suggest he was trying to give form to ideas he did not really understand and, though dimly aware of his shortcomings, he did not have enough self-awareness to accept this fact.
She did not stay long, and did not arrange another time to meet.