22

Relatives and Revelations

Candle peaked through the lining of the tent. Rasmus looked terrible, his usually fine clothes stained and crumpled, his hair unkempt. His eyes were wild and dangerous. His lip curled into a sneer as he took in the rough fortifications and the campsite. He called out something to Jory, but his words were snatched away by the wind. Jory got to his feet, a wary expression in his eyes.

"Can I help you, syr?"

"I wonder what this overdressed dandy wants," she heard Locryn mutter to Delen. "Nothing good I'll warrant. Smells like the Kenning interference."

Candle didn't wait to hear more; there was nothing between herself and her brother's wrath but a thin layer of canvas. Not good enough. She had no idea how he kept finding her, but he would surely think to look in the tents. She lifted a peg at the back of the tent, and crawled under and out, pausing only to re-peg the tent behind her. She crept across the plateau, keeping low on her belly, relying on the canvas wall of the tent to keep her hidden.

Rasmus had looked worse than she had ever seen him, right on the slippery edge of control. Then there was no knowing what he would do. She didn't want to be there to see it. Every instinct screamed at her to run and hide.

She slipped carefully over the stone circle, still low on her hands and knees. She peered out over the edge of the plateau, the wind whipping her hair. The cliffs were almost sheer in this spot with a drop of many hundreds of feet, but the day before she had seen a little ledge jutting out from the rock. It was a small spot harbouring a few stunted fire roses struggling to find purchase in the stony soil; a ledge just large enough to hide one small girl if she was careful enough not to dash her brains out on the climb down. Generally, heights didn't bother her; she liked being up high; it made her feel free. However, and she gulped as she looked down at the valley floor over three thousand feet below, it was a long way to fall if she placed a foot wrong. A better fate than facing Rasmus in a demon-haunted rage, however. So, she swung her legs out and over, flipping so her body was pressed to the rock, and felt with her feet for purchase on the rocky sides. She spider crawled her way down to the ledge and dropped onto it heavily, expelling a grunt of relief and tucking her limbs under the cover of the fire rose.

She lay still and tried not to cry, adrenaline coursing through her body. On examining her feelings, she found anger, rather than fear bubbling to the surface. How dare her brother do this to her? Just as she felt she was building some semblance of a life, with people who accepted her. A life where she could be useful. How, how did he find her? No one at Gwavas knew who she was except the Mester, and if the Mester wanted to get rid of her, she would have done it already.

She strained her ears but could hear nothing from the plateau. The wind was blowing away from her. What was happening up there? She settled to wait, pleased with her hiding place. She thought of the activities of the morning, turning them over one by one in her mind - wight killing, clean up, breakfast, burning devotions...burning devotions... The solution hit her like a ton of bricks, and she sat up, hitting her head on a thick branch. She cursed under her breath. Rasmus was tracking her through her devotions! Every time he found her, it was right after she had burned her gift for the Ancestors.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered this possibility. If it was true, and she was increasingly confident it was true, all she needed to do was avoid burning her devotions. Then he would not be able to find her. The thought was a strange one, a gut punch of shock and relief. She loved making her devotions. She had been raised to see it as part of her spiritual duty. But what if her Ancestors were not ignoring her? What if they had never received anything in the flame? What if her brother's demon Belias was feeding off her devotions and giving her nothing in return?

The thought made her sick, but she knew it was the truth as soon as it crossed her brain. She lay back down, stunned. Rasmus was feeding her devotions to Belias. But how? Her forehead creased and she ran a finger down the nearly healed cut in her palm. The cut that the Mester had made when she bound Candle not to speak of her own demon, Moloch. When she had let her demon drink Candle's blood.

She shuddered at the memory. She had tried hard to suppress it, but there it was in the back of her mind, like an oily black toad, waiting to be remembered. Her palm closed into a fist as she forced herself to remember. Perhaps Rasmus had done something similar to her when she was too young to remember. Maybe he had been leeching her energy the whole time, which is why she felt so much better away from Hanternos. She had thought her increased energy levels were the result of regular food and good company, but what if it was because her energy wasn't being leached?

It all fit. It explained why Rasmus was so keen to find her. Without her around to leech off Belias would demand other sacrifices. What had he done in her absence? She had seen with her own eyes what he had done to Ishbel's cat. The Mester had said children were missing in Hanternos. She drew a deep, soothing breath to calm herself. What had she done? Had she doomed those children to death by running away? No, no, her staying would just have delayed the inevitable, she saw with a sudden insight. Eventually, she would have died, or Rasmus would have killed her, and then Belias would have demanded more. She had just moved up the timeline. Something had to be done about Rasmus. She had to find a way to tell someone about him, someone with the power to do something about him.

She lay under the bush, watching the clouds pass over the mountain, watching the play of light on the cliff face. She felt strangely light as if a huge weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. For this solitary moment, she was safe. Her Ancestor's had not rejected her. Her gifts were being stolen. It was not her that was found wanting. She lifted a hand to her blindfold with a sigh and ripped it off so she could see the sky unobstructed. It was a relief to remove it and feel the cold air on her fevered forehead.

A small unwelcome thought crept through her calm, and she frowned - her eyes had always been blue. It was a piece of the puzzle that did not fit. Had Rasmus gifted her to his demon when she was a baby? He had been but five years old when she was born. Surely, he had not been ensnared so young? Surely an innocent five year old would not be capable of attracting a demon in the first place? If only she could remember what he had done and when. Her own earliest memory was of helping her tutor mix paint when she was but six years old. She had always had blue eyes; everyone had told her so. That was why she remained nameless. She knew it was not uncommon for infants - but they always darkened before the baby's naming ceremony. The servants said it was the soul settling in the infant's body. It was why everyone thought she was evil. Soulless. Evil. She didn't feel evil. Maybe not good, but certainly not evil.

Candle wondered bitterly what her parents would have named her if her eyes had darkened like everyone else. Would she be Meraud, after her grandmother? Or something else. They had never said. She took out her stub of candle and looked at it, rubbing her finger over the familiar waxy sides, then put it away, with a sigh. She wondered what was going on, upon the mountaintop.

The wind had changed direction, but all was ominously quiet. After some time she heard voices calling for Meraud, but she was too scared to move. What had her brother said? What lies had he spun?

At last, she reluctantly retied her blindfold and climbed carefully back up the cliff face, taking her time and making as little noise as possible. She stuck her head over the top, trying to see what was happening. As far as she could tell Rasmus was gone but even so she waited as long as she could bear. When her fingers threatened to cramp, she hauled herself bodily onto the plateau. She hopped over the low stone circle, eyeing the moongate and wondering if she would have to make a dash. She patted the packet of soil from Gelliwic that in her pocket just in case. Her teammates were sitting around the cold fire pit looking worried. Delen saw her and raised a shout.

"Meraud," she cried, rushing over, and grabbing her hand. "Are you alright? Everything's fine; he's gone."

"You gave us a fright," said Jory. "We all thought you were in the tent and then your brother -"

"How do you know that he's my brother?" said Candle.

"I figured it out at Gwavas," said Delen, looking a little embarrassed. "I heard him say he was looking for his sister. I told Jory."

Candle looked at her sharply, wondering what else Delen had overheard? Had she heard Rasmus describe her? Had she heard him describe her eyes? The older woman squeezed her hand consolingly as if she was trying to tell her not to worry.

"I almost didn't recognise him today," she continued, "but when I saw the look on your face-"

"You're an Enys?" said Locryn, disbelievingly. "An aetheling? Should we call you syr?"

"Don't be a prick, Locryn," said Delen.

"I knew there was something off about you," he said.

"Yeah, you thought she was a wight."

"Are you Lady Ishbel Enys? I thought she would be more..."

"More what?" said Candle, her blood rising. "More what exactly?"

"Less scrappy, I guess." Locryn shrugged, and Delen burst out laughing.

Candle couldn't help it; the sound was so infectious that her lips twitched upwards.

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint," she said, once Delen had stopped laughing, "but I am not Ishbel. I am Lord and Lady Enys' youngest daughter."

"I didn't know they had a third child."

Two spots of colour appeared on Candle's cheeks.

"They'd prefer if people didn't know," she said, turning to Jory. "What did he say?" she asked pleadingly. "Rasmus? What did he say to you?"

"A load of tosh," he said, sitting down, and wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. "Don't worry, young one. We didn't sell you out. You're not going anywhere you don't want to go. The Mester doesn't hold with that sort of thing."

"What if he tells my parents? What if he goes to the Kenning?"

"Then the Mester will deal with it," said Jory.

"Your brother is a creep," said Delen, "if you don't mind me saying. And not the brightest."

"I don't mind," said Candle, and opened her mouth to say more but her throat constricted and she started to cough. The geas again. She wanted to explain about his demon, and to say that she didn't think Rasmus was stupid at all; just the demon was riding him hard and making him desperate. That he was probably stealing her life force as well as her magic, but she could say none of it. Whatever sick magic flowed through her veins courtesy of Rasmus, forbade it. So she swallowed her comments and her throat cleared. "What if he...makes me go with him?"

"Then we fight," said Locryn, to Candle's surprise. "Don't look at me like that, Meraud or Candle or whatever your name is! Aethelings never expect anyone to punch them. I would be more than happy to oblige Lord Enys, should it come to that. He looks like he needs someone to knock him on his arse for a change..."

"No one needs to punch anyone," said Jory. "Yet! But don't worry young one, you are one of us now. We will protect you. However," he glared at Locryn and Delen, "it will make everyone's life easier if we keep you hidden rather than going looking for a fight. The Mester doesn't need more trouble with the Kenning right now, at least until the situation at Sterlester is resolved..."

"Is your name really Candle?"

"That's what they call me."

"I don't know if I can call you Candle," said Delen, "with a straight face."

"You can call me whatever you want," said Candle, her heart suddenly light. "I don't mind."

"Meraud it is. Unless I can think of something better."

"Alright everyone," said Jory, slapping his knees and getting up, "that's enough entertainment for one day! Now let's get on with our jobs, or we'll be sleeping in the snow soon. The Mester is counting on us, remember. Meraud, time for your first proper lesson in slaying the undead."