The Merchant of Dreams (Night's Masque, #2)(8)

"Perhaps. Not all are reborn, even if they wish to. But to die in fear and pain brings…" He shook his head. "I do not know English word. Perhaps you have none."

"English word for what?"

"Creatures that haunt dreamlands, lurking in shadows."

"I know the things you mean." He shuddered. He well remembered the creatures he had seen – or rather not seen. They lurked on the edge of vision, filling their victims' hearts with the terrible certainty that to look upon them was to go mad. "I don't think we do have a word for them."

"hrrith, they are called in Vinlandic. It holds meaning of hunting, and hunger, and emptiness beyond death."

"That's a lot to put into one small word," Mal said. "Hunting and hunger, eh? Perhaps we should call them 'devourers'."

It felt good to pin them down with a name. Naming a thing gave one power over it in the old stories his nurse had told him.

Kiiren nodded his approval. "You remember Erishen's murder, how his soul – your soul – fled into the darkness, seeking haven from hrrith."

"They would have destroyed Erishen. Devoured his soul."

He wished they had, then none of this would have happened. Erishen's soul would not have tried to take refuge in unborn twins, and he and Sandy would both have been whole and sane and spared this damnation.

"Erishen would have truly died that night," Kiiren said, echoing Mal's thoughts. "If his murderer had not first stolen his spirit-guard."

"Like the earring you gave me, back in London." He fingered his left earlobe, though he had not worn the pendant for some months. "That's why Ruviq is still alive. He lost his clan-beads, or threw them aside on purpose, and so he dared not take his own life."

"Yes."

The coals settled in the brazier with a sigh, making him start.

"What about the outspeaker?" he asked. "What was he doing on that ship?"

"I do not know. Mine is not only clan here, and since I took over care of Erishen, I have little time for worldly business. I am not privy to elders' counsel any more."

"And now?"

"Now I will have to serve my people, if they need me."

"And what about Sandy? He still needs you."
"He is much recovered. Better even than I had hoped."
This was his chance. He drew a deep breath. "I want to take him home, to Provence. He has spent too long amongst strangers; he needs to reacquaint himself with the manners of his own kind."

"He is already amongst his own kind."

"So you say. But Erishen or no, he is still my brother. Still one of my people, as well as one of yours. And…" He lowered his voice. "And if anything happens to me, he is sole heir to my estate."

"You do not intend to marry your girl Hendricks, then, and make children?"

"I–" He stared at Kiiren. 'How did you know?"

"I have made much study of your people. I know man from woman, even if many of my companions do not. And like her, I am both in spirit." He grinned. "Besides, she does not smell like man."

"I should hope not," Mal replied with a laugh. Then he recalled Kiiren's earlier question. "No, we are not betrothed, nor even lovers. She will not give up her male garb, and French law is very harsh on the subject of masculine love."

"But she is woman, not man."

"And for that transgression also, she could be punished. Even if we were to move back to England, it would not be simple…"

Kiiren clicked his tongue. "My people were wise not to ally themselves with France. I think we would not be welcome there."

"That is as may be, but it has nothing to do with my brother," he said, unwilling to let the subject drop now he had dared to broach it. "May I take him back with me, at least for a while?"

Kiiren's mouth curved downwards, and he shook his head. "I am sorry, my friend. I think this is not good time. Not yet."

"Then my business here is done," Mal said, getting to his feet. "I will seek passage to London in the morning."

CHAPTER III

Coby strode through the dusk, hoping she had chosen the right direction. She could hardly return to the skrayling camp in the middle of a funeral.

The wind rustled the gorse bushes, and the last rays of the setting sun caught the tips of their thorny branches, gold and… lilac? She turned, and saw three figures striding across the rough ground towards her. Skraylings, carrying coloured lanterns. She was not keen to speak with them, but they appeared to be heading towards Lord Kiiren's camp, and at least with them to guide her she wouldn't have to worry about getting lost and falling off a cliff. She waited patiently for them to catch her up.

The three skraylings halted a few yards away and raised their lanterns, peering at her through the gloom. She thought she recognised one of them from the crowd at the wrestling match, but she couldn't be certain. All three had iron-grey hair and wore the elaborately patterned tunics and jewelled hair-beads of senior merchants. The swaying lamplight distorted their tattooed faces, and for a moment Coby could almost believe the story that they were born from the bark of trees.

"You go Kiiren?" one of them asked.

"Aye."
He gestured somewhat to his left. "Here. We too go."