Free Consorts of Heaven by Jaine Fenn

amongst stars and moons and plants and animals. One woman was unfeasibly curvaceous with red lips, golden hair and a harp in her hand; another held a set of scales; a third, with a blue apron, had a child cradled in one arm and a tool like the one Kerin used to make her thread in the other hand.
    Within the walls the ground had been covered with layers of rush matting. The inside walls were also decorated, though the far wall showed only one image, a circle bisected by a horizontal line. Below it he could make out a great table loaded and festooned with various items, including flowers, figures carved from wood or bone, bunches of leaves, pottery bowls, woven braid, even flat loaves of bread. The wind shifted and he caught a whiff of something sweet and smoky.
    This place was vital to the village, yet it meant nothing to him.
     
    When Sais walked back into the cramped, dark hut, the smell of stale sweat and old smoke made his eyes sting. Damaru was already home, and he commented that her son wasn’t such a fool, given he never missed meals.
    Kerin said lightly, ‘Or perhaps tis a skyfool ability not generally known about.’
    He decided that the time had come to get to grips with spiritual matters - better to bemuse Kerin now, before they left, than screw up in front of unsympathetic villagers later. Damaru’s strange affliction - or blessing - seemed a good place to start.
    ‘Actually, Kerin, I can’t quite remember what being sky-touched involves,’ he admitted.
    She looked at him for a moment, then said, ‘Skyfools do not see things as we do. They sense the underlying pattern of the world, and sometimes they influence it.’
    ‘Influence it? How?’
    ‘Why, you have experienced that for yourself! Two nights back, when Damaru picked up on your nightmare. Perhaps you do not remember—?’
    ‘I remember waking up, and you said something about a broken pot.’
    ‘Aye. Damaru broke it. He was disturbed and reached out in his panic. He stirred the fire up and broke the pot that held the shining fabric.’
    ‘I still don’t understand. I saw you get up, but I didn’t see any sign of Damaru.’
    ‘No, he was in bed.’
    ‘Then how did he break the pot?’
    ‘By moving the pattern.’
    Which left Sais none the wiser. ‘And is this the ability that’s tested by the - the Cariad?’
    ‘I am not sure. I do know that if he fails before the Beloved Daughter of Heaven, he will forfeit his life. So say the Traditions.’
    Poor cow: one way or another she would lose her son. ‘The Traditions? The council talked about those. Is there a book somewhere with all this stuff in?’
    ‘A book? Now there is proof you come from the lowlands!’
    ‘So there’s no book here I can read, to help me remember?’
    ‘If you can read, Sais, then you are not a noble, but a priest!’
    ‘I don’t know if I can read,’ he said hurriedly, ‘but I do remember books. They have them in the lowlands then, do they? For priests, of course.’
    ‘I have heard that the Reeve of Plas Aethnen has a written copy of the Traditions, and his Rhethor reads directly from it to settle matters of law.’
    Presumably Reeves were rulers, and Rhethors some sort of priestly judges. ‘And where’s Plas Aethnen?’
    ‘Tis where the cattle market is at star-season.’
    ‘Is this Cariad there too?’
    ‘No, she dwells at Dinas Emrys, the City of Light. That is further on again.’
    ‘Presumably the drove’s not going that far?’
    ‘Damaru’s guardian will accompany him for the final part of the journey.’
    ‘Are you his guardian? I thought you weren’t going on the drove until I came along.’
    ‘No,’ she said curtly, ‘it must be a man.’
    Sais was pretty sure that where he came from, women had more status.
     
    The next day was sunny. Kerin went out to wash some clothes.
    Despite the improved weather, Damaru stayed in, sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed with his knees drawn up, his chin resting on them. Sais suspected the