The Way Between the Worlds

THREE

I slept surprisingly well, waking only after everyone had left for the day’s work to find my mother busy kneading bread, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the strong muscles of her forearms working hard. It was only when I was fully awake that I realized I hadn’t dreamed. Or, if I had, I’d forgotten. Perhaps the spirit who was trying so hard to attract my attention appreciated that I was already doing my best.

My mother looked up from her bread-making and gave me a loving smile. ‘It’s good to see you back in your old home,’ she remarked. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t make up a bed for you in your old spot, but as you’ll have seen, Haward and Zarina sleep there now.’

I was lying in the space once occupied by Granny’s little cot. No wonder I’d slept soundly and dreamlessly; she’d been looking after me. I sent her my silent thanks, and for an instant seemed to see her wrinkled old face with its deep, dark eyes smiling benignly at me.

‘Zarina looks well,’ I said, getting up and wriggling into my gown, then bending down to roll up my bedding. Floor space was always limited in our house, and I found it hard to believe I’d slept through the family rising, eating their swift breakfast and setting out for work. I must have been exhausted.

‘Yes, she does,’ my mother agreed, and I turned my thoughts back to my sister-in-law. ‘Edild has kept an eye on her, but in truth the girl’s so healthy and strong that there’s really no need.’

I paused in folding up my blanket, remembering the vivid sense of a new life that I felt emanating from the bump in Zarina’s belly. A little boy, a healthy child, who would grow well and be a joy to his family. .

‘Enough daydreaming, Lassair, and please get out of my way — I’m busy, even if you’re not.’ My mother’s voice cut across the pleasant vision of a small boy with his mother’s dark looks and his father’s sweet nature, and I felt her elbow dig me, quite hard, in the ribs. With a smile, I tucked the bedding away beneath my parents’ bed and asked her what I could do to help.

The morning flew by. I enjoyed working with my mother; we were very well used to each other’s ways and performed a multitude of tasks with barely a word. It did me good to have her strong presence. She is a big, broad, fair woman, and being with her tends to ground you and root your feet in the good earth. Since I’m both water- and earth-lacking, perhaps being with my mother provides the firm earth element I do not have. By noon, I was feeling invigorated and ready to proceed with my mission.

My father was working right out by the open water that day, too far for him to return for the midday meal, and he had taken both Squeak and Leir with him. Haward was out on the strips of land that the family work up on the drier ground behind the village, and he, too, had taken his noon meal with him. Zarina still worked for her crusty old washerwoman, and she alone came home to eat with my mother and me.

All the time I’d been going about the day’s jobs with my mother, I’d been thinking who could have sent me those summoning words. I seemed to have run through everyone in my family, so it was time to think about my friends. Having helped my mother clear away the meal, I left her having a well-earned but brief rest and went through the village to my friend Sibert’s house.

There was nobody at home.

I thought I knew where Sibert would be. Unless it was one of his days for working for Lord Gilbert, lord of our manor, he would be out on his family’s strips close by the road that leads to Thetford. I took the short cut over the higher ground, pausing to pay my respects to the ancient oak tree that stands up there, and, among the many people working away on the land, soon spotted a familiar figure.

‘I heard you were home,’ Sibert greeted me as I approached. He hadn’t even turned round.

All of a sudden I felt convinced that it was Sibert who had called out to me for help. We have been close at times over the years; once I saved his life, and, later he’d returned the favour. I know his deepest secret, and I have never told a soul. Mind you, that is largely due to my fear of what his uncle Hrype would do to me if I did; Hrype is not actually Sibert’s uncle but his father, and that is the secret. I understand that Sibert doesn’t want to talk to me about this, and I respect that, much as I’m burning to know how he feels. I think the fact that I restrain my curiosity is one of the reasons Sibert likes me.

‘How are you?’ I asked, moving round to face him as he worked down the long row of onions, pulling up endless weeds. The bank that bordered the strip was just behind me, and I sat down on it.

‘All right,’ he admitted grudgingly. ‘I’ll be glad to see the last of these bloody onions.’

For the second time that day, I pushed back my sleeves, fastened my hair under my coif and set about lending a hand. ‘And your mother?’

‘She’s all right too.’

‘Hrype?’ I never know whether to refer to him as your uncle or your father, so I usually call him by his name.

‘Hrype’s away, so I have no idea.’ Sibert straightened up and fixed me with a glare. ‘What’s all this about?’

I thought briefly. I decided there was no harm in telling him and so I did.

‘A summoning voice?’ he repeated, smiling. ‘That sounds dramatic. Are you sure it’s calling on you for help? Maybe it’s got the wrong person and it’s after old Gurdyman. He’d be a lot more use to anyone than you.’

‘If you’re going to insult my admittedly limited powers to do anyone any good,’ I said calmly, ‘you can finish the onion bed by yourself.’

He straightened up, a hand to the small of his back, and grinned at me. ‘Only joking. I know you’re a fearsome magician these days, as well as a brilliant healer.’

I was used to his teasing. We went back to our weeding. ‘So Hrype’s away?’ I said after a while.

‘Yes.’

‘Where is he?’

‘No idea.’

‘When’s he coming back?’

‘Don’t know.’

This was going to be hard. I weeded on for some time and then said, ‘Sibert, I know we’ve been making light of this voice I’ve been hearing, but it’s actually quite important. I’d like to talk to Hrype, so if you have any clue as to where he is, I’d love to know.’

He stopped weeding. Bending down to look into my face, he said quietly, ‘It is important, isn’t it? I can see it in your expression.’

‘Mmm,’ I agreed. We were both standing upright now, eyes on each other’s.

Sibert said, ‘I don’t know for sure, because my — because Hrype does not confide in me.’ There was pain beneath the abrupt words, and it told me much about my friend’s relationship with the strange, difficult man who fathered him. ‘But I overheard him speaking to my mother, and he said there’s someone who concerns him — a priest, I think. My guess is that he’s gone to find out more about the man.’

‘Concerns him?’ It seemed a rather general term. ‘What does that mean, exactly?’

‘Exactly, I couldn’t say.’ Sibert’s tone was angry. ‘They thought I was asleep, and in any case they were muttering. Mother said did he — Hrype — really have to go, because she’s always fearful and nervous when he’s absent, and he said yes he did, because-’ Sibert frowned. ‘I thought he said, because this man who I think is a priest is a threat and very powerful.’

I thought about that. Hrype is a cunning man, full of magic, full of a very special sort of force. Had he meant this priest was a threat because of the religion he represented, which in the eyes of many — especially its own clergy — stands firm in its opposition to the old ways? It seemed very likely.

Could it be, then, that it was Hrype who needed me? That, faced with the problem of a zealous priest determined to route out the last vestiges of the old ways, Hrype had summoned me to help him? For a few delicious moments I almost let myself believe it. Then reality struck me like a shower of rain in the face, and I returned to earth.

Still, this talk of a very powerful priest was the first lead I had uncovered. I was determined to follow it up. ‘Do you think your mother would know where Hrype is?’ I asked tentatively.

Sibert had gone back to his onions. ‘Why not stop pestering me and go and ask her?’

As I hurried back to the village, I hoped I would find that Froya had returned. Also that she’d be prepared to tell me where Hrype had gone; Froya is a very distant figure, and with her there is always the feeling that she is so busy fighting off her inner demons that there is little of her left over for anyone else. I do not suppose for a moment that she is easy to live with, and I admire Hrype for his loyalty to her, especially when he loves another woman so deeply. (His relationship with my aunt Edild is another secret that I keep to myself.)

In the end I never got as far as tapping on Froya’s door, so I didn’t find out if she was there. As I clambered down the bank that leads off the higher ground and on to the track through the village, I heard my mother calling out to me.

She was far from calm and serene now. Her cap was awry; her face was red and full of anguish. She ran up to me, grabbed my hands in both of hers and said, ‘Oh, thank God you’re here! Where have you been? Have you heard?’

‘I was out on the upland talking to Sibert,’ I replied, feeling my heart thump with alarm. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

My big, brave mother seemed to sag, and for a moment I supported her not inconsiderable weight. Then she forced herself to stand upright and said, ‘There’s word that a nun has been found murdered. A knife to her throat, they say, or possibly she was strangled.’ She frowned, then shook her head violently. ‘Oh, I don’t know — the story is confused.’

A nun. I felt very cold.

‘Who brought the news?’ I demanded. It could all be just an ugly rumour, a salacious tale to relieve the boredom of country life.

‘The peddler from over March way — he’s brought a consignment of pins and we’ve all been crowding round him; I haven’t seen a package of pins since last autumn. Oh, oh — ’ my mother’s eyes filled with tears — ‘and I never got mine! I forgot all about them when he told us!’

I put my arms round her. I already knew, but I thought I should ask anyway.

‘He’s from March,’ I repeated. ‘That means he’d have journeyed past-’ I hesitated. Perhaps if I didn’t put it into words, it wouldn’t be true.

But my mother was nodding. ‘Yes, yes, I know! He was there two days ago, and the news was spreading like fire in a hayrick. The dead nun’s from Chatteris!’

Chatteris Abbey is a small foundation of Benedictine nuns, neither very wealthy nor very important. There are perhaps twenty nuns there, maybe twenty-five. And one of them is my beloved sister Elfritha.

I heard the echo of those desperate words. I need you! I braced myself to face the horrible possibility that they had come from my sister.

We hurried home again, and the news must have reached even the outlying lands of the village, for all the family were back.

My father said firmly, ‘We have no reason at all to believe that anything has happened to Elfritha. She is one of a score, so the chances are slim.’

Slim, perhaps, but they could not be discounted.

‘I thought she’d be safe in her convent!’ my mother sobbed. ‘Life is hard and full of many dangers, and it was my one great consolation, when she went away to shut herself up with the nuns, that she’d be safe!’

‘She probably is perfectly safe,’ my father said. I thought he sounded less certain than he had before.

There was only one way to find out. Someone would have to go to the abbey and ask. Dreading that this was indeed the answer to the mysterious summons, I said, ‘I will go to Chatteris. I’ll set out straight away, and I ought to get there tomorrow.’

There was a chorus of protests, mainly from my father and Haward and mainly to the effect that I ought not to go off travelling alone when there was a murderer about. I held up my hands, and my family fell silent.

‘It makes sense for me to go,’ I said calmly. ‘For one thing, any of you would have to get Lord Gilbert’s permission to leave the village, whereas he doesn’t know I’m here so I’m free to come and go as I like.’ It was a rare luxury for people like us, and I was not surprised to receive one or two envious glances. Lord Gilbert believed I was in Cambridge; he had given permission for me to go and study there because, as Edild and Hrype had explained when they went with me to present my case, the more I learned, the more use I would be in the village. Lord Gilbert undoubtedly believed I was being taught further healing methods. Neither my aunt nor Hrype mentioned the other skills that my new teacher possessed in such abundance, and I certainly wasn’t going to.

‘For another thing,’ I went on, ‘I’m used to travelling and I know how to look after myself.’ I tapped the knife I keep at my belt.

I could now protect myself in other ways, too; Gurdyman had already taught me many things besides the first rudiments of alchemy. But I did not think it wise to reveal this to my family.

There was a short silence. Then my mother looked at my father, and even from where I sat I could read the appeal in her eyes.

‘So I am to risk the safety of one daughter in order to set your mind at rest concerning another?’ my father muttered. He turned his eyes from my mother and looked at me, and I read such love in his face that I felt tears smart. I blinked them away and gave him a smile.

‘You truly are prepared to do this?’ he asked.

‘I am, Father.’

He sighed heavily. ‘My heart misgives me, and I want more than anything to go with you,’ he said. ‘But I cannot.’ His eyes fell, and I had a strong sense of his sudden hatred for his lot: if he followed his powerful desire to look after me, he would risk his livelihood, his home and the well-being of all the other people who depended on him.

It was not easy for people like us.

I went over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I will be quite safe, Father,’ I said quietly. ‘It is, as you say, most unlikely that Elfritha has come to harm. As soon as I know she is safe, I will send word.’

His only answer was to take hold of my hand and squeeze it, so hard that it hurt.

I set out for Chatteris while there still remained some hours of daylight. The sky was clear and the weather continued to be mild; I had no fear that a night in the open would do me any harm. My mother packed food for me and a leather flask of small beer, and Zarina rolled up a light blanket. I was dressed for travelling, having journeyed from Cambridge, and had my heavy cloak with its deep hood. The leather satchel that I always carry contained the personal items that I would require, as well as a freshly-replenished basic stock of medicaments. A healer is always a healer, wherever she is, and must be prepared to give aid whenever she is asked.

We said our goodbyes inside the house. It seemed sensible not to make a big public display, which would have got people talking. I didn’t think anybody had taken any particular notice of me so far; I was dressed sombrely and from a distance probably looked just like everyone else. There was no need to suspect Lord Gilbert had been informed of my presence in the village.

I embraced my family and, with the impression of their loving kisses still on my cheek and the sight of their anxious faces before my eyes, slipped out of the house and quietly left the village. I saw no one except in the distance, and none of those still working the fields and the fen edge took any notice of me. Soon I had left Aelf Fen behind and, as I trod the road that would curve in a long loop around the southern edge of the fens and then north again to Chatteris, I could have been alone in the world.

I made good time, setting my feet to a marching rhythm and humming to myself to keep my spirits up. I told myself that my sister couldn’t possibly be dead, since she had called out to me for help. I didn’t allow myself to consider that the sort of summons I had received could equally well have been sent by a dead spirit as a living one. I kept saying to myself, Elfritha is safe! She’s safe! and the words wove themselves into the pattern of my footsteps. After a while I thought I saw a familiar shape out of the corner of my eye: perceiving my need, Fox had come to keep me company and was silently pacing along beside me.

Until I realized this, I hadn’t let myself face my fear of the coming night. With my animal spirit guide at my side, my dream — if it came — would not be so terrifying.

When at last the light began to fade, I looked around for a place to sleep. I had passed the landward end of the Wicken promontory now and taken a short cut that I knew across the marshes to the north of Cambridge. Some years ago I’d had to find a similar safe path from the island of Ely to the mainland, and I’d discovered that it’s actually quite easy to do if you’re in the right frame of mind. I think it’s part of being a dowser, and that’s a skill I’ve had most of my life. It seems that, in addition to being able to find underground water and lost brooches, I can also trace the line of the firm ground through the fens.

Now, not wanting to settle for the night out on the marsh — it’s far too wet, for one thing, and you’d wake up very soggy — I turned southwards and was soon clambering up a steep bank to the higher, drier ground. Presently, I came to an outlying hamlet. It was almost fully dark now, and the small group of mean-looking dwellings showed no lights. I made out the ragged shape of a tumbledown hay barn and crept inside. The hay was old and smelt a bit musty, but I heaped it up against the most solid-looking of the walls and reckoned that, with my blanket and cloak, I would be snug enough.

I decided I could risk a little light, so set a stump of tallow candle on a patch of ground from which I’d carefully removed all the stray bits of hay, and struck my flint. The warm, yellow glow showed that the barn was even more dilapidated than I’d thought, and I thanked my guardian spirits for a fine night. I opened the pack of food and ate hungrily; I hadn’t realized how famished I was.

I had almost finished when I heard a low growl from out of the shadows. Alarmed, I raised the candle and saw a black and white bitch slowly advancing on me. She had a wall eye and held her head turned slightly to one side so as to look at me out of the good eye. I spoke some quiet words — Hrype had taught me how to disarm angry animals — and she gave a soft wuff. I twisted off a small piece of the dried meat from my food pack and held it out to her. She walked slowly up to me and, with a gentle mouth, took it from my fingers. I smoothed my hand over her head, still speaking the spell, and soon she came to lie beside me. When I finally curled up to sleep, it was with the wall-eyed bitch at my back and, as I closed my eyes, the last thing I saw was Fox pacing to and fro in front of me.

I don’t know whether it was my fatigue or the presence of my two animal companions: either way, I slept without dreaming. However, when I woke at first light I heard the echo of those words ringing in my head: come to me! I need you!

With a new urgency driving me on, I got up, packed up my little camp, brushed the hay from my clothes and, with an affectionate farewell to my wall-eyed bitch, set off again.

Quite soon I came on a busy road leading roughly north-westwards, and I guessed it was the route leading out of Cambridge that skirts the fenlands to the west. I cadged a ride with an elderly woman driving a small cart pulled by a mule and laden with brushwood, advising her on how to treat the stiffness in her poor, twisted hands in exchange. I gave her a small bottle of Edild’s remedy, explaining that she must rub it into her joints each morning and evening. She looked at me sceptically, but I just smiled; the remedy would work, I knew it.

She dropped me off close to where the ferries run across to Chatteris, on its little island. Feeling increasingly apprehensive, I walked the last half a mile and waited at the fen edge until a boatman tied up at the quayside. We bartered for a while and then settled on a fare, and he rowed me over the water to my destination.

I’d visited the abbey several times before. The nuns of Elfritha’s order keep themselves to themselves in general, although they do have a small infirmary where they treat outsiders, and their refectory hands out food from time to time. Not that the food is anything to get excited about: vowed to poverty as they are, the nuns eat very plainly and very sparsely.

My boatman was a taciturn man whose face wore a permanent frown, and I was disinclined to ask him if he knew about the murder. If the news was bad — I was praying as hard as I knew how that it wouldn’t be, even though I appreciated that not being bad for us meant it was bad for some other family — I didn’t want to hear it from a grumpy boatman.

The crossing did not take long. I paid my fare and clambered up on to the quay, stopping at the top of the stone steps to take in the view. There were two or three rows of shabby dwellings, undoubtedly housing those few families who managed to survive on the island, either by ferrying people to and from the abbey or by providing fish and other basic necessities to the nuns. In the distance, the track wound away through some fields and a bit of sparse scrubland before eventually losing itself in the muddy, marshy margins of the surrounding fen. The abbey dominated the scene, although in truth there wasn’t much to dominate and it wasn’t much of an abbey. Its high walls were interrupted by a pair of stout gates facing the track, and above them could be seen the roof-lines of the various abbey buildings, tallest of which was the church. I knew from visits to my sister that there was also a huddle of buildings around the cloister, consisting of refectory, chapter house, dormitories, infirmary and one or two others whose function I was not aware of. Chatteris was a pretty desolate spot, and it had always come as a surprise to discover that my sister and her fellow nuns were by and large a happy, cheerful lot. Perhaps that was the reward you got for giving your life to God.

I realized straight away that the mood was very different from on my previous visits. There were clutches of locals huddled together, muttering and looking around them with fearful glances. Everyone seemed on edge, and one or two people stared suspiciously at me. Having no idea of what dangers might lie before me, I didn’t want to be conspicuous. Pretending that I needed to adjust my small pack, I stopped at the entrance to a dark little alleyway leading off the main track and prepared my defences.

Hrype told me that it’s actually quite easy to become invisible. You don’t actually do so, of course — or, at least, he might be able to, but such high magic is far beyond me. It’s a matter of taking the time to study the scene — what sort of mood predominates, how the local people look, how they wear their clothes, how they move — and then slowly and steadily thinking yourself into looking just like them. You can, of course, make small alterations to your clothing if you like, but it’s more a question of feeling like the rest of the crowd. That day, I could see that people were moving furtively, keeping their heads down, glancing over their shoulders as their fear got the better of them. When I was ready, I stepped out into the street and merged with them. I hope it doesn’t sound arrogant if I say that I don’t think anybody recognized me for the stranger I was.

I had noticed already that the abbey gates were closed. This was a blow: I had expected to walk in like I usually did and ask the gatekeeper nun if I could see my sister. I wondered what I should do. I had a perfect right to enquire after Elfritha, and surely many of the anxious people standing outside the gates had come here for the same purpose. I was on the point of stepping out from the place where I had paused, beneath the shade of a stand of alders, but some instinct held me back. I am learning to trust my instincts, and it is as Gurdyman, Edild and Hrype all tell me: the more you listen to these inner promptings, the better they will work for you.

I tried to work out why I should keep hidden. If Elfritha was unharmed, then surely it did not matter if it became known that I was there? But if she was the murderer’s victim — she’s not, she’s NOT! I cried silently — then it might be a different matter. .

I stood in an agony of indecision. Finally, I could bear it no longer. Any answer, even the one I so feared to hear, would be better than this terrible uncertainty. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and was about to step out in the open when firm, strong fingers grasped my arm and a big hand went over my mouth. There was a harsh whisper in my ear — ‘No, do not show yourself!’ — and I was pulled backwards, deeper into the shady space under the trees.

My heart thumping, I twisted my mouth free of that hard hand and turned round to face my assailant.