Chapter 2 #2
‘Arthur! Thank the One God,’ he breathed. Katarin scoffed. She hauled Denny to his feet. He looked awful, like he hadn’t slept in weeks. His skin was sallow, eyes ringed in red with deep purple shadows beneath.
‘Let him go, Kat,’ Arthur said. She rolled her eyes but did as he asked.
Denny’s lip was split; he touched it gingerly.
‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ Arthur asked, realising as he said it how strange it sounded.
There was no one here to overhear them, but old habits die hard.
When he was used to living in secret, hiding every movement and every word spoken, it was difficult to think any other way, especially standing in Kernou’s market ground.
Denny hesitated, then nodded, gesturing to his shop.
Katarin kept her dagger close to him as he led the way across the square and did not put it away, not even when they were all crowded inside and Denny had slumped into a chair behind the counter.
His head fell into his hands as he massaged his temples.
He was rumpled head to toe, as if he’d slept in his clothes.
Arthur frowned. Usually, there would be baskets of fish on the counter, and Margaret would be standing behind them, hands on her hips as she haggled over prices. The shop was empty, but the old smell of fish lingered like some ghost of a past best forgotten.
‘Denny,’ he began. ‘Where is everyone?’
He didn’t know Denny well – he hadn’t known anyone in Kernou well, except for… Arthur swallowed, pushing it away. His fingers teased the hilt of the sword at his hip; magic flowed through him as he took a deep breath and lifted his chin. ‘Denny,’ he said again, his voice firm, commanding.
Denny was the same age as Arthur – they’d attended children’s prayer circle together, and then the men’s circle, where Arthur had stared at the floor most of the time, only speaking when his father demanded it. Now, at the sound of Arthur’s voice, Denny lifted his head.
‘Those of us who didn’t go with Mordred, we waited here for a while. Mother was convinced they would return, but they didn’t. Another group left not long after, heading south. Some people went north to Carinya. There are not many left here – maybe fifty people,’ he explained.
‘Fifty?’ Arthur echoed, shocked. Kernou was usually home to a couple of thousand people. ‘How many went with Mordred?’
‘Hundreds,’ Denny replied. ‘They took whatever they could carry – food, their belongings – everything.’ His shoulders curled in on themselves, and he eyed Katarin warily.
At a nod from Arthur, she put the dagger away, folding her arms and leaning against the wall, her expression warning Denny not to move a single muscle.
Halymere stood near the door, the bulk of his body an unspoken promise that, even if he did run, Denny would not get far.
‘Why didn’t you leave?’ Jenyfer asked him.
He looked at her with tired eyes. ‘Mother refused, so I…’
Jenyfer’s eyes moved around the shop. ‘Where is she?’
‘Back at the cottage,’ Denny said quietly. ‘She’s unwell but without the Konsel or the apothecarist, I don’t know what to do for her.’
Jenyfer sighed, then surprised Arthur with her next words. ‘My aunt might have left something behind. I’ll go and see, and if I can help your mother, I will.’
Denny stared at her. ‘But you hate my mother and she—’
‘I know,’ Jenyfer cut in sharply. ‘But I’ll still help. It’s what my aunt would do.’
‘Alright,’ Arthur said, nodding. ‘Jen will go with Denny. Ordes and I will find… what we came to find and Kat, you and Haly—’
‘Will see who else we can find,’ Katarin finished. ‘And see what they can tell us.’
Denny cleared his throat uncomfortably. ‘Arthur, there is something you need to know about your father.’
Arthur’s blood froze. Ulrian Tregarthen would never abandon his empire, even if it had become nothing but dust and ruin. ‘Where is he?’
Denny rubbed the back of his neck, as if needing a moment to choose his words. ‘After what Mordred did – to the Konsel – the Chif… I’m not sure what happened to him, Arthur, but… he…’
‘Spit it out,’ Katarin demanded, waving her dagger purposefully.
‘He’s lost his wits,’ Denny said quickly.
‘Sometimes he wanders around town, muttering to himself. Other times he stands beneath the cross of the One God and preaches to an empty square. Sometimes he disappears into the hills, and no one can find him. I followed him once. He was in the stone circle arguing with, well, I think they were faeries. They were women but not, and it was like I couldn’t see them properly. ’
‘Korrigans,’ Jenyfer exclaimed, exchanging a glance with Ordes.
Arthur swallowed tightly. ‘Did anyone try to—?’
‘He won’t talk to anyone,’ Denny said. ‘It’s as if he doesn’t know any of us are here. He doesn’t see us.’
‘Where would I find him?’ Arthur asked.
Denny nodded at the door. Slowly, Arthur turned around, moving to the window.
Through the dust coating the glass, a tall figure in a red cloak was wandering across the square.
The hem of Ulrian’s cloak trailed along the ground, collecting dust and sand.
Leaves were tangled in the material. Arthur’s eyes snagged on the hem.
His father loved that cloak. Ulrian would never let it end up in this condition.
Arthur had been dreading this moment, but his father’s once-imposing figure now only inspired pity.
The sword whispered agreement in the back of his mind.
Behind him, Katarin sucked in a shocked breath.
Jenyfer had frozen near the door, her eyes trailing Ulrian as he made his way towards the cross of the One God. For a long moment, no one moved.
Arthur pushed open the door and stepped into the square, the others hurrying out after him. Ulrian stood beneath the cross. As Arthur watched, hidden beneath the awning of Denny’s shop, Ulrian began talking, lifting his voice the way he would for a crowd of people.
‘Women shall keep silent. They shall be submissive and quiet. They shall not question the authority of their husband or father, for it is men who are the voice of the One God,’ he chanted.
‘She who brings shame is rotten to her bones for she is full of sin and the way of Old. She shall be cast from the One God’s sight.
Women shall keep silent. They shall be submissive and quiet. ’
‘I’ll give him submissive and quiet,’ Katarin muttered, but she did nothing.
Cautiously, Arthur approached his father.
Ulrian was barefoot. Arthur could not recall the last time he had seen his father’s toes.
Somehow, it made Ulrian more human. Ulrian did not move, did not stop his speech.
Arthur edged closer and sucked in a breath – his father’s eyes were wild and unfocused.
His hands were outstretched, as if his beloved Decalogue was resting in his empty palms.
Arthur swallowed and reached out, not remembering the last time he had voluntarily touched his father. Ulrian jolted as Arthur’s hand closed over his forearm and his recitation of the Word faded.
‘Father,’ Arthur said gently. ‘It’s me.’
Ulrian blinked at him, frowning, and then, a whisper. ‘Arthur?’