I hung my head, shame flooding me. How had I dared to presume to take on Granny’s role, to think I could fill the shoes of one such as her? Why-
‘Look at me.’
I made myself meet Granny Cordeilla’s eyes. They were crinkled up in a smile, and she was looking at me with such love that a sob broke out of me. Her hand made a small movement where it lay on the clean linen sheet and, realizing what she wanted, I took it between mine. Hers was cool.
‘So warm,’ she murmured, her fingers entwining with mine. Then she said, ‘You do not need to become a bard, Lassair. You have a very good memory, and all the skill you will require runs in your blood, for you are my granddaughter and Leir the Bard was your kinsman.’ She paused, a faraway look on her face as if she saw things I could not see. ‘Every one of us,’ she went on, ‘Leir, me, you, all the other extraordinary storytellers, singers and poets in the family, are descended from Ligach the Pearl Maiden of the Fens, the most famous bard of all time. Her talent was bestowed on her by the gods,’ Granny added with pride thrumming in her voice, ‘and she sang before kings.’
I could not speak. Yes, I’d had an inkling that Granny was going to say it was up to me to take on the bard role, but I’d thought it was because, out of all the family, it was I who clamoured most frequently to hear her tales. I’d never dreamed I would be commanded to take my place as the latest in this long family line of illustrious ancestors.
It was quite a lot to take in.
Granny squeezed my fingers again, then let me go. ‘You’ll get used to the idea,’ she said briskly. Then, wrapping her shawl more closely around her thin shoulders, she flapped her hand in dismissal and told me to send in my brother.
I only had one more conversation with her after that. Then she died.
I don’t know how long I stood there staring down into Granny’s grave. It felt like an age, but I don’t suppose it was very long really. I couldn’t stop myself from speaking to her, calling out to her, even though I knew she couldn’t hear me.
‘Granny, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!’ I sobbed. ‘We should have stayed with you, then this — this desecration wouldn’t have happened! Oh, who did this to you?’
I paused, my grief overcoming me. It was such a recent loss, and I was still raw, for I had loved my Granny Cordeilla very much. Doing everything just right had been a consolation; the funerary rites had eased the pain, as I imagine is their purpose. But, oh, now this awful thing had happened, and everything was spoiled, we’d have to-
It was a sort of miracle, I suppose; I heard — or thought I heard — Granny’s voice.
It’s not your fault, child, she said, softly but firmly. It sounded as if she was speaking from a long way away, and almost at once I realized I wasn’t hearing through my ears but right inside my head. Stop standing there howling and pull yourself together! That was typical Granny, so much so that I smiled and a sort of snorty laugh broke out of me. Funeral rites are for the living, she went on decisively, and although I’m grateful for what you have all done, it is not that important, certainly not enough for you to get in such a lather about.
‘Not important?’ I cried, amazed and shocked. ‘But-’
Don’t interrupt, Granny said. Child, think about what is important.
I thought. ‘Your grave has been violated,’ I began, ‘and-’
Nonsense, Granny interrupted. That doesn’t matter, as I’m no longer there.
Shock after shock; whatever did she mean, she was no longer there? Did that imply that none of them remained with us, all those beloved, honoured ancestors?
I swear I heard Granny sigh. Lassair, we will never leave you, she said patiently. But listen, child! What did you see in the grave with me?
‘Another body,’ I whispered, the horror flooding through me all over again.
Yes, quite, Granny said testily. I thought she added, At last!
‘But it’s got no right to be there in your special place!’ I protested. ‘This is our island, for our people!’
Death is death, Granny answered. This poor soul died too soon, and the corpse has been hidden here. That is not right, Lassair.
‘Died too soon,’ I repeated softly. ‘A corpse hidden in someone else’s grave, where but for the small mistake of leaving the stone slab slightly out of place, nobody would ever have found it. .’
Because, of course, if someone had slipped a body in with Granny then it was very likely that the poor dead soul hadn’t died of natural causes in his or her own bed. It was eminently likely that this was a murder victim, and that the killer had cruelly and cynically used my Granny’s grave as a convenient hiding place.
I had found the body. It was up to me to act.
I pushed the slab back in place, placed my flower wreath over Granny’s head and then, in some haste, I’m afraid, said my prayers and made my pleas for her soul.
Then I packed up my satchel, fastened it and, gathering up my skirts and clutching my shawl, fled across the wooden walkway and raced back to Aelf Fen.
TWO
I only saw one person on my headlong flight to the safety of home. I was about halfway back to the village. I’d just run past a clump of willows when I heard the sound of someone weeping; a man, I thought. The sounds were gruff and full of pain.
I am a healer, or at least I am training to be one, under the tuition of my aunt Edild and a strange man called Hrype, who is a cunning man and the father of my friend Sibert. Even trainee healers know they must not ignore those who suffer. I stopped and, very cautiously, approached the willows.
‘Who’s there?’ I called softly.
The weeping ceased abruptly. Nothing happened for a few moments, then two thick-leaved branches parted and someone crept out.
It was a man, or I suppose that is what you would call him, for although he is fully grown and perhaps eighteen or twenty years old, his mind is that of a child. His body is misshapen under an over-large head, and his poor face is lopsided. I knew who he was; I had good reason to. I held out my hand, smiling, and said, ‘It’s all right, Derman. It’s me, Lassair. Come with me and I’ll take you home. Have you had breakfast?’ He risked a quick glance at me, his deep-set eyes furtive, drew the back of one hand across his nose and shook his heavy, lolling head. ‘Then you must be hungry,’ I went on briskly. ‘Come on, we’ll walk fast, then you’ll have something to eat all the sooner!’
Talk of food distracted him, as I hoped it would. For the length of time it took to reach the village, we amused ourselves describing what we most liked to eat. Not that he contributed much to the conversation, for his stock of words is paltry and those he does know he pronounces oddly, as if his tongue were far too large for his mouth. By the time I led him up to his door, he was smiling again, and the only reminders of his tears were the streaks of dirt on his face and the snot coming out of his nose.
Derman is a cross we are going to have to bear, for it looks as if he is going to become part of our family. My brother Haward is finally sweet on a girl, and we all have a shrewd idea that there could be a marriage before too long and a new bride in the house. It’s high time Haward was wed; he is nineteen, and although he has a kind heart, gentle ways and a handsome face, he has never sought out the pretty girls with the rest of the young men of the village because of his stammer. It wasn’t just that people made fun of him — although, of course, they did — it was also that if he ever met a girl he liked, some other lad would have charmed her with his silken tongue and led her away while poor Haward was still struggling to say h-h-h-h-hello.