The boy liked Ventday best. He had always liked Ventday because on Ventday the processionals happened and there was no work when the processionals passed the farm. The tools and staffs were put away and the mothers made them wear their best clothes and the fathers made sure they were clean. Then they all stood on the grass, cold whistling around them, trying not to shiver as they waited for the monks to make their way through Woodedge from Harn towards Harn-Larger.
The monks always came in the first part of the day, but they never stopped at the farm.
Monks had no time for clanless tenant farmers scratching a life from the frozen land. But it was exciting for the boy. Though all followed Chyi, the god of the Cowl-Rai, there were a thousand gods who paid Chyi service, and you never knew which god the monks would worship, or even what they would look like. Sometimes they looked kind and sometimes they looked rich and sometimes they looked fierce and sometimes they looked frightening and sometimes they were all of those things. He had seen the monks of war gods, with warriors who whirled and danced with blades, monks of the night who went naked and painted their bodies midnight blue. Some wore their hair long and some had no hair at all and the only way to know what they would look like was to be there when they came out of the forest path. To the boy that seemed like the most exciting part.
Who would they be?
“Can you hear the bells, Cahan?” said his sister. She was older, not by much, but enough to be in charge when they were in the fields. “They are coming.”
“I hear them, Nahac,” he said. “And I will be first to see them.”
“Quiet,” said firstfather and he did so because firstfather had a temper.
“Lorn,” said secondmother softly, “let the children be excited. Life is hard enough.”
“Harder if the monks think us disrespectful,” said firstfather, and secondmother said nothing, which meant she thought firstfather was right. So Cahan looked down as he had been taught to do. But he only tipped his head a little, not enough to show true obeisance. Otherwise he would not see them, and he so wanted to see them.
When the monks came, they were a disappointment. There were no musicians, no pristine robes, no dancers or warriors. Only a parade of tired people, their long hair filthy with mud, their clothes spattered with dirt from travel. The only one who was grand at all was a man who wore a mask carved into a fierce face with long teeth. Their Skua-Rai, the speaker of their god. He had a long white beard and they carried him in a chair which was wrapped with floatvine to lighten the load and swayed from side to side in time to their chiming bells. A Star of Iftal was held above him on a long pole, but the wood was old and the eight arms around the central circle wobbled as the procession moved. But still, they were monks, which meant they were important so the boy bowed his head and tried to hide his disappointment with them.
The monks never stopped. Not at their farm.
“These people were not at the gathering for Zorir-Who-Walks-in-Fire in the village,” said the man on the chair. His voice was very soft.
“They have no make-up, no clanpaint, they are clanless,” said a monk who was bald and fierce-looking, as if his words explained everything, and of course they did. Even the boy knew that to be clanless was to be less than every other. Worth less even than the crownheads on the farm, and crownheads were the most stupid animals alive. Without garaur to herd them they would be dead in a day.
“So,” said the old man, “no one stops here?”
“As I said, Skua-Rai, they are clanless.”
“Of no family. Of no loyalty, living on the edge of the forest,” said the old man. Then he turned back to them. “I think we will stop here.”
The boy found he was shaking and he did not know if it was with fear or excitement. He watched, while trying not to be seen to be watching, and the chair was anchored, a step set up and the old man stood. He was helped down by the bald monk.
“It is forbidden, Skua-Rai,” he said softly to the old man.
“Well, Laha, many things are forbidden until they are not, eh?”
“But the teachings…” began the man.
“As Skua-Rai, Laha, I do not think you need to tell me of Zorir’s teachings, eh?”
“No,” said the man, and he went to his knees. “Forgive me, Skua-Rai.”
“Always,” he said and walked forward, standing in front of where they knelt in the mud. “I bring Iftal’s blessings to you, farmers,” he said. “I am Saradis of Zorir-Who-Walks-in-Fire and I bring greeting to you in my god’s name also. May the fire warm but never burn you. May your sacrifice ease great Iftal’s pain through his servant Chyi.”
No one spoke. No one knew what to say, as the clanless were never blessed. The boy glanced at firstfather and did not understand the look on his face. He looked scared, like when they saw swarden in Harnwood and had to run for their lives.
“Thank you,” the boy’s sister spoke. Cahan tensed all his muscles as he heard firstfather breathe in, a sudden and dangerous noise. The sort of noise he made just before his hand came out and delivered a stinging blow.
“You’re a brave one,” said the Skua-Rai and took a tentative step towards his sister, moving carefully on the wet, slimy, half-frozen ground. The boy’s heart began to beat so hard he thought it would escape as the man came to stand before Nahac. The air smelled sharper, the boy suddenly aware of the dirt on his clothes and body. He could smell the grass, bruised beneath the man’s feet. She is in trouble, he thought, my sister is in trouble and these people are important and they will cut her lips off for talking out of turn. “Look up, look at me,” said the monk. “You can all look at me.” He did. The old man was nearer and the boy was not at all sure he was a man now. His voice was softer, more like secondmother’s. His shape under the robes not as wide at the shoulder as firstfather’s, and more curved at the waist.
“Please forgive the girl,” said firstfather, words falling from his scarred mouth in a rush. “She does not know her place yet, neither of them do. Punish me for what she has done, not her.” The Skua-Rai blinked behind the mask. Stared at his scarred face, and where his bottom lip was missing.
“It appears you have already been punished,” said the Skua-Rai, adding softly, “but I am not here to punish.” They looked to Nahac, the girl stared back like a challenge and Cahan waited for the order, for monks to grab his sister and knives to come out for the punishment of clanless who spoke out of turn.
“Tell me, Firstfather,” their tone was soft, curious, “do you ever travel to Wyrdwood?”
“It is forbid—” She cut him off with a look.
“Do not worry about what is or is not forbidden. Tell me only the truth and none will suffer.” Firstfather bowed his head. The way he did before the Leoric of Harn when they requested to trade.
“Sometimes it is hard to make ends meet, with rent and what we are paid for our crops and crownheads and—”
“That is all I needed to know.”
The Skua-Rai turned from him and back to the two children, cocked their head and the polished wood of the helm caught the weak light of the afternoon. The boy saw the beard was attached to the mask and was sure now the Skua-Rai was a woman. They reached out a hand towards Nahac, paused halfway, shook her head. “It is not in you,” she said. Then turned, walked over to Cahan and studied him. She knelt, letting out a groan as her joints complained, her light blue robe becoming soaked by the wet grass. The world paused. She stared at him for a very long time. He could hear the breathing of his family around him. The low growl of the garaur tethered near the house. The lowing of crownheads down near Woodedge.
The Skua-Rai held out her hand.
“I am Saradis, Skua-Rai, the head of my order and the speaker for my god. Take my hand, boy,” she said. He swallowed. Did as she said. Her hand felt like crownhead skin after softening in the pits and hanging on the racks. Warm and dry.
Do not be afraid.
“I am not,” he said, the words coming unbidden to his mouth, more bravado than truth. He knelt straighter. The woman smiled. He looked across at Nahac, at firstfather and secondmother and thirdmother and secondfather behind them. At thirdfather who watched from within the hut. They stared back at him, as if they barely knew or understood him.
“Few would have heard the words I said, boy,” said the woman, and she nodded at his first and seconds and thirds, “they did not.” She looked towards the forest. “You have been in there. To the depths.”
“No,” he said, because they were not meant to go deep into the forest, and what the family did there was forbidden.
“Do not worry,” said Saradis. “I want you to be brave while I try another thing.”
He felt something then. The monk kept hold of his hand and the boy felt something strange, so strange he had no words for it. It was as if the flesh under his skin rippled. It made him want to laugh and it made him want to be sick at the same time. His immediate feeling was one of revulsion, of wrongness and then it was gone. But, though it had only been there for a moment, and though it had felt terrible, he found he wanted it back.
He stared at the eyes behind the mask. They stared back at him. He felt the warmth leave his skin as she took her hand away and, like the strange feeling, when it was gone he wanted it back. She reached up with both hands and, with a click, removed the polished wooden mask and the false beard from her helmet so that he could see the face beneath. She was not as old as he thought, though her hair was white like someone over thirty harvests. But her face was young beneath the caked make-up and red lines. A long gap in the make-up revealed intricate clanpaint running around her eye and down her cheekbone. “This,” she held up the mask and smiled at him, “is a very strange thing. It scares some people. It makes some people do as I say without even thinking to question me.” She reached out, touched his cheek. “It gives me power,” she said, “how would you like to come away with me, to learn about power, forest child? To a place where it is always warm. I will teach you to read the symbols you are forbidden.” She smiled. “And I will teach you so much more.”
“On my own?” he said. The woman looked around, her gaze resting on Nahac.
“This is your sister?” He nodded. “You are close?” He nodded again. “Then she may come also.”
“No!” that was secondmother, crying out. Her hand came up to her mouth. Fear on her face. “I mean only that we barely pay our rent on this farm as it is. Without the children to help us work it we will be thrown off. We will die.”
The woman looked at secondmother, then she took off a necklace, beads of shiny, multi-hued bladewood.
“You are aware of the price of speaking to one such as me out of turn?” said the Skua-Rai. Secondmother nodded. A tear ran down her face.
“I birthed him,” she said. “I birthed him”, and she fell forward, weeping into the dirt.
The Skua-Rai stared at secondmother as she wept. Firstmother and secondfather stood, terrified, unable to move or help.
“Laha,” the monk said to the man behind her. He sported different, less intricate, clanpaint and fewer lines of red drawn across his face. “Take these beads back to the village. Speak to the Leoric and use them to buy this farm for our temple.” She turned back to secondmother. “Run this farm for me in the name of Zorir,” she said, “keep whatever coin you can make and know your children will have a better life with us than any you could ever provide.”
“Why?” said firstfather. “Why do this? We are clanless.” She stood, but her attention remained on the boy as if firstfather’s words were barely of any interest to her.
“Do you know what a Cowl-Rai is, boy?” He nodded. “Tell me,” she said.
“They rule for Chyi. And do magic. Big magic,” he said. “Like Rai but even more powerful.”
“You are very clever, boy,” she smiled. “The Cowl-Rai can wave a hand and whole armies vanish. They can change the fortune of our world with a thought. Like Rai they are gifted power by a god, and use that power in their name.” He could not take his eyes from her. But she looked away from him now, to his firstfather and secondmother. To his firstmother and secondfather. “Do you know the prophecy of the true Cowl-Rai?” said the woman.
Firstfather nodded.
“They will rise, and overthrow the Old Cowl-Rai. Then tip the world so it is warm in the north once more.”
“A simple version of it,” she said. “But there is more. The true Cowl-Rai will serve the true god, they will restore the link between the gods and the lands broken in the war with the foul Osere. The gods will no longer need to work through the people so we will be free.” She looked around the gathered family. “There will be no more Rai or Leorics or even Skua-Rai.” To the boy, it felt as if she grew taller as she spoke. “It will not matter that your ancestors did not fight the Osere. There will be no shame, all will be free and we will walk the Star Path to paradise.”
Firstfather stared at her.
“I have never heard the village monks say this.”
“Because they would have to admit Chyi is not the true god,” she said. “Zorir is the true god, and their voice tells me your son is to be the true Cowl-Rai.” His firstfather only stared. Then he looked to Cahan but the boy could not think or move or say a word. The world was closing in on him, strange and huge and terrifying.
“Pack your things, boy,” said firstfather. “And remember us.”
Then all was action and business, all fuss and running though he barely saw it. The boy stood in a numb, in a cold daze as his few things were packed and he was told to walk behind the seat of the Skua-Rai. At first he did not move, only watched as she placed the mask back on and sat in her chair. He was frightened, not excited. This was all he had known, his only warmth found with those who loved him. He did not want to go.
He felt a warm hand in his and looked round to see Nahac smiling at him.
“Come, Cahan,” his sister said. “We will always have one another.” She pulled on his hand and he began to walk, thinking only about placing one foot in front of the other.
As they approached Woodedge on the other side of the clearing the Skua-Rai turned to him. “Take a good look at your farm, boy, for this will be the last time you will ever see it.”
Like many things she said, this would turn out to be untrue.