Read The Moonshawl: A Wraeththu Mythos Novel for Free Online Page B

a week would
be fine. And a dozen eggs. Cheese once a week should do also.’
    The har nodded. ‘Well, it’s not
far to walk and ask if you need more, is it?’
    ‘No, very close.’
    ‘You want veg – potatoes,
carrots?’
    ‘I have some supplies. I’ll come
and ask.’
    ‘Fine. You’d better sign a slip,
then. Don’t want Wyva thinking I’m robbing him.’
    ‘Absolutely not.’
    ‘I’ll start deliveries
tomorrow.’
    ‘Perfect.’
    The har disappeared into the
house and came out again shortly afterwards carrying a receipt book. Here the
details of my order were inscribed, in a hand far neater than mine. I appended
my signature.
    Once this ritual was done, the
har stood with hands on hips staring at me, as if astounded I was still
standing there.
    ‘Good day to you, then,’ I said,
and retreated.
    As I climbed back up the hill, I
saw that Rinawne had arrived and was reading my note.
    Rinawne proposed he took me for a walk along the
River Moonshawl, through the Shawl Field and to Moonshawl Pool. 
    ‘So there is a story there,’ I
said, ‘a shawl, a pool and the moon.’
    ‘It’s quite a recent one as
folklore stories go,’ Rinawne replied. ‘Come, I’ll talk as we walk.’
    He had brought with him a small
stout pony, onto whose back was strapped a picnic basket. The pony wore a straw
hat, from which his ears poked out.
    We walked down from the tower in
the opposite direction to the farm, through a veil of forest, and out into the
fields of the Wyvachi estate. We crossed a hay field, where the grass was knee
high, and here Rinawne began his tale.
    ‘I say recent, but what I mean
by that is that this is a tale of the era of hara, not an old human story. But
even so, it happened long ago, when Wraeththu were establishing themselves as
phyles and tribes within this land.’ Rinawne indicated we should climb a stile
ahead. When we jumped down on the other side, he said, ‘This is the Shawl
Field, called in the old tongue Maes Siôl and there ahead is the River
Moonshawl, Afon Siôl Lleuad.’
    The field was like any other,
and the river flowed slow and wide. Insects flew around us and I saw a flotilla
of ducks paddling their way by. There were no sinister aspects to the scene.
Perhaps I was wrong to expect them; not all stories end tragically.
    Rinawne led me to the riverside,
and here we sat down on the edge of a small bank, of around a foot’s height
above the water. The pony began to graze and Rinawne took off his boots and
socks to dangle his feet in the lazy flow. ‘The story concerns the first
harling ever created in this area,’ he said. ‘When he broke out of his pearl,
his hostling picked him up at once and went with him into the forest.’ He
paused. ‘It was night time.’
    ‘Do these hara have names?’ I
asked.
    ‘The harling was called Lunar,
the father was called Grass and the hostling was called Oak.’
    I laughed. ‘You just made those
up.’
    Rinawne shrugged, grinned. ‘Do
you want the story or not?’
    I gestured with one hand.
‘Please, carry on.’
    ‘Grass went to a glade in the
centre of the forest that was known as sacred – or haunted – depending on your
point of view. There was a pool in this place where often the moon was said to
admire her reflection. Here, Grass made ritual and summoned an ancient entity
born of the trees, of the light of the moon, its reflection in the pool and its
sparkle upon the river water. Grass asked this creature to protect his son, and
the entity agreed to this, for it was pleased with the offerings Grass had made
to it.’
    ‘Does the entity have a name?’
    ‘ You can make that one
up,’ Rinawne said, rolling his eyes. ‘Anyway, the spirit told Grass he must do four
things before the sun rose. He must dangle his harling over the pool so that
his reflection would be captured there. He must climb the highest tree of the
forest and hold up his son to the light of the moon. He must swim in the
deepest part of the river and immerse