Crennan lay among its fields like a blanket in midsummer grass. The hours required little of you; company was sparse, yet not missed; warm air, the soft scent of grass, and the snaking water made fine companions.
It was the river’s patterns that held Perran’s gaze as he brought the sheep up then, rivulets swapping paths and mirroring the light into a myriad of dancing glints.
“Hie…hie…” he repeated flatly. “Hie on, hie…” He stopped, squinted. Let the sheep expand into an unruly scattering behind him. “Haa…” he exhaled, an unformed thought escaping. Something was off with the water’s reflection. One shard of light was flickering steady as a pulse. Stopping and starting.
“Someone’s there,” he whispered. He turned to a stout sheep behind him. “Someone’s there!” The sheep gazed back. He dropped down suddenly into a squat, all knees and angles, his eyes scanning the hillside; the scrub, the boulders, the hidden dips with enough give to conceal a person – as the message sent in light surely had a soul looking to receive it.
“Curse me for haste,” he muttered, seeing no-one. The rhythmic light had ceased. Waiting for a reply, perhaps.
“In’t no souls over there. Or seems perhaps that’s just how they’d like it to be.” Perran plucked a stem of grass and began to chew things over as he made his crooked way driving the flock back up the slope towards home.
As the light fell golden the following day, the sheep were on the tor and Perran strode up their paths with sure feet and urgent breath. As he approached the crest, he crouched as quick as prey. Had he already made too much noise?
From behind a gorse bush Perran could see the halo of Cronhill, though not its lower slopes. Stilling his breath, he waited. When the light started up again, his foot stamped his surprise before he could help it. He upset his balance and bothered a bird, which sounded its protest as it went.
Shortly, the light on the opposite riverbank stopped. A long wait brought doubt to Perran: why had he assumed the other messenger would be so close by, on the hill? He began to lift his crook and call to the sheep, when he heard feet in the grass.
“I knew it!” he said, too loud, and picked a quick pursuit after a small figure who was picking up their pace without looking back.
“Ho!” called Perran, thumping down the slopes. “I’ll walk with you,” he panted. He had the advantage in height that made catching up no trouble, and fell into step with her.
“I didn’t know there was anyone over there, least, that’s what they want, isn’t it. Hey?” The words rushed out of Perran like a leak from a bucket. “I think you know what I mean.”
The girl at his side said nothing, her eyes wide and fixed on the ground.
“What’s amiss?” Perran asked, concern growing in him like a log catching. His eyes checked for clues he could read, and he recognised her then. It was Calenna, a fae from the next village over. Well, lesser fae, the way they call it down here. And those Evergild didn’t settle any further downriver than Rose Wheal, so.
“This isn’t to do with that lost one is it? Muriel, or..?” His eyes waited for a reply.
Her shoulders dropped and with it, a little of her strength. But then she started back into a jog, rounded Square’s barn, and almost lost Perran as he clattered into a stack of poles waiting for the season’s fencework. Not wanting to draw his father’s attention, as he was surely close by, Perran waved at the girl’s back as he continued the pursuit. She had the advantage in the villages narrow lanes, but he caught up with her as she entered the Old Hammer Inn. He hesitated – it wasn’t his place, and he knew it – then strode in.
“Folks isn’t sayin’ nothing ‘bout where she’s gone. Isn’t nobody askin’ then?”
The girl ducked under the bar and started tying an apron, her cheeks darkening beyond exertion.
“Isn’t nobody ought to leave their home without a pull, is there? Here, had she something to run from? A shadow?”
The girl had busied herself sorting cups. Big Al leant over his bar and set down a drink with force enough to startle half the patrons. He carefully wiped his fingers one by one on his apron, his unwavering stare fixed Perran, who backed down with a huff. A drum was dropped then, raising a chuckle, and slowly the hum of chatter rose back up.
“Not right tha’, izi?” said a voice at Perran’s elbow.
Perran’s mouth formed so many words that their utterance faltered, and he span ready to defend himself.
He was disarmed mid-spin by the look of the slight man sipping his drink with a slurp – his words only then reached Perran, who was bewildered to realise that someone was agreeing with him.
The man was wearing two hoods. His face was half in shadow. He took a long, audible sip.
“Sit down,” he said, “before you make it worse.”
Perran sat.
The stool was lower than it looked and he arrived on it with more lump than he’d intended. The slight man didn’t appear to notice. His neck curved to the left, while his head moved a few degrees right, as though recalibrating.
Perran opened his mouth, but was interrupted.
The bells of Penvella toll silver at dusk
They ring when the season turns, ring when they must
They rise from the river, they sing for the Vel
And all who can hear them know: all is well
The band had started from the back of the room with no particular announcement, two strings and the drum, settling into the familiar opening bars. Half the inn recognised it before the first word. A few cups went up in anticipation.
By the time the noise allowed speech again, Perran was jostling with questions.
“You knew her, didn’t you?” he said. “Muriel. Has she gone across the river?”
The man turned his cup in his hands. “You mean Meriel? Knew of.”
“That’s not the same.”
“No,” he agreed, as though this were a perfectly neutral observation.
Perran waited. Nothing came. “Well, why’s it all so hushed?” he demanded, then looked behind him furtively, feeling suddenly exposed.
The man took a sip.
The bells of Penvella, toll silver again
Who do they ring for? The fair among men!
Or is it for Mirald, who put a foot wrong
And sank in the Vel with ‘is good boots still on!
Perran’s eyes snagged on a familiar face across the room — it was Hett, from the farm above theirs. He dropped his eyes down quickly to his hands and kept them there until he was sure he hadn’t been seen.
Oh now here comes Norbald, with ‘is head held high
While downstairs he’s bare from ‘is toe to ‘is thigh
Send for the fae folk, there’s nowt else to do
For when the bells see ‘im they’ll split clean in two!
Perran leant in towards the man, determined to draw what he knew out of him. “Where’d she go? Is she away across the river? My ma knows a story ‘bout that…”
“Alright Twatcap!” A man had barged between them to the bar to for a drink he clearly had no need of. Perran’s ears pricked in surprise, but the man on the stool next to him just gave an oddly wheeling nod and replied, “Grombert. Sorted your leak?”
The large man swayed and hummed, watching Calenna fill his cup. “What leak?” Grombert shook his head and returned to the throngs, spilling ale and leaving a sharp tang of vinegar in his wake.
“That’s your name then. Twatcap?”
“Are you as short in tooth as you are long in leg?” The man’s neck craned as he said this, seeming to somehow peer down on the top of Perran’s head, which caused him to blush and sit a little straighter.
“I’m Rillo Tatcap, all night long.”
“Right,” said Perran, a moment later, then thought to add, “Perran. From Square Farm, I am, so.”
The bells of Penvella toll silver again
Who do they ring for? The fair among men!
But let us remember those fairer by sight
Our Nelda — well, ‘er pair don’t never ring quiet!
Perran tried to shout over the singing, wanting to steer the conversation back to Meriel, but it was futile. He looked sideways at Rillo instead. Small bright eyes, he noticed, and a pointy chin.
Now gather ye round for the tale of poor Ira
Gone to call on ‘er sweetheart, ‘er ‘eart full of fire
So slight in ‘er luck and still worse for stature
She ‘ad to knock — as the bell was above ‘er!
By now Perran had given up waiting for Rillo to volunteer anything and so laid out most of what he knew. The messages across the water. The girl who wouldn’t say a word. Meriel, the rumours. The sense, which he couldn’t explain, that Meriel was neither the first nor the last.
Rillo listened to all of it. His neck made two or three small movements. He didn’t interrupt. Now he appeared to be craning his neck to look at something just behind Perran’s head. Perran began to fret he’d shared too much. Who was this stranger anyway? Perran’s stomach sank thinking that he’d spread local word outside of Crennan, and into – well, who could say?
The bells of Penvella once rang through til dawn
A wind kept ‘em goin’ though folk saw no storm..
We’ll not speak the details but Grombert knows why
Twas the pickled eggs, Grombert! We all saw you buy ’em!
The room erupted. Perran glanced at Rillo.
“Pembra Fair,” Rillo said, his head settled square for the first time. “Sundown.” He finished his drink and set the cup down with a small, final sound.
Perran stared. “That’s it?”
He was off his stool and heading for the door before Perran had properly processed this. The band played on behind him.
The bells of Penvella toll silver again
Who do they ring for? The fair among men!
We’ve rang them before and we’ll ring them again
We’re the fairest of folk and we’ll ring them again!
Perran sat alone at the bar among the cheers and laughter, looking silently at the door.