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Not wanting to leave the two bodies, Attis had called from the garden door to Bron, Cybele's cook, who lived nearest. He had bid her to find Cybele urgently, but given no explanation, and suggested that she may be at the hut of Kelle and Cabirius. The laywoman had returned shortly afterward with an apologetic look on her face. "I told her of your summons, most holy Consort, but... she said she may take a while. And she said she does not need to answer your summons anyways." The woman looked awkwardly at the ground, to avoid Attis's fiery gaze. "Well, then please tell her this. There is some small mess in her hut. About a hand's depth of blood, and it is not all mine." His gown was indeed stained with blood, from the self-inflicted chest wound. "Ermmm..." Bron said with difficulty, "she is in a slight state already. I think perhaps that she may have... well, celebrated a little in the manner of we layfolk." "Speak plainly, woman," Attis said impatiently. "She is drunk, O Consort." "What? Cybele? Drunk?" "Yes, your holiness." He sighed. "There must be a first time for everything, I suppose, but why by the Goddess did it have to be now?" "Do you wish me to try again?" the cook asked helpfully. "I suppose there is little point. She will come home when she has sobered, and she would be little use until then anyways. Thank you for trying, Bron, that will be all for tonight." "I have supper prepared already, your holiness, and I think the Chosen One is unlikely to join you this evening. Do you wish me to serve it to you before you retire?" Attis nodded. "Why not. I am not squeamish myself, but I think perhaps you should leave it beside the door." She returned wearing a woollen mitt, carrying a lidded iron pot on top of which was balanced a small herbed loaf. She put it at his feet and passed him the mitt, trying to catch a surreptitious look beyond him into the darkened hut. "There is only the one of you?" she asked. "Only one eating supper, Bron." Attis said, and could not help a small smile at the woman's curiosity. "Good night," he said, in a clear tone of command. She scurried away through the walled garden and he lifted the lid of the pot with the mitt. It smelt wonderful. He carried the food in to the table, stepping over Jenna's body. As he lit a table-lamp and sat with a bowl and spoon to eat his supper, he heard an unmistakable whining at the outer door. He turned toward the door and clutched at the amulet which hung around his neck over the crusty drying blood of his gown. "Back to your den," he hissed. "Else you all want to die." The noise stopped, and he returned to his meal. A thick rich stew of field mushrooms and wild grains, flavoured with ginger and garlic and sea-vegetable. It looked black and quite nasty, but smelt inviting and tasted even better. Being surrounded by the ocean, her bounty was well used by inhabitants of the Isle. Timber, weeds and vegetables that grew under the sea, large empty shells, the sea threw onto their beaches all manner of useful treasure. The layfolk even ate the flesh of small sea creatures at times - shellfish, crabs and the like. Of course, none from the Temple would taint themselves with the heavy taste of dead flesh, but the layfolk had no such need for clean bodies and clear minds. He broke open the warm herbed loaf, then picked up his kitchen knife. He realised it was still covered with his own blood, dark and flaking, and so he crossed the hut to wash it. As he passed Fionna's slumped body her hand moved, and he jumped in surprise. He fell to his knees in the thick pool of blood, knife in hand, and felt her wrist. There was no pulse, and her flesh was chill. It had just been a spasm as her lifeless body cooled and hardened. He washed his hands and sat back at the table. He spread the chunks of bread thickly with butter and ate spoonfuls of hot stew between mouthfuls of bread. After finishing enough food for three, he bolted the garden door and went to bed for a fitful and dream-filled sleep. He was awoken in the late morning by a pounding on the door. "Jenna. Attis. Open the cursed door, would you?" Cybele demanded. Attis tumbled from the bed, tripped on Fionna's body then staggered to the garden door still half-asleep. He slid the bolt and swung open the door to see an aggrieved Cybele standing hands on her hips. As she saw him, though, her anger turned instantly to concern. "By the Goddess, Attis, what has happened?" He rubbed his eyes and squinted at her in the bright daylight. "There was a bit of an accident, you could say." "Jenna?" "She is dead," he replied simply. Cybele stared down at his gown. Apart from the seeping blood from his own wound, there were large patches of blood where he had knelt beside Fionna. "Oh, this is not her blood," Attis explained. "She died of poison." "Then... what..." "We were visited by one of the Wolf's pack last night. Jenna trusted foolishly, and has paid the ultimate price." "Who?" Cybele asked. "Fionna." "Did you not say that Fionna was Jenna's lover?" "Yes, I had seen them together. But it seems that the Healer now lays dead as a victim of her own vanity in taking that young lover." "And the murderer escaped?" Cybele asked. "Only from this mortal existence. I killed her. I meant only to fight her off, but chance stepped in." "Change is only Ceres by another name," Cybele observed. "So we have no witness, no captive to tell us of the others in the Pack." "She would never have spoken to betray them, anyways," Attis said. "We would have no spell strong enough to accomplish such a thing." "I thought not of spells," Cybele spat. Attis stepped forward and embraced her. "They can fight their own blood no more than you could deny yours, Cybele. You do not need to forgive them, but at least you should try to understand. They are predators, Cerridwen's Pack. Is the eagle wrong for taking prey? The fox?" he asked gently. "Then why the wolf?" "They are not wolf, but as human as you and I," Cybele replied, but the resignation in her voice showed that she understood at least to some small extent. From behind her in the garden came a cheery voice. "Ho, so you two have made up." It was Cabirius, who approached hand-in-hand with Kelle. "I am afraid we got your lover a little inebriated last night, Attis. It was my fault completely." Cybele turned to face them, and they saw Attis's bloodstained gown. "Attis!" cried Kelle in dismay. "You are injured!" Cabirius felt a small swell of jealousy at her concern for Attis, even though he knew it was hardly a reasonable reaction. "I am not badly hurt," Attis replied. "Little of this is my own blood. Jenna and Fionna lie dead within, and they are neither a pretty sight." "How?" said Cabirius. "Fionna poisoned Jenna, then turned her attentions to me," Attis explained. "Her spell did not work, though, and I threw her aside. She struck her head on stone, and died instantly." "You are lucky, then to have escaped with your own life," whispered Kelle. Attis gave a wry smile. "I think it is not my death that they seek." Cybele moved past him to survey the scene within the hut. Jenna lay unmoved on her back. Her eyes protruded and her tongue jutted swollen and blue, as though she had been throttled rather than poisoned. Fionna lay on the opposite side of the hut, beside the bed. Her head lay beside the cold dead fire, and it was not easy to tell that the sharp rock protruded a full hand's breadth into her skull. The quantity of blood pooled about her on the stone floor of the hut was a clear sign, though. Cabirius and Kelle also entered the hut, but Attis remained at the doorway. Kelle kneeled beside Jenna and prised the cup out of her iron grasp. She sniffed at it and looked up at them. "The bitter almond, hidden with some other strong herbs. I must say I am surprised she tasted it not, though." "Night can seem day when one is spellbound," said the Consort. "That sounds a little romantic for you, Attis," jested Cybele. He looked at her through his long dark eyelashes. "I meant it literally. Fionna used sorcery on me, and probably on Jenna." He pulled the amulet from under his crusted gown. "If Jenna had kept this herself, perhaps she would have lived." "And you died," said Kelle. "No, worse than that, I fear," he replied, but again no-one followed up his cryptic comment. Cybele was holding up her gown and sat on her haunches looking closely at Fionna's head. She had pulled back the dead girl's hair to reveal the wolf-brand. She said nothing, but looked to Attis with a slightly accusatory gaze. Cabirius came beside her to look at the mark. "Thomias spoke true, then. They do carry a brand. We can identify them easily now." "And prove what crime?" said Attis. "To punish for the mere carrying of a brand would be considered persecution. These are tender times, and a confrontation based purely on beliefs and allegiance may tear the Isle apart." "But they have killed again and again," Cybele protested. "Ioin, Arithea, Annia, the babes in their Hall. And now Jenna." Cabirius shook his head. "No, Attis is right. There is nothing proven here, apart from Jenna's witnessed murder, and the murderer is already well punished." He nodded toward Fionna's body. "To persecute Cerridwen's other followers for crimes which could have been done by the one would lose you much support. Attis is usually no great politician, but methinks that in this instance he judged true. People are sensitive of their beliefs now. If they feel you are threatening one small group for their religion, you may well have a war." "Is that your reasoning, Attis?" Cybele asked, again in an accusing tone. He narrowed his eyes at her. "No, it is because I now follow Cerridwen myself, Cybele," he said sarcastically. "Stop, you are scaring me, all of you," said Kelle. The three glared at her as though she were a simpering child. "I will need to convene the panel, that much must be done," Cybele said. "Of course," agreed Cabirius, then looked to Jenna lying dead on the floor. "Well, what is left of the panel." "How much will you tell them?" Attis asked. "Well, you will be the chief witness, my Consort, and so you may tell them as much or as little as you wish," she replied. "But be warned, remember that Jenna told us that Cerridwen has a spy on the very panel." "Another?" Attis said viciously. "As well as myself?" "That is not funny, Attis," pouted Kelle. He turned to her and answered with a frightening chill. His eyes shone with an inhuman glow. "I know, Kelle. Believe me, I know." Cabirius had crossed the hut to the outer door, which was still bolted. He slid the bolt and opened the door which faced the sea. Attis had not opened the door since Jenna had entered, but what Cabirius found did not surprise him. "What is this? The door has been scratched... see? And in the soft earth... Footprints. Pawprints. You have had wolves at your very door, Cybele." Cybele again looked to Attis as though expecting an explanation, but she got none. He just stared back at her and reached his hand up to scratch at his own head like a dog itching fleas, then curled up his lips and made a deep throaty growl at her. She glared back at him darkly and he blew her a kiss as cruel as a fisted blow.
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