She sailed up alongside him to squeeze his hand. " 'Twas more a door I had a-mind—but let it rest."
"Not much choice, now," Rod said, resigned. "Come on, my love. Let's see if we can get a little sleep, at least."
"And food," Geoffrey reminded them.
Chapter Twenty
They had journeyed an hour or two the next day when Cordelia tilted her head back and sniffed the wind. "I smell brine."
"We do come near to the sea, then," her mother said. "Magnus, go aloft and tell if thou dost see water."
Magnus bobbed up as though he'd hit a thermal, skyrocketing to a thousand feet. His mental voice said, Aye, Mama! Ah, 'tis ever a noble sight! Such a vast expanse of water, so wide and flat, clear to the edge of the world!
"Stop being so poetic," Rod said, grinning. "It's just the horizon."
Ah, but who doth know what may lie beyond this horizon?
"More water, and you know it darn well." Rod felt a stab of anxiety, though; Magnus was almost of an age to begin wandering. How soon would his son leave him?
"How far is it?" Gwen asked.
Twenty miles or more, Mother. Two days' journey afoot, at least.
"Anything worth looking at in between?" Rod asked.
Dost thou wish to look at fens and marshland?
"Let us leave no stone unturned." Rod sighed. "Come down, son, and let's see what the fen has in store for us."
But they found out on the way. They happened across a road and, as they neared the scrub growth that marked the fen, they saw a group of people ahead—and another even farther ahead. Rod frowned. "What is this, a procession?"
"Aye," said Gregory. "Behind us, Papa."
Rod looked back and saw another handful of people following a hundred yards to the rear. "We seem to be popular."
"Or the fen is," Gwen pointed out.
"Wherefore are there only small children among them?" Cordelia asked.
"Interesting point, that." Rod lengthened his stride. "Let's ask someone."
They caught up with the group ahead—two men and two women in their forties, a woman in her sixties, and three small children.
"Where are you going?" Rod asked, but the people plodded on as though they hadn't heard. Rod throttled his irritation and was about to ask again, when Fess noted, "They wear bandages about their heads, Rod. Between that and the clamor of the rock music, they may not have heard you."
"Good point." Rod reached out and tapped the shoulder of the peasant in front. The man shied away like a critic hearing a countdown, then took in the sight of Gwen and the children. He relaxed a little, but eyed Magnus and Cordelia with caution, almost hostility.
Their voices echoed in Rod's head. Who hath hurt him, Papa? Of what is he so wary?
Of us, sister, Magnus answered. But why should he fear a youth and a maiden?
Let's ask. Rod pointed to his ear and said, "Can you hear us?" loudly and slowly. The peasant frowned, shaking his head. He pulled the bandage off his head, popped a wax cover off his ear, and promptly winced. "Aiee! The noise! I trust Your Worship hath good reason to rob me of my ward."
"I just want to know why so many of you are going to the fen," Rod called, trying to project over the sound of the music.
"Why, to escape this coil of howling," the peasant called back. "Come, but ask no more until we've gained shelter, I beg of thee." Still, he didn't turn away; Rob was obviously gentry.
Impatiently, Rob called, "Right. Go ahead."
The peasant smiled in gratitude and replaced his earcover, pulling the bandage back to hold it in place. He relaxed visibly, then gave the Gallowglasses a smile and turned away to trudge toward the fen.
"Can they truly seek refuge from the music?" Cordelia asked, wide-eyed.
"They can," Gwen assured her. "For myself, I do not wonder at it; 'tis a veritable cacophony."
"Nay, Mama! 'Tis pretty! Well… not 'pretty,' surely. But 'tis most appealing!"
"If that's appeal, I'll steal the bell," Rod growled. "Come on, family. If there's silence ahead, I crave it."
"If thou wilt." Magnus sighed, and followed after.
"Magnus," said Fess, behind him, "must you put in extra steps for each stride?"
"It doth no harm, Fess," Magnus answered, "and this music doth make me feel so filled with movement that I must needs find some way to let it out."
"Well, if you must, you must." The horse sighed, and followed the family, remembering how Will Kemp had danced his way from London to the seacoast, never taking a normal step for nine days.
The ground became marshy to either side of the road. Soon small pools appeared. Then they were in among the low scrub growth, and the peasant family stopped to take off their bandages and earcovers, warily at first, then quickly, with sighs of relief.
"Was it truly needful, Mama?" a ten-year-old asked.
"Mayhap not for thee, sweet chuck," his mother answered, "but it was for me."
"We would liefer not have thee heed the clamor about us, as thy brother and sister have done," his father explained.
"What clamor?" the boy said. " Tis most sweet strains, here."
And they were. The music was soft, very melodic—and so peaceful that Rod almost didn't realize it was there, until he stopped to listen. The tunes had a much greater range of notes, and the bass line and rhythm were no longer dominant.
"Aye, there be sweet sounds here," said the other man. "Thou art within the fen, and its music doth bar that howling that we have waded through these two days."
"The music doth emanate from some place ahead," Magnus pointed out.
"Let us go to it," one of the men said, "for I crave its shelter."
Everyone started down the road again, but it wasn't wide enough for more than four abreast, so the Gallowglasses followed after.
"Husband," said Gwen, "go up among these folk, and learn why they have come."
"If you say so—but I would have said it was pretty obvious." Rod lengthened his stride and caught up with the peasants. "If you don't mind, goodman—I need a bit of information."
"Assuredly, my lord! What wouldst thou?"
"Well, for starters—how did you find out about this place?"
"Word of it hath run through every farm and village," the wife answered, "wherever folk do groan under the burden of this clamor that hath begun these few months past."
More than two months, then, Rod noted. "You've had to try to keep up with your daily work all that time?"
"Aye, and it hath become a trial greater and more sore as the days have rolled," her husband said. "A neighbor told us there was sanctuary in the fen, yet we had crops in the field, and sought to keep our daily round."
"Yet our heads began to ache, and sorely," the wife added. "We stopped our hearing with waxen covers for our ears, we tied bandages to hold them—yet still the strident thumping came through, to make us falter."
"I began to stumble as I went out to the pasture," the other peasant man explained. "I found that I did trip as I sought to follow the plow."
"Anon the burden became too great to bear," his wife said, "and so we came here, for sanctuary."
"Ere any others of our children were reived from us," the first wife said darkly.
"Children reived!" Cordelia stiffened. "Who would do so craven a deed?"
"The music, maiden," the first man answered. "The music, that doth capture the affections of our older children."
"Why, how is this?" But there was foreboding in Cordelia's voice; she remembered the groups of young people she had seen.
"Our son was aged twelve, when he began to twitch with the music's rhythm," the second wife answered. "Our daughter was fourteen. Her head began to nod, and she commenced singing wordless songs as she went about her chores…"