by Cait Dee
I jerk my head to Cal and we walk out of the kirk into the chill night air.
He looks sheepish. ‘I should learn to keep my mouth shut.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say, doing my best to smother my irritation. It’s not Cal’s fault; he’s just trying to help his family. It’s Dalziel that I’m angry with.
‘Euan, my mother’s cousin, said we could bide with him.’
I don’t want to upset Cal, but I’ve no intention of venturing into those rat-infested tenements in the murk of night; I’d rather take my chances with Dalziel. ‘I’ll sleep here,’ I say. ‘No offence to your mother’s cousin, but I want to keep a close eye on Dalziel. Make sure he doesn’t send word to Finster.’
‘Suit yourself.’ Cal shrugs but he looks hurt. ‘You don’t believe him, do you?’
‘Not one bit of it. But I don’t think he’ll do anything tonight. And I want to see if I can talk some sense into him. I’ll come and find you in the morning.’
Cal nods. ‘Very well. But be careful. He’s already betrayed you once.’
Back in the kirk I look for a place to sleep, settling for patch of floor away from the draught. I wrap myself in the dead woman’s cloak. When Dalziel offers me his lambskin to lie on, I take it with a grunt of thanks and spread it out across the stones. As much as I hate being near him, I need to find out what is driving this coldness inside him.
‘I’ve some food if you’re hungry,’ he says. He throws me a hunk of stale bread and a lump of fusty cheese. I gnaw at a corner of the bread, wishing I had something to wash it down. The flask is empty.
‘What will you do, now that I’m here?’ I ask him.
‘I don’t propose to do anything. As soon as they open the gates, I’ll leave Dunshee and head back to Aberdeen to finish my studies. And that will be the end of it.’
‘The end for you!’ I say, my voice filled with disgust. ‘And what about me? How long will Finster pursue me?’
Dalziel shifts uncomfortably. ‘I cannot say. The meister was commissioned by the king to hunt witches. He’s well resourced. His spies are everywhere.’
None of this makes any sense to me. ‘Why does King Jamie care so much about witches?’
‘Do you not remember? A few years ago, Francie Stuart — the Earl of Bothwell — worked malefice with a coven of witches to sink the king’s ship. The witches whipped up a great storm and the ship was near dashed on the rocks.’
Dalziel pauses and I nod slowly. Travellers to Heatherbrae brought news of the trials. Many folk were tried and executed, but Francie had escaped abroad.
‘Ever since then, the king has taken a personal interest in the trials,’ Dalziel continues. ‘He’s even published a treatise on the subject.’ In the candlelight his eyes shine.
Anger rises like a hot wave up my torso and sears my throat with bile. ‘Is that why you tried to hand me over to Finster? So you can meet the king?’
Dalziel turns his face away. ‘Nae, of course not!’
‘Then it’s Finster,’ I say. ‘What is this hold he has over you?’
Dalziel throws off his blanket and paces the floor. ‘You think me some feeble-minded lad whom others use as they please?’
‘All I know is you’re not the same person who left Heatherbrae. Something happened in Aberdeen to turn your mind against me. I’d like to know what it was. You owe me that much!’
‘I owe you nothing.’ He says it in a whisper, but in the silent kirk it’s as though he shouted the words.
My face burns with anger and shame that only worsens in the growing silence.
After a time he says, ‘I will give you this. A head start. Leave Dunshee at first light. If you’re going to Edinburgh, then keep off the road. Don’t stop at the change-houses, as Finster always pays off the innkeepers. And if you meet anybody, don’t give them your real name. That part’s very important.’
‘Then I’m not safe in Dunshee?’
‘You’re not safe anywhere. Mayhap you can disappear in Edinburgh, but Finster will search high and low for you. If I were you, I’d head straight to Leith and try to get passage on a ship.’
I stare at him, aghast. ‘You mean, leave Scotland? And go where?’
He shrugs. ‘That’s for you to decide.’
I lie down on my side and pull my legs in close to my body. My mind is full of Dalziel’s words. This time, I believe he’s telling the truth. I must continue on to Edinburgh, alone if I have to.
Eventually I fall into a fitful sleep. I dream I’m walking along a road. Dead bodies are lying on either side of it, as far as the eye can see. There’s a fire burning in the distance.
When I wake at birdsong Dalziel has gone, but he’s left me another hunk of bread. It sticks to the roof of my mouth. I need water, so I head into the square. The town well is on the western side of it.
There’s nobody about. I pull up the bucket and fill the flask. I drink my fill of water, savouring its cool sweetness.
I need to find Cal. We haven’t known each other long, but his loyalty and courage have touched me deeply. He’d make a good companion on the long journey to Edinburgh. But I can understand why he might want to stay here, even if the town is rife with disease. If Gregor and the others hadn’t come for Ishbel and me that night, I may well have stayed in Heatherbrae, even at the risk of arrest or harassment. To be alone in the world, to have to fend for yourself, that is no easy thing. But I must honour my promise to Grizel: I’ll take the bloodstone to Edinburgh and find Angus Ancroft. That’s all that matters now.
My hand goes to the bloodstone. It feels cold and heavy to the touch, as if it’s reprimanding me. But I don’t understand how this could be. Grizel herself told me that I must take it to Edinburgh, that I must protect it with my life. Why would it want me to stay here?
Shaking my head to banish the thought, I tuck it back under the neckline of my bodice. It’s just a stone; it can’t want me to do anything!
I head back into the kirk to gather my belongings. In the corner, there’s a bundle of Dalziel’s clothes tied together. I rummage through them and find Gregor’s dirk wrapped in his spare sark. My cheeks grow hot with anger as I recall our encounter at the ford, how he played me for a fool. I stuff the dirk in my leather bag.
In the morning light it’s easy enough to find the close from last night. But the tenements all look the same and I’ve no idea where Cal’s cousin lives.
‘Cal!’ I yell.
A mangy dog barks, but there’s no other reply.
I turn on my heel to leave but the sound of a creaking door makes me look back.
‘Iona?’ A plumpish man with Cal’s ginger hair looks at me, a half-smile of nervous expectation on his lips.
‘Are you Cal’s cousin?’ I ask the man.
‘Euan. Pleased to make your acquaintance.’
‘Is Cal here?’
‘Nae, he’s running an errand for me. You’re welcome to wait inside. He shouldn’t be too long. My Bessie’s in the back. Cal spoke of her to you, I believe.’
‘Bessie?’
‘My bairn. The sickly one.’
‘I . . . um . . . it must’ve slipped his mind,’ I say, avoiding his gaze. ‘Would you be kind enough to give Cal a message? I must be on my way. Please, would you tell him I came to say farewell?’
‘You can tell me yourself.’
I turn around to see Cal frowning at me, a hand on his hip. ‘Walk with me,’ he says.
I nod to Euan, who looks crestfallen, confused.
‘Anything I can say to change your mind?’ Cal asks as we retrace our steps down the alleyway to the stair that leads into the tunnel. ‘Bessie won’t live much longer.’
I ignore the guilty feeling that turns my cheeks warm and fortify my heart against his pleas. ‘I can’t help her,’ I say flatly. ‘I don’t know how. I never finished my apprenticeship. Even Grizel — my aunt — she never had to face anything like this . . .’
‘You’ll not even try?’ Cal’s golden eyes lock on
mine. ‘You healed me. Look.’ He peels off his glove and shows me his hand. ‘It’s the one I burned at the Black Castle,’ he says.
Speechless, I take it in both of mine and turn it over, rubbing my fingertips lightly over the smooth skin that only yesterday was raw and blistered.
‘You did this,’ he says. ‘You healed me.’
‘Nae, I did not. I don’t know why you keep saying that. I’m no healer. And even if I was, even if I had Grizel’s power, I wouldn’t know what to do.’
‘Will you not just take a wee keek at Bessie —’
‘I’m not the person you want me to be!’ I snap at him.
After losing Grizel and Ishbel, I can’t afford to let myself care for Cal and get distracted. Besides, I need to get to Edinburgh. If I stay here and help Cal’s family, then Dalziel will find a way to send word to Finster. He told me I must leave Dunshee at first light, and the sun is already high in the sky.
‘Farewell. Take care of yourself, Cal.’
‘Don’t go! Not like this.’ He looks anguished, making me feel even worse.
I take his hand in mine. ‘I must go to Edinburgh. It’s what my aunt said I must do and I promised her. If I fail, then she and Ishbel died for nothing.’
He nods. ‘Forgive me. I’m being selfish, I know. Do you have enough food?’ he asks.
‘I’ve some bread. I have my dirk now, too, so mayhap I’ll hunt. I can fish, at least. And I know how to snare coneys.’
‘Oh aye, you’re a fine huntress. First time we met, you fell over my doorstane, faint with hunger.’
I laugh and he gives me a sad smile in return.
‘Farewell, Witch. Journey well.’
‘Take care of yourself, Cal.’ I peck him on the cheek and he blushes to the roots of his ginger cowlick.
As I make my way along the tunnel and climb through the trapdoor into the cave, my heart feels hollow. Although our time together has been short, Cal has proved to be a true friend, even risking his life for me. I’ll miss seeing his crooked smile. But I push those thoughts to the back of my mind. I loved a friend once, wholeheartedly, and he betrayed me. How do I know that Cal wouldn’t do the same, given the right circumstances? I’m better off alone.
A sense of shame eats away at me as I continue through the woods. Perhaps I could do something for Bessie and the others, I tell myself. I shouldn’t just leave them to their fate, hopeless though it may be.
‘Enough!’ I say aloud. My aunt appointed me the guardian of the bloodstone and she gave me a sacred mission. Cal chose to stay because Euan and Bessie are his blood, but I owe nothing to these folk. I repeat the last words I said to my aunt. I promise, Grizel. I’ll take the bloodstone to Edinburgh. To Ancroft.
* * *
It’s already mid-morning by the time I reach the road. Dalziel told me to keep away from the road, but once I’m out of the woods there’s no tree cover for miles. Besides, it’s the only way I can tell if I’m journeying in the right direction. I’ll walk alongside it, and take cover in the long grasses if I hear a rider approaching.
The sky is clear and the ground dry underfoot: perfect travelling weather. The bag on my shoulder is a comforting weight. I’m relieved to have my dirk back. As long as I can find enough food and the rain doesn’t set in, then I could make it to Edinburgh in just over a week.
But before I can walk more than a few feet, swirls of mist begin to curl about me. It’s strange, as the weather was fine only moments ago. As I keep walking, the waves of mist keep rolling in until I can barely see my own boots. Before long I can’t see the road beside me and I’ve completely lost my sense of direction.
There’s no point fighting nature, Grizel always said. I put down my bag and stand perfectly still, allowing the mist to envelop me. In the eerie silence it’s as though I’m no longer standing on the ground, but floating. There’s no way forward, not until it lifts. There is nothing to do but wait.
I look over my shoulder for one last glimpse of Dunshee. I’m unable to make out the town through the fog, but about a mile from the eastern wall there’s a craggy hill. Such a strange shape it has, rising up through the mist, as if its peak is drifting in mid-air. Immediately I feel compelled to walk towards it.
As swiftly as it arrived, the mist begins to lift. Within a few minutes it has cleared enough that I can see the town walls. Following them to the east would lead straight to the hill. But that’s not the direction I’m headed, so I continue a few steps until the bloodstone heats up against my skin. The more I try to ignore it, the hotter it becomes, until I yank off the leather cord and stuff it in my bag. Then it becomes a heavy weight, as if I’d filled the bag with river stones. Incensed, I take the bloodstone out again and hold it in my palm.
‘What is it you want from me?’ I scream at it. But in truth I know what it is the stone wants, though I don’t know why.
* * *
An hour later I’m standing breathless at the top of the hill. It provides an excellent vantage point of Dunshee and its surrounds. The dark green of the wildwood spills as far north as the eye can see, a sparkle through the trees offering a glimpse of the river snaking through it. To the south are the lands cleared for crops and cattle grazing. The road to Edinburgh winds south-east, through the gently buckling hillocks.
Immediately to the west of the hill are the town walls of Dunshee. From here I can see the rooftops and the kirk steeple. Dun. Shee. I say the name aloud. Dun means fort in the Gaelic tongue and sith, or shee, is the word for Faerie. A Faerie fort! The town took its name from this hill, I’m certain of it.
If I stand perfectly still, I can sense a spiral of energy coming from deep within the hill. It swirls upwards, towards the sky. I take the bloodstone from my bag and hold the end of the leather cord lightly in my fingertips. To my surprise, the stone spins in a sunward direction, first slowly, then faster, until it flies out of my hand and lands on the ground a few feet away.
To the eastern side of the rise there’s a large slab of bedrock lying on the ground. In it, there’s a hole the rough shape of a large man’s boot print. I clamber onto the rock. Without thinking, I put my own right foot into the hole and kneel down on my left knee, facing east. My arms rise above my head, lifted by an unseen force, as if to greet the rising sun.
My skin turns to gooseflesh and I scramble down from the rock and crouch next to it, feeling a heady mixture of fear and excitement. Grizel once told me about stones like these. Kingstones, she called them. Long ago, kings of the past would use these stones to pledge themselves to the goddess of the territory, covenanting with her to rule wisely and protect the land and its people. If the king honoured his vows, the goddess would bless him with abundant crops and healthy cattle. But if he ignored his promise to her, then the land would fall to ruin and the king would eventually be cast side.
The power of this place penetrates my very bones in a way that makes me feel both thrilled and terrified. Standing here, I can imagine why the town was built so close to it. The first settlers would have been drawn to the hill just as I was. The crag provides a defensive vantage point, but perhaps they knew they couldn’t build the town here. The energy from the Unseen world is too strong; it would be like living in the midst of a thunderstorm. Perhaps it was enough for them that they could visit when they needed to, to harness its power. Like when they needed to forge magic.
I sit down on the rock and gaze at the town. Before she died, Grizel said I would be a powerful healer some day. When my apprenticeship began a year ago, we started with the names and uses of plants. She’d not had time to teach me much about the ancient healing methods that had been in our family for generations. I’ve no idea how to heal a disease like the sickness sweeping through Dunshee. How could anyone expect me to do what Grizel had never taught me? If I fail, folk would never forgive me. And if I succeed? They’d lock me up until the witch finder comes for me. Better to do nothing, I tell myself. It’s safer.
Safer. The word itself seems to mock me, reminding me
as it does of Ishbel. I was so envious of her power when we were growing up. It all came so easily to her. After she forged the love spell and married Gregor she tried so hard to fit in, forsaking both her apprenticeship and our Balfour ways. Ishbel attended the kirk with Gregor and kept her mouth shut like a good reformer’s wife. She played it safe. And now she was just as dead as Grizel.
Journey south, to Edinburgh, I tell myself. That’s what Grizel would have wanted. But my heart knows it’s not true. Grizel would never have abandoned these people, not without trying to help them.
My aunt always said that healers — skeely women, as Cal calls us — were the ones who kept the village going. If a man cannot work his land, if he cannot provide for his family, then the family would starve. Grizel did everything in her power to help the sick, save for dark magic, the kind Creelman used. And if she knew she’d done everything she could and the person still could not be saved, then she never blamed herself. Her task then was to help them make peace with their death and cross over to the Summerlands.
Holding the bloodstone in my hand, I remember Grizel’s words from those last precious moments together. She said the stone carried all the magic of the Balfour bloodline. It must have been the bloodstone that healed Cal’s burns and the wound on his head.
I clutch the stone in my fist and walk to the edge of the rise. The land to the south of the hill is used for cattle grazing. As I look upon the docile brown shapes moving about below me, a memory stirs. Grizel once performed a special ritual to save the cattle in Heatherbrae from a deadly murrain.
The need fire.
* * *
‘What took you so long?’ Cal says when he sees me standing at Euan’s door. He laughs then, grabbing me in an embrace so fierce that he lifts me off the ground, until I plead with him to let go.
‘If I’m doing this, I’m going to need your help. Euan’s too.’
He nods. ‘Anything. You know that.’
‘You’ll not say that when you know what it is.’
THE NEED FIRE
The waxing gibbous moon carves her silver pathway across the night sky. Cal and I stand atop the ancient Faerie fort surveying Dunshee and its surrounds. We spent all afternoon gathering supplies for the ritual. Branches from each of the nine sacred trees are piled high, forming a pyre. A pretty white calf with red ears and liquid brown eyes is tethered to a wooden stake. The beast lets out a plaintive cry, mourning the separation from her mother.