Nobody runs. Dau is grappling with his opponent, using a familiar crab-like stranglehold. His attacker slumps, unconscious. But before Dau can regain his feet, a second man is on him, kicking fiercely. Further away, Torcan is wrestling with another man. His face is grayish white and he’s struggling for balance.
Ultán hurls himself toward me. There never was time to run. I wait, shaky on my feet. There’s no way I can withstand a frontal assault. He’s huge. My only hope is trickery. I glare and ball my fists. Let him think I’m going to meet force with force. He lunges for me, hands outstretched, going for my neck. I wait until the last instant, then turn aside and try to hook a foot under his. But he’s more agile than I thought. He jumps over my leg. His hand snags my sleeve. He yanks me sideways and we fall in a tangle of arms, scrabbling for a hold. He rolls astride my hips and, before I can fully protect myself, lands a glancing blow to my head. Shit! I’m dazed. My ears are ringing. He rises and hauls me to my feet. Be strong, Liobhan. Why can’t you be strong . . .
For a bit, everything swirls around. All I can do is breathe and hope I don’t pass out. Dau. Dau, don’t be dead. But no, he won’t be dead. Not yet. Because this is Seanan’s doing, and now I see Seanan in front of me with a knife in his hand, and someone is holding me from behind, and Seanan calls out, “Little brother! I have your girl here. Shame you can’t see this. But she’ll sing for you soon enough.”
I’m going to die. This is not the way I want to die. Seanan lifts the knife. The fang-like blade glints in the sunlight, hungry for its moment.
And then Seanan’s eyes widen. He drops the weapon. The man behind me releases his grip and someone lets out a scream of pure terror. I turn to see a figure clad all in green, fighting with an athletic skill that marks him out instantly as a Swan Island man. It’s Brocc. My brother. Morrigan’s britches, where did he come from? Behind him is the reason for Seanan’s shock: a huge being who seems hewn from stone. Blows glance off him. He reaches out and sets his fingers around a man’s neck, and I call out, “Disable, not kill!” The stone man would only need to squeeze a little and his captive would be done for.
One more effort, Liobhan. One job to do and you can rest. Do it for Dau. Seanan has backed away, but not far. I dive, crashing my shoulder into his hips, and he topples to the ground. As I suspected, the man is no fighter. Before he can catch his breath I deliver an open-handed strike to the side of his head. His eyes roll back; he becomes limp.
Dau. Where’s Dau? Heart pounding, I scan the field and find him kneeling by Corb’s body with tears pouring down his face. He holds Corb’s lifeless hand in both of his. His grief is palpable, turning victory into unbearable loss. Yet victory it is—with Brocc and his companion to help us, it’s not long before the last of Seanan’s men drops his weapon and surrenders.
The coil of rope those men brought with them proves handy. Between them, Brocc and the stone man get all of our opponents, conscious or not, tied securely at wrists and ankles in the same way I was.
Torcan has a knife wound to the shoulder, not deep but untidy. I cut a strip from the shirt of a fallen man and bind up the injury, less neatly than I’d like as my hands won’t stop shaking. I’m crying, too, now. Crying and shocked and wondering what in the name of the gods comes next. Then my brother comes over—he and his friend have finished tying knots—and throws his arms around me. It feels good. It feels so good. I hug him back. This is astonishing. And wonderful. How did he know where we were?
“You look terrible,” Brocc says. “I wish we’d come sooner, but . . . I didn’t get your message straightaway.”
I’m dimly aware that the stone creature—I’ve met him in the Otherworld, in Eirne’s realm; his name is . . . True?—has improvised a gag and tied it over Seanan’s mouth. Dau hasn’t moved.
“Message? What message?” I ask.
“Your hair. Twisted into a little ring. A bird brought it to Eirne. And provided enough information for us to find you.”
I know my brother well. There’s something he isn’t telling me, but that doesn’t matter right now. “You saved our lives,” I say.
“What’s wrong with Dau?”
“Apart from the loss of a dear friend? He’s blind, Brocc. Hurt in a bout, back on Swan Island. He was fighting me. A horrible accident.”
“Blind, and he can still fight like that? Danu’s mercy! Liobhan, tell me quickly what’s going on here. That man you just knocked out, the one over there—for a moment I thought he was Dau. His brother?”
With my head swimming, I try to give a concise explanation. Brigid’s training in such matters helps. I tell Brocc why we’re here, what has happened since we came, last night’s and today’s events. My brother’s expression grows grimmer with every detail.
For the last part, I need Dau. I go over to crouch down beside him. “Dau,” I say, and he starts as if struck—he’s been miles away. “Brocc is here, with a friend. We need to move Corb and we need to do something about these other men. What’s the plan?”
Dau swallows hard. He scrubs his hand over his cheeks, then gets to his feet. He has closed Corb’s staring eyes.
“Dau,” says Brocc quietly. “I’m sorry about the loss of your friend. Sorry we could not reach you sooner.”
“Glad of your assistance,” Dau says, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders. “You turned the tide for us, I think. Couldn’t do much myself. Things being as they are.”
True comes up next to us. “You want us to put these men away somewhere? In that place maybe?” He indicates the building. “Some creatures in there. I had a look. Crow Folk.”
Brocc stiffens. When I mentioned I had been captive, I neglected to tell him I was not alone in there.
“Crow Folk? Alive?” he asks.
“Barely alive, I suspect,” I tell him. “Go and look if you want. First let me show you this.” I hold out my arm, let him see the burn. “Emblem of Lord Scannal’s house. A brand. Not just on me, on the other captives as well. That man is out of his mind.”
“Morrigan’s curse!” exclaims Brocc, glancing again at the prone and silent Seanan. “You should have finished him off while you had a chance, Liobhan.”
“No,” Dau says, in a tone that tells me he is once more in charge here. “He will answer for his crimes. Go, look, take note of what he has done. But first . . . Liobhan, we must make quite sure these men can’t raise the alarm until we’ve reached the house and provided an explanation. I want to speak to Master Beanón and Master Naithí. And my father. For now, we need Seanan’s crew out of action.”
There are so many surprises in that speech I hardly know where to start. “Out of action,” I echo. “And you don’t mean just tied up and locked up in that place, I take it.”
“Since we broke the door down to get you out, no. But you know your herbs and potions. And there’s a supply of potent ingredients in there, or so I assume. Can you make a draft that will keep them quiet for long enough?”
Danu save us! What would my mother think? I ponder this briefly and decide she would tell me to get right on with it, but to take care not to kill anyone. I look at my hands. They’re still unsteady. I think of Seanan’s face as he poured that stuff down my throat. “All right. Needs to be quick, yes? Before someone happens to look in this direction and notice more activity than usual.”
“We’ll move them down there. That place is shielded by trees, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But I can’t dose an unconscious man, Dau. We have to wait until they come to.” With luck, by the time I manage to throw something together with the limited facilities in the wretched hut, they’ll all be able to drink without choking.
“And then what happens?” asks Brocc. “Will you be bringing charges against your brother? Will there be a formal hearing with lawmen present?”
“We’ll see,” Dau says. “We’ll see how many folk are brave enough to bear witness, now that it has come to
this. At least one lawman will be present. If my father wants to keep this quiet, he may see the wisdom in a small, discreet hearing.”
“I’ll bear witness, Dau,” I say quietly.
“I’ll speak up, if that will help,” says Torcan. “If I lose my position in the household, so be it. We owe it to Corb to tell the full story. He fought bravely.”
There’s a brief silence. Then Brocc says, “From what you’ve told me, it seems this Seanan is good at making folk believe his lies. He might say all of you have concocted a story. And you have no independent witness. Nobody who is sufficiently detached from it all to be thought credible.” A pause. “Except us. Me and True.”
“You would come back with us, Brocc?” Dau sounds astonished. “You, too, would bear witness?”
“I would. I could not stay long. And . . .” He glances at the men lying prone close by; some are groaning and stirring, almost conscious again, but the others lie still. With luck, none of them heard the interchange. “For the purpose of this exercise, I am a wandering storyteller. Unknown to all of you. I happened to be close by when I saw you being attacked and came to your aid. True, you’d best wait for me up in the woods. Your appearance would set the place in an uproar. We’ll return home when I’ve said my piece. Dau, can you make this happen by tomorrow?”
“Yes,” says Dau with a leader’s confidence. “And thank you. We owe you a great debt.”
Torcan and True prepare to move the trussed-up prisoners. Seanan is conscious now; I catch a furious glare as I walk past him, but the gag keeps him mercifully silent. Brocc, Dau, and I carry Corb gently down to the shelter of the willow copse and lay a cloak over him. No time for more.
I get to work at the bench in the old building, going through Seanan’s unlabeled containers and doing my best to identify the contents by smell and appearance. This preparation can’t be brewed cold. Thank the gods there is a woodpile, the stuff is dry, and there’s a flint by the hearth. I lay the fire, set it burning, return my attentions to the brew. I pray I won’t poison anyone.
Brocc is staring into the cages. He seems transfixed by the captive birds.
“Branded, as I was,” I say over my shoulder as I chop herbs on the bench. “Maimed, tortured, killed. You see what’s hanging there. Before he burned me, Seanan said, You’re next. Wish I could be more confident that when I relate that story before Lord Scannal’s household, someone will believe me.”
Brocc doesn’t answer. He’s still staring into the cage.
“Brocc?”
“Two of them are still alive. They could be saved. Morrigan’s britches, this is where they came from.”
“Where who came from?” Yes, that really is a chunk of devil’s-foot in the jar. I’m treading a very narrow line between healer and assassin. But I’m going to use it. Let Seanan have a taste of his own medicine.
“Crow Folk like these. Marked with the same crude brand. Dead or dying in our part of the forest. I . . . I laid one to rest, and sang for it. Another we rescued and . . . never mind that. Dau, could you call True for me?”
“I’ll go,” I say.
“I’m capable of staggering out the door and calling in the right direction, Liobhan.” So quickly, Dau has lost his composure. I let him go. I don’t say sorry. In the back of my mind is the story about the man whose lame leg was mended by clurichaun magic, and Dau’s own desperate need to find a cure in the Otherworld. He won’t ask Brocc. I know he won’t. Corb is lying out there dead and there’s a huge problem to be dealt with right here. But I can guess what is in Dau’s thoughts alongside all of that. He fought with remarkable bravery and skill, blind man or no. But all the time he would have been cursing the moment fate dealt him that blow. He would have known, as I did, that if he’d been his old self and if I hadn’t still been feeling the effects of the draft, we could have accounted for those men without Brocc’s help. We could have protected Corb. Dau’s allowed a moment of snarling unpleasantness. But only one. If he speaks to me like that again, I’ll slap him.
I use Brocc’s waterskin to fill the iron pot on the hearth, then hang the pot over the fire. I finish cutting up the herbs. I add dried components from the jars, hoping I’ve guessed everything right. If I err, it’s on the side of not enough rather than too much. While I work, another painful truth comes to me. Dau won’t speak to Brocc and True about magical cures, not now and not ever, because they’ve just saved our lives. Not only that, but Brocc’s agreed to stay on and testify. Dau’s far too proud to ask for anything more.
True comes in without Dau, who I assume is staying out there with Torcan. Time’s passing; it all feels too slow. A murmured conversation is going on behind me.
“True,” says Brocc, “we can’t leave these creatures to die here. But that one, at least, looks too weak to survive if we simply open the cage. And the other might attack us.”
They both fall silent, looking through the wire mesh at the two Crow Folk, one hunched on the perch, staring at them, the other huddled on the floor in a corner. Then True says, “I have something we can try. I do not know if it will help. In truth, I do not know its purpose.”
“What do you mean, True?” Brocc sounds taken aback. Whatever this is, it’s news to him. I glance across and see the two of them looking at a tiny vial held in the stone man’s great hand. Now we’re at close quarters, I can see something moving around on True’s head, in his moss-like hair. Not the sort of creepy-crawlies that have to be got rid of with oil of rosemary and hard combing. These look like small Otherworld folk. Danu’s mercy! What must that fight have been like for them?
“What is that stuff?” I ask.
“It comes from a place of deep magic,” says True. “Given to me by my ancestors. I was wounded by the Crow Folk and healed in a waterfall there. The old ones gave me this vial, which holds only a few drops. Its exact purpose, they did not tell me; that is often the way of magic. They said only that I should keep it secret until the right time came, and use it only with an unselfish heart. And that, like all things magical, the use of the contents came with a risk. I do not know if these drops have the same capacity to heal, or whether they will work on the birds. The result might be quite different. But I think now is that time.”
It seems True has indeed kept this remarkable thing secret. Brocc is gazing at him in shocked wonder. I’m not thinking of the Crow Folk. I’m thinking of Dau. But the precious substance is not mine to bestow, and I know how tricky magic can be. Anything might happen.
“If Brocc agrees, we should help these poor creatures,” the stony man says in his deep voice. Am I really hearing a sort of echo from the tiny folk who ride on him, or am I still feeling the effects of last night’s draft?
The idea of getting close enough to the Crow Folk to put drops down their throats or onto their wounds scares me in a way Master Seanan at his worst could not. “Couldn’t you sing to keep them calm?” I ask my brother. “To reassure them that you’re acting with good intent?”
“I can’t,” says Brocc. “Another long story.” His voice sounds shaky. “But you could.”
I stare at him, openmouthed. He can’t sing? What does he mean? He knows I can’t sing as he does; he’s half-fey, he has magic, and while I am a musician, I’m the offspring of two entirely human parents. Remarkable ones, it’s true. But not a whisper of the uncanny in them. “I’ll sing, of course,” I say, and as I speak my voice cracks. “But it might not be much help.”
He offers no further explanations and I don’t ask for them. We have work to do. We need our prisoners entirely subdued before we walk away from here. I can hear one of them groaning through his gag, though a sharp word from Dau silences him soon enough.
I finish making the brew. There’s only one cup here, the one they used when they poured that stuff down my throat last night. My gown is still damp and sticky from the spillage and my skirt stinks of urine. Gods, I hope someone doesn’t thr
ow us in a lockup as soon as we get back. I’d kill for a warm bath and some clean clothes.
True comes out with me, carrying my draft in a jug. With Torcan’s help, we dose the men one at a time, leaving the groggiest until last. Seanan flinches away when True moves to untie his gag, but the moment it comes off he starts shouting a tirade of vile insults aimed at me. That’s when Dau comes over, kneels down beside his brother, grabs his golden hair, and pulls his head back. Seanan is a little too slow to stop yelling and close his mouth; True’s strong fingers hold his jaws apart as I pour the draft in. I’m better at this than Seanan was; I don’t spill a drop. When it’s all down, True holds Seanan’s mouth closed for a while, just to be sure. The gag goes on again. Dau releases his grip and gets up.
“A good job done,” he says mildly. “How many still to dose?” He might be talking of administering a mixture to pigs or sheep to rid them of worms.
“Only one, and he’s awake now. We’ll give him a smaller amount; he’s had a hard blow to the head and I won’t risk killing him.” I think of Corb out there, growing cold under his blanket. A young man who will never marry or father a son; a good son who will never see his parents again. A kind boy, a quick learner, a brave soul. But then, this young man we’re dosing was only following orders. Most likely he had no idea what Seanan was harboring in this place of cruelty and shame. He, too, may be a good son. “Half a cup . . . Thank you, True . . . Hold him steady for me.”
When the captives have all been given the draft, Brocc calls me into the building. There’s some protective clothing there—the two masks, some strong gauntlets—but nothing that would shield the body from a piercing beak or rending claw. Although a monk’s habit is made of sturdy cloth, it’s hardly armor.
“Will you help me, Liobhan?” Brocc asks. By which he means, This is risky. You might get hurt. Will you do this for me?
“Let’s get on with it, then,” I say. I think it’s an ill-conceived plan, but I also see that Brocc wants to help those creatures, wants it with all his heart. Peering in at the two of them, now huddled together on a lower perch and fixing their baleful stare on us, I see how weakened they are. Their eyes are glazed and dull, their feathers droop. But it’s less than a full day since one of them was stabbing at me between the bars, and I don’t trust them an inch. “What do I do, sing first?”
A Dance with Fate Page 36