The Shapeshifter's Lair

by Peter Tremayne

  Fidelma was reassuring. ‘When a country is unknown it is always considered forbidding. The Cuala is not the most inviting of places. I have never ventured among its many mountains but have seen them from a distance. It is a large territory with many very high peaks. Some are said to be the highest in the Five Kingdoms, like Log na Coille, the mountain of the wood, where the Sláine, the river of health, rises. Generally the area is a place of darkness, a place of grey granite and slate. I would not say it is inviting.’

  ‘Then what possessed this Cáemgen to establish his abbey in such a place?’

  ‘He did not; well, not at first. I had the story from my cousin who became abbot at Darú. Cáemgen was one of the royal families of Laigin one hundred years ago. He wanted to escape from the arguments and intrigues that went with being born into such a dynasty. So he became a hermit living in a cave in that valley of two lakes. It was certainly the remotest place in the kingdom. People heard about his frugal life and, like people sadly do because they often want someone to follow, it was those followers who went to that secluded valley in the mountains and built the abbey that now bears his name.’

  Eadulf looked despondent. ‘I think we are going to be faced with a hard task.’

  Fidelma sighed. ‘Not so hard as the one immediately before us.’

  Eadulf frowned in puzzlement.

  ‘We have to tell our son, Alchú, that we are leaving him again,’ she explained.

  ‘And for an indefinite period,’ Eadulf added pessimistically.

  ‘No need to put it so bluntly to the child. I’ll send for Muirgen and make sure he’ll have the support he needs.’

  ‘I do not doubt that your brother will be mindful to maintain the morning ride in spite of the matter he now frets about. Nor will he neglect to take time to play with him.’

  Colgú had always been an excellent support for his young nephew.

  ‘We’ll make sure that, if Colgú cannot, one of Enda’s comrades, a senior warrior of the Golden Collar does so, such as Dego or Luan.’

  Eadulf suddenly halted and glanced around the protective ramparts of the royal fortress. Something made him shiver.

  Fidelma saw the movement. ‘What is wrong?’ she demanded.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Eadulf replied hesitantly. ‘I just had a passing feeling; something like a coldness on the back of my neck.’

  ‘A cold feeling on your neck?’ Fidelma was curious.

  ‘I suddenly felt that it would be a long time before we saw Cashel again.’

  FOUR

  It was as the grey skies were hinting at the arrival of dusk on the third day of their journey that Brother Eochaí led the way through the gate of the Abbey of the Blessed Cáemgen situated in the valley of the two lakes. The journey had been surprisingly easy in spite of all the concerns that had been shared between the travellers beforehand. Though the journey was urgent, Fidelma had kept the pace of the horses to only an occasional canter with frequent stops, so that the sight of a group clad as religious travelling at speed would not cause undue alarm. Even Eadulf, mounted on his placid, sturdy cob, did not complain.

  Brother Eochaí, the stable master, led the way slightly in front of Fidelma. Eadulf and Enda followed behind them. They had crossed through Osraige, meeting the occasional cowherd or shepherd and sometimes a hunter, more interested in tracking game than in passing strangers. They had passed Cethrae, the main settlement by the great river Bhearú, seeing only a few farmers tending herds and flocks. As they reached Uí Dróna territory, bordering the kingdom of Laigin, Eadulf became aware of the dark mountains on the distant northern horizon, growing higher and more forbidding as they approached. They had found their way through the foothills under Sliabh Meáin, identified by Brother Eochaí as the middle mountain, although it was far from being the centre of the sinister and unwelcoming range. He pointed out Log na Coille, rising behind it, as the highest peak of the entire range. Although Brother Eochaí tried to keep them to unfrequented paths, they did pass several fellow travellers, even a few merchants, along the way. They exchanged only the briefest of pleasantries, as was the nature of travellers.

  Brother Eochaí led the way through narrow twisting passes among the mountains, naming and pointing out the peaks and sights, not only for their interest but also so they might know their route if they needed to come back this way. What surprised Eadulf was the fact the lower slopes of the mountains and valleys provided an abundance of leafless sessile oaks, which would begin to regain their foliage as spring progressed. He noticed broad-leafed conifer species grew higher on the slopes, but here, lower down, rowan, birch, aspen and hazel stood among the prolific ivy and brambles of the mainly deciduous woodland. But, even leafless, the forests merely enhanced the gloomy threatening atmosphere of the overpowering mountain shadows.

  The thought that passed through both Fidelma and Eadulf’s minds, they found when they spoke about their feelings later, was that the area left them with a remarkable conflict of reactions: feelings of being awed by the tremendous beauty of the landscape and its timeless quality, and menaced by the strange brooding atmosphere. That intimidating quality seemed to increase the more they moved among the impassive and yet hostile peaks.

  They travelled through narrow passes, fording a little river, and journeyed on eastwards between high peaks called Charraig Linnín to the south and Chuileannaí to the north, high places with a strange abundance of holly trees and glimpses of ancient stone monuments raised for unknown purposes back in the time beyond time. It seemed, however, that the way was not frequented by humankind because curious feral goats paused to stare at their passage. Even badgers cast them unconcerned glances before moving on, while hares bounded unafraid across their pathway. Now and then they saw little creatures with bushy tails and flashes of yellow collars running along tree branches in search of unwary small mammals for food – pine martens, which even Eadulf knew indicated the lateness of the day by their activity. The wooded hills seemed alive with sounds of all manner of creatures, which confirmed the idea that such creatures did not go in fear of man the hunter so they took little notice of the small group passing through their midst. Eadulf suspected for every creature they saw, they probably missed a hundred more. Once, as they twisted through the grim mountain pass, they caught a glimpse of a group of red deer on a high slope being watched over by a magnificently antlered stag.

  They became aware that they were coming to an end of the pass when the forbidding slopes were not as oppressive and the forest areas began to thin. They were even aware of an increasing amount of bird life, which the evergreen trees had previously hidden from them. Birds of prey dominated the skies at this hour. The travellers saw the long pointed wings and short tails of the blue-grey and reddish merlins streaking by with quick, shallow wing beats, looking for prey. Higher, and in competition, were circling dark but similarly winged peregrine falcons. These were mere specks in the sky until their prey was spotted and they began their dive with wings folded back.

  Suddenly, or so it seemed, Brother Eochaí halted his horse and pointed ahead. They found themselves on high ground looking across a long valley split in the centre by a broad, swift-flowing river.

  ‘We have passed through Gleann Molúra. This is just called the Big River, An Abhainn Mhór,’ he announced. ‘We turn northward now. The river really begins to the north, at the confluence of three smaller rivers in a township named Láithreach, after some ancient ruins there. It’s become a small trading settlement rather than a township; a good place for trade as folk can bring their goods along the rivers. From Láithreach we will turn westward and enter the valley of the two lakes where the abbey is situated. It is only a short distance. We will be there before dark, so don’t worry.’

  They certainly became aware of an increased number of travellers, mainly merchants, but, thankfully, no one wanted to engage in conversation as the daylight was waning. A short time later, when they were passing through a stretch of hilly forest, from their high vantage poi
nt they could glimpse some of the abbey’s buildings. They moved downhill to where the path was intercepted by a river. It was not wide but the current was obviously strong, the white water billowing along the banks and now and then carrying branches along its path. There seemed no way of guessing how deep it was and Eadulf regarded it with some concern. However, Brother Eochaí saw his anxiety and sought to reassure him.

  ‘There is a ford around that bend,’ he said. ‘It’s very shallow so you can almost walk across. It is the build-up of rocks and stones that creates the ford, which then causes the waters to flow so fast at this point.’

  Brother Eochaí turned and led them along the bank where it narrowed and the tall trees entwined overhead. Apart from the noise of the waters it was a strangely quiet area and sounded devoid of birds and animals. It was almost too quiet until there came a shriek of a hooded crow, whose grey body and black wings dived across their path, startling their horses.

  Enda was nervous. ‘A sign of bad luck,’ he muttered.

  Fidelma shook her head reprovingly. ‘Bad luck is what you create yourself,’ she chided.

  Brother Eochaí, who was now slightly ahead, had swung suddenly into a small clearing before the river where rocks seemed to be strewn along the banks. The travellers could see the waters rippling over a bed of pebbles. Further on, the river dropped into a dark pool held by rocks, creating a waterfall, which then led to the stronger current of the stream beyond. Here, however, the path of the ford was obvious.

  ‘Greetings, Eochaí, son of Dorcha.’ The voice was unexpected. It was high pitched, almost wailing, and cracked with age. Fidelma and her party had been so concentrating on negotiating the ford that they had failed to observe a figure almost hidden on the far bank. Startled, they saw an old woman crouched by some bushes, apparently engaged in washing garments in the river. She was obviously very thin and was clad in dirty and torn rags. Her white skeletal arms and hands protruded where she was clutching the scraps of cloth she was washing. Her face was a mask of white, almost skull-like, with wisps of equally white but dirty hair protruding from an odd-shaped bonnet.

  Brother Eochaí obviously knew the woman who had greeted him by name.

  ‘You are late abroad with your washing, Iuchra,’ he returned. Fidelma noticed a bantering quality in his tone. ‘Should you be out so late in these forests?’

  ‘Worry not for me, Eochaí, son of Dorcha, for the Aos Sí are my friends and I have no need to fear them or their servants.’ It was said with an icy cackle and it took a moment for the hearers to realise it was a chuckle.

  ‘I was not thinking of the Aos Sí, old one,’ the stable master replied firmly. ‘There are plenty of wolves and other predators to be more concerned about.’

  ‘Ah, but even they must submit to the folk of the Otherworld, and am I not regarded as the one who speaks and relays their wishes?’

  ‘It may be so,’ Brother Eochaí admitted in amusement, ‘but for us lesser mortals, we have to reach the abbey before nightfall as we have no agreement with the Aos Sí or with the wild creatures of the night.’

  The old woman fell into a high-pitched cackle again.

  ‘Beyond these trees you are within sight of the abbey. As well you know. So hurry on to your sanctuary of the New Faith. Even princes of the old blood resort to such places these days. Thus they pretend to abandon their ancestry and responsibilities to conceal themselves among those of the new religious. Remember, Eochaí, son of Dorcha, there can be no New Faith without it has permission of the Old Faith. Changing one for the other does not mean changing human nature.’

  ‘Go home, Iuchra,’ Brother Eochaí replied in a tired voice. He did not sound perturbed at her words and seemed to treat the old woman as an object of amusement, if not derision. ‘Your son may have more need of your woodcraft and protection than we do.’

  The old woman did not respond but turned her gaze intently on Fidelma.

  ‘Hear a warning, lady. In the days ahead the searchers will ascend into these mountains; brave but arrogant, thinking their knowledge will sustain them. But these are the strongholds of Aos Sí. Only they hold sway from the high peaks to the dark valleys between. The Aos Sí do not look kindly on trespassers in their domain. They are the ever-living ones, the ever-changing ones, for they are the shapeshifters who control our petty existence. Avoid these dark solitudes, lady. You will find only death and danger among the peaks. Shun them!’

  In spite of herself, Fidelma felt uncomfortable as the old woman seemed to be directing her remarks solely at her, as if she knew her. She suppressed a faint shiver and, following Brother Eochaí’s example, she rode on by, ignoring the crone.

  A short distance later Fidelma managed to draw level with Brother Eochaí. ‘Who was that old woman?’ she asked.

  Brother Eochaí twisted his features dismissively. ‘Take no notice of old Iuchra. She is a mad one and must be pitied. Her son is a trapper and hunter in these peaks, but wisely puts a distance between his mother and himself. She claims that she is an ammait – a woman of supernatural powers. It is even claimed that she is a shapeshifter.’

  ‘She certainly plays the part well,’ Fidelma agreed lightly, trying to bring a touch of humour to her voice. ‘She obviously knows the stories of the Badh, the crow goddess of death and battles, who sits washing by the ford and calling forth a prophecy of doom.’

  Eadulf joined in with a sniff. ‘In that case she has trained that grey crow well. Remember, just before we came upon her, a grey crow swooped down upon us? Unless the claim is that she can change her shape from crow to harridan, the crow was a nice touch of drama.’

  Fidelma had actually forgotten the crow and now she blinked at the thought. Then she shook herself, annoyed at the idea.

  ‘I would have thought that her son, whom you mentioned, was best exercised in attending his mother more closely,’ she observed to Brother Eochaí. ‘It is a son’s duty to keep his mother from harm.’

  Brother Eochaí shook his head. ‘For all her appearance, Iuchra does not do so badly. Local people are always consulting her for prophesies – they claim she is a fáistinech, a soothsayer, whose eye is all encompassing. She has a place where she lives in the township and does not often haunt the forests. Her son has no time for her beliefs and that is why there is little closeness between them.’ He suddenly glanced up at the sky and was anxious. ‘It grows late and we must reach the abbey gates before nightfall.’

  ‘Before the shapeshifters are released into the night,’ Eadulf could not help adding with irony in his voice.

  ‘The only shapeshifters that concern me are the scavengers,’ replied the stable master. ‘As I told the old one, I fear wolves, which in darkness turn into the most malevolent hunters of all creatures, including humans.’

  ‘Any idea what she meant about princes being religious and giving up their rights?’ Eadulf asked as they rode on.

  It was Fidelma who replied. ‘That’s obvious enough. Not every son or daughter of a king or prince can inherit a kingdom or a territory. Many have taken advantage of the New Faith to become abbots and bishops and heads of religious houses. I, myself, had to choose that path to obtain security. My brother was not king then and my cousin Máenach, who was king, offered me neither encouragement nor security. That’s why I eventually joined the Abbey of Cill Dara, as their legal adviser.’

  Brother Eochaí was nodding agreement. ‘Even our Abbot Daircell is a relation of the Tuaim Snámha, the King of Osraige. You will find a few of our ruling families in the abbey.’

  It was almost dusk when they crossed a wooden bridge and entered the abbey complex. A tall, dour-faced man was in the middle of trimming and lighting the gate lamps. Like every keeper of a bruden, a tavern or hostel, the gatekeeper of an abbey was required by law to keep at least one light burning outside the entrance gate so that it could be seen at a distance by travellers.

  The picturesque bridge did not mean much to Eadulf as they had crossed many bridges over streams and rivers, and f
orded as many, too. The main abbey gates of oak were set in a granite wall on the far bank. The buildings of the abbey and the fields worked by its inhabitants were of considerable extent. The western end was bounded by a lake, which Brother Eochaí identified as Loch Péist, the lake of the water monster. The boundary wall seemed to stretch forever, encompassing various streams and rivulets. Brother Eochaí was keen to point out the abbey proper, with its church, included buildings for both the community and its guests, with stables for horses and barns for a large variety of animals. There were also fields for growing vegetables, and fruits were cultivated between two elliptical walls. It was a larger complex than most that Eadulf had seen. There were also many trees within the boundary walls shielding some of the buildings from others. The visitors could just make out most of the complex, but the swift descent of dusk made any further inspection impossible. However, one curious building that caught Fidelma’s attention looked like a wooden hut on top of one of the stone buildings that rose several storeys. A number of birds perched and clustered around it, and one or two of them took off and circled it in the growing darkness before coming back to rest.

  ‘Carrier pigeons?’ Fidelma asked, and Brother Eochaí gave a nod.

  ‘We learnt the art of sending messages from the Romans when they occupied our neighbours, the Britons,’ the stable master explained. ‘I am told they learnt it from the Greeks, who learnt from the Persians and so on …’

  ‘I am aware of that,’ interrupted Eadulf, trying not to sound churlish. In fact, he had realised just how much the pigeons were used in the Five Kingdoms only a few months before, when in the country of the Déisi. ‘Why would this abbey have need of carrier pigeons?’

  ‘This is an influential abbey in spite of our isolated location,’ replied Brother Eochaí complacently. ‘Our abbot often needs to be in touch with the royal centres. Our gatekeeper, Brother Dorchú, is an expert on the training of the birds. He was the man attending the lamps just now as we entered.’