Skaaha joined the ring round the fire, linking arms with Thum. Four steps deasil, three steps widdershins, the chain danced sunwise round the flames to the beat of druid drums. Firelight flickered on the dancers. Woodsmoke drifted between them. From behind, a hand caught Skaaha's wrist.
‘Come, come away,’ Jiya hissed, hauling her out of the dance.
‘No.’ Skaaha tried to shake her aunt's iron grip from her wrist. ‘I like that dance.’ Her aunt, obviously crazed, would not be shaken off. Skaaha was pulled away from the fire, across the grass and round the cobbled path.
‘You have to know.’ Jiya drew her behind the smelters' house. ‘I saw what happened.’ Her eyes stared with horror. ‘Danger walks beside him.’
‘Who, Ard?’
‘The druid, Ruan. He watches me. That's why he's here.’
Skaaha sighed. It was spirit talk, nonsense. Back at the shore, Ruan sat on a rock behind the fire, playing his reed pipes. ‘No, he came to teach me. Suli said so.’
‘You can't learn what he knows. Don't be fooled.’ Jiya's words came in a rush. ‘He tried to make me drink poison. You saw!’
‘It was cordial,’ Skaaha explained. ‘I drank it.’
Her aunt let go her wrist. ‘That was a trick,’ she shrieked. ‘Suli sent him to take me back.’ She clutched her head. ‘Remember.’
Skaaha remembered. He will bring Jiya to me, Suli told Ard at the solstice. ‘But why?’ Except in battle, no one would harm Jiya. Anyone who did brought her malady on themselves, destined to live out its purpose instead.
‘His magic is strong,’ Jiya babbled. ‘He's from the north, like Suli. He can see inside your head.’ She crouched, terrified. ‘He puts thoughts in mine.’ Her hands slapped her skull. ‘Things I don't want to think.’
‘He can't do that’ – Skaaha felt fear creep up her spine – ‘can he?’ They were alone on the opposite side of the roundhouse from the festivities, but she looked around in the gathering gloom, half expecting to see Ruan lurking in the shadows, exuding malevolence, watching them.
8
‘Help me,’ Jiya begged. ‘I need to stay.’ She punched her head ‘Remember.’ She punched herself again. ‘Something, you need me, need to know.’ Another punch. ‘He'll take me away.’
Skaaha stared at her aunt, cowering in the shadow of the building, hands clamped on her head, shaking it now. A familiar helplessness rose from her gut into her chest, threatening to choke her, the same fearful feeling she'd had when Kerrigen died. Without forming the thought, she instinctively did what she'd done then. She ran, but not to the sea. Not this time. This time she ran, as she'd eventually done then, to the only haven on offer. She ran to her father.
Ard was among the group still dancing hypnotically round the bonfire, and reluctant to leave it.
‘You have to come,’ Skaaha tugged at his hand as he tried to whirl her round instead. ‘Dad, please!’
He stopped then, looking down at her as they both realized it was the first time she'd called him anything other than Ard.
‘Come on!’ She urged him towards the smelters' house. ‘Jiya needs help.’
‘Too much Telsha honey?’ He resisted. ‘I'm in enough trouble.’
‘No, she's afraid. I don't know what to do.’
He pulled back from her. ‘Then we should fetch Ruan.’
‘It's him she's scared of. Come on.’
Reluctantly, he followed. When they rounded the building, Jiya was crouched, huddled against it, moaning. But when she saw them she stood, her stance strange, almost arrogantly erect.
‘Skaaha says you need –’ Ard began.
Jiya cut him off, raising the flat of her hand towards him, as if to shield her face from him, or his from her. ‘I don't hear you,’ she said, walking past them. ‘I don't hear you. I don't see you.’ As she passed, she stopped and leaned towards him, without dropping her hand. ‘Stay away,’ she hissed from behind it, ‘or I'll slit your gizzard in your sleep.’
Skaaha, looking up, saw ugly, unsmiling hatred on her aunt's normally joyous face. Hairs on the back of her neck rose, prickling. Then Jiya was gone, round the house and out of sight.
‘Will she go away again?’ she asked Ard, fearful now for him.
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘Maybe it's drink. Those mushrooms don't suit everyone. If it is, she'll sleep it off. If not, Ruan will solve it.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘And you, daughter, should come to dance. One last dance for Lunasa, then off to bed.’
Through the deep blanket of sleep, a hand shook Skaaha awake.
‘Come on, Lazybed,’ Jiya urged. ‘Your pupil is waiting, and my warriors. Is slacking what you do if I'm not here?’ It was the morning after Lunasa.
Outside, as they stripped off, her aunt beamed, full of joy, restored to her usual, exuberant self. Behind the playing field, Ruan emerged from his lodge. He raised a hand in greeting and Jiya waved back, cheerfully, quite undisturbed by his presence. As the druid walked on past the burial mound, Skaaha's spirits rose. Slotting into the perfectly choreographed team, delight in her physical skill returned. Jiya was with her again. Warriors ran through their routines alongside her. Apart from dangling genitals, which at other times were strapped in leather pouches for protection during hand-to-hand combat, it was like being back in Ullinish, like being home.
Kylerhea grew busier in autumn. Fishers and farmers came to trade fresh, smoked and salted fish or wheat, barley, rye and oats for hooks, ploughs, gaffs, scythes and other tools. The warriors stayed on, waiting for the hunter's moon. By day, they patrolled the coast to keep the island safe from robbers and deter foreign raiders in sailing ships, a rare sight for many suns. Nights were spent gambling with dice, reciting heroic verse or stories of amazing feats. Women threw husbands out of bed, filling the empty space with one, or maybe more, of their guests.
Skaaha helped pack the larder – a long, narrow tunnel dug below ground, lined with stone. Earth-covered and overgrown with grass, it wasn't discernible from normal ground except for a low, iron-plated wooden door. The interior was no higher, its darkness alleviated by guttering lamps. She had to stoop all the way, being careful not to bang her head where one stone beam was lower than the rest. It smelled familiar, of earth and produce, like the great larder of Ullinish, creating the illusion she would emerge from the gloom to see Doon Beck on the slopes above. Spare milk, butter and cheeses were kept there in summer, along with game that needed to be hung. As winter approached, the amounts multiplied.
Lethra, the chief, conducted the storage operation from outside. Everything had to be stacked exactly as she said, fish kept well away from butter, spaces left for meat that would be dried or smoked before storing, and the fruits, fresh or stewed with honey, that would be picked between now and Sowen. Her husband – she had only one – saw to the grain pits.
‘And this is?’ Lethra screeched, gripping and twisting.
‘My ear!’ Skaaha squealed.
‘Ah.’ The old chief let go. ‘So you do know. Then use it. I said hang the smokies above the barrel of herring. What's in that barrel?’
‘Buttermilk?’ This time she was grabbed by the nose. ‘Oww!’
‘What's this for then?’ Lethra pushed the girl back into the larder.
It was mead in the barrel. Skaaha located the pickled herring and moved the smokies. ‘Did Kerrigen do this?’ she asked, coming out again. She had felt sorry for herself earlier, seeing the warriors set off on the first hunt without her. Now she felt sorry for her mother, fostered by this narky crone. No wonder Kerrigen refused to send her daughter to someone else to rear.
‘Kerrigen.’ Lethra's weathered face softened. ‘That was my girl. The islands lost a great queen when she died. A fine worker, determined never to be beaten, not by anything. By your age, she'd gone to be a warrior. A pity you're not like her. Here’ – she thrust a basket into Skaaha's arms – ‘go pick some Great herb, and if you bring back a handful of Ribwort leaves, I'll make us a brew.’
Skaaha's ear smart
ed. Her nose stung. She would give the brew a miss for as long as possible. Hurrying away, basket over her arm, she started up the hill. It was only mid-day, the warm air cooled by a light breeze blowing in off the sea. If she found the warriors, they'd let her stay. Coming back with a wild pig or pointed stag would be better than returning with a few limp leaves.
When she reached the crest of the hill, the basket already held Lethra's herbs, but there was no sight or sound of hunters. They must be stalking among trees. Tentatively, she walked into the nearest thicket. Wild boars might be around, dangerous beasts who would attack a human unprovoked, and she was weaponless. She moved the way she'd been taught, walking quickly from one scaleable tree trunk to another, checking undergrowth for movement or rustling before moving to the next. The only frightening sound was a moose moving away as it scented her. When a polecat darted across her path, a squeal leapt to her throat, quickly stifled. Startled, a red squirrel scampered off. But as the trees opened into a clearing, she relaxed, about to retrace her steps. Wherever the warriors hunted, it wasn't here. Around the glade, blue-black berries gleamed on low plants, succulent, delicious fruit. A basketful of it would show Lethra she wasn't useless.
Lifting the Great herb from the basket, she spread the Ribwort leaves in the bottom to prevent the small, plump fruit filling the wickerwork. Nimbly, she began to strip the thin woody stems, barely glancing up when a couple of roe deer passed behind her. The stillness of the forest, drowsy with droning insects, settled round her. Eventually, the basket was half full and satisfyingly heavy. Her back hurt, her fingers were stained deep purple. Sitting down on a hummock, she pulled a few berries to eat and looked up for the sun. It would soon be time to leave. A rustle that wasn't wind, bird or deer made her look towards it. She was looking at a bear.
Across the clearing, the bear also looked at her. Fear raced through her limbs like ice-fire in her blood. She averted her eyes, hoping it would turn back into the forest. It didn't. Instead, it pushed its brown snout into the plants, nipping blaeberries with its sharp teeth. Perhaps it hadn't seen her. She was upwind. That wasn't good. The bear snuffled around, feeding, coming towards her. She should speak, let it know there was a human in its way. Her throat, clagged with berries, couldn't produce a cough. The bear's shoulders were massive, forelegs powerful, its claws could rip a face off in one… she mustn't scream. Maybe if she ate more berries… maybe it would be happy to share the patch… surely it heard her heart thunder. She swallowed. The bear's head swung round. Black eyes glinted at her.
Outside the forge, Lethra complained to Ard. ‘How long does it take to fetch a handful of herbs from up on the rocks?’
Ard shrugged. ‘Maybe she met Vass and the others.’
‘And what would they be hunting just there’ – the chief waved her hand to the rocky rise behind the smelter – ‘Shrews? We'll feed fat on those this winter!’
‘I was only suggesting…’
‘I know what you're suggesting – that it's fine for her to wander off, forget work, do as she pleases.’
‘Not at all. But she's young, used to being with warriors, a child…’
Noise from behind the smelter interrupted him, loud, joyful noise, and many voices. Lethra hobbled round the house to see. Ard followed. It was the warriors returning, a reindeer slung below a pole carried by two of them, two wild boars hanging below another. The sun was low, too low.
‘Is Skaaha with you?’ Ard called to Vass.
She wasn't. Jiya, bloodied spear in hand, was first to react. Dropping her shouldered pole, she turned to scan the hills. A crow lifted above a patch of woodland, drifted to another. Jiya was off and running. Ard snatched a finished spear and sword from the forge. It was almost dusk. Birds should be settling. The warriors dumped their cargo and followed Ard, fast.
Across the clearing, the bear reared up, sniffing. Its fur rippled like grass in the wind. It might drop down and charge. Skaaha wanted to turn, scramble away, get to her feet, run. But she couldn't move. The bear dropped, swung its dark head left then right, uttered a low moan. It wanted her to leave. She couldn't move. She couldn't move, but her mind raced now. The bear could easily outrun her. It could climb as well or better than she could. She should stand, raise her arms, make herself look big, talk to it, back away. She couldn't move. The bear paced forward a step, reared on its hind legs, pushed its nose up, sniffed again.
Skaaha rose slowly to her feet, head half-turned away from the bear. Her lowered gaze lighted on the traitorous basket of berries. The bear could smell it, so much fruit in one place, at her feet. Cautiously, she raised her arms as high as she could.
‘I don't want fruit,’ she lied, keeping her voice low. ‘You have it, bear.’ She stepped backwards, away from the basket, slowly. ‘You eat. I'll go.’ She took another step back. The bear dropped and charged, a brown blur roaring towards her. She wasn't sure if it was making that growling, thundering sound or if the roar was her blood surging, the thudding her rapid heart. She froze.
In his lodge, following the woman priest's instructions as he ground chopped herbs to a paste, Ruan heard a commotion from the village, shouts of panic and running feet. Dropping the pestle, he snatched his long staff and ran out. Bloodied game lay, abandoned next the forge. Warriors pelted back up the slope. People stood around, fretful, the evidence of interrupted chores in their hands.
‘Skaaha,’ Lethra said, her weathered face gone grey, pointing. A pair of rooks put up from the patch of trees.
Cursing himself for thinking her safely occupied, Ruan sped after the warriors. The time of day, unsettled birds and the nature of beasts, all informed his mind and muscles. Racing upwards, he deepened his breathing, beginning to overtake the line of running Ardvasar men.
Skaaha's breath caught as the charging bear rushed straight for her. On the last lope, it veered off, hurtling past. She turned to face it, keeping it within sight. If she ran, it would chase and kill her. Stealing half-glances, she took another step, to the side this time, away from basket and bear, nearer the trees, and another step. The bear turned too, swinging its head from side to side again, moaning.
‘I'm leaving, bear,’ Skaaha said. ‘You have the fruit.’ Now she kept moving, slowly, evenly. Everything in her wanted to run. The bear reared up again, watching, sniffing. Skaaha was into the trees, still backing off, glancing down, trying not to stumble. If it charged a second time, she'd have to drop, curl up, play dead.
Racing up the slope, Jiya kept her eyes on the spot she wanted to arrive at. Boulders and outcrops kept getting in her line of sight. Other birds put up from the same trees. Her legs pumped, muscles burned. Wolves would be stirring. Something disturbed those birds. There were lynx, boar and bears in the island's woods, and a girl, defenceless.
The warrior leapt a burn, ran on, rounded another outcrop. A shriek pierced her ears. Skaaha, a terrified, pelting, screaming Skaaha, burst out of the scrub and thumped into her, arms grasping round her waist.
‘Jiya, Jiya,’ she sobbed. ‘There was,’ her voice gabbled, ‘a bear.’
Jiya pushed the girl behind her, butted the base of her spear against the rock at their backs, aiming the point forwards, scanning the tree-line. ‘A bear, where?’
‘It was… it's eating… it got my basket.’ Now she wailed. ‘I had blaeberries!’
‘When I stick it, you go,’ Jiya ordered, tense, braced. ‘Don't run till then. Then go fast. Don't look back.’ One spear in a bear wouldn't stop it, only enrage. Her mind played the moves, rapidly. Thrust for the throat as it rears, let go, draw sword, go in fast, into those powerful arms, past the mauling claws, right into the gut, thrusting up to the heart, in and up.
No rapidly darkening shadow rushed from among the tree trunks, nothing emerged, nothing. The only sound was feet coming up the hill behind them. Ruan arrived, with Ard a step behind, the smith breathing hard.
‘Bear?’ Ruan asked, voice steady, taking in her stance, her trembling niece. He wasn't even out of breath.
&
nbsp; ‘It was.’ Jiya shifted her gaze from the forest to glare at him. Had it come, saving Skaaha would have cost her life. ‘Where were you?’
In the village, Lethra and Erith formed an unholy alliance, bolstering each other against fear with complaints about Skaaha's unruliness and warriors who dropped food to go look for her. Thum was first to return, skittering down the slope.
‘She's fine,’ he called to the two headwomen. ‘They have her.’
‘Well, that's a blessing,’ Erith said, and went to supervise the evening meal. The youthful cook was prone to burnt offerings if she didn't stand over him.
Lethra nagged the men skinning and butchering the abandoned deer and pigs, despite their efficiency, until the hunters arrived back with Skaaha perched on her father's shoulders. ‘I don't know what you're all so pleased about,’ the crone snapped, wiping the smiles off all their faces, ‘back without herbs or basket!’
But when Skaaha embroidered the story of the bear that night, telling how they ate berries together after the many charges, so close she could feel the brute's hot breath fan her cheeks, and, by shouting that it should be thankful she'd shared her find and behave better, how her boldness had tamed the beast and won her safety from the threatened mauling with its great claws, everyone delighted in the telling. Ruan smiled, despite his failure. Jiya hooted with joy. No one, not even Lethra, commented on the different tale told by the white tracks of tears left in the purple blaeberry juice dyed on those same cheeks.
9
‘I'm floating,’ Skaaha said.
‘You're not,’ Lethra snapped. They were in the cavern, sitting by the hearth, finally sharing that brew. ‘But if you start, you'll get no more of this.’ Then, in case Skaaha forgot the chief had picked the Ribwort herself: ‘Not that you deserve any. It's your throw.’ She put the two dice in front of the girl.
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