Warrior Daughter

by Paisley, Janet

  Braced on the rocky slope, Eefay squinted along her arrow, aiming carefully to target the assassin on the right above her. Mara's archer also took aim, over the ridge, down into the arena below. So her sister still lived, still fought. Even as pride flushed through her veins, Eefay hesitated. Skaaha's survival put a spoke in the wheel. Her older sister won every accolade. If she lived, Eefay would trail again in her wake.

  Arriving on the flattened outcrop, Terra saw the enemy archer on the ridge draw back her bowstring, and cursed. Dragging her own bow round, her eye caught a second figure, below the archer, to the left. Relieved, she saw it was Eefay, arrow already aimed, bowstring taut, poised. ‘Loose it,’ Terra urged, soundless in case she alerted the target. What was Eefay waiting for? Her eye flicked back to Mara's accomplice on the crest. The bow snapped in her hands, the string loosed.

  Skaaha somersaulted backwards beyond reach of the warrior queen. She was in control, not Mara, and delighting in her skills. Ard, somehow he surely knew. He, and Erith, and Kenna, and Hanick – their names were inscribed on her heart, every blow struck for one of the dead. In front of her, bleeding from numerous small cuts inflicted by Skaaha's spear, Mara gasped for breath, bruised and winded by the pace of attack. One mistake, and the warrior queen's guard was overcome. Time was on Skaaha's side. She intended to take it. Breathing deep, she balanced herself.

  ‘Run out of threats?’ she taunted.

  On her ledge, Suli heard the hum of arrow slice through air.

  ‘Skaaha!’ she yelled.

  Skaaha ducked sideways, too little, too late. Pain seared through her chest like fire, burning below her shoulder. She staggered back. Mara shrieked for joy, fingers tightening round the hilt of her sword.

  On the scree slope, as Gila's bowstring snapped, Eefay loosed her arrow. Without pausing, she fitted a second flight to her bow. Below, on an outcrop, she saw Terra take aim, and fire.

  Up on the ridge, reaching for the next arrow, Gila smiled, seeing the first strike home. A sharp stab burst through her neck, tore her windpipe. Choking as her chest burned, the archer fell back against the boulder, bow clattering from her clawing hands. A second shaft thumped into her chest, the iron head finding her heart.

  ‘Hyaaa-aaaaa!’ Mara screamed, leaping forward, sword poised. The mid-day sun spilled over the ridge, lighting the circle of green. Mara's blade shone as it crashed down on Skaaha's feebly presented spear. The shaft shattered in two, the pieces falling from her hands. Before they hit the ground, before Mara's swing completed and could turn on her, defenceless now, Skaaha dragged breath into her burning lungs and threw herself backwards into a handspring. Her fingers pressed the earth, felt wood, clutched. Blanking out pain, when her feet met grass again, she ran.

  ‘Run,’ Mara jeered, throwing her shield away to chase the wounded girl. ‘There's no way out, remember?’

  Skaaha was running, running not for the gateway but towards the cliff where her shield was propped, running into solid rock. The spar of wood grasped in her fingers was the broken head of Mara's old spear. She ran like time running out. Her feet lifted off from grass on to jagged stone. Momentum carried her up the sheer slope. Just before the force of the earth would drag her down, she bent her knees, pushed off and sprang backwards.

  One day you'll leap and let fate choose your future. Jiya's voice from Doon Beck spoke in her head, from the day of her mother's death. She leapt, spinning, into brightness. Below, the warrior queen squinted up, the laugh dying in her mouth. A blaze of light blinded her – the sun reflected on the shield Ard had fashioned for his daughter. Her sword swung towards the shadow that soared above.

  Skaaha turned in the air, kicked out. Her foot smacked the back of Mara's head, sending her reeling forward. As she dropped behind the queen, both hands grasped the broken spear shaft. With all her falling weight, she drove the point deep into Mara's back, between shoulderblade and spine, and held on. The ground hit with a smack. The queen thumped on top of her, dragged down, gasping, by the shaft of the spear still gripped in Skaaha's hands. Wincing from the tearing fire in her chest, Skaaha stretched out her foot, kicked away the fallen sword. The earth spun. Darkness rose. Blood from Mara's wound leaked over her.

  Silence settled like a blanket on the waiting crowd. The grunts and shrieks of battle from behind the rock-face had ceased. Tension grew, taut as a harp string. They would only know who had won when the triumphant champion emerged through the guarded gateway. Sitting in the Kylerhean cart, Lethra clutched Gern's arm for support, the twin agonies of hope and fear written on their faces. Fronting the Ardvasar warriors, Fion's fingers touched his axe, freeing it in its holster. Beside him, Jiya sat rigid on her horse, finally still, finally wordless.

  A slight breeze teased the red flags on Bracadale spears, the horsewomen as inscrutable as the other warriors around them. Guarding the gateway, Vass glanced at Corchen, standing by the other post. She, too, heard the crunch of stumbling feet approach from inside. A body loomed in the gap, hand clutching the rock. Filthy white, tangled spikes of hair clung to a bruised, bloodied face. It was Mara.

  A few cheers stuttered among her warriors, mingling with stifled groans of dismay, rapidly strangled. The queen's scarred flesh bore no fatal wounds. Her breath shuddered. She jerked forward, pushed from behind.

  ‘Don't think you escape,’ Skaaha's voice snarled.

  A gasp rose from the watchers. The shaft of an arrow jutted from the dishevelled challenger's shoulder, witness to perfidy. Buried in the stumbling queen's back, a shaft of broken spear bled profusely. Skaaha grabbed her opponent's hair, forcing the wounded woman to her knees.

  ‘Mara sullied the place of heroes,’ she called, voice rough, gasping, ‘and made it a place of shame.’ She paused, drew a groaning breath. ‘Her death will not besmirch sacred ground.’ Grunting as pain seared down across her chest from the arrow impaled between shoulder and throat, she dropped, slumping on to a boulder, still grasping the treacherous warrior's tangled hair.

  Seeing their champion falter, fear rippled round the crowd. Hands clasped to mouths. Vass started towards Skaaha.

  ‘Leave her be,’ a voice warned. It was Suli, emerging from the gateway, staff tapping. ‘Skaaha must finish this.’ The end of her staff probed a loose rock. Bending, she lifted it, put it in the girl's limp hand.

  Skaaha's fingers clenched around the stone. Adjusting her seat on the boulder, she bent forwards, yanked Mara's head up. Dazed, the queen struggled, unable to rise. Her eyes flickered, fearful. ‘Know this,’ Skaaha hissed in her ear, ‘that you will die three times, and then for all eternity!’ Driven only by the vengeance of justice now, she drew deep to still her pain, raised the rock to the extent of her arm, remembering another life beating iron in the forge. ‘This death is for Kylerhea,’ she roared, and brought the stone down with all the force in her to smash her enemy's skull.

  ‘Aye-yie-yah!’ the islanders howled. Tears ran down Lethra's haggard face.

  Skaaha let the rock fall away, reached down to her belt, and drew out the blue strip of cloth from Kerrigen's cloak. Tugging Mara's lolling head back, she wound it around the stunned warrior's throat. ‘This death,’ she yelled, ‘is for Kerrigen!’ She jerked the cloth tight. Mara's body bucked against the sudden loss of breath. Skaaha twisted the rag tighter, holding with all her strength, breathing steadily, as the warrior queen thrashed. Her soul fought mightily to flee, feet scrabbling, scattering scree, hands clawing at the cloth, but there was no way out.

  ‘Aye-ya! Aye-ya!’ the warriors yelled. Jiya slid off her horse to dance.

  Mara's limbs flopped, trembling. Before the gurgling ceased, Skaaha let go with one hand, gripping the garrotte tight with the other. Grunting with effort against the surge of pain in her wound, she reached forward over the twitching body to draw the dagger from its belt. ‘And this,’ she shrieked, ‘is for Skaaha!’ Yanking the limp head upright by the tightened noose, she dragged the short blade across a bulging vein in the queen's neck, slitting it in executi
on of the third ritual death. Blood squirted, pumping out the last dregs of Mara's life.

  ‘Aye-yie-yah!’ The roar from the crowd was deafening. The drums of Bride's druids began to beat in celebration. The war horns of the warriors blew.

  Skaaha pushed the body away. It flopped forward, tipping over on the ground. ‘There now,’ she said, sucking air in, ‘it's done,’ and collapsed, letting the blessed darkness fill her head.

  *

  Weight pressed on her chest. She heard a snap, felt the thrust of agony fire through her shoulder. Robes brushed her cheek.

  ‘Come now, child,’ Suli said, tucking the broken, bloodied arrow shaft in her belt. ‘You have felt worse pain. Sit up.’ Hands helped her, Ruan's and Nechta's. Cool water washed her wounds, her bruised face and skin. Healing cream was applied.

  ‘Ruan, did you see?’ Skaaha grunted, still amazed. ‘The eagles came.’

  ‘Did you think they wouldn't’ – his eyes glistened, unusually bright – ‘for a goddess?’ Her cloak was fastened round her shoulders, shield slung on her back.

  ‘Ard protected me, as he hoped,’ Skaaha muttered, gritting her teeth. ‘The sun's light…’

  ‘I think you had more help than you know,’ Suli interrupted. Grasping Skaaha's elbow, she helped her rise. Despite frailty, her fingers gripped like iron.

  ‘She meant to silence you,’ Skaaha said.

  ‘I was ready for her,’ Suli said, unperturbed. Releasing her grasp, she freed the sling at her waist, swung it over her head. The stone shot thumped on rock above the gateway. A froth of feathers rose.

  Skaaha gaped. ‘You killed a sparrow.’

  ‘Ach.’ Suli tucked the sling away. ‘Age dulls the ears. I heard mouse.’

  Vass offered Skaaha her sword. ‘The head is yours to take,’ he said. Drums and horns ceased. Silence rippled like a tide through the onlookers.

  Wincing, Skaaha grasped the hilt. Sun sparkled on the blade. Behind her, high above, white-tailed eagles soared, gathering to feed on a corpse sprawled on the ridge. She glanced down at the ruined body of her enemy. This was the moment she'd lived for, to raise that head in both her hands and shake it. Warrior foes were beheaded. Mara was unworthy of the accolade.

  ‘I don't want it,’ she said, then, raising her voice to shout, ‘Let her go to the bog intact. Eternity should know her treachery.’ Cheers bawled from the crowd, howling, becoming a great wall of sound.

  ‘Skaaa-haaaa! Skaaa-haaaa! Skaaa-haaaa!’

  Skaaha raised her sword in victory, and staggered. The chant faltered. Ruan ran to catch her. The wavering chant picked up again. Jiya danced, ululating. Thum stepped forward from the waiting warriors. Pride glowed on his youthful face. The beginnings of a moustache trapped sunlight on his upper lip. The chant frittered away, dropping to a murmur as he clenched his fist against his heart.

  ‘I pledge allegiance to Skaaha!’ he cried.

  ‘No,’ she protested, gripping Ruan's arm. ‘Not me.’

  Fion joined the young man, with a smile broad enough to split the stones. ‘I pledge my allegiance to Skaaha!’ he roared.

  Vass stepped up beside his men, fist clenched to his chest, bellowing the oath. Corchen strode over to stand with them. Jiya beat her to it. One by one, warriors from the north, south, east and west chapters lined up to dedicate heart, sword and honour to their new queen. The watching tribes howled their approval.

  ‘Skaaha, Skaaha, Skaaha!’ they chanted as Thum and Fion carried her, shoulder high, to her chariot.

  Ruan fell into step with Suli, to lead them back to Doon Beck.

  ‘My task is over,’ he said, ‘my work done.’

  ‘Huh,’ Suli snorted. ‘She has still to prove herself. The foreigners know the islands are weak.’ Then she relented. ‘Things are as they would have been. Bride is satisfied.’ Her pale eyes turned to him, head cocked. ‘Eagles?’ she asked.

  Ruan flushed. For the three days of his watch on the place of heroes, he had fixed chunks of carcases brought from Kylerhea up on the ridge so the eagles would come today at the same time to feed. ‘It was too soon,’ he excused himself. ‘I thought death would come easier if she knew her mother's spirit watched over her.’

  ‘You had no hope?’

  ‘None.’

  ‘Then where’ – Suli's staff cracked across his ankle – ‘was your faith?’

  39

  Boom-boom. Mara's body sank into the bog on the boundary of Bracadale. The great drum beat out in celebration. Boom. A feast waited at Doon Beck, meagre in expectation of her victory. Boom-boom. The people of Danu ran to fetch more food. Above Doon Mor, a bonfire of Mara's belongings burned. Boom. Answering fires flared across the island as Kerrigen's daughter was welcomed home. Standing with Skaaha on top of the broch, watching the moonlit festivities, Eefay was less pleased.

  ‘I should be queen,’ she objected. ‘You didn't choose to be a warrior.’

  Boom-boom. On the hill, people danced like fire shadows around the flames, ululating like Ban Shee.

  ‘Time can't turn backwards,’ Skaaha said. ‘I am who I've become, as you are.’ She slipped an arm round her sister's shoulders. ‘Come of age at Beltane, and be queen of Glenelg. You're needed there. Where else will we train our warriors?’

  Boom-boom. The smell of roast mutton drifted on the night air.

  ‘Men, you want me to train the men?’ Eefay's voice rose.

  ‘I can't think of anyone better suited,’ Skaaha grinned. ‘Take Corchen. She's too slow to be of use to me but would make a fine tutor. Your school will be famous throughout Alba.’

  Boom-boom. Barrels of beer were broken open. Voices called.

  Eefay's face glowed. ‘If I tell Nechta right now,’ she said, ‘they'll choose me to become Danu, won't they?’ Without waiting for an answer, she ran down the stone steps to find the druid.

  ‘A fine lesson in diplomacy,’ Ruan said, coming over. He came to fetch her.

  ‘My sister is a good teacher,’ she said. So was Mara. Doon Beck smelt of neglect, the people's contempt.

  Boom-boom. Ullinish spread out below, ghostly in the moonlight. The curve of the bay swept round from the flat-topped mountains beyond Idrigill Point to the towering black jagged peaks that sheltered Torrin. Whatever else changed, land, sea and mountains remained. The islanded loch of Bracadale was the harbour of her childhood, constant, reassuring in its disinterest. Her heart hurt with love of it. She had not expected to be here, had never expected to come home, or to stand on top of this broch knowing it was time, once again, for change. Boom-boom.

  In the great room, lit by a low fire and guttering lamps, the dim space filled with chatter. Eager for counsel, the headwomen of the tribe ringed the table when Skaaha appeared. She flicked up her skirts in greeting as they did, and sat. Eefay bumped down on her left side, Ruan on her right. The Bracadale warriors filled the next few spaces. Opposite her, in the middle of the tribeswomen, Suli sat with Jiya. Vass and Fion, there by invitation of the new queen, reclined alongside.

  Skaaha raised the ceremonial horn from its stand in front of her. It was not as heavy as she remembered, but to spill it would still be bad luck. The mead was as warm and thick as the silence that had settled. Skaaha drank and passed the cup to her sister. As it continued round the table, she steadied herself for the test to come. It came quickly, as soon as she replaced the horn.

  ‘We won't feed warriors who don't protect us,’ a farm-keeper warned.

  ‘Not any more.’ The boat-keeper backed her up. Mutterings of agreement issued from the other providers. The raid on Kylerhea was the last straw. They had lost kin, their source of tools gone. The islands lived in fear.

  ‘I will deal with the raiders.’ Skaaha silenced them. ‘On my life,’ she vowed. She began with the forge. It would be rebuilt inland, safely distant from the perils of the coast. With her experience, Kaitlyn could head it. She farmed ground near good water, bog and forest. Her new baby daughter ensured succession, and she had fostered Freya's rescued child. G
ern, Calum and the other survivors would go there. The one house that remained on the kyle passed to Lethra, the crone, as a ferry post and small farm to succour travellers.

  Heads nodded round the circle. There was wisdom in all of this. The change at Glenelg met the same response. A school there provided warriors at no cost to the island. Few boys had trained at Doon Beck of late.

  ‘We must also secure Alba's future queens,’ Skaaha said. ‘If the people of Danu support it, women will train here as warriors.’ She raised a hand to still the storm of questions. ‘Doon Mor can house students. Doon Beck was Jiya's home. It will be hers again, as keeper of the new school.’

  ‘Aye-yie-yaa!’ Jiya hooted. ‘I love it! We should have beer.’

  The headwomen muttered approval. A school brought payment from the tribes of Alba whose daughters would also train there. With warrior tutors and students whose numbers compensated for novice skills, it provided protection and deterrent. Beer was liberally served.

  Ruan put his head close to Skaaha's. ‘Vass,’ he whispered. Her uncle had lowered his gaze, covering his response by wiping froth from his long moustache. He would miss Jiya.

  ‘I think so too,’ she agreed. There was a tie between the old warrior and her moon-crazed aunt. His respect, and warmth, calmed her. ‘Vass’ – her uncle's head came up – ‘the new school needs a tutor. I can think of no one better.’

  ‘Aye-yie-yaa!’ Jiya hooted again, thumping the table with her fist.

  Pleasure lit up the chapter leader's face. ‘You honour me,’ he said.

  ‘Then it's settled,’ Skaaha said. ‘Fion will lead the Ardvasar men and’ – the corners of her mouth quirked – ‘if he does it well enough, when I am ready for a child, I will marry him.’