The Flight of Swans

by Sarah McGuire

  I pulled the cudgel back for another strike, but before I could ram it into the barbarian’s ribs, someone yanked it away. And then I realized whatever vessel had been holding my strength had emptied itself.

  I fainted.

  Chapter 38

  I opened my eyes and saw a ring of faces above me.

  They were not kind.

  Eight or more barbarian warriors encircled me. Each had a short sword strapped to his side or an ax slung on his shoulders. They wore no armor. Some wore short leggings just to their knees. They didn’t even wear boots—only leather sandals protected the soles of their feet.

  Were they warriors or bandits?

  I didn’t care. All that mattered was Carrick.

  I sat up, looking for him, and heard the metallic hiss of a sword being drawn over my left shoulder.

  “I’d urge you to rethink attacking the Ri, lass.”

  I’d left Lacharra years ago, but all the arrogance of my royalty surged up in me. I didn’t even look at the man who spoke. I wouldn’t give him the dignity of a hearing. Not when they’d taken Carrick.

  “I don’t think she can hear, Finn,” said another voice.

  Good. Let them think I was deaf. I’d learn more if they talked among themselves.

  And then I heard Carrick’s squawk. It took every bit of strength not to go to him, but the sword tip was too close.

  It didn’t matter. A moment later, Carrick barreled through the men who surrounded me. “Wyn!”

  I pulled him close, as if I could shield him from swords and evil.

  From barbarians.

  Then I felt the heat of fever. I leaned back, saw Carrick’s pale lips, his flushed cheeks.

  No. I’d barely survived the fever.

  I pressed him to my chest, my cheek against his forehead. He settled against me with a whimper, pressing the hidden Kingstone into my ribs. I looked up at the men around me, all arrogance gone. I needed to take Carrick back to the cave. Now.

  “Something’s wrong with the child,” said the one who’d drawn the sword. He had a fierce, craggy face, faded gold hair, and a forked and braided beard. Yet he knelt beside me and gently pressed the back of a gnarled finger to Carrick’s forehead. “Fever. Little wonder. How long did the crazy witch let him wander in the woods?”

  The circle of faces above me retreated. Who were these men? The clothing had looked shabby at first glance, but no peasant could afford the blues and greens that these clothes were dyed.

  Then I saw that the old one who’d touched Carrick wore a leather breastplate.

  Hunter!

  I scrambled away, crablike, with Carrick clutched close, until I ran into a tree behind me.

  “Careful!” the old one shouted. “She’s mad—and her child bears the fever!”

  His eyes were fierce, but not wild.

  I scanned the other men’s eyes. These were barbarians. Not Hunters.

  I sagged in relief—until the tree behind me moved.

  I jumped so violently that Carrick whimpered. I’d backed into a barbarian, not a tree. But I kept my head down, watching him from the corner of my eye as he joined his comrades. His pale linen tunic was embroidered in a twisting design of purple and crimson thread. I didn’t need to look any higher. His clothing announced that he was the leader of these men.

  I kept my head bowed over the burning Carrick. Leave. Just leave us!

  There was only the sound of horses stomping and huffing and the slow steps of the head barbarian. I swear I heard the grind of every pebble turning over, the snap of every twig that broke beneath his shoes.

  “We should go,” said the old one. I already recognized his voice.

  Yes! Leave! All would be well once I took Carrick back to the cave.

  “The child’s sick, Finn,” said his leader.

  “He’s with his mother now. She’ll tend to him.”

  I heard men mounting the horses and a wooden groan as the head barbarian stepped onto . . . I looked through my eyelashes . . . a chariot.

  “Tend to him, how? The fever takes most of the children it touches.”

  Still I didn’t move.

  Carrick burrowed into me, his face buried against my neck. He was hot, so hot! And his breath seemed to grow weaker by the moment.

  The fever takes most of the children.

  I realized then that I couldn’t care for Carrick. Not here. Not by myself. I wasn’t strong enough to carry him back to the cave. I’d fainted after swinging the cudgel a few times.

  I needed to go with the barbarians. I’ll keep him safe, Aiden. I promise.

  I thought of the five nettle tunics hanging from the cave ceiling and swallowed back the fear. I had to protect Carrick first—I’d return to the tunics in a few days.

  The barbarians mounted their horses, some in a single leap.

  They were leaving. If I wanted to go with them—

  I shifted Carrick to my hip and stood, weaving in my weakness.

  “Careful!” It was the old one: Finn.

  More swords being drawn. What did they think I could do?

  I kept my head bowed to show I meant no harm, then reached toward the chariot: Help us. Take us with you.

  Silence.

  I stepped closer to the chariot—free hand extended, then patted Carrick’s head: Help him.

  Finn dismounted and stood between me and the chariot. “We’ll not have you bring fever into Fianna, lass.”

  Fianna. I knew Eyre was divided into seven kingdoms. The kingdoms were different, but even I knew that all of them valued honor and hospitality.

  Very well. I’d use that.

  “I said: go on with you.” Finn’s voice was gentler than I expected, as if he didn’t like keeping me away but meant to enforce it all the same.

  But I wouldn’t let Carrick die because I couldn’t care for him. I would go with the barbarians, and this Finn wouldn’t stop me, even if he did carry a sword.

  I took another step toward the chariot, gesturing to Carrick: Help him!

  Finn didn’t budge. He simply called over his shoulder. “Ride on, Ri. I’ll stay with her till you’re past.”

  What sort of man was a Ri?

  I didn’t care. If the Ri wore fine clothes and rode in the chariot, he was the one whose word would stand. I’d appeal to him. I darted around Finn and knelt beside the back of the chariot, almost inside it, hand extended to the Ri himself.

  Finn shouted a curse, and his hand fell heavy on my shoulder—

  “Wait,” said the Ri.

  Finn released me. “She’s mad—don’t mind her!”

  I wasn’t mad. I was desperate—and I knew exactly what I was doing. I tugged a corner of the Ri’s cloak over my bowed head: Cover me. I ask your protection, your hospitality.

  “She doesn’t know what she’s asking!” I knew Finn didn’t believe his own words. “Leave her, Corbin. For your own sake. You cannot afford to bring fever to your people. Connach will be all too happy to use it to challenge you.”

  “How is honoring a plea for hospitality foolhardy?” The Ri’s voice grew rough.

  “You don’t even know that she asks it! But your people? All they’ll know is that you plucked something evil from the forest and brought it to Fianna!”

  I did know what I was asking. I wanted the Ri to see it in my face.

  I tugged on his cloak and raised my face to him: Shelter us . . . help us—

  He was young. Cropped gold hair, close-trimmed beard. Brown eyes that pitied Carrick. I could tell that much.

  I lifted Carrick a little higher and looked up at the Ri as if I was still the princess of Lacharra, as if I could demand hospitality and expect that it be granted.

  His eyes widened, startled, and something like recognition flew between us. I held his gaze a moment longer so he could see that I knew what I asked.

  Carrick stirred in my arms, and I looked down again.

  “She comes with us,” said the Ri. “I won’t refuse her.”

  I
expected Finn to explode, but he spoke quietly, as if he knew he’d already lost. “She could be a slave, running from her master, or a criminal! No good can come from bringing this woman from the forest!”

  I waited for the Ri’s response, my heart roaring in my chest.

  “She asked my protection,” said the Ri. “And she’ll have it. Help her into the chariot. And then give her the cudgel.”

  “My Ri!”

  “Now.”

  Finn sighed and extended his hand to steady me as I climbed in, holding Carrick. It was a small chariot, and I was close enough to touch the Ri. Finn leaned in as he handed me the cudgel. “If you strike him as you did earlier, lass, you’ll deal with me.”

  “Finn, she can’t hear you—and those are not your words to speak! Do you hold my hospitality so lightly?”

  Finn stepped away, head tilted in the slightest bow. “No, my Ri. I’ve never seen a man hold to justice like you.”

  “And isn’t this part of justice?”

  Finn massaged his neck. “I’m captain of your men. I won’t have you hurt, and this? This will hurt you. You’re meddling in something best left in the forest.” He studied the Ri’s face. “You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  Finn spoke the truth, more than he knew.

  The Ri sighed. “She comes with us, Finn, no matter the consequences.”

  Chapter 39

  I didn’t bow my head as I rode in the Ri’s chariot. I watched every bend of the road through the forest, studied every turn he made, determined to retrace the path as soon as Carrick recovered. I wouldn’t leave the nettle tunics unguarded.

  Carrick’s fever only grew hotter, his breathing more shallow. I pressed him into my shoulder and wished I could speak to him, call him back as he slipped further and further away.

  He’d never been so still.

  Despite his threat, Finn didn’t look at me even though he rode near the chariot. The barbarians rode differently, with only one rein threaded through the top of the bridle and a rod they held in their free hand. Finn touched his horse’s flanks gently enough as he directed his mount, but the horse-rod had an ugly hook on it.

  Maybe he planned to use it on the mad girl if he needed to.

  The Ri acted as though we weren’t there—eyes fixed on the narrow road ahead of us. Occasionally, I’d look away from the path and study him, trying to learn what I could about this man who had promised us shelter.

  He caught me watching him once. He transferred the rein to one hand and, with the other, loosened something from his belt and held it to me. A waterskin.

  I hesitated. He offered it again.

  I took it.

  The water revived Carrick, and he cried softly after a few sips. I poured water onto the hem of my shirt and used it to wash his face, praying it would slow the fever.

  The road opened onto a plain, fertile as the lowlands in Lacharra. Despite the overcast sky, the low rolling hills were a brilliant green.

  I studied the land we traveled, looking for landmarks, watching to see if the road branched off. Making sure that I could find the way back home.

  Finally, the chariot approached a hill that rose above the others. At first, all I could see was a wall crowning the rocky hillside and glimpses of a tower and castle beyond. I sighed in relief. I’d heard that the barbarians of Eyre couldn’t make even a simple building—that they didn’t even know how to mix mortar to build a wall.

  But that wasn’t the case here in Fianna, at least. Proper walls might mean proper physicians as well, and all the better for Carrick.

  The chariot and riders pulled alongside the hill so that I had to crane my neck to look up to the walls. A spring flowed out of the rocks and gathered itself in a river, rushing out toward the plains. Once we crossed a bridge over the river, the road curved back around the base of the hill and up toward the castle.

  Half a minute later, the chariot heaved itself over the brow of the hill as we swept through the gates.

  The walls we’d just come through circled the top of the hill. A castle, smaller than our castle in Lacharra, rose before me, with a single, soaring tower on the southeast corner. Small stone buildings clustered against the wall that protected the hill, and people peered out of them when they heard the clamor of the chariot and horses.

  This Castle Hill must be the seat of Fianna, then.

  The chariot stopped between some of the buildings and the castle itself. A group of servants greeted us, bowing.

  I realized then what a Ri was.

  Hadn’t I seen this a thousand times in Lacharra?

  Ri meant “king.”

  I’d begged hospitality from the barbarian king of Fianna. After I attacked him with a cudgel.

  The Ri stepped over me and leaped from the chariot. He pointed to me as he spoke to one of the older men who waited for him. The man wore a richly embroidered tunic, and different keys hung from his embossed belt. The steward, perhaps.

  The man nodded, then motioned for something or someone. I held Carrick tightly and pressed myself back into the chariot. I hadn’t been surrounded by so many people in years. My ears rang with the noise of the busy courtyard, as if I’d stood too close to a cannon when it fired.

  Then I looked down at Carrick, flushed with fever.

  This was not the time to be afraid.

  I slid off the edge of the chariot and stood, legs trembling from weariness, studying the people who crowded around us. Who will help us?

  They backed away, and I saw the fear and distrust in their faces:

  Madwoman.

  Witch.

  I’d become the witch-woman from the forest. Like the Queen. Like the old woman with her nettles. For a breathless moment, I realized how far I’d come from my life as a princess, how much I’d lost.

  I held Carrick closer and reminded myself of how much I’d gained.

  I didn’t care if I frightened these people. All that mattered was helping Carrick.

  Then the Ri approached with a woman not much older than I. Her red-gold hair was plaited into many small braids, some pinned up into elaborate designs. Each braid was tied with a small silver bell that gave a shiver of music every time she moved. She walked as tall and straight as a birch—and didn’t try to hide her suspicion.

  “She and her child will be given all the hospitality of this house, Ionwyn,” said the Ri. “You’ll see to them?”

  I held Carrick out to her: Help him!

  Her expression didn’t soften, but she looked at Carrick. Then she gestured to someone behind her.

  A stern-faced woman stepped forward and plucked Carrick from my arms.

  I lunged after her, but Ionwyn blocked me. “She’s come to help him!”

  I didn’t care. I wouldn’t leave Carrick among strangers. I tried to push past her and reach Carrick.

  The Ri held me back. “She’s deaf, Ionwyn! She doesn’t understand you—!”

  Let them think I was deaf. Let them think I was a witch. But I would not let them separate us!

  Ionwyn swung in front of me and took my face in her hands, forcing me to look at her. Her expression was so fierce that I stopped. Not furious, but fierce, as if she would meet any challenge I brought.

  Somehow, it made me trust her.

  I stilled.

  “Your son will be safe here,” she said, then glared over my shoulder at the Ri. “Help me! How do you explain safe without words?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer but pretended to cradle an imaginary baby. Safe.

  I nodded.

  Her gaze flashed up to me, intent, scrutinizing. Did she know I could hear?

  I dropped my gaze.

  “I’ll see that she’s bathed,” I heard Ionwyn tell the Ri.

  Then she turned and led me into the barbarian king’s castle. I slowed to trail behind, but she immediately took my elbow and tugged me to walk beside her.

  She didn’t want me to walk like a servant.

  I glanced at her, curious, but she studied me so intent
ly that I ducked my head once more.

  “What was he thinking,” Ionwyn muttered to herself, “taking in a creature that’s wild as a fox? She’s ugly, too, with her mat of hair and dirty face.”

  My cheeks warmed as shame rolled over me, tugging anger close behind it. Who was she to criticize me so?

  When I looked up, Ionwyn was staring at me. She’d seen the blush.

  Was that why she’d spoken so unkindly? To see if my face revealed that I could hear her? I immediately looked down, and though she continued to talk, I ignored her. I concentrated on our footfalls on the stone floor, the hum of conversation of the people we passed. The swish of Ionwyn’s fine dress, and the braided design embroidered into the hem of her dress: two strands—maybe three—looping over each other endlessly in a braid as beautiful as any Lacharran artwork.

  She showed me to a little room with a wooden tub.

  “For you. Someone will fill it soon.” She pointed to the table beside it that held linens to dry myself and a dress similar to hers, but without the embroidery.

  I didn’t move.

  She sighed and narrowed her eyes. Then she pulled me to the tub and mimicked washing herself in imaginary water. “To bathe.”

  She raised her eyebrows: Do you understand?

  Finally, I nodded.

  “Who are you?” she said, more to herself than me.

  I just stared at the wall and rocked on my heels like a child who needed comforting. I didn’t want her to know that I could hear or think, that I’d take Carrick away as soon as I could.

  “You’re safe here. You and your boy.” Her voice was gentle now.

  My heart turned over. No one had spoken to me like that in years.

  But I knew we weren’t safe, and no one could protect us. So I kept rocking and looked through her, as if she wasn’t there.

  Her gaze dropped to the black feathers tied to my waist. She reached for them, but I batted her hand away. She yanked it back and watched me a few seconds more.

  “You’re safe, Bird-girl.” She turned to leave. “But I wonder if we are.”

  Chapter 40

  If I hadn’t been so worried about Carrick, I’d have bathed all night. After washing in lakes for five years, that wooden tub seemed extravagant. And the barbarians had soap! Real soap. I savored the chance to wash away the filth and work the tangles from my hair with one of their carved bone combs.