The Flight of Swans

by Sarah McGuire

  As soon as I was clean, I left the bath so Ionwyn could take me to Carrick. She led me into the cool evening, across the courtyard, and into one of the stone buildings against the wall.

  A woman tried to hold a thrashing Carrick in her lap.

  Of course he fought her, sick and separated from every face he’d ever known! How could I have enjoyed the bath while he was alone?

  I rushed to Carrick and snatched him from her.

  He still thrashed as I sat, but I just tucked him close and bent my face close to his.

  He was so hot!

  I stroked his cheek and red-brown curls, damp with sweat.

  “Wyn? Wynnn—” He stopped beating against me. One small hand gathered a handful of my dress, the other tangled itself in my wet hair.

  I didn’t care if he pulled my hair out by the roots. I kept rocking till he grew still, his weight pressing the Kingstone against me—a reminder of who we were, even in this strange place.

  Keep fighting, Little Man, I thought as I rocked Carrick. A prince of the House of Cynwrig does not surrender easily.

  When I finally looked up, Ionwyn crouched near. “Here, Wyn.”

  So she’d heard Carrick’s name for me.

  She held a cup, motioning that it was for Carrick.

  I took it, wary. Finally I sniffed it, then took a small sip, ignoring the older nurse’s snort.

  “The wench thinks it’s for her!”

  But Ionwyn silenced her with a hand on her arm.

  They’d added willow root to the water in the cup. I knew the taste—and that it would cut the fever. I lifted the cup to Carrick’s lips.

  After a moment, he drank, too weak to protest the bitter drink.

  Within an hour, he’d emptied the cup. And then another. But his fever didn’t break. He burned against me as he grew more and more restless, more and more distant.

  I was losing him. The fever burned too bright.

  I reached out into the dark and brought Ionwyn’s hand to Carrick’s forehead.

  She gasped. “He’s burning up.”

  “We can bathe him,” suggested the nurse. “I’ll get a basin.” She scurried out.

  Bathe him. Hadn’t the Ri’s chariot splashed through a river as we approached the castle?

  I stood with Carrick, wincing at the tingling in my now-numb legs. Ionwyn watched me, ready to act if I—what? What did she expect me to do?

  I didn’t care, so long as she let me do what I wanted.

  I motioned her to follow as I stepped into the night, listening for the sound of water.

  To my amazement, she walked with me: past the gate that guarded the wall, down the road that sloped along the hill’s side, to the river the chariot had driven over.

  I walked along its banks until I found a suitable place. I handed the motionless Carrick to Ionwyn, then scrambled into the river, positioning myself so that the cool water rose nearly to my shoulders.

  I held my arms up for him.

  After a pause, Ionwyn knelt and gave him to me.

  He moaned as the cool water rushed around him, then quieted. I pulled him to my chest, his cheek against my collarbone, and felt the fever burn on.

  The waning moon hung low in the sky, as if the Queen was reaching across the water for Aiden’s son. I held Carrick closer, hand over his cheek, so even the moon couldn’t find him.

  I would not let the Queen have him.

  I concentrated on the sound of water surging against stone, against me. It became a prayer I chanted over and over: Keep him safe . . . keep him safe . . .

  And still Carrick burned.

  Ionwyn tried to take him from me once, but I pushed her away with weak, cold hands. I alone would stay with the little man. Throughout the night, I held him close as the water waged war against the fever that burned inside him.

  The moon had neared the western horizon, paling as the night turned gray, when I realized Carrick’s cheek had cooled.

  Or perhaps I’d grown so cold I couldn’t feel anymore. I tugged on Ionwyn’s skirt, motioning her to check.

  She pressed a hand to his forehead, eyes widening, then called over her shoulder, “He’s better!”

  Had others been keeping watch with us?

  Ionwyn held her arms out to Carrick. “Let me take him.”

  I didn’t understand at first, her words dancing like snowflakes inside my head: shifting, never landing.

  Ionwyn held her arms out again. I didn’t want to give her Carrick, but my arms were so weak.

  I nodded, my jaw clenched against the ice in my bones.

  She had a difficult time reaching him, for the river had tangled my skirt around him. But she freed Carrick and gently lifted him.

  He wailed at the sudden change.

  The sound tore at me, even though it meant he’d grown well enough to cry.

  I struggled to climb out of the river. My legs buckled beneath me, and I couldn’t close my hands around anything to steady myself. Or were my hands already fisted shut?

  I didn’t know I was falling until the water closed over my head.

  I flailed for air. And then my head was above water, a hand tugging at my dress. “Help me. Help me! I can’t hold them both!”

  I gulped a few breaths before I fell again, the water splashing my face as I tried to keep my feet under me. Then boots kicked up dirt on the bank beside me. I heard cursing, felt hands pull me from the water and onto the bank.

  I retched up the river water I’d swallowed. I couldn’t find air, though I felt it all around me. The nearby voices turned to buzzing.

  My throat finally opened, and I pulled in one deep breath. Then another.

  I looked up for Carrick, saw Ionwyn hurrying away with him.

  I pulled myself up to my hands and knees, but my entire body shook as though trying to fling the cold away from me.

  I fell again.

  And was lifted into the air, held like a child.

  I peered at the face of the man who held me, but my eyes wouldn’t focus.

  “How’s a man to hold someone when they shake so?” he muttered.

  I knew the voice: Finn, the Ri’s captain. The one who’d threatened me.

  I didn’t care. And why wasn’t he warmer? Why didn’t I feel a whit warmer for being held so close?

  “Someone get a blanket!” he shouted as he began to carry me back to the castle. “She’s going to shiver herself free from me!”

  * * *

  I woke a full day later, with a healthy Carrick tucked beside me.

  That evening, Carrick and I joined the evening meal in the Ri’s hall. We were given a place far from the main table, but I was satisfied. That evening—and every day after that—he was swept up by young sons of other chiefs who visited the castle. I ached to be away but couldn’t regret the chance Carrick was given: after just a few days with his playmates at the castle, he was already babbling more.

  One of the young boys was also named Carrick. Ionwyn saw Carrick’s head lift when she called the other boy and was canny enough to realize he recognized his name. From that day on, Carrick heard his name spoken every day, even if it was in the oddly lilting accent of the kingdoms of Eyre.

  Carrick spent his days with other children of Fianna, but he spent the nights with me, sleeping close to my side. The bed was soft, but there was nothing to press my back against, no gentle clucking from Owain-the-hen during the long nights. I thought at first that having a room to ourselves was a luxury, but soon discovered that none of the maids who worked in the Ri’s household wanted to share a chamber with the mad girl and her son.

  I learned more of the Fianna those days while Carrick and I recovered. I learned they had their own systems of honor, and that, fierce as they were, there was a kindness about them too. I wished more than once that I didn’t have to pretend to be deaf and mute, that I could walk among them with open face and heart and listen to all they told me.

  I also learned that Ionwyn was the Ri’s cousin, though I’d alread
y guessed as much. There was an easy familiarity between them that reminded me of my brothers and me. I suspected that few people could scold the Ri the way Ionwyn sometimes did.

  However, I had not guessed that she was a bard in the Ri’s household, respected among the chiefs of Fianna. The third night that we ate from the Ri’s table, he called her to the front. “Ionwyn! Won’t you gift us with a story this evening?”

  She’d walked to the center of the hall, the bells at the ends of her many red-gold plaits making quiet music around her. Finally, she stood with her head tilted to the side, as though already hearing the story.

  And then she told us the story of a warrior determined to avenge his dead father. I’d never heard anything like her telling of it: the power in her voice, the promise that if we dared follow her into this story, we would encounter a place as fierce and beautiful as the Otherworld itself.

  For that one moment, I wished Carrick and I could stay.

  Yet the nettle tunics waited—and my brothers!

  The black swans were molting. Without their flight feathers, they wouldn’t be able to follow me to a nearby lake this full moon. When they changed, my brothers would find a deserted cave.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  * * *

  Nearly two weeks after the Ri brought us to Fianna, I decided it was time to go. If I’d had words, I would have thanked the Ri for his kindness, but I feared we wouldn’t be allowed to leave. So we walked out of Fianna after everyone broke the night’s fast, hidden in the busyness of the early morning.

  Ionwyn and two young men found us not three leagues down the road and escorted us back to the castle.

  Her signs were choppy, frustrated as she pointed to Carrick. “You can’t leave! The Ri himself has contracted to foster your son for a year.” She threw her hands in the air when I merely blinked at her.

  She tried again, motioning some sort of shelter over Carrick’s head.

  “Foster? Do you understand?” Her tone was almost caressing, but her words were pointed as swords. If I hadn’t been so determined that she believe I was deaf, I’d have laughed. Her performance reminded me of something Cadan would do. “Of course you don’t. For the next year, you and your son will be fed. He’ll be educated. Corbin won’t be paid the foster price of even a cow for his troubles because I doubt you’ve seen that much wealth in your entire life! And even if you owned a herd of cows that gave cream instead of milk, Corbin wouldn’t take it because you begged his help.”

  She took me by the shoulder and began marching me toward the castle. “You were smart enough to do that, but stupid enough to walk away from it. I wish to heaven he was wise enough to let you go.”

  I knew then there was no escape. The Ri’s hospitality had trapped us in Fianna.

  Chapter 41

  Sixty-second full moon

  Carrick and I did not greet my brothers the night of the full moon.

  I imagined Aiden peering up at the cave, looking for firelight. I could almost see Cadan searching the bank for their clothes—the clothes that hung in their satchel from the jagged outcropping in the cave, right beside the tunics.

  My brothers would believe the Hunters had followed us across the water and found us. Their hearts would break again and again throughout the night, and there was nothing I could do.

  I thought I’d go mad with grief.

  So when Carrick fell asleep, I slipped out into the night.

  Moonlight spilled across the castle with its round tower, and the courtyard was quiet. Not a candle burned in any of the houses. But the walls still surrounded me, holding me from my brothers.

  I paced in wider and wider circles, going beyond the castle to the ruins of a small building, my vision blurred by angry tears. Aiden shouldn’t have to suffer a night like this. He’d endured so much already—

  And then I saw them: nettles, clustered around the ruins.

  They like old stone.

  The nettles were tall, just beginning to seed, as they should this time of year. If I was at the cave, I’d harvest them for Owain’s tunic.

  The last tunic.

  What would I do if I couldn’t return to the cave in time? How would I—?

  I wouldn’t be thwarted this close to the enchantment’s end.

  I ran to the stable and gathered a small knife and a torn horse blanket, then dashed back to the nettles.

  I’d start the last tunic here. Now.

  I looked up at the full moon.

  It had always reminded me of the Queen, always made me feel she was watching. But I was glad it shone down on me. Let her see me. Let her learn that for the last five years I’d worked to free my brothers. Every nettle I’d harvested had been my way of taking up a sword against her.

  I raised the knife to the moon in salute, then turned to the nettles.

  I’d worked with nettles so long that I hardly thought about running my hand up the stalks before gripping them. Harvesting them was second nature, and I barely noticed the few stings as I tossed the stalks on the blanket I’d spread on the ground.

  And all the while, I sent prayers into the night that my brothers would somehow know Carrick and I were safe.

  After an hour, the blanket was lost beneath the nettles. There’d only be a little more light before the moon set, and I still needed to ret the nettles.

  There wouldn’t be any ponds this high up the hill, and I didn’t dare set the nettles in any of the drinking water for animals, for the retting made the water foul as any chamber pot. But I could at least hide the harvested nettles till I could find a pool near the base of the hill, even if I needed to dam off a shallow portion of the river.

  One of the far stone houses was deserted. I could hide the nettles behind it for the rest of the night.

  I returned to the nettle patch and gathered the corners of the blanket to drag it away.

  “What’s this?” The rough voice came from behind me.

  Fear jolted through me, but I didn’t stop. The people of Fianna thought I was deaf, so I kept walking.

  “Don’t ignore me, chit. What are you doing?” A thick paw of a hand turned me around.

  Two men stood there. The smell of beer and a stronger brew hung around them like a fog.

  Don’t provoke them. They may just move on. I’d left the knife at the patch, but I held nettles in my hand. I squeezed them so tightly that they stung me. I found courage in that: the pain was a reminder of what I could endure.

  I was no longer a child scared of the night.

  These men, though? They feared the forest witch who harvested nettles under a full moon.

  “Does the Ri know you’re out here working forest evil?” slurred one.

  I shook my head, hoping they’d think I didn’t understand them.

  “He’ll shelter anyone,” said the other. He looked a little like Aiden—an arrogant, heartless version of Aiden. “Doesn’t care what this witch does to us.”

  Fear blossomed inside me. This man was bent on proving something, and he was going to use me.

  The first grabbed my arm so tightly I winced. “You should be inside, witch.”

  Mael’s grappling holds flashed through my mind, but it wasn’t yet time to use them. I might get free from one of them, but not both.

  The man in front of me nodded to something behind me, and—

  An arm snaked around my waist from behind, lifting my feet off the ground.

  Three men, now.

  I tried to twist away—

  “Be still!” A slap caught me on the cheek. My head slammed against the shoulder of the man who held me.

  Another slap, and another.

  I kicked out, grimly satisfied when my foot slammed into the almost-Aiden’s face.

  “Moyle’s nose! She got his nose!”

  They must have struck me with a fist next, for everything went dark. I swear the moon dropped from the sky and danced in front of me.

  But I didn’t drop the nettles. Be still, I heard Mael say. Lean
back into the one who holds you.

  Attackers never expect that someone who wants to escape will move closer.

  I slumped against the chest behind me, heard him chuckle. “The Ri ignores the evil you’re working, but we won’t. We’ll beat it out of you.”

  My gaze flew to the castle.

  Moyle, holding his bleeding nose, staggered up. “She’s too canny for a mute. Go ahead, witch! Tell us why you’re out here.”

  I shook my head as if I didn’t understand.

  The first one backhanded me and laughed at my silence. “See? Silent as death, Moyle. Stupid too. You can beat the evil out of her, and she won’t say a word. The Ri won’t know who to thank.”

  “He’s too weak to consider it a kindness,” said Moyle, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

  The first one leaned close. Oh, he was ugly, and his delight made him uglier. “What did you do to the Ri that made him bring you here, wench? Did you—”

  Now!

  I caught him across the face with the nettles. He howled and fell back.

  I twisted the way Mael had taught me, and the grip on me loosened. I elbowed the man behind me, and he released me so fast I fell.

  I scrabbled away and leaped up. Moyle caught my sleeve and yanked me close enough that I could drive the edge of my hand into his throat. His eyes widened in surprise as he dropped to the ground.

  My sleeve ripped as he fell, and I ran.

  I heard footsteps and shouts behind me, but the castle was so close. Only a few more steps—

  A figure loomed up out of the dark, cutting me off. Were there more of them?

  I darted around him, expecting to feel his hands any moment. Then I heard the ring of a sword being drawn.

  I tripped over a tuft of grass and sprawled on the ground. I rolled to my back, with only a handful of nettles to protect myself against the swordsman.

  But he moved between me and the men who pursued me.

  “Stand back!” he barked, his sword tip flicking like the tail of a cat.

  It was Finn.

  The men stopped. “She attacked us!”