Cattra's Legacy

by Anna Mackenzie

  Hailstorms marked the heart of winter. On clear days the bog crackled beneath their feet in the breath-stealing cold, while the waterways, grown sluggish, were fringed with beards of ice. Risha preferred the bitter cold to the endless rain, yet longed to be elsewhere — where, exactly, she didn’t trouble to define.

  Muir chafed at his enforced inactivity, annoying Sair with his pacing and Risha with his brooding. Only Ira seemed able to draw him out, and in that Risha found herself short-tempered with them both, preferring to stamp out into the cold rather than listen to their jesting.

  The weeks trudged past. One of Ira’s cousins took to calling, embarrassing Risha with the small gifts he brought her. Sair shook her head and sighed, but had no tonic that could ease Risha’s mood.

  Late one afternoon Muir beckoned Risha onto the walkway. The ice had begun to slide away from the margins of the boggy islands and the fog that hemmed them was touched with a faint but discernible hint of blue. ‘Blor says tomorrow will be fine,’ Muir told her.

  Risha studied him critically. His colour had returned though his lungs still gave him trouble. It had been some joke of Ira’s that had brought on his most recent fit of coughing.

  ‘The roads will be difficult, Risha, but we might—’

  ‘Blor thinks we can leave?’

  ‘If you’re ready.’

  ‘I’ll go mad if I can’t soon climb a hill or see beyond my own nose!’

  ‘It’s a pretty enough nose,’ Muir said. ‘At least Tully seems to think so.’

  ‘I’m surprised you’ve noticed what anyone thinks besides Ira.’

  His mouth twisted into his familiar half-smile. ‘I have eyes for no one but you, my lady.’

  She refused to be distracted by his teasing. ‘Will we go to Saithe first, or—’

  ‘It will depend on the marsh. Blor makes no promises. He says this early in the season we may have to turn back.’ His fingers tapped on the flimsy rail that edged the walkway. ‘Even beyond the marsh it won’t be easy travelling.’

  ‘Just so long as we’re away from here.’ She chewed her lip. ‘I wish we had some way of properly thanking Blor and Sair. We’d have died, but for them.’

  Muir became suddenly formal. ‘True enough, and I’m grateful. But for my life, my lady, my first debt is owed to you. I will not forget it.’

  Risha flushed.

  ‘On my life, Arishara, I swear I will get you home to LeMarc.’

  The punt slid silently through the chilly water, washing eddies of mist before it. Sair had wakened Risha early; she was still bleary-eyed when Blor tapped on the trapdoor, and had hugged the woman swiftly before following Muir down the ladder into the flat-bottomed boat. When she glanced back, Sair was watching from the walkway as Blor poled them swiftly away.

  The marsh was eerie in the half-light. Ice crunched occasionally as Blor forced through a narrow channel, several times having to backtrack and detour. Muir sat wrapped in his cloak and his thoughts. Risha wondered whether it was leaving Ira that troubled him. She turned to stare out at the marsh.

  Half an hour into their journey Blor broke his silence. ‘Saithe,’ he said, gesturing vaguely to their right. ‘No good way. Quicker,’ he added, pointing ahead.

  ‘I’m grateful,’ Muir said.

  After another silent hour the fog began to thin and Blor poled the punt onto a low mound of solid ground. ‘Follow.’

  Risha and Muir climbed from the boat as he set off in a series of brisk, hopping steps. Twice Risha judged a footfall wrong and floundered knee-deep in muddy water; the second time she would have fallen but for Muir’s quick hand at her elbow. They travelled in silence. A birdcall, long and low, broke the stillness, making Risha jump.

  As they neared the fringe of the marsh, Blor stepped to one side and motioned them past. ‘Solid,’ he said, pointing to the rising ground ahead. ‘Go good.’

  On impulse Risha kissed his wrinkled cheek. ‘Thank you.’

  Blor glanced uneasily at Muir. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Lady.’ Then he was gone, hopping back across the marsh grass and disappearing into the fog.

  They made their way gingerly over the last of the sodden terrain, marsh grass and bogweed giving way to sedge and spongy mounds of sphagnum. Two birds darted through the thin twigs of a winter-bare shrub. Even after they’d left the last shreds of fog behind, it was strangely quiet. Overhead, tattered clouds hurried across the sky, scattering fleeting shadows over the uneven ground.

  As they topped a rise Muir stopped dead. Risha’s hand flew to her mouth. The landscape before them had lost all semblance of familiarity. LeMarc it surely was, but it was no LeMarc they knew.

  24

  Fireshadow

  Where there had been rolling fields of wheat, there now lay blackened stubble, mashed flat by rain. In the distance a gutted ruin jutted skyward. Nearer, what might once have been a hayrick was a mound of sodden ash. Risha struggled to make sense of what she saw. Beyond the devastation the mountains rose blue-grey, unchanged.

  ‘Raiders.’ Muir’s face was a mask. ‘If it’s war Somoran wants, he’ll get it. Donnel had reason enough without this.’ He glanced at her. ‘We won’t find food or shelter till we get beyond it.’

  They walked south. It was quiet. No birds graced the soot-blackened landscape and the farm animals had either been driven off or fled. Twice they stopped to rest, but the bleak unwelcome drove them on. Towards evening Muir turned inland. ‘Risha, can you walk through the night?’

  She nodded. Despite the rain that had fallen, the smell of fire hung about them, thickening the air and clogging their lungs.

  A thin wedge of moon lit their path. At each burnt-out homestead Risha wondered about the families who had lived there. Around midnight it began to rain. She hunched within her cloak as rivulets found their way to her skin.

  The first forerunners of dawn had begun to sift through the darkness when Muir silently pointed out two buildings that stood unharmed in the distance. It took another hour to reach them. By then Risha was two-thirds asleep on her feet. They came to the barn first.

  ‘Wait here,’ Muir said.

  She was too tired to object. Slumping onto a mound of hay, she sank into sleep.

  When she woke, Muir’s cloak lay across her. Not far away two wizened apples had been left beside a bucket of water. Risha cupped her hands to drink, gulping quickly. Her stomach grumbled as the liquid reached it. She wolfed the first apple in three bites, chewing the second more slowly.

  Outside, the sky was overcast and a light rain fell steadily. The homestead had an abandoned air. Shivers ran over her skin as she crossed the yard.

  The house had been ransacked. Furniture lay overturned, the contents of shelves and cupboards strewn across the floor. Stepping warily, she crossed the room. There was a pantry but it had been stripped bare. She looked towards the stairs.

  ‘Don’t go up.’ Muir’s voice made her jump. ‘The raiders caught them asleep.’ His boots crunched on shards of broken pottery. ‘We should go on.’

  ‘Muir, is this because of Margetta? Because we—’

  ‘Hush.’ He took her shoulders in his hands. ‘The blame lies with Somoran. And he won’t go unpunished.’

  They walked on, heading east and south, skirting burnt farmsteads and scouting through any that still stood. In one, Muir found a root cellar that yielded half a sack of shrivelled potatoes. They boiled some with the last of the dried fish Sair had packed, but Risha ate too fast, her belly complaining for an hour after.

  They camped that night in a barn. Nearby a heap of ash and charred timbers marked the site of the farmhouse. The raiders had become less thorough as they moved south — Muir told her it was a good sign. ‘It shows it was a small unit, moving fast, rather than an army.’

  Risha stared at him bleakly. It was a cheerless night, her sleep disturbed by tangled images of flames and screaming and the charred remains of a body they’d found lying near the burnt-out shell of what had once been a home. In her dream someone cal
led her, a long lamenting wail, but Risha knew herself lost, turning aimlessly, unable to trace the voice through the fog.

  When Muir shook her shoulder she peered blearily up at him. ‘It’s growing light,’ he said. ‘We should keep moving.’

  She uncurled her tired limbs and ate a breakfast of cold potatoes.

  Just before midday they crossed into a valley that showed no signs of burning. Two hours later they sighted a cluster of houses. Muir approached the village warily. Smoke rose from several chimneys but there were few other signs of life. Setting Risha behind him, he banged on the door of a small inn. After a few moments a woman’s voice came through it. ‘We’re closed.’

  ‘We need shelter,’ Muir told her, ‘and a meal.’

  ‘As I said, we’re closed.’

  Muir banged again. ‘At least let me talk to you! What’s happened here?’

  A slot opened at head height and the woman’s voice became less muffled. ‘Who are you that you don’t know the answer to that?’

  ‘I’ve been out of LeMarc for the winter, to Little Havre to collect my niece — her grandmother wanted to see her, though whether we’ll arrive in time, I can’t say. Our journey has been slow. We crossed Elswater Sound two days ago and found burned farms and abandoned homes. I’ve been trying to find someone who can give us news and perhaps a meal.’

  She eyed them untrustingly. ‘Where’s your baggage?’

  ‘The barge that brought us across the Sound took on water — we were lucky to escape with our lives.’

  ‘Luckier than many in LeMarc then.’

  ‘Will you not at least let us in and tell us what has happened?’ Muir pleaded, sounding so much the agonised traveller — a townsman or merchant — that Risha almost smiled.

  There was a pause and the door opened slightly. ‘News then, and a hot drink. I’ve nothing more to spare. Have you coin?’

  ‘Indeed,’ he assured her, pulling Risha through the door before adding, ‘though my purse was lost with our luggage.’ When the woman’s face closed, Muir hastened to reassure her. ‘I will repay your kindness tenfold. I’ve no shortage of coin at home.’

  ‘You’d best hope that’s still true,’ she answered, lips pursed. ‘How far south do you live?’

  ‘Beyond Harlen.’

  She nodded. ‘Your wealth might be safe then, as long as it’s well hidden. They say the lord’s been requisitioning left and right. They’re all the same when you get down to it — what’s ours is theirs when it suits them.’

  Risha opened her mouth and Muir shot her a warning glance. ‘It’s the same all over,’ he agreed. ‘Is it war then?’

  ‘Not yet but it will be.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’ll not find a horse anywhere, if that’s what you were hoping. It’s a long walk to Harlen.’ When Muir said nothing, she turned to fill a kettle. ‘My Piet’s gone off to join them, along with half the men of the village — which leaves us without protection if the raiders come back.’ Her face set sourly.

  ‘When did they come through?’ Muir asked.

  ‘Seven weeks back now, and us shaking in our beds ever since. They were as close as the neighbouring valley — you’ll have seen. Everyone killed or driven off, and to what? To starve, or die from the cold. But there’s my husband gone off and all our stocks with him.’ She was warming to her story and her complaints.

  Risha sat quietly, keeping her hands in her lap so the woman wouldn’t see how tightly her nails were dug into her palms.

  ‘And LeMarc rose against them, you say?’

  ‘Oh, Donnel saw the raiders off soon enough. There was a battle at Breck. No, the army he’s gathering now is to give Fratton a taste of their own.’ She leant forward conspiratorially. ‘They say Somoran’s taken his daughter, her that’s only just returned. He’ll not forgive that easily, though he’d as well leave her to them for all the worth she’ll have now. She’ll be no maid, that’s for certain, and lucky if it’s only Somoran that’s bedded her.’

  Risha felt a coldness welling in her stomach. ‘Can I use your privy?’ she blurted.

  The woman pointed to a door. ‘Through there.’

  Muir spoke behind her. ‘Madam, my niece is still a maid and ignorant of such things.’ Risha didn’t hear the woman’s answer.

  Closing the door with trembling hands, she leant her head against it. Whether or not it was Barc’s rescue of Margetta that had set off the raids, Donnel was raising an army because of her. People in Fratton would suffer, just as those in LeMarc. Hundreds would die — thousands — LeMarc’s men beside Fratton’s. And each death would be her fault. The knowledge made her stomach heave.

  Splashing water from a bucket onto her face, she went back to the kitchen. The woman was laughing, grudgingly, at something Muir had said. A loaf of bread lay on the table.

  ‘If you’re as rich as you claim, Donnel himself will be eager to see you. I’ll welcome your payment later — and believe it when I see it. This war must have turned my heart soft.’ Her gaze shifted to Risha. ‘She’s a pretty one, I’ll grant you. You’d best get her home quick. In my experience soldiers don’t pay much mind to which side they’re on when a slip of a girl is concerned.’

  ‘Where are they gathering, do you know?’

  Their hostess eyed Muir speculatively. ‘My Piet and the others headed for Breck, though whether they’ll still be there I couldn’t tell you. Do you plan to join them, then?’

  ‘Once I’ve seen my niece safely home.’

  Risha stared at him over her cooling cup of tea.

  ‘Wait and see how things stand, that’s my advice. I told Piet he needn’t be in such a hurry; it’s not as if they can go north before spring. He’d have been better here, making money from passing trade, rather than leaving me to give it away.’ Her mood, temporarily lightened, had settled back to complaint.

  Muir tucked the bread inside his cloak and stood up. ‘Madam, I thank you for your news and your hospitality, but we’ve a distance ahead of us and we’ve troubled you enough.’

  She spread her hands on her broad hips. ‘You’ll not reach Tummel before nightfall, and you’ll get scant welcome there. You might try the blacksmith,’ she added, after a pause.

  ‘Your kindness will be remembered.’

  She made a scoffing sound and Muir steered Risha out the door.

  ‘It’s my fault,’ Risha muttered tightly, as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘What’s to come as well as what’s been. It would be better if I’d never come to LeMarc!’

  Muir caught her arm. ‘You take too much on your shoulders, Risha. War with Somoran was inevitable. If fault needs be laid for hastening matters, it lies with Cantrel and me.’

  She didn’t believe him.

  Her legs ached and the blister that she’d earned on one foot had rubbed raw by the time they saw the thin trails of smoke that heralded Tummel. It was dark when they reached it. Muir left her in a barn near the outskirts and went to find the blacksmith.

  Risha leant against the wall and closed her eyes. Warm breath on her cheek made her jump, her movement startling whatever it was that had snuffled her. She risked a step and clattered into a stack of tools. Something stamped in the darkness. She held still. The breath came back and something heavy nudged her side. Smell told her it was a horse, its scent overlaid with something else: mud and a stronger barnyard smell. Tentatively, she stretched her fingers to the heavy head. It was enormous. The creature pushed at her side and Risha remembered she had an apple: they’d found a tree with a handful of tiny, shrivelled fruit. She offered it on her palm. As the animal’s soft lips lapped her skin, longing and loss swept through her. She leant her head against the horse’s neck, breathing in its rich, earthy smell, and wept.

  The barn door creaked and Risha froze.

  ‘Risha?’ Muir called softly.

  She sniffed. ‘Here. By the horse.’ The smudge of light that filtered through the doorway showed its bulk.

  ‘The blacksmith’s mount might do better.’ He paused. �
�Are you all right?’

  She wiped her eyes. ‘I just …’ She drew a shuddering breath.

  He cupped her chin in his palm, thumb brushing her cheek. ‘Things will go easier now. Come, my lady.’

  The blacksmith’s gelding was ready when they reached the forge. Muir swung into the saddle and leant to pull her up behind him, but the blacksmith went one better, lifting her easily. ‘Go safely, my lady.’ His voice was as deep as his torso was broad.

  ‘You told him who I was,’ Risha said as they left the village behind.

  ‘We’d not otherwise have the loan of the only decent horse left in Tummel.’ Muir glanced over his shoulder. ‘Kelan would do far more than that to ensure your safety, my lady.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you are Lord Donnel’s daughter. And a symbol, my lady.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘Of LeMarc. Of what men will die to protect.’

  His words jarred her, but it wasn’t just his words. His sudden formality irked her. It was as if the ease of the past months had never been. Risha scowled. ‘And am I to lose your friendship because I am once again “your lady”?’

  Muir’s answer was slow to come, the silence broken only by the easy rhythm of the horse’s hooves on the road. ‘You’ll not lose it,’ he said at last.

  25

  Confrontation