by Signe Pike
Eachna nodded. “Of course. We shall make it so, if that is what you wish.”
“I do wish it. Please! I fear they believe I am dead. Please send a messenger. Send a messenger this day!”
“It is too late to ride out today. I will send a man at first light. In the meanwhile, you may tell him what you wish to convey.”
“Oh, thank you,” Angharad said. She imagined how it would feel to rush into her mother’s arms. The smell of her. But they had been spotted, and figures began to emerge from the huts, girls in gray dresses of varying ages, bearing markings of adder and deer, horses and hounds. Birds of all sorts. Their faces were radiant, curious, expectant. She heard one of them call in a crane’s whoop, and more women gathered until all stood waiting at the stone wall that encircled the yew.
“Lady Priestess!” The younger girls rushed to her, hugging her legs, patting Angharad’s foot where it dangled over the horse’s flank. Eachna clapped her hands with a smile that creased her face into its worn pathways, and she dropped lightly from the saddle. Angharad did the same. The littlest girls raced round and round, touching Angharad’s dress and smoothing her hair like so many tiny mothers.
“I told them you are my blood daughter, and so you are their sister, for all these are my children.”
Angahrad felt a pang of jealousy. Eachna was her hennain, and she’d only just found her. But just as quickly as they’d clustered, the women caught sight of Brother Thomas. An older woman stepped through, stormy eyes fixed accusingly on Eachna, and for a moment Angharad startled. Elufed?
No, but the woman carried an echo of Elufed. High cheekbones and a long, straight nose. Gray eyes. But her hair was ashy, where Elufed’s was gold. She strode forward, issuing a stream of what could only be rebuke before throwing up her hands and stalking back into a nearby hut.
The women were silent.
“Fetla, my blood daughter. Elufed’s elder sister,” Eachna said, watching her go. She murmured something dismissive in Pictish.
“What did you say?” Angharad asked.
The priestess turned to her frankly. “It is a saying we have here at Fortingall. Too many hens, not enough cocks.”
The women ate a light supper of bread with goat’s cheese and honey. Eachna kept a man posted outside the stable but saw to it that Brother Thomas was made comfortable within. And at evenfall, Fetla gathered the women to sing to the tree.
Angharad marveled at the transformation as Fetla looked tenderly upon the tree. Winters fell away. Her voice was clear, a silver bell, rising and falling in a melody that haunted, raising the hairs on Angharad’s flesh.
It was a sad song, she decided. A song of remembering.
Later, Eachna went to sleep early, and Fetla came to perch upon Angharad’s bed. “May I look?” she asked, gesturing to Angharad’s hands.
Angharad nodded and Fetla uncurled her fingers, examining her palms. In the hearth’s semi-dark, she saw the places where Angharad’s skin had sealed over thorns.
“Thorns. Cartait,” Fetla said, touching them gently.
“Cartait.” Angharad tried. Elufed’s sister nodded. “Fetla?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know of Muirenn?”
“Yes. She was here at Fortingall once. Lady Eachna told me Muirenn brought you to us.”
Angharad nodded. “I heard Lady Eachna call Muirenn by a name I did not know. Is Muirenn not her name?”
Fetla thought a moment. “Ena. It is the name she was given. It means ‘little fire.’ ”
“She did not seem to favor it.”
Fetla only smiled. “Ena is fire, and Lady Eachna is water. The two do not mingle well.”
She smoothed the sheepskin keeping Angharad warm and brushed her fingers along the center of her forehead. It was as if her touch held a power, for suddenly, Angharad felt every moment of the past many days. Her body was so very weary.
“That’s enough then. Sleep now.”
The warrior rode off the next morning, carrying Angharad’s message with him to Strathclyde.
“I know you are eager. But it is a very long journey, and winter is nigh,” Eachna warned. “You must be patient and wait. I am certain your mother and father will come for you soon.”
“I will be patient, I swear it.” Angharad wrapped her arms around Eachna’s waist. “Hennain?”
“What is it?”
“How was it you came to the market? Yesterday at Ceann Mòr… you said the river spoke.”
Eachna took Angharad’s arm gently, tilting it up to expose the underside of her wrist where slender blue veins trailed beneath Angharad’s skin.
“You need only to look at your own flesh, little bird. We are made of water. Rivers of red run through our body. Is it so strange we should hear them?”
Angharad shook her head. It was not strange at all.
“Tatha, the river, spoke, and I knew I must visit the market. There I saw the priest and understood what must be done. A priestess is not skilled because she is all-knowing. No such person exists. A priestess is skilled because she learns to hear the language of the Gods—they speak in a tongue of whispers. I have been a child of the Gods for many winters, and even I did not imagine to find my own flesh and blood there. Perhaps I should have supposed, for the Gods delight in surprises. I listen, and I trust I am a child of the Gods. That is my teaching.”
She said the last as if ending a prayer. For now, that was all that Eachna would say.
The tongue of whispers. It was a tongue Angharad knew. She had listened, and it had led her to the land of the Cruithni. It had pulled her to this woman, her own blood, who knew the secrets of her gift when Angharad did not. Now Angharad only hungered to know more.
But it frightened her even as it continued to draw her in. For if she continued to obey it, she did not know what she might become. Already she found herself forgetting Brother Thomas. And when she remembered that he waited in the stables, she felt a hot rush of shame.
“I still cannot understand why you bought Brother Thomas. You have no plan to… hurt him, do you?”
“You mean string his innards from our old tree?” Angharad’s eyes widened, but Eachna only chuckled. “Oh, yes. We know what the southern folk say.”
“It is only, you have bought him. Can you not set him free?”
Her hennain tilted her head. “Is that what you wish?”
“Yes. Oh, yes, Eachna. Please.”
“And you would have me free him right away?”
“Please.” Angharad nodded.
Eachna studied her a long moment. “Then perhaps you will be pleased to know your priest is already gone.”
“What?” Angharad froze. “What can you mean?”
“I have already granted his freedom, on the condition that he leave at first light.”
Angharad blinked, her stomach sinking with regret. “I did not have the chance to even say goodbye.”
“Come,” Eachna said, gathering her close. “All wounds heal in time. I only hoped to spare you the pain of farewell. He has food enough, and travels with my blessing. No Cruithni shall harm him. You have my word.”
“But—”
“You asked for his freedom, and I have granted it. There can be no men of Christ here. Surely my own blood would know that.”
Angharad felt adrift without Thomas, no matter what Eachna might say. She walked to the stable as if to ensure he was gone. Eachna’s gray mare was the only friend to be found.
Outside the stable walls, the women were chanting or praying or sitting in lessons. Angharad looked down at the thorns in her hands.
“Wounds left unhealed turn and go sour.”
Angharad looked up to see Eachna watching from the stable door, a wooden cup in her hand.
“They are healed,” Angharad said quietly.
“Those are not the wounds I speak of. I have seen behind your eyes. The horrors of war leave wounds far more insidious than marks upon the skin. The memories bore into not only the body but the mind
and the heart, carving wounds we cannot see. The festering is more than most men can bear. It will kill you in the end. Ena brought you here not only because you are my blood but because this is a place of healing. We must cast out your terrors. I would help you, if I can.”
Angharad sat very still. “Will it be painful?”
“It is always painful to remember your horrors,” she answered evenly. “But it is nothing a child like you cannot withstand.”
Her hennain’s words frightened her. Angharad had bound all of the suffering—hers, Eira’s, the Dragon Warriors. She had learned to slip out of herself when the memories became too much to bear. But she had begun to realize that nothing in her power could truly make them abate. Now Thomas was gone. It was all too much.
“Do you know what today is?” Eachna broke the silence.
Angharad shook her head.
“It is the eve of Samhain,” she said. “And there is a place I would have you visit. But the choice is yours. Nothing can heal if the soul is not willing.”
“What sort of place is it?” Angharad asked.
“A powerful one.”
The hunger returned. It would not fade away.
“I will go.” Angharad stood.
“Good.” Eachna nodded. She handed Angharad the empty wooden cup. “You must travel alone. But never fear, little bird. I will tell you precisely what you must do.”
CHAPTER 31
Languoreth
Cadzow Fortress
Kingdom of Strathclyde
3rd of April, AD 574
Cadzow came awake beneath the touch of my hand.
We’d stretched our stores through the winter, each of us licking our wounds. But as the woods sprang with spring flowers and curling fern fronds, the hall breathed new life, as if it had been sleeping.
As I strode though the chambers I’d known as a child, the air somehow felt lighter, even when my heart sank with waiting for word of Angharad or the men.
Rhydderch’s scouts had wintered near the wall and yet combed the land. Still no one they encountered had seen any sign of my daughter. Lailoken had been seen taking shelter in a cave with the last of the Dragons. If Rhydderch’s scout had seen them, who else might have discovered the place where they lay?
I felt a shameful relief when Rhydderch rode off with Cyan, leaving Cadzow to the women again. To keep safe his tanistry, he dared not keep too long from Partick.
And as the storm season faded, restoring a measure of predictability to our seas, Rhydderch sent word that he and Cyan had left the capitol to reside at Clyde Rock. Here Cyan could pick up his learning of tribute and merchants, treaties and trade.
Eira’s hair grew in the color of sun, and no longer did she darken it, for here she was safe. Gladys stayed with me to learn the running of a hall, watching how Gwenddolau’s people brightened our hamlet in returning to their trades. Millers and cloth dyers, weavers and crop hands. Some stayed at the hall, pledging their loyalty in exchange for my care. New grooms and herd keepers who’d tended Gwenddolau’s beasts found healing in tending those that dwelled here.
I was checking the need-garden in the courtyard when I heard the sound of a cart approaching, and a few moments later, the gate guard called up.
“A merchant, m’lady. He comes bearing salt.”
“We have no need for more salt,” I answered. “Olwenna has seen our store fully stocked.”
Hearing my voice, the merchant replied, “My salt comes from the Bavarii, far across the sea, and this sack I bring from their most ancient mine. I would not wish to leave without offering you a sampling, if it please you, m’lady.”
I straightened. There was a warmth in his voice, and it was oddly familiar.
“Let him come through,” I said. I had been waiting and waiting for a messenger to come. I could not risk turning one away.
I waited on edge as the gateman searched and then admitted him, and the traveler and his cart rolled through the gate. He wore the hat of a merchant to cover his fair hair, and his mustache had been trained in the manner of a Gaul. A full beard grew below it, further disguising his face, but I knew his eyes well—it was Fendwin the warrior, one of Pendragon’s men.
His eyes touched on mine as Torin’s men appeared from the grounds, ensuring I was safe.
“A salt merchant has come. Clear the kitchens, if you will? I would do my tasting there.”
Eira would know him. I could not risk her emotion giving Fendwin away. She sat in her chamber, working at her stitching. “Fendwin has come,” I said.
Eira dropped her bone needle, her hand flying to her lips. “Sweet Gods, but how?”
“He comes as a merchant. We must keep him safe.”
She nodded and stood, following close behind. My guard had cleared the servants and left. I’d never been so thankful for a warrior’s lack of interest in cooking.
“I would see this salt merchant,” Eira said.
At her voice, Fendwin turned, hands falling to his sides. Though we had the kitchens to ourselves, he kept his voice to a whisper. “Eira, here? How can it be?”
“There is too much to say.” She went to embrace him, and then he stood back at arm’s length.
“You are alive and well. Thank the Gods it is so. Lailoken and the Selgovae have been searching since autumn. When winter came, we feared the worst.”
“Yes, I am well,” she said. “Now tell us of the men.”
Fendwin’s face darkened. “Nine of us live. Some women and children, too, under Selgovian care.”
“Who yet lives?” I demanded. “Who?”
“Maelgwn and Lailoken. Myself and old Diarmid are among the surviving men.”
I felt the air rush from my lungs. Maelgwn, my love. Maelgwn yet lived. I felt the presence of his token in the pocket of my dress.
But Eira’s blue eyes were full of concern. “And the women and children?”
“Dreon and Rhiwallon’s wives. Some of their kin.”
Eira stepped back. “But… what of the others? What of all the others?” Her voice rose in alarm, and I reached for her hands.
“There may be others yet, Eira, who found refuge in another land.”
The look upon Fendwin’s face told a darker tale. But we had so little time.
“Tell me where you are in hiding,” I said. “Perhaps there is a way I can send provisions to you there. Perhaps we can visit—”
I felt Eira’s spirit rise at the thought of it, too. But Fenwin shook his head.
“I will tell you where we have settled, but you must keep away. No provisions, no messengers. Do you understand?”
To know where they were but be kept away? It was a torturous bargain, but Eira and I both knew why it must be made.
“A chieftain named Archer shelters us in the great wood. We are warm and provided for. We can last there, if need be. When the time comes we will send for you, and you can visit us there.”
Eira and I nodded. But Fendwin glanced away.
“What is it, then?” I asked. “Is that not why you’ve come?”
“I am glad to give tidings, but no. I fear I’ve come with a warning. The Dragon Warriors have recovered our strength in more ways than one. Keep yourself from the sky mount. In ten days hence, when the light of day comes, there shall be prophesy.”
The sky mount—Fendwin could mean none other than the fortress of Clyde Rock. Sweet Gods. Lailoken meant to raid Tutgual’s fortress.
“He’s gone mad. It is too dangerous! And you cannot manage it alone,” I whispered fiercely.
“We will not raid alone, but I cannot say more. Heed me, I beg you. I have risked my own hide to come. For I do not wish any more of your children to be harmed.” Fendwin’s tone was frightening.
“Blood after blood. This is his wisdom, Uther’s great counsel? My husband and son are within Clyde Rock’s walls. Tell them they must wait!”
“Ten days, Languoreth, and it will be done. For our allies will raid whether we join them or not.”
�
�Oh, Lailoken,” I whispered. “What have you done?”
Fendwin took up his salt, eyeing the door. “I must go. Forgive me. I fear I have lingered too long.”
I nodded. “Yes, of course.”
“Keep safe,” Eira said. “Tell Lailoken… Tell Lailoken I shall wait.”
Fendwin looked to me for a message, but I could only shake my head. I should have sent kind words to my brother, or to Maelgwn, to express my gladness they lived. But this? This?
I knew the Dragons might have their revenge. But they did not attack Ebrauc. Lailoken attacked Strathclyde, his own home!
I felt then just how deeply the betrayal of Arderydd had wounded him. I thought I had known.
I’d known nothing at all.
“Fendwin,” I said, and he turned at the door. “Thank you for your warning. And risking yourself to come.”
Fendwin nodded. For a moment it seemed he wished to say more, but he bowed his head and stepped from the kitchens, waving farewell to my guard.
Ten days.
Eira and I looked at each other. “Languoreth, you must know that if you send warning, Lailoken and the others—they will all die.”
I expelled a breath. Now, either way, it was I who must betray. Would that I could set Tutgual upon his rock to await his own doom while removing to safety all those I loved.
How could I summon Rhydderch and Cyan out of harm’s reach without causing the slaughter of my brother and his men in return? What of Elufed and Rhian? I sank my head into my hands.
“Don’t despair, Languoreth. We have some time yet,” Eira said. “We will pool our wits. There must be a way. I promise I shall help you keep Cyan safe.”
She did not mention Rhydderch.
I knew then Eira wished Rhydderch might get what he deserved.
I took the path through the wood toward my mother’s old healing hut.
I could imagine only one thing that would bring them from danger without giving the raid away.
The hinges groaned as I lifted the iron latch and stepped into the dark, fumbling to cast open the small wooden shutter. Stale air mingled with the smell of pine resin and decaying lovage. I blew dust from ceramic jars of bearberry twig and stag’s-horn moss.