Chosen by Fire

by Harriet Locksley

  Nannie came up to them, reaching out her hand and Cailean guided it to Kaetha’s shoulder. “A wise woman fights when she has more to gain than the venting of anger,” she said in a low voice.

  Murdo got up and glared at Kaetha, seething. “Bitch!” he spat. “Seize her!”

  “No.” Indulf’s tone carried calm authority, though his gaze darted to the gathering of Onuists with a look of uncertainty. “She’s free to go.” He exchanged a look with Murdo, the meaning of which, Kaetha couldn’t discern.

  People stared at Kaetha in shock. Her father’s face had gone pale and when he looked upon her, she couldn’t tell if it was sympathy in his eyes, fear or disappointment.

  “Come,” said Nannie, squeezing her shoulder. “Come away now. Let’s talk.” Aedan and Mairi began to walk over to her too.

  Kaetha shook her head. “I just want to be alone,” she said, walking through the staring crowd, keeping her eyes on the stones at her feet. She thought she heard Nannie say ‘leave her’ and she wondered to whom she spoke. Her heart pounded in her chest and she found herself running, not caring how undignified she looked in her need to get away.

  She reached the eastern end of the beach. Cold rock scratched at her hands as she climbed up, hiding herself from view amongst the mounds of rock. She slumped down and ran her fingers over the crisp, burnt edge of her cloak. Hot tears welled in her eyes but she refused to cry. She’d not cried for a long time. Not properly. She sat staring at the white crests of waves on the sea through a narrow strip between two jagged rocks. In time, she began to shiver and noticed that the sky was darkening above her, threatening rain. She was vaguely aware of the sound of people leaving the beach, hurrying up the cliff path. Aye, go. A gust of wind, carrying salty spray, stung her skin with its chill but she didn’t care.

  She gripped a stone the size of an apple, wishing she could hurl it at Murdo. Then she felt like hitting herself with it. What had she done? She remembered Donnan’s words when he’d warned her not to make herself an enemy of the Macomrags. At least she would be leaving soon. Her father would then have no more cause to be disappointed in her.

  The flow of her thoughts was cut short when her skin began to tingle and a shiver gripped the back of her neck. A seal bobbed its head above the surface of the water near her. But it was just a seal, not a Fuathan in seal-form. She looked up. She was certain the seagulls above her were not Annisiths in their feathered forms.

  Slowly, she stood up and, as if someone was pulling her around, she turned to face the rock behind her. It was taller than her. Tentatively, she traced its grooves and ridges of grey and earthy brown, its surface rough against her skin. Part of it almost looked like a face. Then a quivering hum shot through her hand. The feeling grew stronger and stronger, like her fingers were attached to the string of a harp which someone was plucking over and over again, louder and louder. Snatching her hand away, she staggered backwards, her hand tingling.

  She stared at the rock, frozen despite her urge to run home. For a moment, it had seemed like the rock was trying to speak to her, as if behind the trembling, there was a voice. The voice of someone trapped in the rock.

  “Are you a Fiadhain?” she said. She placed her palm back onto the rock. “Are you trapped?” Reaching with her Air magic, she strained to hear the Fiadhain’s name so that she might unlock its thoughts but she heard nothing.

  The vibrations in the rock started up again, soft at first, but gathering strength. She wished that they could transform into sounds she could hear. She closed her eyes and a warmth blossomed within her, from deep inside her chest, sending flickering tendrils through her body and down the length of her arms, into her hands. When the rock trembled again, the sound of a rasping breath was released into the air – a sigh like the grinding of stone against stone, carrying a sadness as heavy as the rock itself.

  Then all was still and quiet. All but her panting breaths and the rushing waves of the sea against the rocks.

  Some revellers were still at Cannasay when she made her way up the cliff path but she barely noticed the sounds of drunken laughter and singing. Her head was in a silent fog and her heart was going at a gallop. It was growing dark and when she reached the clifftop. Smoothing back her hair which whipped across her face, she saw that she was not alone here. Murdo Macomrag stood by the battle cairn. He held a rock in his hands and, thinking he meant to hurl it at her, she looked around for anything she could use to defend herself with. But then he placed the rock on the ground, his eyes locked onto hers, a wry smile twisting a corner of his mouth before he turned and left.

  Then she understood. “You shouldn’t start a battle you can’t win, Murdo,” she said, placing another stone beside his.

  She thought of her plans to go to Ciadrath. She knew she shouldn’t let this conflict with Murdo be a distraction from what she ought to be focussing on. She should stay for her father’s wedding. Then she would leave. She turned in the direction of the Fiadhain rock. Perhaps someone else can free you.

  “Kaetha.”

  She turned to see her father.

  “I’ve been walking about, waiting for you.”

  She found it hard to meet his gaze. “I expect you want to tell me how disappointed you are. How I should control my temper.” He surprised her by embracing her in a hug. Her eyes began to sting with tears.

  “You doowally. I’m not disappointed in you. I don’t think I ever could be. That eejit deserved a beating. Unfortunately, he’s High Clan. I just need for you to look out for yourself. Don’t antagonise him.”

  “It’s a bit late for that, I think,” she said.

  “Come now. Time to go home.”

  She nodded. “Aye, home.”

  THIRTEEN

  Dark Clouds

  Kaetha waited on the jetty, her hands on her hips. Donnan and Rorie heaved the net of fish, spilling the morning catch into baskets, silver tails flipping as if they were still in water.

  Donnan passed a basket up to her. “I just didn’t want to go,” he said. “Take this will you?”

  She snatched the basket from him, dropping it onto the jetty. “Fine. You didn’t have to come. I was just asking where you were.”

  “It doesn’t matter where I was.”

  “Why are you so—?” She gave an exasperated sigh.

  They unloaded the rest of the catch, each picking up a basket to take to the smokehouse.

  “I’m sorry if I sounded angry,” said Kaetha.

  “So you’re not angry?” he asked.

  She thought. “No, I’m still angry— Don’t laugh.” She elbowed him in the ribs.

  “It’s just that face of yours, when you’re annoyed,” he said, making no effort to suppress a smile. “I can’t help it.”

  “It’s just – I’m worried about you. You’re hardly sleeping, Donnan. You’re not eating enough, you disappear at odd times with no explanation.” She noticed a tremor in his hand. “You’re having those dreams again, aren’t you?”

  Donnan said nothing.

  “Why don’t you talk to me?”

  He glanced behind them. Rorie was too far back to hear. He hesitated. “Perhaps there’s nothing to say.”

  “I don’t believe you. Why can’t you—”

  “Finola!” called Donnan as they reached the end of the jetty. “How are you this morning?”

  “Well, thank you,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I’ve sold two fair weather charms. It seems to be the kind of day that dances between sun and cloud but I’ve been trying to send the clouds away.”

  Donnan raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you keep up the hard work, I’m sure we’ll all appreciate it.” They continued on their way. “Do they really work?” he asked Kaetha. “Her fair weather charms?”

  “Nannie says it’s not real magic. But don’t tell Finola. She doesn’t know.” A bell rang out then, making her jump and almost drop her basket. Its repeated clang scraped through her ears, faint echoing of other bells following it from the town.

&nb
sp; “Another Macomrag gathering?” she asked.

  Donnan shrugged.

  People descended onto the beach. Looking more like his father than ever, with his boiled leather tunic and hefty gold clasps upon his finely woven cloak, Murdo Macomrag appeared, flanked by the burliest of his clansmen. He caught Kaetha’s eye, a flicker of triumph in his face.

  The town crier waited for Murdo’s nod, then unrolled a sheet of parchment. “We are gathered to hear an announcement from Clan Macomrag and a decree from His Grace, King Svelrik,” he boomed. “It is with heavy sorrow, that I announce the death of our High Chieftain, Thane Indulf Macomrag.”

  Kaetha’s jaw dropped and she turned to exchange a look with Donnan who appeared equally shocked but also relieved, that is, until his gaze fell upon Murdo.

  “He died of a sudden, pernicious malady. The monk physicians did all they could. Though we grieve for the loss of so great a man, we can take comfort that the clanland will be safe in the hands of his strong, courageous son, Murdo Macomrag, verified as chieftain by his noble clansmen.” Murdo inclined his head.

  “I wonder if that’s true,” whispered Donnan, “about the illness. Perhaps Clan Onuist finally got rid of him.”

  “Or his own son.” Kaetha kept her eyes on Murdo. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

  “I wouldn’t put anything past a Macomrag,” agreed Donnan.

  Murdo walked up to the town crier and held out his hand. The man seemed a little surprised but handed Murdo the scroll and shuffled into the crowd.

  “Today is a day for grief,” called Murdo, “but when our tears are shed we will rise up all the stronger. I will lead the people of Mormuin in strength, defending you against the threats of invasion from without and evil from within.” He unfurled the scroll. “I carry the words of King Svelrik of Dalrath: I hereby decree that only monk physicians may act as healers, except in the case of midwifery. Those who practise healing unlawfully, from this day on, will be hanged, for this art, in the wrong hands, tempts the user into the practice of dark magic. Wise men of Dalrath agree that magic in this land results from the tainted blood of Edonian ancestry and is, therefore, an evil which defies our righteous, honourable Dalrathan values. Those suspected of using magic shall be marked by a ‘cut above the breath’ and, should sufficient evidence be found that a suspect has used magic, their punishment shall be hanging. The moral weakness of women means that their behaviour especially must be scrutinised by neighbours and law enforcers alike.” Murdo scanned the crowd. “Use of the ‘evil eye’, foretelling futures from the organs of animals, charms, spells, potions, dallying with malicious spirits to control the elements, blighting the crops of the land, summoning fires and storms, wrecking ships, blood magic, curses – all such devilry must and will be eliminated from this land. This is the word of King Svelrik of the Royal Clan, Ceanardris.”

  After rolling up the decree once more, he stood tall, surveying his people. “I tell you, I will honour our king’s words.” Kaetha noticed many people nodding. “I will do all I can to protect you all from this growing threat.” A few cheered. “Many of you have loved ones whose health was stable one day and who were close to death the next – what could that be but dark magic? My father’s malady,” he nodded, “aye, witchcraft.” There were gasps from the crowd, exclamations, and fists punching into palms. “My father did not proclaim King Svelrik’s decree when it was first issued, against my advice. He felt that it would cause unrest, that some would rebel against it. But I say now, let – them – try!” Now a great cheer rose up from the people, sending a shiver through Kaetha.

  Finola joined Kaetha and Donnan at the back of the crowd.

  “What do we do?” said Kaetha so that only they could hear her.

  “We can’t stop the tide,” said Donnan, “but we can avoid drowning. You, Cailean, Nannie, Finola, you have to stop doing anything that people might call magic.”

  Kaetha’s hands became fists. “And let them win?”

  “You’d be letting them win by getting yourself hanged. That’s not going to happen to you.”

  “I don’t like the way Murdo’s looking at us,” said Kaetha. “Come on.” They skirted the crowd and hurried up to the clifftop. “We have to warn the others.”

  “I’ll go to the Morays and tell Cailean,” said Finola.

  “Good. We’ll go to Nannie’s,” said Kaetha.

  “I don’t think you should come,” said Donnan when the two of them reached the High Street.

  “What?”

  “It’s just, after all that Murdo said, it’s probably best for you not to be seen at Nannie’s cottage.”

  “But it’s not as if everyone in the town heard.”

  “News spreads fast. The king’s words will echo over and over again. From now on, the less you’re associated with the healing arts, the better. I’m sorry.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “That means staying away from Nannie. For now anyway.”

  Kaetha hung her head. “Tell her I’ll miss her lessons.” She clutched her mother’s heron clasp as if it might bring luck. “And tell her to be careful.”

  Donnan nodded. “Wait at the house for me.”

  Time stretched, like wool being spun into thread. Kaetha chewed her lip, recalling what she could from Murdo’s announcement. The air in the house was still, like a frozen intake of breath. Kaetha ventured to peer through the window, wondering how serious the danger outside was. Were they overreacting? If they were careful and if those they’d helped with their healing in the past were loyal, Murdo shouldn’t be able to find any evidence against them.

  “Thank the heavens,” she said when Donnan returned. “You told her.”

  “No. She wasn’t there. I’ve asked around and no one seems to know where she is.”

  “You don’t think Murdo—?”

  “It’s too early to think anything.”

  “I need to find her,” said Kaetha.

  “Please.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “I’ll get Aedan and we’ll look together. Just wait here where I know you’re safe. Alright?”

  Donnan left and she paced the room for what felt like hours. Then she stamped her foot. “Enough waiting,” she said. She whipped on her cloak and dashed through the door, colliding with Mairi on the street outside.

  “Goodness, Kaetha!” Mairi rubbed her shoulder. “Where are you going?”

  “Nowhere. Pa’s at the smokehouse, by the way, if you were looking for him.” She turned to walk up the street.

  “Wait—”

  “Sorry, Mairi. I’m busy.”

  Mairi caught up with her and spoke in hushed tones. “I hope you’re not going to Nannie Hattock’s.”

  “Why?” Kaetha stopped. “Do you know where she is?”

  “No.” Mairi looked confused. “But you should know you can’t go there to learn healing anymore. It’s not safe.” She knew that Mairi spoke the truth but there was something about the way she said it that made Kaetha want to disagree with her. “Have you heard—?”

  “Aye, I’ve heard. So we’re to simply let people suffer?”

  “Let them seek help from the monk physicians.”

  Kaetha rolled her eyes. “That’s like leaving a baby in the care of a bull.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s better than you getting yourself into trouble.” Mairi held her arm to stop her walking off again. “You don’t know how a mob can get if they believe someone’s done something that deserves hanging.”

  “You think magic deserves hanging?” she said, shrugging Mairi’s hand away.

  “I know you don’t have real magic, Kaetha. I understand that healing is different but now, after the decree, others will treat them both as the same thing.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Well of course real magic deserves punishment.” She sighed, closing her eyes as if in pain. “We can’t let people use that kind of power.”

  “I see.” Kaetha felt as though there was an invisible wall between the two of th
em and Mairi was unknowingly handing her the stones to make it bigger.

  “I’ll go with you if you’re going to Nannie’s,” said Mairi.

  “Don’t worry yourself, I wasn’t going there anyway.” Kaetha turned into an alleyway. “I’m going to find Brother Gillespie.”

  “What for?”

  “I just thought it would be a really good time to discuss good and evil,” she said, knowing her sarcastic tone would not be lost on Mairi.

  She heard nothing but her own footfalls, glad that Mairi hadn’t followed her. Though, as she emerged from the alleyway onto the common and turned left towards the monastery grounds, she heard the soft crunch of gravelly earth behind her.

  Turning, she saw the edge of a red cloak disappear behind a fence. She thought of Murdo’s clansmen – they wore that colour. Her stomach had turned to ice as she continued walking. Was she about to ‘disappear’ as Nannie had seemed to do? She couldn’t turn back to go home without running into him. She had to go on. The only other people she could make out were a long distance away. Too far to call for help. The path bordering the common was straight and long and, after a while, she summoned the courage to look behind her again. A man was following her – a big, tall, bearded man with the hint of a scar on his cheek. She quickened her pace. From the swifter beat behind her, she could tell that he’d increased his speed. She ran.

  A gate linked the walls of the monastery kitchens and refectory and, thanking the heavens that it was unlocked, she slipped through. All was quiet in the monastery precincts. Damn, she thought, wondering where there would be people, where she would be safe. She dashed towards the bishop’s palace. Bishop Alpin, with a thirst for prestige, was having his palace extended but if she’d hoped the builders were at work here, she was disappointed. No builders carrying heavy, iron tools to deter her pursuer and all she had was the small knife in her belt which wasn’t useful for much more than gutting fish.