Chosen by Fire

by Harriet Locksley

  “Thank you.” She followed the dark corridor to Nannie’s chamber, her footsteps echoing against the cold stone. She knocked on the door. “Nannie?”

  “Come in.”

  Nannie was sat by the window in the small room, spinning yarn as deftly as someone who could see what they were doing. She gripped the spindle to still it. “Something’s wrong. What is it, lass?”

  “I don’t know. I need you to see Pa for me. I just have a feeling . . . I need to know where he is.”

  “I will try.” Nannie set down her spindle and distaff with its cloud of red-dyed wool and walked with the help of her stick to a stand in the corner of the room on which was set a ewer of water and a bowl. Kaetha poured water and waited, gripping the ewer tightly, watching the flickering movements of Nannie’s dark eyes.

  “Aedan Baird,” Nannie said, facing the water which trembled with light from the window. The same light glinted in Nannie’s eyes. “He comes here. To the monastery.”

  “Thank Heaven,” said Kaetha. “He’s alright.”

  Nannie shook her head. “He’s running, glancing over his shoulder. He’s in trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble? Where is he exactly?”

  “He’s gone into the kirk.”

  Kaetha sighed. Even if he was in danger, he’d be safe there. The kirk, where people prayed and worshipped before the altar, was a sacred space. No one could be harmed there.

  “There are a few monks,” continued Nannie. “He’s talking with Gippie. He’s—” Nannie paused and Kaetha felt dread creep over her. The old woman’s stick clattered to the floor. “Men are coming in. Armed men.”

  “I must go to him,” said Kaetha. She had no weapon and scanned the room but all she could see was Nannie’s small bone-handled knife. It would have to do. “I’m taking your knife.”

  “Lass, don’t go. Listen to me,” said Nannie.

  “I have to. There’s no time.” Kaetha fled out of the building, Nannie’s calls following after her. She darted across a yard and through an archway to the front of the kirk. A young monk scurried out and ran off in the direction of the bishop’s palace. Kaetha peered through the doorway. Red-cloaked men stood in a row behind Murdo Macomrag. Brother Gillespie stood before the altar, his hands raised. She couldn’t see her father anywhere.

  “This is a sacred place,” said the monk. “If you draw a blade here, you will be damned.”

  “No, brother,” said Murdo. “Hand over Baird or you will be.”

  “Neither innocent nor sinner may be apprehended on monastery land. Your father would never have stormed into a kirk like this.” Brother Gillespie took a tentative step towards Murdo. “You’re outnumbered here,” he said, but Kaetha noticed that the other monks around the room were all unarmed and were shrinking back away from the chancel, “and if you attempt to take anyone prisoner, your own freedom will be forfeit. We’ll be forced to incarcerate you. You cannot defy the ancient right of sanctuary.”

  “As you give me no choice, brother,” he said, drawing his dagger, “I think you’ll find that I can.”

  Kaetha stifled a gasp. The monk’s face registered shock and he collapsed to the floor. As other monks rushed to their fallen brother, a tiny movement caught her eye. A small hidden door in a semi-walled side chapel opened and her father left the kirk. Before the door was pulled to, she caught a glimpse of Nannie’s face.

  “Search the place, men!” commanded Murdo. Kaetha backed away from the doorway as someone stomped closer towards her. She dashed around the corner, running until she reached Nannie.

  “Where is he?” she asked. “Where’s Pa?”

  Nannie hesitated. “I heard him run in the direction of the common.”

  “He’ll be heading to the woods. Nannie,” she knew she had to tell her, “Murdo stabbed Brother Gillespie. I’m so sorry. The monks are with him now.”

  “Dead?” Nannie clutched at Kaetha’s cloak.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, her voice trembling.

  “Gippie,” Nannie breathed, feeling her way along the wall.

  Kaetha looked in the direction her father must have gone and then back at Nannie. “It’s too dangerous for you to go in. What if Murdo—?”

  “If it’s death that awaits me in there, my dear, I will be ready to face it. But if there’s a chance that I can reach my friend before death does, I’ll take it.”

  Kaetha took Nannie’s arm and led her to the entrance.

  “Leave me now, lass. Make sure you’re not seen.”

  She watched as Nannie walked down the nave, monks leading her to where Brother Gillespie lay before the altar and she lowered herself onto the floor beside him. Kaetha thought that he was dead until she saw his hand twitch. Nannie was talking to him, holding his hand, stroking his face. She was relieved to see that Murdo’s men were leaving them alone now. However, there were fewer of them in the kirk than there had been and she couldn’t see Murdo. Had some gone after her father? Brother Gillespie looked into Nannie’s face. His chest lowered as he breathed out and it didn’t rise again.

  Nannie . . .

  Kaetha realised she’d heard Brother Gillespie’s thought. His last thought. But there wasn’t time to pause and reflect. The monks would look after Nannie. She had to find her father now.

  Reaching the woods, she stopped. Which way might he have gone? One of the shutters at Nannie’s cottage had come loose and kept tapping against the wall in the wind, as if the cottage itself was warning her of danger.

  Spotting footprints in the soft earth, she followed them. Cutting through a cluster of pines, she gasped as her foot struck a tree root but she managed to right herself and carry on running. Then a man screamed. She froze.

  “Pa?” she called, running towards the sound. Bird wings fluttered, whipping in the branches, and a scattering of ravens took flight as she bolted beneath them. The path before her ended at a ridge and she jumped onto the ground below, landing in a low crouch before pushing herself up and following the new path.

  She stopped. Before her, a man was staggering. He fell to his knees and something dark spilled down his sleeve. Then she noticed the cut at his shoulder and realised by the gushing of the blood that it was deep. She flung herself to her knees beside him.

  “Here,” she said, taking his other hand and placing it over the cut. He flinched and cried out. “Put pressure on it. You need to slow down the bleeding. Listen, have you seen a man running through these woods?”

  He squinted at her. “Who are you?”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “I think you should get away from here, lass. You don’t want my cousin to find you.”

  “Your cousin? Who are you?”

  “Ranulf Macomrag.”

  Why would a Macomrag care about her safety? “And who did this to you?” She saw him glower over her shoulder, his jaw clenched and nostrils flared.

  “I did.”

  She froze. A metal point pressed into her back, between her shoulder blades. She knew that voice.

  “He let your father get away,” said Murdo. “Directly disobeying his orders.”

  “He overpowered me, Murdo. I did all I could.”

  “Remember how you address me now, Ranulf.”

  Ranulf coughed. “He overpowered me, sir.”

  “My father has done nothing wrong,” said Kaetha.

  “You don’t think treason is a crime?”

  “You’re wrong.” She paused, confused. “My father is no traitor.”

  “Off with you, worm,” Murdo said to his cousin. “Do your job like the others.”

  “Sir.” The man disappeared amongst the trees, clutching his wound.

  Murdo turned to face her again. “Oh, I don’t think I’m wrong. I got one of my men to keep an eye on a certain person’s movements,” he gestured towards Kaetha with his sword, “at the same time that that very person was keeping an eye on someone else’s. Now – you’ll laugh at this – she led my man to this someone she was spying on.”
Dread crept over Kaetha, biting like frost. “Someone who gave this to a sailor.” From a fold of his cloak, he pulled out a package wrapped in cloth. “Evidence,” he said with a glint in his eye like steel. “Unfortunately, I had to kill the sailor to get this.” The breath caught in Kaetha’s throat. “But at least I’ll have one traitor to present to the king. I’ve no doubt that my men will find him. I can’t imagine what the king will do to him,” he paused as a smile twisted his lips, “but I hope he lets me watch.”

  Kaetha struggled to make a sound, barely managing to breathe. “He’s no traitor,” she repeated.

  “And do you really think that anyone’s going to believe a witch?”

  Metal glinted before her, then the flat side of a sword pressed cold against the base of her jaw. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

  “No. I’ve already slit a throat today. It was over too fast.”

  “I’m not a witch,” she whispered.

  He ignored her. “You should be glad, I’ve had some practice at this now.” He whipped the blade so quickly, she barely noticed it slice across her cheek. She felt warmth running down her face before she realised it was her blood. Then she shrieked as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her along the path. She gripped his wrist, digging her nails into it then fumbled for Nannie’s knife which was tucked in her belt. He flung her into the dirt beside a pool and no sooner had her hands pressed into the yielding mud than she sprang to her feet again and bore down on him with the knife.

  But he swatted her arm as if it were a midge and the knife went flying across the woodland floor. “I prefer my cats without claws,” he said as he clasped both of her wrists.

  “Bastard!” She spat in his face, struggling in his grip.

  “What? Words and spit? No magic to attack me with? No white fire?” His face was too close to hers. “Some say a witch cannot be drowned. I’m not so sure. Shall we see?” He pulled her to the ground with him, his hand pushing the back of her head.

  Her scream was cut short as her head and shoulders were plunged into water. Murky shadows swam before her and her throat tightened. Hold breath. Hold breath, she told herself. She felt oddly separate from her limbs but knew they were struggling to get her out. What can I do? She fumbled for an idea. Ridiculous - you can’t make fire in water! Still, she tried to harness her gift, but as panic clutched at her, she lost her focus, thoughts skittering until they became sluggish and the movements of her limbs shrank to feeble twitches. Be still – wasting energy. Hold breath. Hold breath. But as pain began to blossom through her chest and her head, she unleashed a hidden strength, flailing, twisting, wanting to scream even if it meant releasing her breath. No. I cannot die now. Not like this. I haven’t saved Pa yet. I need to save Pa.

  Then, just as darkness fell like night across her vision, she was yanked up through the water, feeling it coursing down her as cold air chilled her skin. Gasping and coughing, her forearms thudded into the soft ground and she crouched, wheezing in gulps of air, her throat painfully raw. She tried to turn but felt the resistance of Murdo’s grasp.

  “You can take me. But let her go or I swear on all that is holy, your life ends now.” Her father was standing before them, one of his eyes half shut by the swelling skin around it, a stream of blood splayed from a wound on his head, dripping down his face. He held a sword, pointing it at the pale skin of Murdo’s neck. “Do you really want to die by your own sword?”

  Murdo thrust her to the ground. “The bastard’s not worth it,” he spat.

  “Pa!” she said, the word grating her throat.

  “Kaetha, go! Run!” He turned to glance over his shoulder. She had heard it too. One of Murdo’s men was not far off. “They’re coming for me. But you must get to safety.”

  Pain and anger contorted her face. “Pa!”

  “Run.” He didn’t need to shout, his tone was imperious enough.

  She turned from him then and, drawing deep breaths, made her shaking legs take her away as swiftly as they could.

  “Run,” he repeated. “Don’t look back.”

  She didn’t turn to see him. She only saw the path ahead of her. The dirt. The stones. The trees. Everything shifting jaggedly as she fled.

  EIGHTEEN

  A Roof of Sky

  Day was fading, as she emerged from the greyness of the woods. Light, like hope, was drawing away beyond the horizon.

  Someone loomed before her, their face in shadow. As he reached out towards her, her eyes lit upon a sturdy looking stick, roughly the size of a spear. She seized it and spun around, jabbing it towards her attacker.

  “Hell’s teeth! If you dislike me that much, tell me, don’t skewer me.”

  “Donnan!” Kaetha dropped the stick and flung her arms around him.

  “What happened to your face? And why are you all wet?”

  “Donnan, they’ve got Pa.”

  “What?”

  “They’re after me too, I think. Pa told me to run.”

  “Come on,” he said, taking her hand.

  They ran across the common and, between rasping breaths, she explained what had happened to her father. At first, her words met with silence.

  “And what happened to you?”

  “Murdo—” her throat went dry and constricted as she remembered his hand on the back of her neck, forcing her down into the water. “Cut me like he did Finola. Tried to drown me.”

  “Damn him. Damn him!” he said through clenched teeth.

  “At least I’m alive, thanks to Pa. Though I’m sure Murdo will try to rectify that if he gets the chance. He saw, Donnan. He saw my magic at Cannasay.” Donnan went quiet. They kept running. “How did you find me, anyway?”

  “We waited a while. Then Mairi and I got worried and went out looking for you. I went to the monastery and found Nannie and – Brother Gillespie.”

  “I know. That was Murdo too.”

  “I swear I’m going to kill him one of these days,” said Donnan.

  “Not if I get the chance first.”

  Kaetha leant on the table when they got back to the house, panting for breath. Mairi’s dog, Bairn, was sprawled by the fire, twitching in his sleep. Kintail was still nowhere to be seen. The fire crackled in the hearth and the cooking pot sat on the table, brimming with stew, beside four expectant bowls. It all appeared so normal here and yet everything had changed. Her father was gone – the one who held the household together, the one who gave her life meaning. Without him, none of this mattered.

  She went straight into the pantry, moved a stack of crates and retrieved one of Hetty’s old canvas bags.

  “When did you pack that?” asked Donnan.

  “You know I was planning to leave Braddon.” She snatched the tinderbox from the shelf and stuffed it in her bag. “Just for different reasons.”

  Donnan squinted at her. “You’ve not talked about going for so long. Were you going to be leaving soon? Were you going to tell me?”

  “I was always going to go back to Roinmor to find out who was behind my mother’s murder, who was involved in the plot. Only now, my priority is getting to Pa.”

  Donnan watched as she bundled up a blanket. “What can I do?”

  “Look after yourself,” she said. “Watch out for our friends here as best you can.”

  “I can’t watch over them as well as you.”

  “Donnan—”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “I have to go alone.” She stuffed some apples into the bag.

  “No, you don’t.”

  She jumped as the door flung open.

  “There you are!” Mairi sighed. Kaetha kept the side of her face with the cut turned away from her. “Thank the heavens! Where’s Aedan?”

  The words were so heavy, they stuck in Kaetha’s throat and she saw Mairi’s smile fade.

  “Where is he?”

  “Arrested,” managed Kaetha, “by Murdo Macomrag.”

  “No.” A shocked laugh caught in Mairi’s throat. “Impossible. On wh
at charge?”

  “Treason. He’s been charged with treason.”

  “No,” Mairi breathed, collapsing onto a stool. She stared up at Kaetha, as if expecting her to say that it was all a mistake, that he would be coming back home any moment. But Kaetha said nothing. Mairi wrapped her arms around herself and Donnan put a hand on her shoulder. “He wouldn’t do anything like that. How could he?”

  “The thing is,” said Kaetha. “I think he did.” She found strength in her voice again. “But I don’t believe for one moment that what he did was wrong.”

  Mairi shook her head, rocking back and forth. “What does this mean?” She said, her gaze falling upon the bag in Kaetha’s hands.

  “I think we’re all going to have to get out of the house tonight,” said Kaetha. “You could stay with the Morays. You see, I think they might come to look for more evidence of treason.”

  “More evidence?” Mairi put her head in her hands.

  “I expect it’ll be safe for you two to return soon enough. But they’ll be after me. I’m leaving Braddon tonight. And I don’t expect I’ll be coming back.”

  “Murdo’s saying she’s a witch,” said Donnan. “He tried to kill her tonight.”

  Mairi leapt from the stool and swept over to Kaetha, cupping her face in her hands. “You’re hurt. You’re bleeding.”

  “I got away in time at least.” She took a deep breath, cursing the tears that stung her eyes.“And now I have to go.”

  “Well, you’re not going alone if that’s what you think,” said Mairi.

  Kaetha stepped away from the others and stuffed some bread into her bag. “You don’t understand. I’m not just running away. I’m going to find him.”

  “You?” said Mairi. “Against Murdo and his armed men? Are you mad?”

  “It’s because of me that he got caught. He saved me. It’s my fault.” She secured a knife to her belt, flung the bag over her shoulder and strode across the room.

  “Then don’t let his sacrifice be in vain by hurling yourself like a lamb into the wolf’s jaws,” said Mairi. “You won’t help him by getting yourself killed. We have to stay safe and stay together.”