Then I saw my sisters in my room, huddled together on my bed as though they had come looking for me to save them. Over them loomed a creature whose head brushed the stone ceiling, whose muscled body was nearly as wide as my bed. He was a man and yet not . . . too tall, too craggy and mountainous to be considered human. He reached for Deirdre first, and I fought anew against the vision—I wanted to take control of his mind and destroy him before he could even touch her—yet I could do nothing but watch as he yanked her up as though she were only a doll. She was screaming and fighting; Branna leaped off the bed in an attempt to stop him, and to my horror, he grabbed her, too. Lifting both of his massive arms, he dangled my sisters from his hands and squeezed. Their faces turned red, then purple; they clawed at his hands.
And then they were dead, hanging limp from his fists. He threw them to the floor and stomped over their bodies. I shook, tears streaking down my cheeks—it was so real, so vivid. I suddenly understood how the old woman with the sluagh had thrown herself into the sea. At that moment, I would have done anything to make the vision stop.
Screams continued from the keep as the vision shifted from my sisters’ lifeless bodies to more scenes of death, to the destruction of everything I’d ever known. And everywhere, fire . . . fire burning through the meadow and roaring into the bailey. Soon, the whole of the Emerald Isle was nothing but ash.
Why torture me with such visions? I demanded, no longer able to watch the destruction of my clansmen, my family, my world.
The gods of the old world have stood aside, obeyed the ancient laws giving free will to men, the Morrigan said, her voice echoing in my mind, and now, when our realm and yours hang in the balance, we are still bound by our covenants. The laws are clear: we can act only through man. And in all the world, there are only two strong enough to defeat them. One born for it, the other through great sacrifice.
The vision shifted yet again in my mind, to show a pool of mist that concealed the figures of two people. They stepped into the light, and to my horror, I saw who the Morrigan spoke of: myself . . . and the Northman I currently held prisoner.
What has he to do with it? I thought, even as I remembered the voice telling me, You need him.
It was I who brought the two of you together, for only your alliance can save us all.
No, I thought. No, I cannot join forces with my enemy.
You must. The monsters will not be satisfied with the destruction of Éirinn. They will slaughter everyone you love, and they will not rest until the world is destroyed. A war is coming. Will you fight it, Ciara of Mide?
In a rush, the crow, the Morrigan, and everything I had seen, evaporated like water in the sun. Released from the paralysis, I stumbled out of the tub and fell to the floor, wet and shaking. I curled in on myself and took great gulping breaths.
“That cannot be true,” I whispered. “Please, let it not be true.”
It’s no lie, the voice answered. Make ready.
5
Dawn’s weak light barely illuminated the goat trail up to the cave, and the rocks were slick from the recent high tide. I picked my way carefully, my mind on the revelations of the night before. The residual terror of what I’d seen still held me in its grasp, and I couldn’t free myself from watching my sisters’ brutal deaths. Once the visions had passed the night before and I could finally walk again—shivering and sick—I had gone to where Branna and Deirdre slept peacefully and held them so tightly they’d both made sounds of protest. Instead of sleeping, I’d stood guard over them all night, terrified that the moment I closed my eyes would be the moment the vision would come true.
Now as I walked toward my prisoner, my head felt heavy and throbbed mercilessly as though I’d caught a chill, and my limbs trembled. I’d been in many people’s heads, seen their darkest thoughts, been in battles that were gruesome and violent, but nothing was as soul-crushingly terrible as the Morrigan’s vision. Not only had I been forced to relive what happened to my sister Alana—something I hadn’t allowed myself to fully remember for years now—but also I was forced to witness the threat to my surviving sisters in such vivid detail that my stomach churned with horror just thinking about it. Worse still was the threat that such a fate could befall not only my family and kingdom, but all of Éirinn.
The Morrigan. It had been her voice, her crows that had warned me of impending death. I’d always wondered, though of course any belief in her would only brand me a heretic. She was part of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Though the people of Éirinn were now Christian, it didn’t erase the magic from our land, nor the creatures who had always made it their home. The Tuatha Dé Danann were powerful immortals, and the Morrigan was perhaps the most frightening. Some called her the Phantom Queen because she was a specter on the battlefield, often flying above it as a crow, warning of bloody and gruesome death. She was even known for determining the outcome of battle, choosing who would be the victor.
In this, at least, she had always seemed to favor me.
Again, I thought of her words on the battlefield. Not him, she had said, and I’d been compelled to spare his life. Did she really mean for me to join forces with my Northman prisoner? I shook my head. What if he had raided the monastery and killed my father? Was I to join forces with my father’s murderer? I would gladly fight the monsters from the Morrigan’s vision myself, but I could not join forces with my enemy. It was far too much to ask of me.
One born for it, the other through great sacrifice.
The words filled me with unease. I didn’t understand what she meant, but neither did I want to. I’d spent many years wondering where my powers came from and why I was the only one in my family with such abilities, but did this mean I was the one who was born to it? Or was I the one who’d make a great sacrifice? Thinking such things only elicited more questions. There must be another goal in mind.
And somehow, the Northman fit into those goals.
The prisoner watched me with his ice-blue eyes as I crossed the threshold of the cave. He had stood tall in the Morrigan’s vision, his hair braided and face not smattered with blood and dirt, not battered and beaten as he was now.
I held aloft the hunk of bread and flagon of wine I’d brought him. “I will loosen your irons and allow you to eat and drink, if you will swear to answer my questions.”
He said nothing, only shifted with a soft rattle of chains.
“You must be uncomfortable after a night spent in such a position,” I said.
The smallest of smiles crossed his lips so fast I wasn’t sure I had seen it at all. “You are persistent, meyja. I will give you that.”
I took a step toward the end of his chains. “Does this mean you agree to my terms?”
“That small bit of bread and puny flagon will only stir my appetite,” he said, a taunting smile curving his mouth. “If you will bring me a real meal, fit for a warrior after a battle, then I will answer you.”
I strode forward and ripped the irons free from their stays; the sudden slack caused him to pitch forward, and he barely caught himself at the last moment. “You will answer me now. If I am satisfied with your response, then I will bring you more food and drink.”
The muscles in his arms bulged as he pushed himself upright. His eyes flicked to the ends of the chains, still attached to a ring on either side of him. I had merely removed the pins that kept the length of links so short. “You play a dangerous game,” he said, holding one of the chains aloft.
If he lunged, he could pin me. I became suddenly aware of the familiar weight of the dagger hidden beneath my cloak, but I didn’t want to use it. Not yet. “Do you still sneer at my offering?”
We stared at each other, tension a thrum of power between us. After a moment, he held out his hand. I stepped within reach of his chains, my head held high, and gave him the bread and wine. A low chuckle escaped him as I returned to a relatively safe distance unscathed.
He tore into the bread and gulped the wine in two swallows. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand
and reclined, one arm resting on his knee. “Come, then. Ask your questions.”
I opened my mouth to ask about the northern monastery, or to ask if he knew anything about monstrous invaders who threatened my family, but I realized all at once that he would never answer me. It was clear he didn’t fear me, and I couldn’t force his mind as I did others’—something that still nagged at my thoughts—but I could do what anyone must do who wanted answers: gain his trust. I remembered the boy I’d spared on the battlefield and how this Northman had seemed to fear for him. “That boy on the battlefield. Who is he to you?”
His face darkened like a sudden storm cloud. “Where is he?” The length of chain rattled ominously.
“Safe. Or as much as he can be, I suppose, with your men.”
The threatening aura he had been emitting just moments before receded. “You spared him.”
“He’s a child.”
“Celts have killed our children before.”
And Northmen have killed our children before, I wanted to say. With force, I pushed down the flare of anger that burned within me. He was not my sister’s murderer. “I haven’t.” I risked a glance at him. “Why would you force a child to fight?”
To my surprise, he avoided my gaze. “I didn’t realize he was on the ship until we landed on your shores.”
“A stowaway.” It was something Branna would have done. A flash of the look on his face when he saw me battling the boy appeared in my mind then: the gut-wrenching fear. “You were afraid I would kill him.”
“He is my brother. The only sibling I have left.” He shook his head as though his admission surprised him. “After watching what you did to my men, I was afraid you’d make quick work of him.” He was silent for several heartbeats. “You have my thanks,” he added, his voice gruffer than before.
“And the monastery I asked about?” I held my breath.
“We did not raid a monastery.”
My shoulders slumped. I couldn’t hide my relief. “Thanks be to God.” All too soon, a cold feeling settled in my stomach. “But your longship came from the north.”
“What of it?”
“Why pass up the opportunity for a monastery? Why disembark on our shores?”
He hesitated, as though debating whether or not to answer. Finally, he said, “A bird. A kráka.”
My eyes snapped to his. “What did you say?” I had to be sure—with his accent, it was hard to tell.
He made an impatient sort of noise before letting out a harsh caw-caw-caw. I felt the color drain from my face. The Morrigan.
“Did it lead you?” I asked, my voice hushed.
“It landed on the prow of my ship, and I saw myself within its eyes. It wanted me to land here, so I did. I didn’t expect to be greeted by a warrior maiden and her band of Celts.”
“And I’m supposed to believe you never intended to raid my home?”
“Of course we were there to raid. Your castle was a challenge, and one that I ultimately failed. My first failure, thanks to you.”
“My apologies, Northman,” I said with a curl to my upper lip Conall would be proud of. But inwardly, the Morrigan’s visions haunted me. If the Morrigan had led him here, if she was bringing us both together, then the horrific scenes she’d shown me . . .
No, it couldn’t be true.
But even as I denied it, I heard my sisters screaming before the life was squeezed from their bodies.
“What now, maiden?” the Northman said, pulling me from my morbid thoughts. “I have told you everything you asked of me and more. Will you keep me chained here until my flesh falls from my bones?”
But how could I ask him what he knew about the Morrigan? What if he hadn’t seen what I’d seen? He’d think I was mad. “What would you have me do? Set you free?” I scoffed. “So that you might continue your raiding all the way to Dubhlinn?”
His gaze shifted to the entrance of the cave. “I have seen many things, but a maiden as a prison guard is one of the strangest. Are the Celts so weak they allow their women to interrogate prisoners? Where are the men?”
“I am no maiden,” I said. I crossed my arms over my chest.
He laughed. “A warrior maiden, perhaps, but a maiden just the same. Do you think me blind? You are far too beautiful to be a mere servant.”
“Honeyed words do nothing but anger me. All you need know about me is that I am your captor.”
His expression turned skeptical. “The Celts allow their women to hold prisoners captive? To shed blood on the battlefield?”
“If the woman has proven abilities, then yes. Isn’t it true you Northmen have your own female warriors—shieldmaidens, I believe?”
He didn’t answer me, but instead leaned back, raising his chin just slightly, as though challenging me. “And what would a maiden want with a warrior chained in a cave?” His eyebrows rose, the suggestion clear.
I stared at him, aghast. My heart belied my calm tone, beating a furious pace in my chest. It was clear I was losing control of this conversation.
He only laughed, obviously enjoying my embarrassment.
“If your plan is to insult me, then I will only leave you here to starve.” I turned to go.
“By all means, milady. Go, bring me a meal fit for a warrior, and I will tell you what it is the kráka said to me.”
I paused. “It spoke to you?” This could be what I needed to know: if the Northman knew of the Morrigan’s vision.
“It did, but I will tell you nothing more until I have eaten my fill.”
I looked away for a moment, a muscle in my jaw twitching. His tone was flippant, but I could also hear the truth in his words. “I suppose I could find you some bread and cheese.”
He smirked. “Come, do not toy with me. I will accept nothing less than meat, brown bread, dark beer, and cheese.”
I scoffed. “I would also like some meat. But we are a stone’s throw from the sea. You will have fish like the rest of us.”
“A stew, I hope,” he called as I left the cave. I shook my head at his audacity.
A short raid in the kitchen was a small price to pay to discover what the Northman knew, but the prospect of giving in to his demands was as noxious to me as swimming in a each-uisce’s pond.
The bailey was a bustle of activity as I made my way through to the kitchens. Brother Mac Máel and Father Briain hurried to the chapel for Lauds; the smith’s hammer beat out a steady rhythm, replacing blades broken the day before; and many of the servants were enjoying the rare sunshine, repairing torn cloaks, dresses, or even the leggings Branna had cut from me the night before—though they’d be repurposed into something else now.
As I passed the smithy, a low, welcoming horn sounded. I froze and jerked my head toward the stockade bridge. Just as it had the day before, everything ground to a halt, only this time, everyone wore looks of anticipation.
I ran to the center of the bailey, in full view of the bridge. The warriors who had left with my father were returning, their faces weary, yet triumphant. Their horses perked up noticeably as they trotted over the bridge, no doubt anticipating a rest in the stables. My clansmen broke out into grins as they caught sight of loved ones, their green-and-gold cloaks billowing out behind them. The clan crest, a fierce griffin embroidered in gold and surrounded by a Celtic knot, was emblazoned on the long cloak of each man. Behind them came a wagon heavily laden with wooden chests—from the monastery? I held my breath as I watched each man pass, counting as they went. Thirty men. Everyone was accounted for. Everyone but my father.
The horn blew low again, and everyone bowed.
My breath let out in a sigh as I caught sight of the next rider. My father rode in on his dapple-gray charger, his cloak of green and gold flowing behind him like a sail. A small circlet of gold sat atop his light hair, nearly the same color save for the gray streaks that had recently taken over the blond. His face bore the determined expression it always did, with no sign of wear.
Relief weakened my knees. He was alive.
I ran to my father’s side, and he smiled from atop his tall horse. “Ciara, we came as soon as we received word. I’m glad to hear you did your duty and protected your mother and sisters.”
“Yes, Áthair. The raid took us by surprise, but we were able to defeat the leader.” Though, of course, I had broken every rule by taking the leader prisoner, but I wasn’t about to volunteer such information. “Had the monastery been raided? Are the monks safe?”
“It was nearly raided, but not by Northmen—this was King Sigtrygg’s doing,” Áthair said with a look of disgust he reserved for the king of Dubhlinn. “We fought them off and brought the monastery’s gold and silver and relics back here for safekeeping.”
It wasn’t unusual for Sigtrygg to go on raids; with the whole of Éirinn divided into five different overkingdoms—including Mide—and countless smaller clan territories and kingdoms, there were frequent raids from within the country by other kingdoms seeking to gain more resources. Sigtrygg, though, had recently aligned himself with the High King by marrying his daughter, but this addition to his power clearly hadn’t stopped him raiding other kingdoms for more land, more gold, more power. As a half Northman, however, Sigtrygg was one of the most hated kings, and he had never raided so close to our castle before. I didn’t need the Morrigan’s crow to sense that a battle was brewing between our kingdoms. “I’m glad you were able to stop them.”
He nodded. “Now where are your mother and sisters? I missed them terribly while I was away.”
I kept a smile on my face though his words pained me. My father never concerned himself with me, seeing me more as a fellow clansman than as his daughter. “They must have already left for the market.” I could almost see Branna and Deirdre’s crestfallen faces when they realized they’d missed Áthair’s homecoming. They loved watching the clansmen parade through the bailey, Áthair striking such a proud figure on his big dapple gray.
“How disappointing.” His horse stamped its hoof as though impatient to move on. “Well, come speak to me in the throne room. I would hear a full report on all that transpired.”
Beyond a Darkened Shore Page 5