The Shining One (The Swordswoman Book 2)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'I have not eaten since I heard you wished your frith,' Fitheach said casually, 'for fasting helps the gift.' She looked upward, and a westerly wind now dragged clouds across the low sun. 'It is nearly dark; the most auspicious time for a frith is immediately before dawn, so you will sleep here to-night.'

  'We thank you for your hospitality,' Bradan said. 'May God bless your house and all within it.'

  'Oh He will,' Fitheach said cheerfully. 'Come away in.'

  The interior was as neat as the exterior, with a clean dirt floor, a low table and four stools scattered around a central peat fire that sparked welcome light into the dark interior. The sweet smell of peat-smoke was as familiar as Scottish rain.

  'You will sleep,' Fitheach told them, 'and you will wake an hour before dawn. Don't worry about the man in the corner. He is here to entertain me and keep my bed warm. He is not here for any reason that concerns you.'

  The handsome young man who occupied a corner couch gave them a friendly grin without speaking a word, tossed back a mop of shining red hair and leaned back. His short kilt covered barely enough for decency while above the waist he was naked and finely muscled.

  'You have a fairy sword, I see,' Fitheach said, and shook her head at Bradan's immediate expression of alarm. 'Oh it's all right, Bradan. The People of Peace at Tom-na-hurich don't bother with me, or I with them.'

  'It is a fairy sword,' Melcorka agreed. 'It was the sword of Calgagus and of Arthur.'

  'Excalibur?' Fitheach raised her eyebrows. 'Now that I did not expect. I see the future and not the past.' She rested a slender finger on the hilt. 'She will not let you down, as long as you do not abuse her trust. Sleep well.' Fitheach smiled. 'Your sword will be safe in my home.'

  As was common in the houses of the Gael, the bed was made of heather, with the stalks downward to give spring and the leaf upward for comfort. The pleasant scent of natural heather soothed Melcorka to sleep and if she dreamed, she did not remember. She woke to the chuckle of the rushing river and the soft sough of wind through the boughs of the hazel trees.

  'Are you ready, Melcorka, daughter of Bearnas?'

  Fitheach stood over her, smiling and not looking as young as she had the previous night.

  Melcorka looked around. Bradan sat at the corner of the cottage, watching her, looking as though he had been awake for hours. Now fully naked, the other man slept the sleep of the exhausted. His kilt lay in a tangle beside the peat flame.

  'I am ready Fitheach.'

  Fitheach nodded. 'That is well. Bradan would tell you what I am?'

  'You are a seer,' Melcorka said.

  'Nearly, Melcorka. I am a frithir. I can see into the unseen. You are welcome to watch if you wish, but not to interfere.' Bareheaded so her hair cascaded to her shoulders and barefoot on the clean earthen floor, Fitheach wore a simple linen leine and nothing else. She opened the door of the cottage, closed her eyes and stood on the threshold with one hand on each jamb. She spoke slowly; praying to the god of the unseen, then opened her eyes again and walked around the cottage from east to west.

  'Sunwise,' Bradan murmured softly. 'This is the old way, praying to the old gods of the druids.' He made the sign of the cross to protect himself and stepped outside the door. Melcorka followed, leaving Defender propped against the inner wall. She knew she did not need it in this house of hospitality.

  Fitheach made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand as she continued to walk around the cottage, sunwise.

  'The circle is the symbol of Bel, the sun-god,' Bradan said softly. 'Fitheach is praying to him.'

  Melcorka stirred uneasily. 'I am a follower of the Christ God.'

  'So am I,' Bradan said. 'Yet some times the old ways work. They were here for thousands of years before the Christ came from the East. The old gods know this land.'

  'There is only one God,' Melcorka said, yet she continued to watch Fitheach's progress. She heard the breeze rustle the branches of the hazel and the river surge and suck at the edges of the island. She heard the melody of a dozen different birds, mavis, robin, blackbird and sparrow, and the cheep of a medley of finches. The sounds merged until they became one, until they became part of the incantation that Fitheach was repeating as she circled the cottage with her bare feet gradually creating a furrow in the ground so she was connected deeper and deeper with the mother earth. In the east, where the River Ness entered the sea, the sun rose, shining a golden path up the rippling waters until her light sweetened the branches of the trees and dappled the clearing in which Fitheach walked.

  Fitheach's words rose as the sun kissed her but her pace did not alter. Melcorka could not tell how many times the frithir had circled the house; scores, certainly, perhaps more than that and she continued, sunwise, with her face set and her eyes alive, yet what she saw only she knew.

  'She will circle the house nine times nine,' Bradan may have guessed Melcorka's thoughts. 'And then the truth will come to her.' He touched her on the sleeve. 'You may not wish to hear what she sees.'

  Melcorka swallowed hard. She was unsure in this place; she did not understand this dabbling with the uncanny; even with Defender, she could not fight the unseen. 'I will hear what the frithir says. Taking a deep breath, she watched the hazel grove come alight with the blaze from the sun. The instant the sun licked around her, Fitheach stopped walking; for a moment she seemed to be a figure of gold.

  'I see!' Fitheach said. 'I see a man with braided hair and a face marked and decorated.'

  'That is Egil,' Melcorka said, although she knew that Fitheach was lost in her own world and could not hear her. 'Egil is the Northman who killed my mother.'

  'I see him well,' Fitheach continued to speak. 'I see him facing you near the circle of Bel. I see him standing over you with an axe in his hand and blood in his heart.'

  'Will I kill him?' Melcorka asked.

  Perhaps her words got through. 'You want to kill him.' Fitheach said.

  'More than you will know,' Melcorka saw sunlight creep slowly toward her.

  'Neither steel nor iron will kill that man,' Fitheach said.

  'How will he die?' Melcorka asked. 'How can I kill him?'

  'He will die from the bite of the dead; you will be there, Melcorka and you cannot kill him in vengeance, yet he can kill you.'

  'I must seek him!' Melcorka allowed the warmth of the rising sun to filter through the swaying leaves of the hazel grove and light up her face. She told herself she was not seeking the blessing of Bel or any other pagan god. She did not know if that was the truth.

  Fitheach stood within a beam of the sun so a halo seemed to form around her head. 'You will not seek him yet you will meet. He will not seek you yet his axe and sword will colour with your blood.'

  A cloud covered the sun. Fitheach no longer stood within its golden rays. She looked up. 'Beware of the Bel beachd, the circle of Bel, Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas.'

  'He will die from the bite of the dead,' Melcorka repeated. 'What does that mean, Fitheach?'

  She shook her head slowly. 'I say what I see; I leave the interpretation to you.'

  'It seems that I cannot kill that man, yet he will die whatever I do.' Melcorka was aware of Bradan watching her.

  'He is best avoided,' Bradan agreed.

  'We will not be seeking Egil,' Melcorka said quietly. 'We will follow the path of the wanderer rather than the way of the warrior.'

  'That is the better path,' Bradan agreed. 'Travellers are always made welcome in this land of Alba or in Erin over the sea and Cymri to the south. Of the land of the Saxons I do not know.'

  'We will see what we will see,' Melcorka said. 'And if I am destined to meet Egil whether I seek him or not, then that shall be what happens.' She glanced around, where Fitheach's male companion had joined them outside. He smiled to her, running his gaze from the top of her black hair to the tips of her toes and back, lingering at her breasts. 'And if you do not control yourself, man-of-the-mobile-eyes, I shall ensure that Fitheach has no further use of y
our services. That,' she pointed to his manhood, 'would make a small trophy on the edge of my sword.'

  Fitheach gave a short laugh. 'That would be a waste,' she said, 'although it would be well deserved.' She held out a hand, palm downward, to Bradan. 'Let me see your staff, Bradan.'

  He handed it to her, wondering, and she turned it over and over, examined it. 'Blackthorn, I see.' She said. 'It is a fine staff, and it has cared for you for many miles on many roads.'

  'It has done that,' Bradan agreed.

  'And now it needs a rest,' Fitheach said.

  'My staff will see me on many more roads,' Bradan said.

  'It will be safe here with me,' Fitheach told him, 'and it will tell me the tales of your adventures. In return,' she reached to the rafters of the cottage and hauled down a staff equal in size and weight. 'Here is one for you.'

  Bradan took it with a curious expression on his face. 'This is rowan wood. I've been searching for a rowan wood staff for many years.'

  Fitheach smiled. 'It is blessed by being rowan wood, Bradan and doubly blessed by the owner it once had.'

  Bradan examined it carefully. 'I see nothing to tell of the owner,' he said.

  'Look at the top,' Fitheach said.

  Bradan did so. 'There is a small cross embossed in the wood.'

  'This was the staff of Columba,' Fitheach said. 'There will come a time or three when it will stand you in good stead.'

  'Thank you,' Bradan rubbed his hand the length of the staff and tapped it on the ground. 'It is a fine support.'

  Fitheach's man grinned. 'It is a length of wood with no more purpose than…'

  'Than your tongue, man of no wit,' Melcorka eyed him up and down, shook her head slowly and looked away.

  'How can I thank you, Fitheach?' Bradan asked. 'What do you wish of me?'

  'I wish you to use the staff well,' Fitheach said quietly. 'If you do that, you will do more than enough for me, and for others.'

  Bradan nodded. 'There is a lot that you are not telling me,' he said.

  'There is a lot that I do not know,' Fitheach placed Bradan's old staff in the rafters. 'And there is a lot that I would like to know.'

  'I will come back and tell you,' Bradan said.

  Fitheach shook her head. 'It will be many days before you are back here, Bradan, if indeed you return at all. Your path takes you a long journey to elsewhere.'

  Bradan held out a hand. 'In that case, I thank you for your hospitality and your words.' He tapped his new staff on the floor again. 'It's time we were on the road, Melcorka. You are growing restless and there is the memory of a man I wish to see.'

  Melcorka ignored the mocking bow of Fitheach's man. He was as irrelevant as his nakedness.

  Chapter Two

  With Bradan leading the way with his deceptively slow stride, they followed the sun on its passage west. Less than two years previously, Melcorka had travelled in the opposite direction with her mother and the people she had known all her life. She had been a naïve island girl then, unsure and untried, with no idea of the powers that her sword Defender could give her. Now everybody who had travelled with her was dead and she was a warrior with a reputation.

  Melcorka looked sideways at Bradan. Somewhere along the journey she had picked him up, or he had picked her up, she was not sure which.

  'And what are you thinking?' Bradan asked.

  'Nothing for your ears,' Melcorka examined her surroundings. All around her were great gaunt mountains and long expanses of bogland with open stretches of dark water ringed with reeds and the occasional small island with lonely trees nodding in the breeze. This was a place of nature spirits, of the old vanished peoples and their knowledge. There was peace here; as if the inhabitants had found what they sought within them and moved on.

  'You are wondering what the future holds.' Bradan said. 'Fitheach would not have handed over this staff unless there was a purpose for it.'

  Melcorka smiled. As long as she had Defender, she had little to fear, and anyway she had been growing stale and bored in the luxury of royal court life. 'Fitheach is an intelligent woman. We will deal with whatever comes when it comes.'

  Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. 'I am glad that you are with me, Melcorka. I only hope I do not lead you into trouble.'

  'I led you to plenty,' Melcorka glanced over to him. 'Now we are moving, could you tell me who it is you are looking for?'

  'I am searching for the knowledge of Abaris.' Bradan smiled. 'He was a good man, Melcorka; you have nothing to fear from him.'

  'He was a good man,' Melcorka said. 'Has he stopped being so good now?'

  Bradan nodded. 'He is dead.'

  'Abaris the dead man,' Melcorka said. 'I do not know the name. 'You can tell me more about him later, here's the village now.'

  They had arrived at a small cluster of houses beside Loch Ewe, where a group of exotic palm trees waved welcome and proved the water was warmed by some sea current from undreamed of shores. A row of fishing boats leaned their masts above the high-tide line of seaweed, while a gaggle of tousle-headed, bare foot children greeted them with loud cries and raised hands. A man looked up from his task of mending his nets.

  'God bless the road,' he said, steady-eyed, 'and the travellers that use it.'

  'God bless the work,' Bradan rested on his staff as he stood to talk. 'It's a fine day.'

  The man continued to work, checking each strand of his net as he wove. 'It is that. If you are visiting the village then my house is the first you come to and you are welcome to stay if your purpose is peaceful, and welcome to pass by if you seek to do harm.'

  'We seek to do no harm,' Melcorka said.

  'Then that sword is a very ornate decoration for a woman seeking only peace,' the man said. 'I am MacLean of the nets.'

  'I am Bradan the Wanderer and this is Melcorka the Swordswoman.' Bradan introduced them both. 'We are heading west-over-seas to seek news of Abaris.'

  'I do not know the name. I do know that there is a boat leaving shortly for Port-nan-loch in the isles,' MacLean glanced at the sun and the sea. 'You had better hurry; the tide is on the turn and Captain Nicolson will not wait.'

  The boat was typical of the isles, a leather hulled curragh, broad beamed with a single central mast. The six crewmen leaned on the shafts of their slim-bladed oars as Bradan and Melcorka negotiated the fare with the captain. The curragh bobbed lightly on the surface of the loch, her blunt bow pointing toward the open sea.

  'Prancer is a fine ship, the fastest in these waters and safe in a blow.' Captain Nicolson was a long faced, weather-beaten man with a leather waistcoat above a short kilt. 'Where are you going?' He eyed up Bradan, calculating how much he could charge for the passage by the quality of his clothing and the value of his possessions. As Bradan wore a simple leine below a brown cloak and carried only a single bag over his shoulder, the fare would be low.

  'Wherever you are headed, Captain,' Bradan said cheerfully. 'I know the southern isles where the Lord of the Isles holds sway but not the outer isles.'

  Nicolson grunted. 'Aye; maybe you won't want to know them when you get there. If Hector allows you in.' He nodded toward Melcorka. 'Is the woman coming too?'

  'The woman is certainly coming too, Captain,' Melcorka stepped on board and sat on a bench near the stern. 'If you have room for me.'

  Nicolson glanced overboard where the waves burst against the shingle in a sparkling display of silver-white surf. 'Aye; I've room if you have payment.' His eyes shifted from Melcorka's sword with the ornate hilt to the cairngorm-and-silver brooch that held her hooded travelling cloak in place, and the fare automatically rose.

  'I have payment,' Melcorka extracted a silver coin from within her cloak and spun it into Nicolson's ready hand. 'That is for both of us,' she said. 'Best hurry if you are to catch the tide.'

  Nicolson bit into the coin to test its purity. 'I always have room for a beautiful woman,' he said. 'Untie the mooring ropes, boys and pull for the sea.'

  The curragh pushed
out into the loch, then completed a slow circle, sunwise for luck, as Nicholson took the steering oar in the stern and pointed his long face toward the west.

  'Who is this dead man you are journeying to visit, Bradan?' Melcorka nodded as the crew pulled at their oars and the curragh slid easily toward the open sea. Lacking a keel, it floated lightly on the surface of the water and skiffed over the top of barely submerged reefs and skerries that would tear the bottom out of vessels of deeper draught.

  'I told you that his name was Abaris,' Bradan said. 'I did not tell you that he lived a few hundred years ago.'

  Melcorka nodded. 'If he has been dead that length of time I doubt he will be saying much to you.'

  'He may say nothing and tell me a lot,' Bradan said as the head of the curragh rose to a wave as they pulled into the boisterous seas of the Minch, the stretch of often rough water that divided the mainland from the Hebridean islands.

  'That may be interesting,' Melcorka took a deep breath of the sharp-salt-laden air. It was a long time since she tasted sea air and realised how much she missed it. 'Who was he?'

  'Abaris was a magus, a druid who travelled from Alba to Greece to discuss philosophy with the learned men there. The ancient Greek scholars spoke highly of him without giving a precise location for his home. They mentioned that he came from a winged temple but we don't know much more than that.'

  Bradan stopped to point to the dorsal fin that sliced through the water. 'That's a basking shark. They are not usually so close inshore around here. Something must have disturbed it.'

  'There have been a few unusual things recently,' Nicolson said. 'Caterans venturing further afield, selkies in the outer isles and ships vanishing.' He looked around the empty seas. 'You can be thankful that you are on Prancer. We can outrun any ship on the sea, given the right weather conditions.'

  Melcorka lifted a finger to test the air. 'Let's hope we don't need to run from anybody.'

  'You're safer on land than at sea,' Bradan said. 'I like the feel of the ground beneath my feet.'

  'Yet you're sailing to the islands to search for a man who is already dead,' Melcorka mused. 'He must be very important to you.'