The Shining One (The Swordswoman Book 2)

by Malcolm Archibald

  Bradan nodded. 'He has been central to my life.'

  'I've never heard of Abaris,' Melcorka said. 'When did you start searching for him?'

  'The day after I first heard of him,' Bradan said. 'All my life.'

  'Why?' Melcorka asked. 'I have never heard of anybody doing anything like this before.'

  Bradan smiled. 'I am known as Bradan the Wanderer; yet I don't wander aimlessly; I have a purpose. Abaris was a seeker after wisdom; I am a seeker after Abaris.'

  Melcorka watched as a seagull circled around before landing on top of the mast. 'How do you know about him?'

  Bradan held her gaze. 'Have you ever heard of a man named Diodorus Siculus?'

  'I have not,' Melcorka said. The seagull looked agitated as it flew away again to circle the boat. 'Who is he?'

  'Diodorus Siculus was a scholar and a writer from Sicily, an island south of Rome,' Bradan said. 'He wrote about Abaris, saying that he visited Athens, which is in Greece.'

  'I have heard of Athens,' Melcorka did not wish Bradan to think she knew nothing of the world outside Alba.

  Bradan did not smile. 'Athens was a famous centre of learning. Diodorus said that Abaris was a Hyperborean from beyond the north wind, a healer and a seer.'

  Melcorka lifted a hand. 'That means nothing to me. What is a Hyperborean? And how can you get beyond the north wind?'

  'I believe that Diodorus meant somewhere beyond their knowledge, somewhere so far north of Greece they did not know where it was.'

  Melcorka nodded, watching the mainland of Scotland slip astern. 'That would make sense.'

  'I think Abaris could be a druid, a holy, learned man from Erin or Alba; more likely Alba as we are further north.' Bradan gave a small smile. 'Beyond the north wind, indeed.'

  Melcorka watched as more seagulls joined the first, flocking around the curragh as the oarsmen chanted their iorram, the rhythmic song that kept them in time as they rowed.

  'Beyond the north wind is a large area to search for a long dead druid,' Melcorka said.

  'According to Diodorus Siculus,' Bradan said, 'Abaris came from a winged temple. I have visited a great number of places that could be called a temple without finding any mention or trace of Abaris.' He looked up with a lopsided smile. 'Or anything that could be called wings.'

  There were other birds among the seagulls now; shags, cormorants and gannets in a squawking unity that Melcorka had never before witnessed. 'Have you asked the monks at Iona or the other monasteries? They are educated men.'

  'They are very educated, yet they don't know anything about Abaris, or the winged temple. Or,' Bradan said, 'maybe they don't want to talk about a magus who preceded Christianity in Alba.'

  The birds were gathering; razorbills and kittiwakes, Arctic terns, black-backed gulls, skuas and shearwaters; a score of different types congregating around the curragh, calling, screaming and squawking in an unholy cacophony of sound. There were even two crows, land-birds caught up in this winged maritime display. Melcorka looked around the horizon. The mainland was rapidly falling behind with the mountains and all their memories only a blue smear. All around were the shapes of islands, some close and colourful, others distant; a scattering of individual worlds set amidst a sea that could alter from benign beauty to a full scale storm within a few moments.

  And still the birds gathered, circling the curragh.

  Something was wrong.

  'This Abaris is very important to you.' Melcorka tore her attention back to Bradan.

  'He was the reason for my existence,' Bradan said. 'If he combined the learning of the druids with the wisdom of Greece he must have been one of the most knowledgeable of men. I wandered with the sole purpose of finding him so I could obtain at least some of his knowledge.' He smiled. 'Until I met you I took no interest in the physical works of men; their politics and power struggles did not concern me. I was only a man with a staff, wandering the roads and trails, yet all the time I was searching.'

  The birds clustered above them in a clamorous cloud, white and black wings fluttering, sharp beaks open as they called together. The seamen stared up in wonderment, with the notes of the iorram disrupted and one man missing a stroke so a pailful of water cascaded into the curragh and splashed up from stem to stern before draining through the scuppers.

  'You clumsy oaf!' Nicolson roared. 'Concentrate on your rowing and never heed the birds.'

  Bradan frowned as his train of thought was broken. 'Have you ever seen such a congregation of birds above a lone boat?'

  'I have not,' Melcorka said. She watched as a pair of oystercatchers joined them with the black and white feathers creating a perfect cross. She smiled; if there were oystercatchers there, she knew they had come to help her.

  'They are going to attack us!' One of the oarsmen yelled.

  'They are not,' Melcorka said. 'They are warning us of danger ahead.' She pointed to the oystercatchers. 'That is my totem bird, my guide. Follow them.'

  'I am master of this ship!' Nicolson began, and then looked up. Sounding their piping call, the oystercatchers left the flock and headed north, while the other birds continued to circle around the mast. There were more crows now, their black shape incongruous among their maritime companions.

  'Captain!' the man at the steering oar pointed to an island in the south, 'a ship; two ships … three ships coming round that headland there.'

  'Caterans! Nicolson said. He stepped to the steering oar and pushed the helmsman aside. 'What are you waiting for boys? Did you not hear the woman? Follow the oystercatchers! Increase the stroke so we can keep up with these blasted birds!'

  Chapter Three

  As Nicolson swung the steering oar hard over, the chant of the iorram increased and the oarsmen doubled their speed.

  'What the hell are the Caterans doing this far north?' Nicolson asked. 'Move these blasted oars!'

  Prancer proved her name as she skiffed across the surface of the waves. With an ash frame covered in ox-hide, the curragh was lighter on the surface than any plank-built vessel, so pulled away from the vessels that had emerged from behind the island.

  'I see three ships,' Melcorka joined Nicolson in the stern of Prancer. 'Each one much larger than us.' She ran her eyes up the length of the vessel. 'What weapons do you have on board?'

  Nicolson shook his head. 'None. The lads will carry a sea-knife but that is all. Since Maelona became queen and the Norse were chased from the country there has been peace except for the Caterans.'

  'The Caterans?' Melcorka asked. 'I know nothing about them. Tell me more.'

  'The name means the plunderers,' Nicolson said. 'They are pirates who attack ships that are not native to these seas, or who look weak enough to reive.' He eyed the distance from the three distant ships to Prancer. 'They are fast, but we are faster in this light wind.'

  'If you knew we might meet them, would it not have been better to carry weapons?' Melcorka asked.

  'I have never known them come this far north before. If those ships,' he nodded to the vessels that now were obviously headed toward them, 'if those ships are really Caterans and not some peaceful vessels that just happen to be coming in our direction.'

  'I think we can assume they are not friendly traders,' Melcorka nodded to the oystercatchers. 'My friends have given us fair warning.'

  Bradan climbed up the slender mast. 'These ships are pierced for ten oars on each side. If we allow just one man at each oar, plus master, steersman and mate, that would give each ship twenty-three men.'

  'I have seven men, plus us,' Nicolson said. 'That gives us ten in Prancer against at least sixty in their vessels.'

  'Fair odds, then,' Melcorka touched the hilt of her sword. The thrill of contact ran through her. 'If they can catch us.'

  Nicolson shook his head. 'As long as we keep this light wind, they won't catch us. If it increases, then…' He shrugged, 'they will have the advantage and life may get more complicated.'

  'Why does the Lord of the Isles not send a squadron to suppress th
ese Caterans?' Bradan shinned back down to the deck. 'He has the Ocean Constabulary for just such events.'

  'The Lord lost many men and ships defeating the Norse,' Nicolson said. 'He is rebuilding his fleet. I don't think that a few Caterans will be his prime concern.'

  Melcorka nodded. 'When authority is weakest, thieves and robbers prey on those who cannot fight back.'

  'They are not gaining,' the helmsman reported happily. 'Prancer is faster than they are.'

  Bradan glanced at the sky. 'The clouds are speeding now; the wind is picking up.' All the birds had vanished except a pair of crows that hovered above the mast as if signalling Prancer's position to the Caterans.

  'Shall we hoist the sail?' The helmsman asked.

  'No,' Nicolson shook his head. 'If we get far enough in front, the Caterans may lose sight of us. The sail will make Prancer easier to see.' He nodded to Defender. 'Can you use that thing, swordswoman?'

  'I can use this thing,' Melcorka touched Defender's hilt.

  'If they get close you may have to.' Nicolson said. 'We don't get many females carrying swords in these parts.' He examined her as if seeing her for the first time. 'What did you say your name was?'

  'I am Melcorka.'

  Nicolson grunted. 'I think half the women in Alba are using that name now after the Norse were defeated. What was your name before you changed it?'

  'You are a cynical man,' Bradan said as Melcorka looked away without replying.

  'I know people,' Nicolson said. 'Very few are what they pretend to be.'

  'These Caterans are getting closer,' Bradan warned. 'The stronger wind will favour their heavier ships.'

  The three ships were undoubtedly closer. As Melcorka watched, their sails were hoisted; pure unadulterated black, they formed ugly dark rectangles on the sea, matching the colour of the crows that now flew from Prancer toward the approaching flotilla.

  'Black sails.' Nicolson's voice had a new edge to it. 'That is the Cateran's mark. Now there is no doubt. Put your muscles to work, boys! Haul these oars!'

  Prancer's crew were working hard, increasing the speed of their strokes by the minute, with each haul of the oars accompanied by a loud grunt. They no longer sang, saving their breath for the oars. Prancer's bows were lifted from the water as she skiffed the surface of the waves, but the rising wind added power to the Cateran's heavier plank-built vessels.

  'They are closing,' the helmsman reported. 'I can make out the men in them.'

  'There are islands and skerries ahead,' Nicolson said. 'Llyr's Daughters. If we can't outrace the Caterans we'll lose them there.' He glanced upward. 'The wind is rising fast.'

  The skerries were low, black and ugly, with the great surge of the sea smashing across them in a maelstrom of churning froth and splintered waves, then withdrawing to expose islands of jagged black fangs and seaweed smothered rock. They extended for around a mile, a barrier across their route to the north, with islands within the guardian ring of rocks, half seen behind a curtain of spray.

  Melcorka glanced aloft: her oystercatchers had gone; only the crows remained, black of feather and raucous of call.

  'This is an evil place,' Bradan looked at the seething barrier ahead.

  'It is not a place I would visit by choice,' Nicolson told him, 'but with the Caterans on the hunt, either the devil or Llyr the sea-god makes the choices for us.'

  Bradan frowned, glanced at Nicolson and tapped his staff lightly on the ash-wood frame. The backwash from the skerries hit them, raising Prancer high and dropping her into the trough of two waves. For a second Melcorka saw the sea sink below the level of the skerries; the rock was dark and jagged, with tendrils of green and brown seaweed lying among a pattern of limpets. Impaled on an outcrop of rock, a human skull grinned at them.

  'Captain! They are nearly in arrow range!' The call came from one of the oarsmen as Nicolson steered Prancer past the first skerry and into the confusion of rocks and raging sea that were named Llyr's Daughters.

  Melcorka stared at the oncoming ships. They were birlinns, clinker-built of overlapping planks and each with a central mast. They moved with such speed that they created a bow wave and left a deep wake in the sea behind them, yet seemed very steady on the water, as if built by a master craftsman, or protected by some unearthly power. As they approached, one vessel moved ahead of the others so they were in a Vee formation.

  'Who is that in the bow?' Melcorka pointed to the closest ship. 'It's a woman!'

  'And what a woman,' Nicolson said, with an admiring glance. 'Why is she with the Caterans I wonder; maybe she is a prisoner.' He turned his attention back to the angry water ahead, shouting to his oarsmen to ignore the blasted woman and concentrate on their rowing.

  Melcorka studied the woman. As Nicolson had suggested, she was beautiful, nearly as tall as a man, with the sun shining on brown hair that descended to her shoulders, and a figure that was causing the oarsmen to stare, even as they entered very dangerous waters.

  'She has power,' Bradan said quietly. 'Look at the way she is standing, full of confidence. She is no prisoner.'

  'And the chief is in the stern beside the helmsman,' Melcorka said, 'where he belongs.' She tried to focus on the Cateran captain, tutting when the birlinn's sail altered angle and blocked her view. 'They carry heavy crews,' she said. 'There are two men to each oar so that would be a crew of forty three on each ship.'

  Nicolson did not reply. He eyed the maelstrom of white water and savage rocks into which he negotiated Prancer. Handing the steering oar to the helmsman, he slid up the mast for a better view of his route. 'Hard to port!' He shouted as a surge of the sea revealed a hitherto hidden skerry and spindrift spattered over them like hail.

  The steersman reacted immediately and Prancer slid sideways, her leather hull so shallow of draught that she slid over a shelf of rock covered with only a few inches of swirling water.

  'The Caterans are pulling away,' Melcorka reported.

  'They can't come in here,' Nicolson said. 'Their draught is far too deep.'

  'I can't blame them for keeping outside,' Bradan looked around. They were surrounded by islands with low cliffs against which the sea exploded, skerries that were exposed one minute and covered in white-frothed waves the next, and dark rocks as sharp as the teeth of a wildcat, smeared with tendrils of green seaweed.

  'Hard to starboard!' Nicolson shouted. Prancer eased past an array of ragged rocks and half the crew yelled as a back surge from the nearest island nearly capsized her; her mast lurched to the side as she was thrown into her beam ends.

  'Hold on!' Nicolson shouted.

  Melcorka staggered, and then Bradan was holding her, his eyes concerned and arms strong. Prancer had bounced back upright, knocking three oarsmen onto the deck, and then they entered an area of surprisingly calm sea. All around them, rocks and skerries acted as a barrier, keeping them secure from the deeper-draughted Caterans.

  'This is Llyr's Haven,' Nicolson looked around him. 'I have never been in here before.'

  'Why is it named that?' Melcorka asked.

  'God knows,' Nicolson said. 'Stop rowing, lads. The Caterans won't dare come in here. We'll wait until night and slip past them.'

  'Llyr was the Celtic god of the sea.' Braden said quietly. 'In the old days. This is a quiet place so perhaps he rested here.'

  With the sea breaking against the surrounding rocks and islets, the entire area of calm was within a curtain of spray that rose and fell, obscuring anything outside the skerries. In the very centre of this serene oasis sat a single low-lying island

  'This is indeed a haven,' Braden said.

  'Listen,' Melcorka said, 'somebody is singing.'

  'Not one of my men,' Nicolson said with a frown. 'I can't hear anything.'

  'Listen!' Melcorka lifted a finger. 'Blank out the noise of the sea.'

  'I hear it,' Bradan said. He stared at Melcorka in wonderment. 'It's a woman; who would sing here? Does somebody actually live in this place?'

  Melcorka looked arou
nd at the vicious rocks covered in seething white water. 'I can't imagine what sort of person would wish to live here.'

  'That must be one of Llyr's daughters,' the helmsman shouted, pointing to the island. 'Forget the Cateran woman, this one's a goddess!'

  Released from the burden of hauling at their oars, the rest of the crew were also looking toward the island, where a young woman sat on a rock. She was watching them and singing in a high, clear voice that was easily heard despite the constant growl of the waves. As she noticed them looking at her, the woman raised her right hand in greeting, allowing the men to see that she wore nothing above her waist.

  'She's gorgeous,' one of the oarsmen raised his voice, 'who are you, my pretty one?' Other of the crew joined the first man, shouting across to the woman as she sang and waved.

  'How did you get here?' A man yelled.

  The woman did not reply, but stopped singing, stood on her rock and waved. To complement her naked upper half, a small rectangle of green cloth dangled beneath her waist

  'She must live there,' another man said. 'Come on over,' he invited. 'And tell us about yourself.' He lowered his voice, 'and I will show you all about me.'

  The oarsmen laughed coarsely and more stood up, shouting over to the young woman. The first oarsman, a tall, lithe man with a mobile face, made suggestions that would have curled the hair of a more modest woman than Melcorka.

  'Captain!' The helmsman said. 'I think we should land on the island and make ourselves known. Maybe that poor woman is a castaway and needs us to save her.'

  'I have something to help save her,' another man said, and demonstrated what he meant.

  Melcorka smiled and looked away, shaking her head.

  'Enough of that!' Bradan tapped the man ungently with his staff. 'There is a woman on board, remember.'

  'Maybe I should show her, then,' the oarsman said and stood up, adjusting his clothing.

  'Only once,' Bradan tapped his staff on the deck. 'You would do that only once.'

  'I would not advise you to go to that island,' Melcorka said quietly. 'Look around. There are no birds, there are no crops, there are no trees and there is no house. Whatever that is standing there, it is not a beautiful woman. It is something you don't want to meet.'