Shadow of Stone (The Pendragon Chronicles)

by Ruth Nestvold

  She and Brigid watched the ritual in silence, the graceful steps of the servants of Danu, the ceremonial bows for relinquishing and taking responsibility.

  From beyond the walls came the sound of dice and laughter: the men who should have been their allies probably playing a game of brandub while they tried to starve the sacred site of Druim Dara into submission.

  "Are you never afflicted by doubts regarding the beliefs you grew up with?" Brigid murmured.

  Of course she was — and Brigid knew it perfectly well.

  * * * *

  At the evening meal, there was a little less for each of them, modest as it was, a stew of lentils with smoked pork and carrots. They had held out longer than Brigid had at first expected; not only was there more in the stores, they had eight fewer mouths to feed after young Nath and his party escaped. But now it was becoming obvious to all of them that if help did not come soon, they would either have to surrender or starve. The goats had already been slaughtered; next would come the horses, and finally the dogs.

  The main hall was quiet as all of them greedily ate their small portions. Then a young acolyte pushed her empty plate away and rose. "Ban file Brigid, this is not enough to sate anyone's hunger! If the enemies at our gates attack us now, we will be too weak to fight back!"

  Brigid rose and faced her. "And what do you suggest we do, Saerlaith?"

  The young woman stared at her for a moment and then turned and ran out of the hall. Hungry or not, at least she still had the energy to run.

  Brigid was just lowering herself back into the chair next to Yseult when Mel too rose. The priestess straightened again.

  He cleared his throat. "It was not right for Saerlaith to accuse you as she did, but neither is it right for us to wait here until our stores run out."

  "And what do you suggest?" Brigid repeated.

  "You were able to get Nath and his mother out with your magic; perhaps more of us can leave the same way."

  Brigid pressed her lips together, and Yseult could feel her inner conflict. "And what if there are no longer enough left to fight if we are attacked again? We must defend the sacred fire of Danu."

  "The enemy seems to be content with starving us into submission — perhaps they do not want to attack Druim Dara directly if it can be avoided. And the fewer there are of us within the walls, the longer your sacred fire can be kept alive."

  Brigid nodded slowly. "But I thought you wanted to stay with your aunt Lupida?"

  Mel looked down at the table briefly and then back up. "I do. But she is also Patraic's sister, and she may be dying. I must get word to him."

  "Even if we have fewer people within the walls, we could still maintain the illusion of many," Yseult suggested. "With only enough to tend the fire, care for the sick, and man the ramparts, we might survive another cycle of the moon. And some warriors could be sent to find out why Illann has not yet come to our aid." And see whether my mother and brother are safe.

  "Yes, we will do it." Brigid rose, clapping her hands for attention. "When all have finished supper, we will meet in the central square and discuss how to proceed!"

  At the words of the priestess, the relief in the room could be felt by all, not only those with the power of the Old Race.

  * * * *

  In an act of extravagance, Brigid had a keg of ale rolled into the central square for all while they made their plans. There was danger in both staying and going, but most of the Christians decided to go; with their diminishing rations, the fear of starvation was stronger than the fear of being caught by the enemy outside the walls. To Yseult's surprise, the acolyte Saerlaith decided to stay and help tend to the sacred fire.

  Mel left with the first group that night, only six this time; Brigid no longer trusted her power of changing to hide more. She'd been eating smaller portions than the rest, and the hollows below her cheekbones were beginning to resemble stabs across her face. Physically weakened, her powers would be weakened as well.

  Nonetheless, the first group made it to the edge of the forest without mishap. Yseult prayed to all the gods of her tribe that Mel or one of the others would find help quickly.

  The next night, another six escaped. Then the third night, those trying to flee were discovered.

  "What did I do wrong?" Brigid asked, rubbing her temples as they listened to the women being raped — and perhaps the men as well, given the timbre of some of the screams. Yseult remembered from her youth how the warriors of the Fianna used to joke that a Christian priest was the next best thing to a woman. Those jokes took on a whole different meaning as she listened to the cries in the night.

  "It is not your fault," the young priest Conlaed said. "We all knew there was as much risk in going as in staying."

  Yseult turned to Brigid. "You gave them poison, did you not?"

  The ban file nodded.

  Saerlaith shivered. "Not everyone has the courage to take their own life. I would not."

  "According to the Christian religion, it is a mortal sin to commit suicide," Conlaed said.

  Yseult listened to the screams and said nothing.

  Conlaed bent his head. "Although I think the Lord would be forgiving in this case."

  * * * *

  The next day, three warriors approached the ramparts of Druim Dara, stopping just outside the range of their arrows. They had no more than a dozen warriors remaining to them, and it was all Yseult, Brigid and the acolytes with some power of changing could do to maintain the illusion that it was at least three times as many.

  "We wish to speak to the Kingmaker!" the tallest of the three called out.

  "And we told you some time ago, she is no longer here!" Conlaed shouted back. He had donned shield and sword and helmet to play the soldier, making one less illusion they had to create.

  "So she snuck out like the others did last night?" a red-headed warrior joked, and they laughed long and hard at their own tasteless wisecrack.

  When they recovered from their own wit, the first one spoke again. "Then if Yseult the Wise is too cowardly to show herself, let us speak with the high priestess of Druim Dara!"

  Brigid stepped forward, armed with sword and shield. Using the power of illusion that she could spare, she'd made herself seem larger and brighter and more beautiful, her long dark hair whipping around in a wind that did not exist on this high summer day. She was the image of Morrigu, the goddess of war, and even the godless fools before them dropped to their knees at the sight of her.

  "You wished to speak with me?" Brigid's voice boomed down the ramparts.

  A warrior with a multitude of silver and gold bracelets on his upper arms scooted forward. "You may have heard that we took those who tried to escape starvation last night," he said, still trying to sound cocky, even with his knees in the dirt.

  "If you give us the boy, we will withdraw and leave you in peace," added the taller one.

  "And we told you, the boy is no longer here. If you do not withdraw, you will never again have the support of Morrigu in your endeavors." If possible, Brigid's voice seemed to grow bigger and more powerful the longer she spoke. "She will abandon you in your battles, your kings will be forgotten, and your tribes will disappear into obscurity. Your daughters will be taken as prizes of war, and your sons will be ashamed to admit their descent!"

  And then all across the fields below them, the men of the besieging army were standing up, stopping whatever they had been doing, gazing towards the walls of the holy site, taking in the glowing figure of the war goddess on the ramparts.

  "You think you can ignore the power of Danu, Anu, and Brigid? That you can defile Druim Dara with impunity?" she cried. "You forget that Morrigu is their sister goddess, and she too sees the way you willfully endanger the sacred fire!"

  With that, Brigid lifted both arms into the sky. As Yseult watched, her arms seemed to turn black, slowly transforming into the wings of a raven. The great bird flew down from the ramparts and headed straight for the enemy messengers, cawing loudly.

&nbs
p; The warriors scrambled to their feet and ran back to their camp.

  Its job done, the raven veered up and disappeared into a blazingly blue sky, while Brigid collapsed into Yseult's arms.

  Yseult turned to Conlaed. "Take Brigid to the house of healing and do whatever you can to see she recovers as quickly as possible. I fear I will not be able to help — I am needed here."

  Because of course all illusion Brigid had created was gone once she collapsed. It was up to Yseult now to coordinate the attempt to delude the enemy.

  Conlaed took Brigid up in his arms, and Yseult turned away to survey the enemy camp on the opposite end of the field. Luckily, all seemed to be in chaos, the warriors still gazing up at the sky, pointing and gesticulating. No one watched the walls of Druim Dara, where most of the soldiers had disappeared from the ramparts in the space of a few beats of a raven's wings.

  * * * *

  Once Brigid recovered, Yseult was very much in need of rest herself. Unfortunately, it was not to be. With necessity and constant practice, a number of the acolytes were improving markedly in controlling their power of changing; at the same time, all of them were weakened from their diet during the siege, not to mention the stress of the siege itself. To provide a respite, Brigid ordered that all available men and women still in Druim Dara don shields and swords and take turns patrolling the ramparts.

  One evening while Yseult was eating a meager supper of gruel fortified with the last of the goat meat, she heard a commotion outside the walls. She finished her bowl quickly and rose with the others, wondering why she had not noticed anything earlier. Perhaps she was more weakened than she knew, and her power of knowing was no longer to be relied upon.

  When she reached the ramparts, she saw a large group of Christian priests and monks in simple robes of white and brown approaching the warriors of the Ui Garrchon and the Ui Bairrche. If her eyes did not deceive her at this distance, they were led by none other than Patraic himself. The pilgrims halted a safe distance from the soldiers. There was a shouted exchange Yseult could not understand.

  Then, from another direction, came the war cries they had all been hoping for. "Ui Cheinnselaig! Ui Dunlainge!"

  A mounted warband led by Illann burst out of the forest opposite where the Christian priests had approached Druim Dara. As the warriors of the Ui Garrchon and the Ui Bairrche turned to fight, the priests threw off their robes, drawing swords and attacking with staffs.

  Brigid turned to the captain of the guard. "Take your strongest men and help our allies win this day!"

  Soon another dozen warriors were streaming out of the gate to attack the besiegers from a third side, Ricca and the rest of Yseult's men-at-arms at the forefront.

  Before the sun had begun to dip below the edge of the world, the surviving enemy soldiers had bolted and were trying to escape while Illann's troops hunted them down and captured them.

  Yseult smiled to herself as the priests and warriors who had come to their aid wiped their bloody weapons on the grass and sheathed them, or began to use their staffs as walking sticks again. The land of her birth was strange in so many ways, not the least of which was that even Christian holy men wielded a kind of magic of their own.

  She saw Patraic glance up as he neared Druim Dara. Their eyes met, and he raised a hand in greeting.

  * * * *

  "Are my mother and brother well?" Yseult asked Illann as he dismounted from his warhorse.

  "Yes, safe in Dun Ailinne. But if they had arrived a day later they might not have been. Findchad came to Dun Ailinne not to participate in the council, he came to declare himself king. We had to fight our own battles before we could come to the aid of Druim Dara. But Findchad overestimated himself and his support among the kings of the Laigin."

  Yseult rubbed her forehead. "I am glad to hear it."

  Illann took her elbows and drew her forward to look at her more closely. "Yseult, are you well?"

  She gave an empty laugh. "Am I well? I'm certainly happy to be alive, but I am only now noticing how exhausted I am. I am with child, and I can only hope that this has not harmed the babe. Brigid and I have been working constantly to maintain the illusion of an army on our ramparts, and we've been reducing our rations daily in order to survive this siege just a little longer. I am sore in need of rest."

  Once she had put it into words, she suddenly realized how true they were. She had to rest. Yseult glanced over to where Brigid greeted Mel and then led him away in the direction of the house of healing. The strain of the last weeks seemed to have had no effect on Brigid at all. Whereas Yseult ... when Brigid's retreating figure began to grow foggy, she leaned her head against Illann's chest and closed her eyes. "I must sleep," she said out loud, or at least she thought she did.

  As her legs gave way beneath her, from somewhere far away she heard him asking what was wrong, but it didn't matter anymore, didn't matter that she would have sunk to her knees in front of him if he had not been gripping her shoulders.

  She had to rest.

  As if in a dream, she felt Illann put one forearm beneath her sagging knees and take her up in his arms. It was so good not to have to walk anymore, not to have to think anymore, not to have to use her powers anymore.

  But no, she could not think that. That was weak. She might only be Yseult the Fair, not Yseult the Wise like her mother, but she was still the daughter of the Kingmaker, and she was not weak. In Britain they called her a lioness, the Lioness of Dumnonia, even if those who disliked her added "unclean" to the appellation. Yseult had never seen a lioness, but she did not think they were weak.

  "I am not weak," she said. Or thought she said.

  "No, Yseult, you are not weak," Illann said. "Just tired."

  "Just tired," she repeated. And then to her shame, she felt tears aching at the backs of her eyes. No! To cry was to show weakness. Besides, it made no sense. The enemy had just been defeated, the siege lifted. Druim Dara was safe.

  And she was being carried to the house of healing.

  Was she going to lose the babe? What would Cador say? He would hate her for getting with child and risking her life to keep it rather than doing away with it. She didn't want Cador to hate her. But if she was dead, it wouldn't matter. He could hate her all he wanted, but she wouldn't be there, unless she decided to haunt him the way Drystan haunted her.

  Do I haunt you, really?

  "You do not haunt me enough," she said.

  "Yseult, what is this of haunting?" Illann said.

  "Nothing," she murmured.

  And then he was kicking open the door of the round house. Brigid hurried to her side while Illann laid her down on an empty pallet.

  "She is seeing things that are not there," the Laigin prince said, his voice worried.

  Brigid chuckled. "Illann, she and I create things that are not there. Surely we are allowed to see them now and then?"

  He gave an embarrassed laugh. "True enough."

  "Go now. I will look to the queen." The light was dim, and Yseult could barely make out Illann's figure leaving the round house.

  "Will I lose the babe?" Yseult asked once he was gone.

  "I don't know," Brigid said. "But I do know you need to rest."

  "Yes." She had to rest.

  And she slept.

  * * * *

  When Yseult awoke again, she did not at first remember where she was. It was dark, and she heard snoring nearby. She propped herself up on her elbows and glanced around, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the half-light. Finally she recognized Lupida on a bed nearby. She was in the house of healing — she had collapsed and been brought here.

  Yseult wondered how long she'd slept. Given the quality of the light filtering through the slits underneath the roof, it was either dawn or dusk or a particularly cloudy day.

  The door opened, and Brigid entered, followed by Mel.

  Brigid hurried over. "Yseult, you're awake!"

  "How long have I been sleeping?"

  Brigid smiled. "Nearly two days." />
  Yseult pushed herself farther up and sat on the edge of the pallet. Her hands sought her abdomen: still rounded and hard.

  "You did not lose the babe," Brigid said. "But you must be cautious and continue to rest as much as possible. I blame myself; I admit, I was not thinking of your pregnancy. I allowed you to take on much more than you should have. You are little more than skin and bone."

  "And a stomach," Yseult added.

  From the shadows nearby came a weak chuckle she did not recognize. "With such spirit, you will surely recover, Lady Yseult."

  She turned to see Mel squeezing his aunt's hand. "Like you, Lupida," the priest said.

  But then the figures around her began spinning and Yseult put a hand to her forehead. "Perhaps you overestimate me."

  Brigid pushed her back gently onto the pallet. "You are not ready to rise yet. Regain your strength first. I will have some fresh bread and butter brought directly."

  "That sounds excellent. I must recover as soon as possible in order to return to Britain before the weather changes."

  "We will see how long it takes you to regain your strength. By the way, Illann returned to Dun Ailinne yesterday. I told him to ask your mother to return to Druim Dara to look after you."

  "I am pregnant, not ill."

  "You are pregnant and you have been starving yourself."

  "As have we all."

  "As have we all, but you have been working harder than anyone."

  "Except for you."

  "But I am not pregnant."

  Yseult had no answer to that.

  Brigid stroked a hand across Yseult's brow with an unusually tender gesture. "You are stubborn and strong-willed, Yseult the Fair, sister of my heart, and many admire you for it. But now you must rest and let others care for you." She rose and left the house of healing.

  "Brigid can wear the title of 'wise woman' with pride," Lupida said quietly.

  Her nephew Mel merely stared after Brigid without speaking, Lupida's hand clenched tightly in his own. Yseult was too tired to try to read his thoughts and so she drifted back into sleep, thinking of fresh bread and butter.

  * * * *

  Yseult was surprised at how slow her recovery was, especially given that she had not felt weak or ill before she collapsed.