Muse

by Kylie Quillinan

  In the shelter of a thick holly bush, I gathered a mound of fir needles, scraping them into place with my paws. It made for a surprisingly soft bed. I curled up on the pile, wrapped the tail around me and tucked my nose into my paws for warmth.

  The night was long and cold. I soon burrowed down into the needles, covering my body with them but I was still so cold that at times I doubted I would live through the night.

  Perhaps some stranger would find my body, buried in fir needles. They would have no way of knowing this form was more than it seemed. Nobody would take news of my passing to my mother. But the Sight was strong in her and she had nurtured her gift in a way I never had. Did she know this morning that I did not depart on any ordinary herb-gathering expedition? Perhaps the Sight would show her a small, white dog, shivering in the midst of a pile of fir needles. Would she wonder what this image meant? Would she debate whether the vision portrayed past, present, future, or merely a possibility? Or would she know it was I, cursed by the fey for refusing some mission they would not even explain? Mother always said my stubbornness would get me into trouble one day.

  So I tortured myself with such thoughts as I shivered through the night. I did not sleep but it was not only the cold that kept me awake. Mostly, it was fear. Fear of what might creep up on me if I slept. Fear of the visions that replayed in my mind, showing the bloodstained terrier over and over until I was sure I would go mad if I hadn't already. I also had the tiniest bit of hope that the fey girl might relent and restore me to my own form. However I was in two minds as to whether or not I would actually accept her strange quest, if that were the price for being returned to my own body.

  I poked my head out of the needles every now and then to check whether morning had yet arrived. Eventually sunlight began to filter through the fir canopy and hope, which had seemed so far away during the night, returned. Today, I would find my way home. My legs were stiff and clumsy as I scrambled out of the pile of fir needles that had been my bed.

  A noise that seemed out of place in the morning quiet made me hesitate. Part wheeze, part snort, it was coming nearer. With the noise came a strong smell. I didn't recognise it but my new nose twitched as if I should. My heart beat faster and my legs turned to liquid as icy tendrils of fear wound through them. I knew neither sound nor smell but the form I was in recognised danger regardless and every instinct within me said to flee. But I was frozen in place.

  The sound came closer and closer. Then an enormous black boar lumbered out from behind a fir and headed straight towards me. I quivered at the sight of its scarred muzzle and long tusks. My startled gasp came out as a bark of sorts. The boar paused and looked around, its nostrils widening as it caught my scent. There was no time to hide. Another step closer, a snort, and then it saw me.

  I scrambled out of the fir needles, paws sliding in their softness. Those few moments it took to get my grip was all the boar needed. It lunged. A tusk grazed my shoulder. It stung and I whimpered. I was trapped between the holly bush that had given overnight shelter from the breeze and a large boar that thought I smelled like breakfast. My limbs felt no stronger than thistledown as I faced the boar. Its rank odour filled my nose. My mind was blank. The beast stared back, nostrils flaring, still tasting my scent. Its shoulder muscles rippled as it prepared to attack. I should have run while I had the chance.

  The boar lowered its head and charged. A tusk pierced my shoulder. Dampness spread quickly and pain shot through me. If I had hands, I would have clasped one over the wound to stem the blood. But I had nothing other than small furry paws and I needed them to run.

  The boar pulled back, readied itself to attack again. Its tusk glittered with blood. As it lowered its head, I finally found the strength to move. But I was slow and clumsy with pain. A tusk pierced me again, this time in the side. I screamed and it was a strangely human sound, despite my canine mouth. I tried to run but the boar blocked my path with its enormous body, surprisingly fast for such a heavy creature. Or perhaps it was simply hungry.

  If I couldn't run, I would have to fight. Either that, or lie down and let the beast have me. I drew back my lips and bared my teeth, managing a sound that was half-snarl, half-whimper. The boar snorted, unimpressed, and lowered its head again. I flung myself at it, somehow avoiding the huge head and deadly tusks. My jaws closed around its ankle but the skin was tough and I was already weak with blood loss. The boar shook me off easily. I was flung to the ground. The world spun. Snarling hogs surrounded me, their tusks red with my blood. Get up, Brigit. Get up now.

  The beast leaned in to sniff me, perhaps checking whether I still lived. Its hoof landed on my front paw, mashing it into the leaf litter. Pain exploded through my paw and up my leg. Then the boar had my ear in its mouth. It shook its head and my ear tore. Blood dripped down my face, obscuring my vision, and trickled into my mouth. It was warm and salty and there was a lot of it.

  The boar released my ear and I staggered to my feet. I ran. Somehow, I dodged one way just as it moved the other and, unimaginably, I was suddenly behind it. Run. That was the only thought in my head. Run as far and as fast as I could. Behind me, the beast grunted. I felt, rather than heard, it turn. But it was large and already tiring and I had a head start. It followed briefly but soon gave up, perhaps preferring to find a meal that didn't mind being eaten quite so much.

  I ran until my legs gave out and I collapsed in a heaving, bloody heap. My whole body trembled and I could hardly see for the blood dripping into my eyes. Warm foam dripped from my mouth as I gasped for breath. Everything hurt and I couldn't see enough of my body to tell how bad the wounds were. Blood pooled beneath me, seeping into the leaf litter.

  I could think of nothing but the pain and for some time, all I could do was lie there, panting. But I couldn't stay. I had to move on, no matter how much it hurt. I didn't know how far I had run. Injured as I was, perhaps it wasn't far at all. The boar could still be on my trail and, if not, the woods contained other beasts who would seize the opportunity of an easy meal. I was in no condition to survive another fight.

  I managed to haul myself up onto my haunches and used my uninjured front paw to wipe the blood from my eyes. I had to find the way home. Mother would aid me, even if she didn't recognise me in this body. She would never turn away a creature in need. I staggered to my feet and a wave of new pain flooded through me. My front paw, the one the boar stood on, would bear no weight and blood still ran freely from it. Surely the bone was broken. It was a wonder I had managed to run at all for now I could barely walk.

  It was awkward, limping on three paws, and pain shot through me with every jerky step. How soon would I be too weak from blood loss to move? I would keep going for as long as I could, and when I could walk no further, well, I tried not to think about that.

  Blood from my torn ear continued to run down my forehead and already it dripped into my eyes again. Now I knew how the terrier in my visions had become injured. I had always wondered whether some of the blood might be mine, but I had never expected it to be this much.

  19

  Diarmuid

  I LEFT HOME early the next morning while streaks of rose and violet still filled the sky. The air was crisp and clean, warning that nights were yet cold for the traveller sleeping out of doors. If I let myself dwell on that, I might lose what little courage I had. So, I cleared my mind and set off. One foot in front of the other.

  The first village on my way was Tors. It was a little further away than Maker's Well although to the north rather than the west. My aim for this first day of travel was to get as close to Tors as possible before nightfall.

  The snow was light and easy to walk through, and the brisk walk soon warmed me. The morning passed with surprising speed. By the time the sun was high overhead, I neared the edge of Silver Downs land. The woods, which I was forbidden to enter, loomed ahead of me. I intended to veer around them to where a rough path led to Tors.

  Although well accustomed to spending a day walking, I did not usually wear a
heavy pack and already my legs wobbled. How could I walk day after day if I was fatigued by midday? I set my pack down in the snow and ate bread and cheese while standing. A light breeze kicked up and the warmth I had felt quickly disappeared. As soon as I finished, I shouldered my pack and set off again.

  The ground sloped down towards the woods. Even this far from them, I passed increasing numbers of trees as if the woods started gently here. I could not name most of the trees except for the firs, standing tall and proud, their green needles clinging in defiance of winter.

  Had anyone realised I was gone yet? How long until Fiachra told them? Would someone come after me, try to stop me? Perhaps I could convince them to travel with me. I would be less afraid with company. It wouldn't be Eremon, of course, for his place was to stay at Silver Downs. And not Fiachra. He had made it clear he would not aid me unless I called him and I wasn't yet desperate enough. He hadn't explicitly said he would be breaking some sort of rule by helping me but it was implied. Sitric wouldn't leave his business but perhaps Marrec and Conn might come. Maybe I should return home, ask them to accompany me? But I would not make it home before nightfall and there was no guarantee they would agree anyway. Besides, I had less than two sevennights to complete my task and there was no time to waste. So I kept walking.

  Now that I had allowed fear to creep into my mind, it was impossible not to worry. About whether the witch was Ida. How I might stop her and whether I would have to destroy her. Whether it was possible to do so without also destroying myself. Whether Caedmon had left home this morning bearing a death sentence from last night's tale. The dream in which he saw his own death had shown his body lying in a ditch, his throat slit. And that was how the soldier in my tale also met his end.

  None of this would have happened if I hadn't been so careless with the tales I told. How full of hope I was with my first tale, the one about the bard and his muse. A tale had seemed like some wonderful new plaything, shiny and sparkling and full of promise. And then when my audience hated it, I fell deep into melancholy where the world seemed dimmer, its colours faded, and hope and joy were crushed like an ant beneath my boot.

  How did my ability work? And why was it only the tale about Ida that had come to life? I could only pray that last night's tale hadn't also come true. My thoughts were full of could have and should have. The one thing of which I was certain was that I would never tell another tale.

  I left Silver Downs land and reached the road. Although roughly made, it was still easier than walking through fields. On one side continued the same woods that edged Silver Downs. On the other was pastureland. These rolling hills would be lush with thick green grass come summer. I wondered if I would ever return to see it.

  As the sun dipped closer to the horizon and the first shades of a brilliant orange sunset appeared, I searched for a suitable place to spend the night. Caedmon would say to find a spot with protection from the night wind on at least one side. There must be clearance for a fire and I should be out of sight of the road. The sound of water trickling over stones reached my ears and, without hesitation, I left the road to follow it. Proximity to fresh water, that was another thing Caedmon would look for.

  I followed the sound into the woods. The stream couldn't be far away. As I ventured deeper, the firs grew more thickly and soon they blocked all but the most persistent rays of sunlight. I moved carefully, feeling my way with each step for I could see little now. I walked and walked but still the water sounded no closer.

  Some small creature kept pace with me, slipping swiftly from tree to tree. I turned to look and it vanished behind a hawthorn bush. When I looked away, it glided to the next fir tree.

  My heart beat faster. The creature clearly didn't want to be seen and I couldn't quite make out what it was. Small, but human in form. One of the fey?

  Lost in my thoughts, I didn't notice that the sound of trickling water had disappeared. Deep in the woods and in almost total darkness, I was in danger of becoming hopelessly lost, if indeed I wasn't already. Time and again, Caedmon had warned me not to venture into unfamiliar woods. I was stupid to leave the road, stupid to follow a sound regardless of what it might promise.

  I set down my pack, unhooked the small lamp hanging from the side, and fumbled for a flint. The lamp shed welcome light over my surroundings and I saw another small being perched on a nearby rock. It disappeared as soon as I looked at it. So two of them followed me, perhaps more.

  "Who are you?" I called and my voice wavered only a little.

  Silence greeted my words.

  "I know you are there. I have seen you."

  Nothing.

  "What do you want?"

  There was a giggle then, soft and high pitched. I waited but no further response came. Shouldering my pack and carrying the lamp by its handle, I started back towards the road. I would return to where I had entered the woods and make camp there on the very edge where I could see the road but still receive shelter from the wind.

  I had walked barely a dozen paces before I stumbled into a shallow ditch masked by a mound of leaves. I landed unevenly and pain shot through my ankle. The lantern slipped from my fingers and its small flame disappeared, the oil likely spilled onto the leaves.

  Another giggle.

  Clutching the trunk of a nearby fir, I hauled myself to my feet. The rough bark dug into my fingers, tearing my skin. With a cautious step, I tested my ankle. The pain was immediate. I sucked in a breath and swallowed the bitter words that rose to my lips, not wanting to further amuse my invisible watchers. Clearly I would walk no further tonight. I let my pack fall to the ground. If I could not walk, I would have to make camp right here.

  If the creatures shadowing me were fey of some sort, the sound I followed might have been a trick. Did they intend for me to be hurt or only to lose my way? Perhaps they aimed to delay my journey. If they knew why I travelled, surely they knew I could ill afford to linger. Hopefully I would be able to walk by morning. I could not consider any alternative. The longer I delayed, the more trouble Ida could cause. People had already died.

  I could put no weight on my ankle so it was on hands and knees that I cleared space sufficient for a small fire. I used only dead branches from the ground and dry fir needles. That was another of Caedmon's rules: never take branches from a living tree. He said it was better that we go without fire for a night than hurt a tree.

  I felt slightly more cheerful once a small fire was burning. I retrieved the blanket from my pack and spread it out beside the fire. Next came some rations, just enough to sustain me, and no more. I allowed myself two mouthfuls of water. My mouth was dry enough to drain the flask but my small water supply must be conserved. I cursed myself for leaving the second flask behind.

  After I had eaten my meagre meal, there was nothing else to do but sleep. The air was chill, and the night would only grow colder, but at least the trees blocked all wind. I wrapped the blanket around myself and lay down, trying to find a reasonably comfortable position where I didn't have either rocks or sticks digging into me.

  I had scarcely found a tolerable spot when I heard a noise. It was different to the one that had enticed me to stray from the road, a soft whimper that barely reached my ears. But it could still be another fey trick. I couldn't even defend myself for I had foolishly left my dagger in my pack rather than in my boot. How unimpressed Caedmon would be if he could see me now, lost in the woods, too injured to stand, and weaponless.

  Slightly out of my reach was a stick that looked sturdy enough. If some creature came towards me, I would fling myself at the stick and hope to make it to my feet in time. I couldn't afford to think about the possibility of not being able to stand. The whimper came again, a little louder, and I relaxed somewhat for it did not sound threatening. Rather, it sounded like a creature in pain.

  "Where are you?" I asked, my voice soft so as not to startle it, whatever it was.

  There was no response. I eyed the stick again.

  "Come out. I know you are there."


  A rustle and another whimper, and then the creature crept out from behind a bush. It was a small dog, a terrier of some sort, dirty and blood-stained now, but possibly once white. Its ears were lowered and one hung oddly as if torn. The dog, barely knee high to me, limped on three paws, tail curled between its back legs. Blood dripped from the front paw held aloft and from a wound on its head. More blood smeared its flank.

  "Come here," I said and held a hand out to the dog. "Let me see that paw."

  It hesitated, sniffing the air.

  "I won't hurt you."

  As if it understood, the terrier limped forward and halted a few paces in front of me. Now that I could see it clearly, I was surprised the animal could walk at all. Blood oozed from wounds on its shoulder, flank and muzzle. The ear that hung oddly was ripped half off and blood still trickled down the side of its face. The bleeding paw, though, was my immediate concern. Surely a creature of this size could ill afford much blood loss.

  Slowly, so as not to spook the terrier, I reached for my pack. Black eyes fixed on me as the terrier sat, still holding up its injured paw. I fumbled in my pack and my fingers found the roll of bandage I had forgotten about. I would have strapped my ankle had I remembered, but the terrier needed it more than I did. I drew out the bandage and my flask.

  "I'm going to wash some of the blood off," I said softly, hoping the terrier would understand I intended aid. "And then I need to wrap your paw. The bleeding won't stop otherwise."

  It continued to stare at me, eyes large and unblinking. I reached out, ready to quickly pull away if it tried to bite, and would have sworn the terrier extended its paw and placed it right in my hand. I poured a little water over the paw. As the blood was washed away, I saw a deep cut surrounded by swollen, bruised skin.

  "This is going to hurt," I warned. "I'm sorry."

  The gaze from those big black eyes remained fastened on my face. I wrapped the paw firmly, still half expecting to be bitten. The terrier sat quietly, paw extended stiffly, and only whimpered once. I cut the bandage with my dagger and tied the end. The terrier continued to sit there, its paw now held out awkwardly to one side. Those eyes were disconcerting, the way they were fixed so intently on my face.