At first, he drew closer, slowly but steadily. Now his journey has halted. Nonetheless, he will come to me eventually.
I know he intends to destroy me but that confounds me. He created me. Everything I am is because of him. Everything I know came from his mind, all I know of the world is from his tales. And the tales tell me the world is a dark and dangerous place. It is full of terror and evil and despair.
I want… something more. I cannot express it, this vague longing inside of me. The tales do not hold any explanation of this. I only know there is something more.
Until I discover what the more is, I have made myself a home of sorts. I have a house at any rate, in a village. His tales taught me much about evil. Wherever evil exists, it must be rooted out and destroyed. The people here fear me, I see that. If only they knew I am trying to help them, to save their village. Our village. For I am living by his tales. I am cleansing the village. Evil by evil, I am removing those who contaminate this place. Those who have darkness in their hearts, those who have secrets. Those who long for something else.
24
Brigit
WE STAYED AT Owain's for nine nights before Diarmuid was ready to continue his journey. Even then, Owain urged him to stay one last night. For Bramble's sake, he said.
I was glad for the reprieve, for my paw was tender and walking was still painful. Not that I could have told Diarmuid. He, as a bard, should have seen there was more to me than four paws and a tail. I had been trying to communicate, to show him I was no normal dog, but he wouldn't listen. Instead, it was Owain who noticed.
As he carried me upstairs that last evening, while Diarmuid followed slowly behind, Owain stared into my eyes.
"You're more than you seem," he said, quietly.
I held his gaze, unblinking, but he said nothing further, only deposited me on the bed. Diarmuid, when he arrived, was breathing a little too heavily. He wasn't yet as recovered as he believed. Owain left and Diarmuid and I curled up together in the bed, the blankets draped over us up to our necks. Diarmuid wrapped an arm around me and I sighed, contented.
"We have to move on tomorrow, Bramble," he said.
How strange that Diarmuid had chosen such a name for me. My father used to call me Bramble as a child. He often said I was as stubborn as a bramble bush.
"I wish I knew what was happening in Crow's Nest," Diarmuid said. "I don't even know whether Ida is still there. What if she's moved on? How will I find her?"
I growled softly, requesting that he shut up and let me sleep. He talked for some time, repeating himself endlessly. I ignored him as best I could until I heard my name.
"What am I going to do about you, Bramble?"
I flicked an ear at him.
"I can hardly take you with me while you're injured. Perhaps I should leave you here with Owain. He would take good care of you."
I lifted my head to glare at him. Did he really think it would be his decision whether or not I travelled with him? Had I been able to speak, I couldn't have said exactly why it seemed so important I go with Diarmuid. I simply knew I must. How I would cope with the endless hours of walking as we travelled to Crow's Nest, I didn't know. I would endure it because I had to.
Diarmuid didn't notice my indignation. One hand absently stroked my back and, reluctantly, I allowed the motion to soothe me. I dropped my head down onto my paws and squeezed my eyes shut. Perhaps if I tried really hard, I could fall asleep and leave him to talk to himself. He continued to speak and I let the words wash over me. It was the catch in his voice that finally caught my attention again.
"I'd never forgive myself if I took you with me and something happened to you. What if I get killed? Who would look after you?"
You great idiot. It will likely be me looking after you.
He continued to talk and I continued to try to ignore him. Finally, he was silent and I was able to work on falling asleep in earnest. As I was drifting off, Owain and Maeve's raised voices drew me back to wakefulness. They bickered constantly. Or rather Maeve bickered constantly and Owain mostly let her have her say. Then he would hang his head and walk away. I had never heard him snap back.
But tonight it wasn't only Maeve I heard, but also Owain, his low voice a stark comparison to her shrillness. Whatever the argument was about, and I had an awful feeling it was probably Diarmuid and I, Owain was not giving up. Eventually a door slammed and the house was silent. Diarmuid said nothing for a change, but he held me a little tighter.
I woke with the sun and waited in bed while Diarmuid washed and dressed. It wasn't until he was ready to go downstairs that I stood and stretched, extending each leg as far as it would go, rejoicing in the new strength in my muscles.
Diarmuid lifted me down from the bed for my wounded paw could not yet handle a jump. The twisted scars on my shoulder and side were bright and vicious but they were healing and felt less tight every day. Owain had said my ear was permanently damaged but I had no way of viewing it. I didn't allow my mind to drift to whether I might retain any injuries when I was finally restored to my own form. No point in worrying about the future while I had the present to deal with.
Maeve was nowhere to be seen and today there was none of the thick porridge she usually served. Diarmuid and Owain ate slices of yesterday's bread slathered with summer berry preserves. Owain placed a bowl of last night's mutton in my basket by Diarmuid's chair. I also received a soft stroke on the shoulder and in return I briefly pressed my nose against his hand. I met his gaze, trying to express thankfulness for all he had done for us. He nodded solemnly.
Little talk passed between Diarmuid and Owain as they ate. I chewed my mutton slowly. I was sorry to be leaving Owain for I had become fond of the large, gentle man. But if I must choose between him and Diarmuid, it was clear where I belonged. Diarmuid might be a clueless idiot but we had been brought together for a reason. You will leave here and set out on a journey, the fey girl had said. She never did say why or to where I journeyed but it didn't matter anymore. It seemed she had achieved her aim for here I was, breakfasting in a house far from my own home with two people who were strangers to me ten nights ago. For surely this was the journey she had intended. How else could I have found Diarmuid in the vast expanse of the woods if the fey hadn't guided my steps towards him? He had been waiting for me, whether he knew it or not. Were his own injuries also a result of the fey's meddling?
Diarmuid's journey was a strange one. I had pieced it together, bit by bit, from the confessions he whispered late at night. He was a bard, he had made no secret of that. What he hadn't told Owain was that he had imagined a muse — a woman he pretended whispered his tales to him — and had somehow brought her to life. She had escaped and was doing… something bad. He hadn't said what but his journey was to find her and stop whatever it was. And he believed he had only until the new moon to complete his quest.
A new moon was a powerful time. What would happen when it arrived? If I were to guess, I'd say that this creature he had created would become even more powerful. I didn't know what Diarmuid intended to do when we arrived at Crow's Nest. Obviously he meant to stop her, but how?
As the daughter of a wise woman, I had seen enough of the world's mysteries that I didn't doubt his claim of what he had done. It was a curious ability and, truth be told, it scared me. Could he bring to life other images from his mind? What other power might he possess? I wasn't yet sure whether I should fear him but I knew I should be wary. I certainly shouldn't trust him.
25
Brigit
AFTER WE HAD eaten, Diarmuid went upstairs to collect his pack. I waited in my basket, figuring I may as well enjoy the last few minutes of comfort I was likely to have for a while. To my surprise, Owain picked me up, basket and all.
"Might as well take you outside," he muttered and carried me out to where his two huge oxen stood, hitched to the cart that had brought us here ten nights ago. The beasts blew nostrils of steam in the crisp air. The cart already contained several large bundles wrapp
ed in oilcloth with a pile of folded blankets on top. Owain stowed my basket securely between the packages. He tucked a soft blanket around me and I gratefully nestled into it with only my eyes and nose poking out.
The cart shuddered as Owain hauled himself into the front. The oxen snorted, eager to be off. I could see little other than the blue sky and the inside of the cart from my cozy nest but I heard the front door of Owain's house open and close.
"Figured I may as well go with you," Owain said, presumably to Diarmuid. "You and Bramble, you don't look like you'll manage long on your own."
There was silence from Diarmuid and I knew exactly what he was thinking for I had already had the same thought. I had expected Owain would send us off with enough provisions to last a few days, but this — the luxury of travelling in a cart and time to rest while my wounds finished healing — was far more than I had dared to hope for.
"What about Maeve?" Diarmuid asked.
"She'll be happier with me gone." Owain's voice hitched a little. "Besides, you and Bramble, you need me. Maeve's never needed anyone. I've left enough coin for her to get by for a good while. And when that runs out, I guess she'll have to go back to her father, or take another husband."
For the first time, I was relieved I couldn't speak. Perhaps our presence had given Owain the excuse he needed, an honourable reason to leave. Regardless, I wouldn't have known whether to offer condolences or an apology or something else.
"Pass me your pack," Owain said. "Not much room here in front. You'll have to sit in the back with Bramble."
Diarmuid moved the blankets to the floor of the cart and settled himself on one with another wrapped around his shoulders. He perhaps wasn't as comfortable as me, but it was certainly better than walking.
"Not a bad way to travel, is it Bramble?" he muttered as he leaned back against the bundles and tucked the blanket more firmly around himself. Owain clicked at the oxen and, with a jolt, we were off. The motion of the cart soon sent me to sleep. I woke occasionally. Sometimes Diarmuid was staring out at the hills. Sometimes he was watching me.
The sun was high overhead before we stopped and then only briefly. Owain produced bread and cheese, and some dried meat for me. We ate in silence, Diarmuid and Owain leaning against the cart, me sitting in the back. The hills stretched before us, empty but for the winding path, melting snow, and trees. A smudge of smoke on the horizon signalled a lodge but we saw no other human presence as we ate.
I felt more alert as we travelled on through the afternoon. The day had grown warmer and, for a while at least, I didn't need to huddle beneath a blanket but could enjoy the breeze rustling my fur. I inhaled deeply, savouring the cold air and the tang of smoke. Cows and sheep grazed in the fields, making what they could of the winter-short grass. An eagle sailed high overhead, drifting on the currents. What was it like to fly up there, as high as the clouds? How small we must look to the eagle as we crossed its path below.
Soon enough I tired of the scenery and my eyes began to droop. The last thing I saw was Diarmuid, his brow wrinkled and his gaze vacant. His lips moved although I heard nothing. Perhaps he was making plans for when we reached Crow's Nest. Maybe he was practising what he would say to the creature he had made.
My thoughts were slow as I hovered on the edge of sleep. The visions had been silent ever since the fey girl had forced me into this form. Without their constant presence, it was like part of my soul was missing. The meanings of some of the visions were now clear but there was so much more that I didn't yet understand. I didn't need to see them again to recall their details but I missed their relentless intrusion in a way I had never thought I would.
Diarmuid was the young man who had featured so prominently. Owain was the man who had stroked the little white dog. But who was the woman with long white hair and ice blue eyes? Was she the creature we travelled towards or someone we would meet on the way? And when would I face Titania? Of course, the visions show not only past, present and future, but also maybe. The future in which I wore my own form as I met the fey queen might never come to pass. I clung to the hope that it would. As much as I didn't want the life Mother had prepared me for, perhaps it was time to finally admit that I did indeed possess some of a wise woman's talents. Perhaps it was time to learn how to use them.
We camped that night by the side of the road in a valley that was somewhat sheltered from the wind and where the ground was mostly free of snow. Owain produced a meal of bread, cheese, pears and dried meat. After we had eaten, we sat by the fire in companionable silence. I leaned against Owain's legs, enjoying the fire's warmth on my face and the gentle hand stroking my back.
The night air was cold but without the tang of frost. I snuggled down into my basket, warm enough within the pile of blankets Owain had draped over me. He had positioned my basket where I could see both him and Diarmuid as they slept on oilcloths on the ground.
I woke with a start some time later when Diarmuid cried out in his sleep. The fire had burnt down low but there was still enough light for me to see Diarmuid thrashing around. He sat up with a start, awake at last, and seemed to stare at something on the end of his blanket. I would have sworn I saw a raven take flight, swiftly disappearing into the depths of the night. Diarmuid sat there for a few moments longer and then lay down again. My eyes closed and I drifted back into sleep.
26
Diarmuid
I HAD SLEPT restlessly, my dreams full of ravens and some other beast I only dimly remembered after I woke. My breath steamed in the brisk morning air as we set off. Grey clouds cloaked the sky and a drizzling rain began before the first hour had passed.
"Diarmuid, the spare oilcloths are under your pack," Owain called over his shoulder. "And pass me my coat."
I pulled Bramble's basket closer and spread an oilcloth over us both. Up front, Owain rode with his coat draped over his head. I pitied the poor oxen who had no cover. At Silver Downs, the fires would be stoked to stave off the early spring chill and my brothers would be sharing ale and telling tales. My heart ached. Home felt like a very long way away.
At noon, we stopped briefly to rest the oxen. I dug through the pack of provisions and found bread and cheese for Owain and I, and some dried meat for Bramble. She eyed my cheese but I stared intently at a line of ash trees in the distance and pretended not to notice.
"Should have been here by noon," Owain said as we passed through a village some time later.
The persistent drizzle eventually turned to heavy rain and our progress slowed even more. I was sodden and numb with cold, despite the oilcloth. Bramble crawled onto my lap and shivered. I kept the oilcloth wrapped firmly around her but even so, the rain found its way in and her hair was damp. I thought longingly of warm baths, fireplaces and dry beds.
"There's a house up ahead," Owain said. "I'll ask if we can stay the night."
But when we arrived, the house was ablaze with lights, music and merriment and we were hesitant to intrude. Surely nobody would mind if we slept in the barn, which stood some distance from the house. As the oxen patiently pulled the cart towards the barn, their ears pricked up despite the water dripping from them. It seemed even they knew warmth and dryness lay just ahead.
The barn was small but looked well made. As long as it was water tight, it would suit me just fine. We pulled up and Owain jumped down from the cart. I clambered down somewhat stiffly and then lifted Bramble to the ground. She hurried into the barn, pausing at the entrance only long enough to shake the water from her hair.
By the time we got the oxen inside and had unhitched the cart, I couldn't feel my fingers. I fervently wished I was at Silver Downs, sitting in front of a blazing fire with a mug of Mother's spiced wine in my hand and a belly full of warm food. The best I could hope for tonight was to warm my hands beside a lamp and that our blankets would be only damp rather than soaked. Either way, it would be a long, cold night.
I retrieved my spare shirt, pants and socks, which were blessedly dry. I wrung out my dripping shirt and d
raped it over the side of the cart. My boots were damp but might perhaps dry by morning.
The barn was tidy enough, if somewhat dusty, and well stocked with plenty of shelves and hooks for various tools. Large bins of animal feed stood in one corner. A dozen stalls lined the back wall, doors closed. A soft lowing indicated that at least one of them was inhabited by a cow.
Owain finished rubbing down the oxen to dry them off and led each into a stall. He retrieved an armload of provisions from the cart and arranged them on an empty shelf which made for a convenient table. My mouth watered and my stomach gave a low growl at the sight of a feast that put my own journey rations to shame. A loaf of bread. A jar of honey and one of berry preserves. Large wedges of cheese, some soft and white, some hard and yellow. A small sack of last summer's apples, and an entire tart that looked just like one of Maeve's berry pies. For Bramble, there were slices of dark meat although from the way she was sniffing in the direction of the cheese, I knew that wouldn't be all she ate.
"Might as well eat the pie," Owain said cheerily. "Won't keep much longer."
"Why didn't we eat any of this last night?" I asked, recalling the bread and hard cheese we had dined on.
He flashed me a grin. "Didn't want to eat all the good stuff on the first night."
Owain cut large wedges from the pie. I dusted off a stool, pulled it up to the bench and attacked my serve. The pastry was somewhat crumbled around the edges but the filling was sweet and delicious. I gobbled it down but even so, Owain was already on his second slice before I finished. Bramble daintily ate some dried meat. Owain offered her some pie but she sniffed disdainfully.
We ate in silence. The pie devoured, Owain started on the bread and cheese. I was pleasantly full after two slices of pie but nibbled at an apple divided into thin slices with the dagger Caedmon had insisted I always carried in my boot. I had finally learned that lesson well. Owain passed Bramble some hard cheese and she lay in her basket to gnaw at it, the cheese tucked between her paws.
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