Mother Ogma nodded grudgingly at Lonan. "Still, he definitely has the air of the Eyrie about him, and he has all of our information too."
"Well, now I have it, don't I? If it was easy enough for me to lift, why not him?"
"This?" Mother Ogma looked at the parchment she had taken from Lonan. "No, this isn't a list of village Knacks. This..." Her brow wrinkled as she studied the parchment further.
"Mother Ogma?"
"This is a suspect list. All of the villagers are named on it. Many old names too, long since passed. See, your father is right here." She pointed at a scrawl with a line through it.
`"That’s because he's dead, right? The line? No, wait..." At first Lonan thought all of the names had been scored through, but he spotted two that remained unmarked. "Who are they?"
"This one is Branwen. Branwen Dripper, as she is named here. And this? This is you, Lonan." It was not his own name's inclusion on the list that caused his heart to fill with dread, but hearing Branwen named first set Lonan's teeth on edge.
"What’s it for? What else does it say?" Lonan’s aggressive tone caused the visitor to stir in his sleep.
"There is nothing of detail here," Mother Ogma spoke as she scanned the page, moving her head from left to right in an exaggerated motion in her hurry to be done with the task. "A note here to the man's master? Employer? Just stating that you are both equally viable choices, and perhaps both should be looked into for thoroughness. Nothing of detail. Lonan, this document is important - it will be missed."
As if on cue, Inteus yawned, stretched his arms and turned to face the talking pair. As the stranger performed this movement, Lonan grabbed the paper from Mother Ogma and dived over his own bed, straight into the pile of parchments belonging to Inteus.
"You complete fool," Inteus spluttered, jumping from his bed with a start. "One sheet of that parchment is worth more than your miserable life." He pushed Lonan roughly to the side and busied himself checking the paperwork, looking to ascertain the damage.
"Wha- what happened?" Lonan stammered.
"Another nightmare dear, nothing unusual. You just gave Mister Inteus a fright, that's all."
Inteus turned to look at Lonan with narrow eyes. "Nightmares? This is a common problem?"
"Among villagers, yes," Mother Ogma interjected before Lonan had a chance to respond. "Up in the Eyrie, you have to deal with attacks regularly, I'm sure, but down here, things can be a bit more immediate. It can have a lasting effect on impressionable minds."
"You might have warned me before walling me up in this hole with such problems."
"I'm sorry, dearie, I wasn't aware you had other options. Oh look, daylight. I think it’s time we opened the doors, don't you?"
With Inteus watching on, Lonan and Mother Ogma worked together to push open the cellar doors. Upon exiting the cottage, Inteus found himself assailed by a small group of villagers who had had a sleepless night mulling over the debts he had presented them with.
"So," Lonan began as he sweetened his porridge with honey, "What do you think then?"
"What's that, dearie?"
"What I’m suspected of?"
Mother Ogma looked at him, trying to read how he was taking the information. "Not just you, dearie. Branwen too."
Lonan pulled a face. This was where his real concern lay. He could not help himself. All of the recent encounters with Branwen, especially the look on her face after he had saved her life, had rekindled emotions he had spent the last eight years trying to hide from. He cared about this woman. He was more concerned about her safety than his own.
Mother Ogma waved her ladle at him, distracting Lonan from his thoughts. "And that is where your clue lies. If he came here to find someone, what is it the two of you share?"
Lonan could not stop himself from bursting out laughing. "You’re joking, aren't you? Branwen has hardly spoken to me for years, and when she has I'd rather she hadn't. We haven't been in a position to share anything for the best part of a decade."
"I like that brave front that you are putting up, dearie, but you can't fool me. Find out what he sees in you and her. If you are interested in looking out for her. And yourself, of course."
Lonan looked up, chewing on a mouthful of porridge, thinking about what she had said. "And just how do you think I could get her to speak to me?"
"Catch," she responded. Lonan caught the carefully wrapped vial she threw to him. "She had a baby a few weeks ago. It takes a woman some time to recover from that."
Lonan looked at the vial for a moment. "Well, I can't keep the lady waiting then, can I?"
Outside of the cottage, avoiding the throng gathering around Inteus, Lonan finally felt his nerves falter. It had seemed so easy to approach Branwen again while he sat at Mother Ogma's table, but the reality of actually doing it was a different matter altogether. Lonan had managed to put up a shell around himself to deal with the dirty looks and jibes from the rest of the village, often responding by giving as good as he got, but Branwen could break through his defences with a single steely glare. He had dealt with this mostly by avoiding her as much as possible, so the thought that he would have to go against these instincts terrified him.
He walked past the Quarry house without stopping, quickly glancing through the window and door, but could see nothing. Eventually he gathered up the courage to knock on the door but received no answer. Jarleth was busy fawning over Inteus, so thankfully took no heed of Lonan's enquiries. If Branwen was not at home, Lonan was sure he knew where she was.
Branwen's Knack was for cleaning. Specifically, it was for washing clothes. Not a terribly exciting Knack, but this tended to be the norm for village women - Knacks to do with the upkeep of the household. A comely girl with a Knack for cooking was a fine catch. Seamstress and healing Knacks were also favourable, but tended to require someone experienced to help them to develop. When Branwen and Lonan were young they would often discuss what life would be like when their Knacks developed. Lonan had been fully convinced he would inherit his father's, but Branwen's desires were many and exciting. She wanted Knacks that traditionally belonged to men - woodwork, smithing, even fighting - and many that Lonan was sure did not exist - exploring, playing, climbing. When these conversations first began, Lonan had teased Branwen by suggesting that she would develop a housework Knack like the rest of the women. He quickly learnt that continuing that line of thinking would lose him a friendship, and possibly some teeth. Also, as a child he had thought Branwen would be different. She had been so unlike the other women of the village. Where they were dutiful, she was playful and ambitious. The attack took all of that fire away from her.
When Lonan had heard of Branwen's Knack developing he had been saddened, but by that stage it was not shocking. Since losing her father and her face, Branwen had become withdraw, sullen, and all of the energy that had previously drawn him to her had fled. Jarleth's marriage to her simply came about because they were the only two eligible partners of their generation. She was not a catch for him, and Lonan was convinced she was not particularly enamoured of her husband. But, there were no other choices.
Whilst pondering these thoughts Lonan had wandered through the thin patch of forest before the river that ran close to the village. It was from here that drinking water was fetched, and where household items were washed, including clothes. Sure enough, Branwen was here, babe swaddled and sleeping nearby. Branwen was singing a lullaby as she worked, taking clothing from her washing basket and beating it against her washboard, expertly dealing with any particularly difficult stains. It was a beautiful song that Branwen was crooning to her child, one Lonan did not remember hearing before, about Artemis returning to the Eyrie in disguise to seduce a noble lady. In the Artemis tales he was used to, this act would normally be one of revenge or deviousness, with Artemis looking to punish the lady's husband or the lady herself through the seduction. In Branwen's tune, however, the noblewoman was caught in a loveless marriage, and Artemis was risking his life to try to be with t
he woman who had captured his heart.
As Branwen sang, she gazed at her surroundings, the clouded sky and green trees. Watching her work, Lonan suspected the reason that Branwen's Knack had developed was because coming here to wash was a way to get herself out of the village. She was in the forest, alone. A small glimpse of her previous adventurous nature. He watched her while she finished the song, and at that point decided he should approach her now or risk being rightly accused of spying on her.
He coughed as he moved away from his hiding place among the trees. Catching sight of him, Branwen instinctively dropped the tunic she was working at and grabbed her child.
"What do you want, Anvil?"
Lonan's heart sank. His rescue had not changed her gut reaction on seeing him. Perhaps Jarleth had had time to work his Knack on her.
"I just wanted to see if things were alright. Everything was better last night?"
She looked around suspiciously, clutching her baby close. "What is this about? Why’re you really here? We're close enough to the village that they will hear me scream."
Lonan did his best to fight the anger rising from his gut. "Any particular reason you felt like mentioning that? Or is this how dinner table conversations in the Quarry household tend to start?" He had not quite achieved the calm response he had been trying for.
"I don't need this now, Anvil. Too much has been going on over the past few days. Don't add to my worries - you’ll find I have a breaking point you don't want to cross."
"Oh, I remember. I crossed it plenty of times back in the day and learnt to regret it."
"Back when we were children. Do not even compare me to that silly little girl. I will kill you if you take another step towards me and my daughter." At that, she pulled out a small fisherman's knife from up her sleeve and brandished it at Lonan.
He had had enough.
"Gods, forgive me for trying to have a conversation. Or for expecting some kind of gratitude for saving your life the other night. Taken too many blows to the face recently to be able to think straight, I reckon." He instantly regretted that last comment as soon as it passed his lips.
"You bastard," came the hurt response.
Lonan pinched the bridge of his nose and screwed up his eyes. "Yeah, you're right, that was horrible of me. I'll leave - this is not how I wanted it to go." Lonan turned to leave.
"Wait." He turned back to see Branwen standing there, knife still held high. "Why did you come here?"
He looked around, giving a gesture of openness and then repeated, "To see if you’re alright."
She studied him for a moment and then decided, "You're lying, Anvil." There was no threat in her voice this time though. She was speaking as if just stating a plain fact.
He thought for a moment. "No, not lying. I'm not telling you everything, but that wasn't a lie. I want to know if you’re alright."
"So, why have you really come?"
A pause again, and then, "I'm not going to tell you."
"Why?"
"A couple of reasons, really. First, you won't believe me. Second, as you mentioned before, you don't need anyone adding to your worries."
She raised her eyebrows. "This is you trying not to worry me? You always were an idiot, Anvil.”
He nodded, and allowed himself a smile. "True. Perhaps you’re worried enough to answer my question?" The knife remained raised. "I know you think ill of me. You know I've always denied what people have said about me. You also know, I think, that I risked my life to save you all the other night. I guess I'd hoped that would buy me a little bit of trust, and if I can help you, I'd be helping her as well." He indicated the babe, now stretching out her arms to signal to her mother that it was time to feed.
Branwen lowered the knife.
"Now, how have things been the last few days?"
"Terrible. Is that supposed to be a stupid question? Terrible. The worst days of my life since..." Branwen's hand subconsciously raised to touch her face. "You know a lot of it - the attack on the cellar and stuff like that. But Jarleth, he doesn't do well in these situations. And you being the hero, that was the last straw for him. He's been pretty angry. Not a fan of Mother Ogma either."
"Has he done anything to you?"
Branwen shook her head, but her hand moved to clutch her side protectively.
"Go on."
"We had to stay with my father last night. You can imagine how that made him feel. Jarleth spent a good bit of time after dark raging about you. I thought my father was going to box his ears in."
Lonan's eyebrows raised. "Your father stood up for me?"
"Well, you did save his only daughter and grandchild from certain death, so that does redeem you a little in most people's eyes. Also," and she lowered her eyes from him at this, "he did suggest that maybe we’d gotten things wrong about you when mother died. He changed his mind about that pretty quickly though."
"Anything in particular make him change his mind?"
"Yeah, Jarleth explained things to him. Funny thing is, he didn't say anything particularly special to him. It was more…"
"...the way he said it?" Lonan finished.
Branwen looked at him again with shock. "Yes. You… you've seen it too?"
"The Knack? It's been haunting me since the night I lost my father."
This was too much for Branwen. She brought her hand up to her face and started sobbing into it. "Oh no, no..."
Instinctively, Lonan rushed forward to comfort her by holding her to him. He was surprised by her willingness to allow the embrace, and as she sobbed into his tunic the touch of her body close to his sent him spiralling back through the years.
He remembered a time that they were on the hills above the village. Although the monsters, the Wolves as Lonan could now call them, did not come out during the day, the forest still had its dangers and both children fully expected a beating when they finally traipsed home. This price was not unknown to them, however, and they had been fully prepared to pay it in return for a day of freedom and adventure.
"Comon, smithy," Branwen had shouted after the young boy, racing through the trees ahead and losing him. Little Lonan, shorter than the girl despite being four months older than her, had tears of frustration in his eyes as he peeled after her.
"Look out!" had been the warning, but it had registered in Lonan's mind moments too late. His feet were not prepared to stop at the sharp drop that appeared before him, and he tumbled over the edge. He could not remember the passage of time at that point, but he was assured since then that he had spent a good five minutes without moving. More than enough time for Branwen to scramble safely down after him and worry at his side. Although his head was screaming at him when he had finally awoke, his enduring memory of that moment had been the desperate, loving grasp of Branwen as she cried for him to come back. At that moment, Lonan had realised the reality of what every other villager told the pair when they saw them running around together. They would be married, and Lonan had known that nothing would make him happier.
“It should have been you.”
Branwen’s voice brought Lonan’s mind back to the present. He dared not release the embrace he now held her in, for fear she would never let him hold her again. Instead, Lonan allowed Branwen to continue uninterrupted.
“It should have been you I married.”
Lonan stopped breathing, stood deathly still, not wanting to do anything to change what Branwen was saying.
“I mean, I never loved him. It was you. I think I knew, even back then, it was you I was supposed to marry.”
Releasing the tightness of his hold on Branwen was the hardest thing Lonan had ever done, but he did so to look deep into her eyes. Tears ran down the unblemished skin on the right side of her face, and Lonan tentatively brought his hand up to stroke the rough, scarred skin where she had been mauled.
“Yes,” he said simply, eyes wide in wonder at finally being able to speak to Branwen like this. “We both knew it back then.”
Branwen pull
ed away from him at this, shirking from his touch. “I thought you ruined my life.”
“That was someone else. He ruined both our lives.”
Their eyes met again, and Lonan was surprised to see how frightened Branwen looked now. She reached up to touch his cheek this time with a shaking hand.
“Lonan, I’m so sorry. I…”
She was interrupted by the rising cries of her child. Branwen hurriedly manoeuvred her clothing to feed the babe, thankful for the distraction from her emotions.
"I know it's still far too early, but any thoughts on a name yet?" Lonan questioned, breaking the increasingly uncomfortable silence.
"We're thinking of Clare."
"Your mother's name? I've got to say, I thought Jarleth would have insisted on his mother."
"No, he... He was disappointed we didn't have a boy. He hasn't... sometimes it can take a while for the father to find affection for a baby, they say."
Branwen looked at the child, hungrily feeding at her breast, thin wisps of red hair dancing in the soft breeze.
"She's beautiful," Lonan said softly. "Just like her mother."
Branwen's head whipped around in anger, hand instinctively raising to her mauled face. "You ass."
"Just what in the hells is going on here?" Jarleth's bellow echoed down the trail the river cut through the forest.
Lonan whirled around to see the blond bastard bearing down on him, leather apron flapping in the wind and face bright red with anger and exertion. The sight of Branwen's bare breast and tear-streaked face stopped Jarleth from listening to any further conversation from the other two, not allowing his rage to be satisfied until he planted a right hook firmly on Lonan's jaw, sending him straight to the river's edge, face and hands splashing into the water.
"I'll give you one thing," Lonan spluttered as he began to raise himself from the ground, "all that ineffectual flailing around with my father's hammer has certainly done wonders for your punches.”
This further enraged the man, causing him to knock Lonan to the ground again, this time following his attack with a kick to Lonan's chest that was rewarded by a large internal crack.
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