“Were you seeing them, then?”
“No, it was not I that saw them. It was the woman’s own parents who spoke of it. And my mother was there with them and saw them as well. They had put the lad to the fire to drive the changeling out of him. But the changeling would not leave. And all of a sudden wasn’t there a fearsome rush of wind all around their house and a wild wailing, and there were the hosts of the sithichean outside with the bridles of their horses jingling with the silver and all glowing with a silver, fey light. And then they were taking the changeling up with them along with the mother, for she was a handsome woman and one of the faerie lords was taking a fancy to her. So they took the woman with them as well, and were they not going back to their faerie hills—the ones that are over on the monks’ island. And neither the woman nor the child have been seen again to this day. But they are living still in the sithean, feasting and dancing there with the faerie lords.
“Indeed,” continued Gillean, who had now warmed to his story, “Perhaps they are not even knowing how many years have passed here in our world. Perhaps it is only a day for them.”
“Perhaps,” I agreed, attempting to stifle a yawn. Gillean had a fine talent for long-windedness, I was discovering. “Well, I thank you for your kindness and for the drink. But the day is growing short, and I must be heading back down the island.”
Gillean nodded. “You will be wanting to get home before it is dark, indeed. You will not be wanting to run into the hosts of them riding out from their faerie hills. Are you having some iron with you, then?”
I assured him again that I did, and then I set off, back towards Dun Evin as the sun set, a red sinking ball in the west over the Tràigh Bàn.
* * * * *
I managed to reach the dun without encountering the sithichean, not that I was truly expecting to be meeting up with them. Still, I found that Gillean’s stories had made me uneasy, as if I would not be uneasy enough with a murderer loose on the island. A murderer who worked flint.
And it was interesting to learn that both Eachann and Gillean both had experimented with making flint knives and such, as lads.
And what of Sister Morag? Surely she was no flint-worker. Neither was Liam. I had seen his bow, and he had had fine arrows, tipped with steel. Although his fine bow had not helped him in the end.
Well, perhaps Mariota would be learning something more about Sister Morag, and somehow getting word of it to me. Although I doubted she would have much opportunity to send messages from the nunnery, I did not doubt Mariota’s resourcefulness. I wondered again, for perhaps the thousandth time, if her father was right about her. Perhaps she would not stay with the nuns. It had felt fine to hold her in my arms again, even so briefly, at Cill Chaitrìona. I found myself reliving that stolen kiss in my aunt’s storeroom more often than I cared to admit.
I wondered what had happened to the woman and child from Beinn Beag that Gillean and Àine had spoken of. Although there were tales of people being stolen by the faerie all over the islands, it was seldom enough that I had heard of people being taken here, on this island. With that in mind, I sought out my aunt, who was in the kitchen overseeing preparations for the evening meal.
“Och, Muirteach, I could not be saying. You know I am from Tiree, and it was not until I was marrying your uncle that I was coming to this island. And I am thinking, if it happened indeed, it was long before that time. We have only been married for seventeen years.” Euluasaid turned her attention to the kitchen. “You, Tormod, help Marsali with the meats over there. She is having all she can do to see to it on her own.”
My aunt turned to me again and continued. “I have heard tales, of course, of the sithichean. And that they were seen on the Beinn Beag. And wasn’t that just the reason I was so afrightened when Niall went missing.” For a second my aunt looked ready to cry again, and I felt ashamed for asking her about the matter, but she controlled herself and went on speaking. “We are almost ready to eat, Muirteach. I am thinking you will be hungry after your long day on the north of the island. How did Mariota seem to you? Was she looking well?”
Truth to tell, I was ravenous, and the good smells of bannocks and rabbit stew coming from the kitchen hall increased my desire for food. So I did not puzzle more on the stolen woman and child at that time, but reassured my aunt that Mariota indeed had seemed well. Then I took my place at the table, filled my trencher, and sated my hunger for a spell. However I sat next to Fergus, Àine’s nephew, and thought to ask him about the stolen mother and child as we drank a last bit of ale before leaving the feast.
Fergus was older than I. He had taught me the little I knew of hunting and had kept me under his wing a bit when I first came there, a newly motherless lad from Islay so long ago. I looked at the bit of gray in his hair and realized with a little shock that he was growing older.
“A woman and child stolen by the faerie on Beinn Beag.” He thought for a moment, then set down the beaker. “Aye, I am remembering that. Who was telling you of it? My auntie?”
“Aye, and old Gillean was speaking of it as well.”
“Yes, I remember well. They lived up on the Beinn Beag—you can still see the bit of their house standing there, in the circle of stones upon the hill. The lad was a strange one. He did not speak much, but he would come along with us sometimes when we played.”
“When was all of this happening?”
“It was long ago. I was a lad, about eleven. So that would make it close to twenty-four years gone that it was happening.”
I had not even been born yet.
“Do you think he was a changeling?” I asked Fergus abruptly.
“The lad? Aye, he could well have been. He was a strange one. He did not speak and would stare at things for hours. He was fey.”
“How so?”
“He would sit for hours and count limpet shells. Over and over he would count them. We used to tease him about it, Mànus and I. But Mànus is gone now. The Black Death was taking him ten years ago.”
“But what happened to the boy?”
“It is as Gillean was telling you. He and his mother both disappeared one night. And the boy’s grandparents were saying they had been stolen by the sithichean, and who was I to be disbelieving them.” Fergus stopped and crossed himself. “The boy’s grandparents had been trying to drive the faerie out of the lad for some time. I remember my own mother speaking of it. You know how the women talk. But the sithichean came and took the changeling back and stole his mother as well. They vanished and were not seen again after that night by anyone.”
“What happened to the grandparents?”
“They lived there, on the Beinn Beag. Until the plague took them.”
“And how were they called?”
Fergus looked confused. “The old grandparents?”
“Well, I was meaning the woman and the child.”
“He had a strange name, with an L it was, it was not Lachlan—no, no, he was called Lulach.”
“And his mother?”
“I am thinking she was called Gormlaith.”
“That witch on Jura is called Gormal. That is not so different.”
Fergus looked skeptical. “I am not thinking they moved to Jura. That is not what the grandparents said about it all. They said they were stolen by the sithichean.”
“Perhaps they lied,” I suggested.
“What reason would they have to do that?” asked Fergus reasonably. “No, Muirteach, I am thinking they truly were stolen by the faerie.” He spat and crossed himself.
“Perhaps,” I agreed, as we finished the last of our ale. “Come, let’s play chess.”
I managed to beat Fergus at chess, not without some difficulty. It was at first hard for me to concentrate on the game, as my mind was full of what I had learned. Fergus had me in check a time or two, but eventually my concentration sharpened. At the last minute I was able to get him in checkmate. Fergus and my uncle had taught me chess, and I still felt some small pride on the occasions I was able to beat h
im.
But as we finished this game, my mind immediately went back to what Gillean and Fergus had told me and, refreshed by the game and my small triumph, I saw things a trifle differently. Suppose the young lad and his mother had not been stolen by the faerie but had simply left Colonsay. And then the grandparents had put out the story of them being stolen away to cover it up. Gillean’s mother might not have wanted to admit that she had failed to drive out the changeling, so she might have told the same story. Aye, I thought cynically, perhaps that was true, but that still did not explain who had shot poor little Niall or attacked Liam. For if the mother and child had left Colonsay twenty-four years ago, well then, they were not on the island. At least no one had seen them there.
But the distance between Jura and Colonsay is not so great. People can easily travel between the two islands. I had seen that Gormal had a boat. And Gormlaith and her son had lived on the Beinn Beag, near where the gold had been found by Gillean and by Niall. So perhaps Gormal was truly Gormlaith, and had known of the gold then and returned to find it. I had not seen gold at Gormal’s house on Jura, but she seemed to live comfortably enough in her cave. If she had gold, she would not display it openly. And at that, I realized I would be going to Jura again, and very soon.
Chapter 16
I told Uncle Gillespic what I had in mind the next morning, and he listened intently to my theories.
“Aye, Muirteach, I am remembering a little of when that woman disappeared. It was a nine days’ wonder on the island, but I was forgetting about the most of it long ago. It was mostly women’s talk, I am thinking, but it is true enough that the woman vanished along with her child. I was but a lad. My father was still the chief at that time. I am thinking he thought she had run off with some lover and taken the child with her. He was no great believer in the sithichean.”
“So you are not thinking that the Gormlaith who disappeared and the witch on Jura would be the same?”
My uncle shrugged his shoulders. “I am not knowing, Muirteach. But you are welcome to the nabhaig and a few men to help you crew it if you wish to visit that old witch woman again.”
However the weather was not for us; a squall set in, and so we waited for several days while the hails and rains beat down upon the islands. Frustrated, I drank too much and went down to my house in Scalasaig accompanied by Somerled, for the cheerful clatter and activity of the dun began to oppress me. My house was a mess. I had paid little attention to it since the last summer; the roof was leaking worse than ever, and the few furnishings were covered with dust. I managed to get a small fire going in the hearth, and then I went to sleep. I dreamt of Mariota and hordes of tall shining ones, silver sithichean bejeweled in faerie gold who dragged her away, out of my arms, and down into the depths of their faerie hills while she fought and cried against them. But I awoke to the same dreary leaking roof and the dark coldness of my house while Somerled slept on undisturbed. His dreams were only of rabbits.
Finally the weather cleared up enough for the trip to Jura, and Gillespic’s nabhaig was prepared for the trip. Why he was willing to lend me boats I was not sure, but Gillespic was a generous soul. At least he had been so to me from the time he had taken me in as a small boy. I made my plans and enlisted Seamus again and Fergus, and along with one other man to help crew we set off the next morning for the Isle of Jura.
The wind was crisp and the crossing quick also, and we soon anchored at the small cove below Gormal’s cave. I had brought gifts for her: some fine lengths of woolen cloth that I had convinced my aunt to part with, along with some cheeses and some meal. Gormal had not been overly friendly to me before, and I was hoping that these might placate her somewhat. But we took weapons along as well. For I was mindful of the mess I had made of things that last summer on Mull. And this time I was not so overconfident.
We climbed the path up the cave one more time. Gormal was there, although we saw no sign of her servant—or son. She answered the door, scowling a bit when she saw me.
“We have brought you some gifts,” I said, “to make up for the trouble we have caused you in the past.”
Gormal said nothing at first.
“Please, won’t you be accepting them?”
“And what if I do?”
“We are just wanting to speak with you a bit. About the troubles over on our island.”
“And what would I be knowing about that?” Gormal looked at the men with me and shrugged, defeated. “You may as well come in, and you can be telling me the story.”
And so we came inside and sat once more on her benches and gave her our gifts. She barely looked at them, but acknowledged them with some words of thanks.
“And now, what is it that is bringing you across the sound yet another time? I did not realize that the Colonsay men were such folk for sailing.”
“Well,” I started to speak, a little awkwardly, “it is just that we were hearing stories.”
“Yes?”
“Stories of a woman from Colonsay with a boy, who disappeared many years ago. It is said that they were stolen by the sithichean.”
“And what is that to me?”
“The woman was called Gormlaith.”
“There are many women with that name. It is not so rare as all that.”
“And it is not so different from your own name, as well. But this woman had a son. One who did not speak. It was thought he was a changeling.”
I thought I saw a flicker of some emotion cross Gormal’s face.
“I have no son. It was not me.”
“No? And who is that man who helps you here?”
“A servant only.”
“Truly?”
A golden eagle circled over the hills. I glimpsed it through the open door of the cave against the light blue of the sky. I watched it a moment without speaking.
“Sure, any mother would do much to save her child from being put to the fire. If it was her child, indeed, and not a changeling.”
Gormal’s face twisted. “But I did not save him,” she said in an undertone. “I could not save him from that.”
“Then where is he? Did he die?” I asked gently.
She shook her head. “No, he did not die. He is here. But the faerie never gave my own son back to me. Not even after I saved theirs when he was put to the fire. I have cared for the one they left me so long ago. I have guarded him carefully and tried to do everything for him just as they would want. And he grew into a strong one indeed. But they were never returning my true son to me, for all that I have tried to care for theirs all of these years.”
“Let us see him,” I said.
“Lulach. His name is Lulach. It was my son’s name, and I kept it for their changeling.”
“Let us see him,” I repeated.
“He is off away. He is hunting. But he will return soon.”
“Is he a sailor?”
“Aye. He knows how to use the boat. He fishes with it.”
“Does he go as far as Colonsay with it?”
Gormal shrugged her shoulders again. “I’ve no way of knowing where it is that he goes. But true enough he will be going for several days, and then he is back again.”
“Is he a good hunter?”
“Aye. Lulach is good with the bow. He keeps me well fed with the deer, and rabbit or birds as well when there are no deer to be found. Here,” Gormal said, “I will just be getting you some ale to wet your throats while you are waiting for him.”
She went to the back of her cave and soon brought us some ale in a four-sided wooden mether, to pass the one to the other. We had a thirst on us after the voyage, and drained the cup quickly, although the ale had a dark, earthy taste. A little bitter, still it was not unpleasant and quenched the thirst. She quickly refilled the mether and we sent it round again.
“Now,” Gormal said. “We will just wait for him.”
The peat fire smoked pleasantly warm against the chill of the afternoon and her house was snug and warm enough against the lowering darkness. The at
mosphere grew stuffy, and I could not keep my eyes open. Too late I realized what must have happened, but that realization did me no good. As the knowledge sank in, I drifted deeper into some spell or strange slumber.
* * * * *
I was in the room, the same room, and yet powerless to move. A stag wandered in, but strangely, it had a man’s eyes. I did not wonder overmuch at this, but I marveled at the rich softness of the brown fur and the deep darkness of the eyes. As I looked more closely into them, I realized they were like the eyes of Lulach. As I watched, he transformed into a man, then back into a stag and then left the room, which now seemed somehow to be full of twisting and writhing vines growing before my eyes, twisting and twining around my legs like a serpent. They held me rooted fast to my seat, so that I was powerless to move. I looked up and saw that the roof of the cave was gone. The ceiling was transparent, and above it were the stars glimmering in the heavens. Somehow then I was free to move, and I climbed up beams of light into the stars, feeling a mysterious joy in my heart and freedom in my limbs as I neared the crystal sparkling light of them. The light burst into my soul and then I felt myself falling back into the dark blackness of the cave, but with a strange sense of illumination shining in my being as I lost consciousness.
* * * * *
We awoke the next morning to the early winter sun streaming in through the open door of the witch’s cave. My head was splitting with pain and as I glanced at the sunbeams, my stomach rolled. I ran outside and vomited.
The witch and her changeling son had vanished, like the dreams of the night. The cave was empty, in some disarray, and it seemed that many things had been quickly gathered together in the night before they were leaving the place.
“Oh, my head,” groaned Fergus as he staggered somewhat unsteadily back inside. “Sure and wasn’t she outsmarting us, the cailleach.”
THE FAERIE HILLS (A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery Book 2) Page 14