by J. M. Hofer
“Eh?” she heard from within, followed by the sound of a chair creaking, the shuffling of footsteps, and the fumbling of fingers at the latch on the opposite side. The door creaked open and a cloudy eye peered out from within a small crack. The mouth beneath it moved from a scowl to a toothless grin. “Ooooh, ho ho!” More shuffling, and the door opened to her. “Come in, come in!”
Lucia stepped inside and held out a basket. “I’ve brought you something, fresh from the castle kitchen. Spare you baking your own this morning.”
“Oh, I don’t bake anything anymore. Nice, nice. Very nice. Come sit. Sorry, I’ve but this one chair.”
“No matter, this will do just fine.” Lucia picked up a bucket, turned it upside down, and joined Mabyn by the fire on her makeshift stool.
“Mabon again so soon, eh? Where do the years go?”
“I don’t know. They seem to fly away like the wind now.”
Mabyn laughed. “You think they’re flying by now? Wait until you’re my age. How was your harvest, dear?”
“Quite good, Great Mother be thanked.”
Mabyn nodded and poked at the fire. “Now, tell me why you’ve come to see me before the sun has. ‘Tis clear you’ve gotten no sleep.”
Lucia did not bother to deny it. “Lady Mabyn, what do you know of the Daoine Sídhe?”
“Shhhhhhh!” Mabyn scolded, her eyes darting about, as if a flock of birds had just been startled around them. She got up and mumbled a few words, repeating them in a whisper as she hobbled over to her daunting apothecary. Hand shaking, she took down a jar, opened it, and sprinkled a bit of its contents at the windows, doorway, and hearth. She then shouted the words, throwing a pinch of whatever it was into the flames, causing Lucia to jump. She then turned her milky eyes back on Lucia. “What have you gotten yourself into, my dear?”
Lucia felt tongue-tied.
Mabyn wagged a knotty, crooked finger in her direction. “A woman who values her life does not fool with the Daoine Sídhe.” She squinted at her. “But I suspect you’ve found this out for yourself, is that right?”
Lucia shook her head. “No, I’ve not dealt with them…I…well, my daughter may be in trouble, and perhaps another who is dear to me…I’m worried…I don’t know what to do…” She realized she was rambling, so paused to collect her thoughts. “Let me start at the beginning, or nothing I say is going to make any sense.”
Mabyn nodded. “Go on, then.”
Lucia relayed what Taliesin had told her about Myrthin and the barter he had made with the king and queen of Connacht, as well as Arhianna’s long sleep, Taliesin’s entrapment in Affalon, and Viviaine’s recent visit to Mynyth Aur.
After she finished, Mabyn sat quiet for a long time, squinting into the fire as if she were watching a ship sailing into port from a far off distance. At last, she spoke. “I’m too old for half-truths, my lady. Your daughter and our master Taliesin have drifted into deep and dangerous waters.” She shook her head. “And to barter with the Daoine Sídhe?” She made a sour face. “This Myrthin is either the biggest fool to ever walk the earth, or far more cunning than you think he is—and you had best find out which.”
“And then, what?”
“I’m no lady of the court, to be sure, but I’ve watched a fair share of kings rise and fall in my lifetime. To triumph over one’s adversaries, one must either have equally powerful allies or something of great value to offer in exchange for peace.”
“But who? What?”
Mabyn pinned an eye on her and shook her gnarled root of a finger again. “Therein lies the mettle of a king, does it not? Both good questions. Very good questions. Neither of which I have the answer to, I’m afraid. But I can tell you a few things that may help. The Daoine Sídhe were once the kings and queens of Eire, but the Milesians came and conquered them. After years of bloodshed, they formed a pact—the Milesians would rule this world, and they would live in the one just beyond it, hidden within the hills, behind the mists, deep in the forests and at the bottom of the rivers and lakes. So, though we cannot see them, they are all around us. And far better at crossing into our world than we are at crossing into theirs. But don’t despair, my lady. There are a few things they cannot resist, that you may wish to take note of—music being one the most highly-prized. In that, I know, young Taliesin has no rival, at least not in this world.”
“Yes, but to give the gift of music, the musician must be present. It cannot be given and left behind, like gold or jewels.”
Mabyn turned her palms up. “No, it cannot.”
Lucia’s heart sank.
***
The Ceffyl Dŵr arrived the following week, as expected. Its sails were welcomed by the usual cheering crowd, eager to see what new and exotic cargo the crew would unload on its docks to trade. The people of Gwythno had become accustomed to the luxuries Tegid and his crew made available to them, their taste for the wondrous and exceptional growing year by year. Yet Creirwy never failed to choose goods that continually astonished and delighted them, making her something of a local celebrity.
The harvest festivities were a welcome sight, but Lucia could not enjoy them as fully as she had in the past. Still, she put on a smile and joined in when the songs and dancing began, staying close to Bran. Soon after sundown he turned to her. “Let’s go visit Tegid, shall we?”
Lucia nodded and squeezed his hand. They made their way down to the dock in the twilight, Bran leaning on his walking staff, yet still supporting them both as they picked their steps carefully along the path. “How do you feel?”
“I’m fine.” He smiled at her, but she knew better. She could see by the way he walked that the pain was slowly returning. The water has not cured him.
He read her expression and put an arm around her shoulders. “Lucia, the water helps. But no more than the herbs. We must accept that this is the price of me being here.”
They soon heard Tegid’s laughter rising up on the sea breeze. Bran shook his head and smiled. “I’ll never forget the day I met that man. Nearly shit myself when he came out of that slimy cave and grabbed me.”
“Bran!” Lucia laughed.
He shrugged. “What? It’s true. He was the largest, most terrifying beast I’d ever seen. Or not seen. It was so dark in there. Smelled like rot and pond scum.”
Lucia grimaced. “Eech.”
“He had nothing but threats and hate to offer. Now listen to him.”
As if on cue, Tegid let out a loud “ha!” and more laughter followed.
“And Ula? There’s another surprise. Who’d ever have thought she’d be off sailing the seas with him, after all we went through to free her?”
Lucia sighed. “Life never ceases to surprise me. Even with my visions. What I see never fully prepares me for what comes to pass. Sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.”
“You still haven’t had a vision about Arhianna?”
“No.” The truth was, after sailing back from Jutland, she had prayed to the Great Mother to take the power of the Sight from her. She had spent most of her life worrying about the things she had seen in her visions, yet, somehow, things always resolved themselves in a way she had not expected. So what was the use of having visions if they were but one small piece of a much larger picture? She looked up at the sky. “I want to believe the reason I’ve not had any is because we’re not in any danger. But I think it more likely the Great Mother has taken my Sight away.”
“Why would she do that?”
Because I was a coward and I asked her to, Lucia thought. “I don’t know,” she said instead. “She works in mysterious ways.”
Bran glanced up at the sky. “She certainly does.”
They reached the dock and climbed up the ramp. Tegid’s face lit up when he saw them board. “My friends! I’ve been looking forward to this for moons! Come here!”
Ula was standing next to him, smiling. Lucia noticed the way she still looked at Bran, and, for the first time, felt pity rather than jealousy. How could I have been so
blind and selfish all these years? He loves me, and she’s the one who suffers. She wanted to tell her Taliesin had returned, knowing how happy it would make her, but dared not say anything until she knew where he was. With any luck, he’s in Rheged with news of Arhianna. Please, Great Mother, watch over them.
Tegid gestured to an area of the deck that had clearly been set up for entertaining guests. “Creirwy put all that together. Let’s make her feel good about it and sit down and have some wine, shall we?”
Seeming grateful for a reason to disappear, Ula offered to fetch the wine and went down below deck.
“Where will you sail from here?” Bran asked, wincing as he settled himself down onto a bench. Lucia sat beside him. Tegid opted to sit on a large barrel. Lucia eyed it suspiciously, hoping it would not give way beneath his bulk. “Up to Rheged and Alt Clud, back down to the Isle of Man, then over to Eire. After that, back down to the Mediterranean. I’ve no desire to be here when the cold comes. Makes my bones ache.”
Bran nodded. “Will you take Lucia and I with you to Rheged? We’re overdue for a visit to Urien and want to make it before the winter comes. Doesn’t need to be long. After your trading’s done, you can sail on to Alt Clud and then pick us up on your way back, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Tegid grinned. “It’d be an honor to have you and yer wife on board. Be like havin’ the family back together again.”
Bran put an arm around Lucia. “Good.”
“Speakin’ of yer family, what of Gareth and Inga? They married yet?” He chuckled. “Thought they were hidin’ their little romance from all of us, but we knew better, eh?” He winked. “There are no secrets onboard.”
Lucia smiled. “I suspected our grandson was conceived on this ship. He came a bit too early for him to have been made in the marriage bed.”
Tegid’s hairy brows shot up. “A wee grandson! Bran! When’d we get so damn old?”
“Somehow, when we weren’t looking.” Bran sighed. “The years creep up on you like a thief and rob you blind.”
Tegid chuckled. “Aye.” He took a deep breath, his smile fading as he let it out. “A thief. That’s what I am. Robbin’ my own beautiful daughter o’ her best years. But she’ll no’ leave the crew. Tells me she does no’ want a husband, or bairns—but how can she know fer certain? One day, like us, old age’ll come fer ‘er. An’ then who’ll take care of ‘er? She’ll have no daughter like ‘erself t’look after ‘er, like she’s done fer me.”
Lucia chose her next words carefully. “She’s a strong woman, Lord Tegid. She knows her own mind. And she’ll always be welcome at Mynyth Aur. She’s like a sister to me.”
Tegid gave an absent nod. “I s’pose yer right—but I worry, just the same.”
Ula appeared with the apple wine, and Tegid’s face lit up again. “Let’s toss off this dark mood, eh?” He poured them all a drink and raised his horn. “To yer wee grandson! May he be as fierce as Lucia, as handsome as Bran, as loved as the both of ye, and always know his own mind.”
Lucia smiled and raised her horn. Great Mother, I’ll drink to that.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A High Price
Arhianna woke with an aching back. She lumbered to her feet and walked out into the chill of the morning. Her teeth chattered as she willed her shaking fingers to strike at her flint. Damn you, child, for stealing my fire! I’m going to freeze to death out here, and, in case you didn’t know, that means you’ll perish with me. She struck it fiercely over and over, until, at last, a spark leapt out into the dry brush she had gathered and grew into a flame. At last. She nurtured it until it had eaten all the kindling and then fed the flames a larger log. Once it was burning strong, she held her cloak out, stretching it around the fire like a mother bird folds her wings about her chicks. She felt her muscles relax as the chill released its grip and whimpered with relief.
She stared up at the fortress perched upon its rocky crag, and wondered if Scáthach knew she was down below. If she does, she’s changed her mind about me. She doesn’t want a woman with child here. She told me that. Arhianna recalled how the women had taken off across the field with such purpose, never once looking back, and her heart sank. She never planned for me to make it here. She left me behind on purpose. A dark anger rolled over her like a thunderstorm, pushing the self-pity from her chest. She shot her eyes toward the fortress like daggers. She felt like the trees she saw at the edge of the meadow, their leaves turning dry and brittle. Now, they had no choice but to seek out the nourishment they needed from deep within the cold ground. She watched as the wind stripped their leaves from the branches and blew them away, promising nothing in return but merciless cold.
She clenched her fists. “You want me to go back! But I won’t!” she yelled at its cold stone towers with a voice that did not sound like her own. “You’ll teach me to fight! I’m not leaving!” Her throat tightened with rage as memories of Jørren’s death and what Ingvar’s men had done to her attacked her mind like a swarm of wasps. She imagined herself wielding the terrible weapon Scáthach had used in the battle against Ingvar—a fierce spear with seven barbed heads that had flayed her victims’ flesh to shreds. If only I’d had such a weapon that night. Her heart galloped at the thought of ripping Ingvar apart the way Scáthach had done to her victims. Any man who ever tries to force himself on me again will die such a death. A log in the fire cracked loudly, yanking her out of her dark thoughts. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth.
She took up her bow and spear. The mountain will have to wait. Today is for hunting. Today, we shall eat meat, child. Though fish were plentiful and easy enough to catch, she could no longer stomach the idea of eating another fish. She had spent the past few days building a smokehouse in anticipation of a successful kill. It stood ready, a deep pit with a stone wall around it as high as she could reach, all of it built beneath a sturdy tree limb. She reached a hand out and stroked the tight stonework, admiring her work, and smiled. No more bloody fish.
She headed upriver, scanning the riverbank for footprints of goats, sheep or deer. Within the hour, she came to a place in the river just above a beaver dam where the water slowed and pooled. Ample tracks on the river’s sandy banks betrayed it as a regular stopping place for animals, so she sat downwind and waited. She clutched her bow with a near desperate grip, imagining herself by the fire in her camp that night, feasting on venison. Her stomach groaned and her mouth watered. “Great Morrigan,” she moaned in a low whisper, “grant me a kill today.”
For hours, she waited, patient and resolute, taking in every detail around her. She pictured the beaver inside the dam, sleeping off their night’s work. It reminded her of the first time she had ever seen a beaver dam. Her father had explained how the beavers built their home, sending her young mind into wild fantasies of underwater passages leading to secret dens, warm and dry, keeping their owners safe from predators.She had talked Gareth into attempting to build a dam for themselves. “Come on! If the beavers can build one, think of what we could do! Steal some of Einon’s tools!” She could not help but chuckle, remembering how most of their foolish efforts had washed down the river. They had spent an entire afternoon attempting to copy the beavers’ efforts but accomplished nothing but soaking themselves and muddying their clothes. Her reverence for the beaver and his building prowess had grown immensely that day.
Soon, the morning had passed, and with it, her best chances of a kill. She had a choice to make. Either I wait for dusk and hope the deer come then, or return to camp, eat another damn fish, and get an earlier start tomorrow. The second choice made her recoil. But if she waited until dusk, she would have to drag her kill back to camp in the dark, and that was risky. She would also have to dress it and hang it up to smoke in the dark. On top of that, she would not be able to sleep that night, because she would need to tend the fire. It was critical it burned hot and long to keep insects out of the carcass and predators away.
Then, as if her unborn child had actually cried out from wi
thin her womb for meat, she resolved to stay. There’s still a chance I could get back before dark. Besides, the moon is nearly full again. I can work by moonlight.
She sat and waited out the rest of the afternoon, patient and quiet, all her senses as taut as her bowstring. At dusk, her prayers were answered. A doe came to drink, followed by another. Arhianna’s heart thumped as she raised her bow and took aim. Bless this arrow, Morrigan—send it true.
The arrow went where she willed it, strong and deep into the side of the animal where it surely penetrated both lungs. Startled, the other deer bounded away, leaving Arhianna alone with her prize. She rushed in and dragged the animal away from the river to dress it. She glanced up at the sky, which was turning pink and gold. There’s not much time left. She turned the deer over, cut it from rear to breast and opened it up. Something came over her the moment she smelled the blood and felt its heat. It drove her to cut the deer’s heart out and put her lips to it. Warm blood filled her mouth and ran down her throat, nourishing her and her baby in a way nothing else could. It covered her hands and neck, dripping down her chest, sticky and smelling of life. She saved the liver and heart, but removed the rest of the organs and left them on the grass for the scavengers.
The animal was much lighter with its organs removed. She slung it around her shoulders. Bless you for your meat, sister, she prayed, while shehalf walked, half ran, back downriver.
She was perhaps a half hour from her camp when she heard the first howl. The sound chilled her bones and sent her heart racing. Moments later, from another direction, she heard the second howl. Wolves.
She ran. The deer on her shoulders soon had her panting with the effort as she raced back to camp. Her heart beat so fiercely that she felt it might break open her ribcage. Her thighs burned as she struggled to make out her path in the fading light. Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall, and don’t stop.
More howls. They’re closing in. She had both knife and spear, and felt glad for them, but she knew she was fooling herself if she thought she could fight off a pack by herself. I should leave the kill. I have the liver and heart. I can eat those. Let them have this one.