“One thing at a time,” Melcorka said. “Erik can wait. Where is this book? Who freed it?”
Bruachan shook his head. “We don't yet know. All we know is that the book was held in a house built on human bones and the warrior who led the war band still lives there.”
“That's a start,” Bradan said. “There can't be many houses built on human bones.”
Impatient now, Melcorka interrupted. “Secondly, how can I ensure the book is made safe?”
Bruachan shook his head. “That is beyond our knowledge.”
Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. “All right. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. We have to find the thing first.”
“And end Erik's killing,” Melcorka said. “He outfought me easily. How can I defeat him?”
“Legbiter is as powerful as Defender,” Bruachan said. “It matches good with evil. But it enhances its power by drawing on the accumulated evil of the Book of Black Earth. If you neutralise the book, you can fight Erik on level terms. You might win, you might lose.”
“So we must find the book first,” Melcorka said.
“You must find the book first,” Bruachan agreed. “In a house built on human bones.”
“If the man who unleashed the evil led a war party,” Bradan said, “he would be a Norseman, so he'll most likely be in the far northeast, beyond Inverness.”
Melcorka looked up. “I've never been there.”
Bradan grunted. “Neither have I.” Lifting his staff, he dragged it along the floor. “They call me Bradan the Wanderer, but I've never wandered into Norse territory by choice. This venture could be very interesting.”
Bruachan leaned back. “I have helped all I can and told you all I know. Now, you must make your path. Remember the golden truth – action follows thought.”
“Action follows thought,” Bradan repeated. “We thank you for your help and advice, Bruachan.” He stood up. “Now we'll look for this man with a house built on dead men's bones.”
“Go with God,” Bruachan said, “and may God go with you.”
Melcorka nodded. “And may He bless your wisdom.” Yet for all her newfound confidence, Melcorka still remembered her vision. She lay broken on a waste of bloody sand, with a tall, hooded man standing over her while Bradan walked away with another woman. All around her, the land was in a yellow and grey haze, and she knew the taste of defeat.
“Come on, Mel!” Bradan tapped his staff on the ground.
“I'm coming.” Shaking away the last of her dark thoughts, Melcorka hitched up Defender and stepped out of the broch.
Chapter Fifteen
They moved faster now, with Melcorka long-striding again, splashing through rivers without fear and greeting those she met without apprehension. “Come on, Bradan! We have wrongs to right!”
“We have,” Bradan watched her, hiding his pleasure at the difference. Each day they asked for news of Erik, and sometimes they gathered information and sometimes they did not. They shared the friendly peat-fire flame with shepherds and with lords, exchanging intelligence of the world, singing the old songs and enjoying the hospitality for which Alba was famous. Occasionally one or two of the young warriors in a lord's retinue would eye Melcorka's sword and wonder if she could use it.
“That is a grand weapon you have there,” a brawny redhead asked when they sat in the dun of a lochside chieftain.
“She is,” Melcorka agreed, smiling over the rim of her horn of mead.
“I was wondering if it would look better on my back rather than on yours.”
“She looks fine where she is,” Melcorka said.
“A few strokes might decide differently.”
“They might, and they might remove your doubts, or they might remove the head from your shoulders,” Melcorka replied. “And many women would mourn the removal.”
“Lachlan! These are my guests,” the chieftain roared. “I will have no discourtesy towards them.”
“No, father,” Lachlan the redhead said at once, although he continued to look enviously at Defender.
“We can have a practice bout,” Melcorka eased Lachlan”s disappointment, “with no bloodshed. I need the exercise.”
The household formed a ring in the courtyard, watching as Melcorka and Lachlan squared up to each other. Both stripped to their leines, tied the loose end of the shirt between their legs and hefted their swords. Some of the spectators pointed to the livid white scars on Melcorka's thighs.
“She's not so good; look at the second prizes on her legs.”
“Careful, Mel,” Bradan said, as Melcorka drew Defender for the first time since Erik had defeated her.
“I will be,” Melcorka shivered when the familiar thrill ran through her. She smiled at Bradan. “It's all right, Bradan! I am me again!” Defender was light in her hands, the balance perfect. She ran her gaze along the edge of the steel, smiling to herself.
“Whenever you are ready, Lachlan. For fun only.”
Lachlan had a shorter sword, a one-handed Norse type that he wielded along with a circular shield and a dirk. As could be expected in a young man, he moved with great energy, smiling and tossing back his red hair.
“A woman with a sword! Whoever heard of such a thing? It's against nature! Go back to your wool-basket, woman!”
“Ha!” Melcorka responded, “a child who thinks he is a man! Wait until your crib-marks have faded before you crow, my young cockerel!”
Holding Defender two-handed, with the blade pointing to the sky, Melcorka watched Lachlan. His rush was sudden but not unexpected, a surge of urgency that saw him cross the space between them in half a second, holding his shield at an angle to deflect Defender while he slashed cunningly at the livid scar on Melcorka's left thigh.
Blocking the swing with ease, Melcorka lifted Defender's blade to catch the underside of Lachlan's shield and twisted her wrist. The movement forced the shield backwards and upwards. Lachlan dropped the shield, tried to stab with his dirk, found that Melcorka was no longer there and yelped as Melcorka delivered a mighty slap with the flat of her blade against his backside.
“I like to call that Melcorka's farewell,” Melcorka laughed.
Rubbing at his rump, Lachlan shook his head ruefully and joined in the laughter of the audience. “You know how to use your sword,” he allowed, trying to peer over his shoulder to assess the damage.
“Have you never heard of Melcorka the Swordswoman?” Bradan asked quietly. “The women who helped win the Battle of Carham?”
“That woman is dead.” Lachlan retrieved his weapons with a wary eye on Melcorka. “The Butcher killed her in single combat.”
“I am that woman,” Melcorka said, “and I am very much alive.”
At the news, the men and women of the dun stopped laughing. “You are the Swordswoman?”
“I am,” Melcorka leaned Defender on her right shoulder, watching Lachlan in case he tried another rush.
“Are you going to fight the Butcher again?”
“Not yet,” Melcorka said. “First, I am on a quest. When I have completed that, I will face the Butcher again.”
“I was going to fight the Butcher,” Lachlan replaced his sword in its scabbard. “I am training for that day.”
“You are not ready to face him,” Melcorka said seriously. “You are a likeable young learner but he is an experienced killer. Leave him to me or the king's champions, if they can find him.”
“What is your quest?” The chieftain asked.
“I am looking for a man, perhaps a Norse raider, who lives in a house built on the bones of dead men. The Butcher was one of his warriors.”
The chieftain looked grave. “I may know of such a man – a pedlar spoke of a cat-headed warrior who lives in a house of bones.”
“A warrior with the head of a cat?” Bradan ran his thumb across the cross on his staff. ”I have never met a man like that.”
“Nor do you wish to,” the chieftain said. “The pedlar said he is a Viking of repute, a man who is il
l to cross.”
“Where can we find him?” Bradan asked.
“Where such a man belongs,” the chieftain said. “He is in the province of the Cat, through the forest, across Loch nan Beiste, through grey Glen Tacheichte and across the big moor.”
“The Loch of the Monster and the Haunted Glen?” Bradan translated. “Who gives these places such names?”
“People who know their stories,” the chieftain said. “People who know to avoid them.” He lowered his voice. “Be careful, Bradan, for you are heading into places where even God would fear to tread.”
“Do you know where in the Province of the Cat this strange warrior has his den?”
“I do not,” the chieftain said.
Melcorka sheathed Defender. “Thank you for your advice and knowledge,” she said. “And for your hospitality. We will head north to seek this house built on bones.”
“On your return,” Lachlan said, still rubbing at himself. “We can spar again, and you can teach me that trick.”
“We can do that, young warrior,” Melcorka said.
* * *
“There's a settlement ahead.” Bradan pointed with his chin as they crested yet another ridge. In that part of Alba, the glens ran east to west, so they were continually climbing or descending hills, with the lower slopes of the valleys swathed in open woodland and the bottoms boggy or flooded around peaty rivers. The glen they looked down upon was surprisingly dry, with fertile soil and a straggle of rowan and elder trees beside a small river.
“That's a welcome sight,” Melcorka said.
The roundhouses were clumped together behind a timber wall, with heather ropes holding reed-thatch secure against the winds. The small fields around had been painfully won and showed signs of recent activity in the shape of plough furrows.
“I can't see any life,” Melcorka said, increasing her pace at the thought of a kindly welcome at the hearth of a bright peat fire.
“Perhaps everybody is indoors,” Bradan said.
They hurried down the slope, shouting their names to warn the people of the settlement that they were coming. There was no response – not even the barking of a dog or the call of a cockerel.
“That's odd,” Bradan said.
“That would be odd at any other time,” Melcorka said. “Just now, odd is normal.” She unsheathed Defender. “Let's have a look at this empty settlement.”
Circling the wooden palisade before they entered, they saw the fields were bare of livestock, while a plough lay abandoned on its side. Melcorka was first through the wooden gate, looking around her cautiously, with Defender balanced on her right shoulder.
“Halloa!” She shouted a greeting. “I am Melcorka Nic Bearnas and with me is Bradan the Wanderer.”
Nobody replied. A single rat scurried from the nearest house, its tail flicking Melcorka”s ankle as it passed.
All the doors gaped open, gently creaking as they swung to the tune of the wind. “There's nobody here,” Bradan reported as he entered each house, one by one. “The entire place is deserted.”
“Not even a dog or a cat,” Melcorka said. “Only the odd rat.”
“The Norsemen have been here.”
“No,” Melcorka shook her head. “If the Norse had raided, they'd have left dead bodies. There is nothing, no trace of life. Nothing.”
“There is food in the pots,” Bradan said, “and clothes on the beds. Whatever happened was quick. The people had no time to gather their belongings.”
Melcorka swatted at the flies that clustered on the cooking pots. “Time to go,” she said. “There is nothing here for us.”
They left the settlement as quickly as they had arrived until Melcorka stopped to crouch on the ground outside. “Somebody has been here,” she indicated the marks of feet. “Many people – 20, maybe 30, of all ages. See?” She pointed to a small footmark, quite distinct on the hardened mud. “That is a child's print, moving away from the village in the direction we are taking.”
“Something scared them.” Bradan rubbed his thumb on the Celtic cross on his staff.
“Aye.” Melcorka stood up. “Something.” She looked up and down the length of the shallow glen. “I doubt we'll ever know what, Bradan, but I'll wager that the evilness is all connected.”
“Erik Egilsson?”
“Aye, that man, or whatever is within him, this Cu-saeng creature.” Replacing Defender in her scabbard, Melcorka led them on again, now moving more slowly as they looked around.
There was another deserted village in the next glen, again clear of all life except insects, mice and rats.
“If there were dead here, the carrion crows would be here to feast,” Melcorka said. “I have never seen the like before. This place is deserted as if something swept the people away with a huge brush.”
Bradan looked up. “The ravens are back.”
“Poor pickings for them here,” Melcorka said.
The next glen had two more deserted villages, with neglected fields and the heather thatch falling into the interior of the houses. “These have been empty for some time,” Melcorka said. “Longer than the others – weeds are growing in the plough furrows and birds are nesting in the thatch. Whatever happened, it struck here first and moved further out.”
“A plague perhaps?” Bradan hazarded. “Some form of moraine?”
“With no bodies and no graves?” Melcorka shook her head. “It came quick and sudden, with no warning and no time to alert the people in the neighbouring glen.”
“I'll be glad to get away from this area.” Bradan said. “Each glen is secluded, secret even, so evil can strike without being seen.”
Melcorka forced a smile. “Evil likes dark and lonely places. We shall bring light to Alba yet, Bradan.” She touched the hilt of Defender. “Come on.”
They lit a small fire that night, and moved 100 paces away, knowing that the light would attract any predators.
“One of us will remain awake,” Melcorka said, “while the other sleeps. I will take first watch.”
“Aye,” Bradan said. “Wake me if you need me.”
Resting in the lee of a rounded granite rock, they spent an uneasy night, with the stars brilliant above and the constant wind setting the heather to rustle. Twice they heard the howl of a wolf, and once the snuffling as a wild boar padded close by, but these were the usual sounds of nature and did not disturb them. In the morning, they returned to the fire.
“Footprints,” Bradan said. “Somebody visited our fire last night.”
“About a dozen people,” Melcorka said. “Barefoot; men and women together.”
Bradan scanned their surroundings. They were north of the area of shallow glens, with the wind scouring a bleak landscape of lochans – small lochs – and rocks. A few miles ahead stretched a dark belt of forest, the next barrier to their progress. “It may have been the people from the empty villages.”
“Perhaps,” Melcorka said. “But I cannot see from where they came, or where they went. There is nowhere, “she nodded to the forest, “except there.”
There seemed no end to it, a forest that extended eastward and westward as far as they could see. There were spaces between trees on the forest fringe, allowing a trickle of sunlight that faded as the forest became denser.
“The Forest of Caledon,” Bradan said. “Or the Caledonian Forest, if you prefer.”
“I would prefer it not to be here at all,” Melcorka said. “I cannot remember going through it last time we travelled through Alba.”
“We did not,” Bradan said. “This time we have a different destination.”
“Have you been here before?” Melcorka asked.
“Yes; a long time since.” Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. “Come on, Mel; talking never made a journey shorter.”
The fringe of the forest welcomed them with shafts of sunlight slanting through the boughs, but with every few yards the light grew fainter and the undergrowth thicker, so soon they were hacking a path through shoulder-high bra
cken and tangled brambles.
“It was never like this before,” Bradan wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I swear that these bramble bushes are larger and with bigger thorns than any I have ever seen before.”
“The flies are worse, too,” Melcorka swatted at the host of bluebottles that buzzed around her head. “And more aggressive.”
As they moved on, the number of flies around them increased. “Bradan!” Melcorka put a hand on his arm. “Watch your feet!”
The viper lay on an exposed boulder, coiled but still dangerous. Bradan stepped around it, stopping when he saw another snake a few yards ahead, and a third slithering through the bracken.
“That's unusual at this time of year,” Bradan said. “They're normally more numerous later in the summer.”
“Everything seems unusual,” Melcorka said. “More flies, more stinging plants, more snakes.”
“It is more like these jungles we saw in Hindustan than an Alban forest,” Bradan said.
They heard the crash of some large animal moving through the forest and stepped into the shelter of a tree as the boar ran past, followed by two others. In the half-light, their tusks looked viciously dangerous.
“Aye, the wild things rule the forest,” Bradan said. “The sooner we are back in more open country, the better I will like it.”
Cutting away some of the undergrowth, they leaned against the bole of a tree. “How long have we been in here?” Melcorka asked.
“It seems like days,” Bradan said, “but I doubt it's more than eight hours.”
“I want to see an end to this,” Melcorka said. “I'll go up a tree and see how far the forest extends.” Climbing was second nature to Melcorka, so she ascended the tree without difficulty, clambering up to the topmost branch to peer northwards.
The forest stretched ahead to a range of distant mountains. It undulated over rough ground, with tendrils of mist sliding between the trees, spiralling upwards to dissipate in the air.
“We have a long walk ahead of us,” Melcorka reported on her return. “Another day at least, perhaps longer, and the darkness is not far off.”
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