by H. Barnard
Derelei reached across the table and patted Aífe’s hand. “I’m sorry for leaving you. After I left the tower, I went to the Sacred Forest to watch the battle. The city was on fire. For a while, it looked as though the warriors of Caledon had succeeded. But then a second wave of soldiers attacked and overwhelmed them. I moved closer to see what was happening. Women and children, screaming in terror, ran past me towards the tower. The roundhouses were on fire, and I could hear pigs squealing inside as they burnt. I saw Taran and Rhys cornered and fighting off a group of soldiers. As I edged closer, I saw Uradech on the ground. His eyes were open, and I remember wondering if he could see me. But he never blinked. He never moved.” She paused and slid her goblet across the table, back and forth as though deliberating in her mind what she would say next. “And then something hard hit my head. I’m not sure what, perhaps the hilt of a sword or a fist. But when I woke up, I was in a boat heading down the river towards the ocean. I was tied by my neck to other women from Caledon and the Maetae.” She rubbed the scar that curved around her neck. “And I’ve had rope or metal around my neck since that day, until Sorsha rescued me. It feels strange without it now. To imagine my life before I wore it.”
“How did you get back home?” Taran asked.
“Perhaps we should start with you, Nyfain?” Derelei said. “She rescued you first.”
Nyfain was about to speak when Gartnait strode into the hall with Elfinn. The king was walking straighter than Brei had seen him in months.
“Sorry I’m late, I wanted to speak with Sorsha.” He smiled at Elfinn and accepted a goblet of wine from the serving girl, Eiry. “Derelei, you have no idea how many nights you have filled my dreams. I am so glad you are back, sister.” Gartnait waved his hand as he sat down. “Please, continue your story.”
“Ah… well…” Nyfain began. Her voice was soft and melodic, like a trickle of water rushing over pebbles. “Sorsha was staying with the provost’s wife, and I was helping her to dress for the morning. She started speaking to me, in a tongue I was not expecting to hear from her.” Nyfain continued to tell the story of Sorsha leading them to a great city and searching for Derelei at the slave market.
When she finished, Dioras began to tell his story, with an accented, stilted voice. “I knew I would soon die. That is when I noticed Sorsha and Nyfain watching me. They cut me loose, and Sorsha spoke to me. She wanted to know if I could understand her, and when I nodded, she…she put her hand on my wound and–”
“Dioras!” Nyfain hissed.
Brei tilted his head.
“Go on,” Derelei said, her eyes glinting.
Nyfain shook her head. “I don’t think Sorsha would like us talking about her like this.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” Taran said. “What happened after?”
“After we rescued Dioras, we rode north for the wall. It took us such a long time, we were rather delayed at one point.” Nyfain paused and glanced at Dioras.
“Delayed by what?” King Gartnait asked, leaning forwards on the table.
“Bandits,” Dioras said. “But we fought them off.”
“The bandits?” Dylan asked. “But how many men were there?”
Dioras glanced at Nyfain before answering. “Four. They had daggers on our throats. It was something I’ll never forget, seeing how Sorsha fought–”
“Anyway,” Nyfain interrupted, “when the men were dead, we took their coins and horses, and…when we finally got to the wall–”
“Stop, stop, stop!” Naoise waved his hands. “Are you saying that Sorsha…that she killed four men?”
“I knew it,” Anwen shuddered. “I knew we were right to fear her.”
Brei tried to catch Anwen’s eye, but she was staring into her lap.
“Then what happened?” Dylan asked, his eyes ablaze.
“When we were close to the Great Wall, we searched through the towns and forts until we found Derelei,” Nyfain said.
“Sorsha took me away from the house of the Tribunus,” Derelei continued. “And then we rode along the river to the coast, and Sorsha sold our horses to pay for passage on a merchant ship to Caertarwos. I visited Talorc alone, and he gave us horses to travel home with. I remember when he was only Naoise’s age, it’s strange to think of him as a king now.”
Brei could see see that Anwen’s face was red, and she was scraping her index finger up and down her thumb. He stood up. “I think our guests are tired, Eiry. Have you made up a house for Nyfain and Dioras?”
The serving girl nodded. “Yes, Prince Bridei.”
Dioras and Nyfain rose, glancing at Derelei before they followed the servant out of the hall. Taran watched them leave, then stood up abruptly and disappeared from the hall, stomping up the stairwell.
“I want to speak with you outside,” Derelei said to Brei.
“Let me put Anwen and the twins to bed, and I will meet you in the Sacred Forest under the Great Oak.”
The sun was setting by the time Brei met Derelei.
“Now tell me why Gartnait is king, and you are not? My brother is a good man, but he is not a king.”
“I never made a claim for it.”
Derelei’s face remained expressionless.
“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve had enough time to live with it. I don’t need you to re-open the wound.”
“If I had been here to speak for you, you would be king.”
“Yes, probably.” Brei shrugged. “But it’s Taran who wants it. I think he dreams about it every night. It’s him you should speak for now.” He looked up through the broad leaves of the oak as the red-gold glow dwindled into twilight. “Did they…mistreat you?” Brei’s voice shook as he asked the question he was not entirely sure he wanted the answer to. “They took Anwen and…did unspeakable evil to her.”
Derelei looked away, through the forest. “Sorsha told me what happened to Anwen. I can’t speak of it, Brei… You already know.”
“I will avenge you for the six years they stole from you. For every second of pain they caused.”
She reached for Brei’s hand and squeezed it. “I know, Brei. I know you will. But if I had my way, I’d have you stay here with me and make up for the years I lost with you. I fear the Romans will take more than years from me. They have already taken my brother and your father.”
When Brei returned to the tower, Serenn had just delivered Anwen’s nightly sleeping potion. Anwen sipped her potion with one hand and grated the back of her thumb with her index finger on the other hand. Brei sat on the bed and slipped his arm around her waist. “Anwen, nothing can hurt you. I am here, and you are well protected by everyone in the tower and the garrison at the city gates.”
“Who will protect me from her?” Anwen’s voice quivered. “And who are these people she has brought back with her? Who is that warrior? How could you allow him to remain in the upper rampart?”
He kissed her delicate hand. “Darling, you heard the story. He was a slave. Why would he be aligned with the Romans? And why would Sorsha risk her life to rescue my mother if she was our enemy?”
Anwen turned to him, the goblet shaking in her hand. “Sorsha is a monster, Brei. I know she is. She’ll lure us into a false sense of security only to slit Nia and Ceridwen’s throats in their sleep.”
Thirty-Seven
Autumn, 367 C.E., Caledon
Sorsha rode to the stables and dismounted. The horse nuzzled her, and she pressed her face into his black shoulder and breathed in the bouquet of grass and dirt. I wish I didn’t have to come back here. She slid her hand down the horse’s neck to the saddle and undid the strap with trembling fingers. She hung the saddle on the railing of the horse pen and rested her hands against the cracked brown leather. Tears slid down her cheeks. Her shoulders shuddered, and she slipped to the ground. Icy fingers pushed up into her throat and squeezed.
Retching on all fours, Sorsha gasped for breath. “Why can’t you leave me alone? I came back!”
The stable door creaked open, and she looke
d up. Elfinn ran across the stables and crouched on the straw beside her. “Are you ill, Sorsha?”
Sorsha doubled over and leant her face on her arms. “Yes.”
Elfinn’s hand was warm on her back. “I…I know this isn’t an ideal time, but my father is dying.”
Sorsha bit her arm and screamed into it. Elfinn pulled his hand away.
“I’m sorry. I’m just tired.” She stood up.
“Can you heal yourself?” Elfinn whispered as they walked from the stables.
“It’s not that kind of sickness.”
Outside the tower, King Gartnait was sat on the ground, his back against the stone wall. His grey skin stretched into a smile when he saw her.
“My lord.” Sorsha crouched before him.
Clammy hands clasped around hers. “I was so forlorn when you left. I became so ill again, and there was nothing Serenn could do for me. None of her potions worked.”
“Where is the illness?”
“My stomach.” He coughed. “And I have a fever.”
Sorsha slipped her hands out of his. “May I?”
He nodded and closed his eyes.
She placed her hands on his stomach. The king smelt of mustiness, of someone who rarely ventured outdoors. Her hands moved across his narrow chest and continued up to his neck and his head. “Will you turn around, my lord?”
The king shifted onto his knees and she pressed her hands into the back of his head and down his knobbled spine.
“Do you feel better?”
Gartnait turned around, smiling. “Yes, thank you, thank you!” He grasped her hands again and brought them up to his greying lips, kissing them with his eyes shut.
Elfinn assisted his father to stand. “I am so glad you have returned. Will you join us in the hall for a feast?”
“It’s not my place,” she murmured. Elfinn nodded and she watched them walk inside the tower to the hall. Sorsha looked for a short while at the trees in the Sacred Forest gently swaying, and then she crept around the tower, dragging her hands along the jagged edges of the stone. Beli ran to her when she reached the entrance. She crouched down and allowed the black mastiff to lick her face.
“Don’t give me away,” she whispered as she slipped inside to the stairwell. Her boots echoed on the steps, and she paused, unlaced, and removed her boots. Then she crept up the cold, spiralling stone staircase to the fourth floor. When she reached Serenn’s chamber, it was damp and dark, save for the fire cowering under a gigantic cauldron.
Serenn’s charcoaled eyes cracked as she smiled. “You came back to me.”
Sorsha slid into the chair by the fire opposite Serenn and watched Eluned braiding her dark blue hair. Each braid was as thick as a thumb, and at the end of each braid Eluned affixed an amber bead. Wood clunked against the floor as Arian emerged from the shadows and limped across the room. Her ethereal face was even paler than Sorsha remembered and seemed to blur into the golden white of her hair. Arian held out a goblet of wine and smiled down at Sorsha. “I missed you,” she mouthed.
Sorsha took the cup and, for a moment, her fingers lingered on Arian’s icy hands. “Are you sick?” Sorsha whispered.
Arian’s eyes flicked to Serenn, who was chiding Eluned for pulling her hair too tight. “I can’t sleep,” Arian whispered and limped away.
“Where did you go?” Serenn asked.
Sorsha watched as Arian limped to the workbench along the furthest wall from the fire. With a mortar and pestle, she began crushing herbs.
Sorsha turned to Serenn. “I found Derelei.”
Serenn’s eyes widened. “You brought her back?”
“I made my journey worthwhile.”
“You didn’t find your own mother, then?”
Sorsha slumped further into the chair and closed her eyes. “I found her.”
“I see. So, you understand things now?”
“Mmm.”
“Good, because we have a plague.”
“Right. And the king was sick again.”
“Was?” Serenn frowned.
“Don’t worry, I healed him. Just in time, too.” Sorsha yawned. “I wonder why he keeps getting ill.”
“Maybe it’s something he is eating?” Eluned smirked.
Serenn reached up and slapped Eluned. “Don’t make jokes at the king’s expense.” Serenn sniffed and smoothed the folds of her black robes. “It could be anything, Sorsha.”
Stone grated against stone, and Sorsha peered across the gloomy room at Arian as she ground her herbs. Her eyes were wide, and she glared at Serenn and then up at the rafters. Sorsha followed her gaze to a bundle of Nerion hanging upside down from a string. She stood up and walked to Arian. “Who are those herbs for?”
Arian held the bowl up.
Sorsha frowned as she recognised valerian roots and mistletoe. “A sleeping draught?”
“For Anwen. We give it to her every night, remember?” Arian’s screaming eyes seemed at war with the calmness of her voice.
“Have your wine, Sorsha,” Serenn said with a husky rasp.
Sorsha’s eyes lingered on Arian’s pale face, and she wondered, as she returned to the chair by the hearth, if the poor girl had finally cracked under Serenn’s harsh treatment. As she drank the bitter wine, voices seeped up the stairwell from the hall. Every nerve in Sorsha’s body tensed. She knew Arian wanted to speak to her, but she itched to leave the claustrophobic stone room that reminded her of the closing walls of her nightmares. “I can’t be inside right now,” Sorsha said, standing. “I’ll see you in the morning, and we can visit the sick.”
Serenn nodded, her charcoaled eyes intense over the lip of her goblet.
Sorsha hesitated as she reached the landing and checked to ensure she was alone in the shadows of the stairwell. Still barefoot, she glided down the cold stairs and slipped outside. Beli licked her face as she pulled her boots on, and then she ran to the stables. Hurriedly she placed a soft woven halter on the black horse and led it out of the Western Gate and into the glowing forest. The setting sun burned behind the hill to the west, covering everything in a hazy veneer of red gold.
Everywhere the forest teemed with life that she had never seen there before. Fuzzy red squirrels chased each other through the trees, and birds fluttered by overhead. Grass, twigs, and wildflowers covered the forest floor, and the shadows of trees and shrubs danced in the breeze as the sun dipped below the horizon. She breathed in deeply, inhaling the sweet early autumn air carrying the scent of leaves, soil, and grass. The roar of the river and the twilight birdsong filled the air as her arms tingled in the breeze.
Sorsha stopped their meandering walk when the moon splashed silver across her face. She turned to her horse. Derelei had given him to her in Caertarwos, a gift from King Talorc to thank Sorsha for saving his aunt. The horse’s face was chiselled and his ears short. At seventeen hands high, he was tall and muscled, like a draught horse. But he was nimble despite his size, and his neck was long and arched beneath a black, silky mane.
Sorsha kissed his nose. “What should I call you, sweet prince?”
The moonlight glistened on his jet-black coat.
“You shine so brilliantly in the sun and the moon. I will call you Nema, ‘Shine’.”
She hugged Nema’s head as she watched the moon rise through the trees, listening to the soft hooting of an owl waking up for the night.
“Hello.”
Sorsha turned, and Taran was standing behind her. She had not heard a single twig snap. “Hello,” she said, stroking Nema’s neck to hide the tremor in her hands.
Taran stepped closer and placed his hand on Nema’s withers. “He is beautiful.”
“He was a gift from King Talorc. His name is Nema.”
His eyes were gentle as he moved his hand along Nema’s flanks. “You came back.” Taran moved closer, sliding his hand slowly across Nema’s shoulder until his fingertips brushed hers.
Sorsha moved her hand away, her heart beating faster. “I didn’t come back for you.�
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He dropped his hand to his side. “I know you didn’t, Sorsha.” He swallowed. “Or, at least, not in the way you are thinking. But you did come back for me. Even if you don’t know it yet.”
She frowned.
“You found my mother,” he whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me that was your plan? I could have helped you.” He smiled. “Or at least I would have known you were okay.”
“I didn’t intend to find Derelei. And I don’t understand, why did no one try to find her before?”
“We all assumed she was dead. And we can’t exactly just walk down to the Great Wall and start asking around, can we?”
“Right. Well, I wasn’t sure if you would let me go if you knew.”
“You’re right, I don’t think I would. Or I would have wanted to go with you, to protect you. Although, it sounds like you don’t need any protecting, do you?”
“I’m supposed to help you. You’re not supposed to help me,” she murmured.
Taran held her gaze for a moment, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I just wanted to say hello. But now I must get back to my patrol, Owain is waiting for me.”
“How did you find me?”
“I tracked you from the stables.” Taran smiled and bowed his head. “Good night, Sorsha.”
Into the darkness he walked away, and she watched him, knowing she could see him for longer than he would realise. She pressed her face into Nema’s neck and closed her eyes.
Sorsha waited until the moon was low on the horizon before she led Nema back to Caercaled. Everyone should be asleep by now. She tiptoed up the staircase to the second floor and into her old room. She crawled into the cot and under the soft sheet and kicked the furs off. Her eyes closed and, for the first time in many moons, she did not dream.
Her muscles tensed. The air in the room shifted, as though someone was moving near her. She opened her eyes and saw the blurred outline of Anwen hovering above her. “What are you doing?”