On the Edge of Darkness

by Barbara Erskine

  Adam blushed again. ‘I like her.’ He turned slightly to stare back down the hillside. ‘Where is she?’ he asked as casually as he could.

  ‘She has gone to work with our uncle. He is teaching her.’

  Adam felt a sharp pang of disappointment – and fear. ‘I was hoping to see her. How long will she be working for him?’

  ‘Many years. Nineteen.’ Gartnait gave another of his slow smiles. ‘But I will tell her you came.’ He looked up again. ‘A-dam, do not go to look for her. She has gone to Craig Phádraig. You cannot find her. Do not try. And she must not try to see you either. It is not allowed. Broichan would kill her if he knew she had been with you. He will not allow anyone to travel between our worlds as you have travelled. It is only for the few. And she is not for you, A-dam.’ He hesitated as though wondering whether to speak further. ‘Brid is dangerous, A-dam. I who love her, say that. Do not let her hurt you.’ He struggled to find the right words. ‘She studies the ways of the wildcat. Her claws can kill. If you see her again she will surely, in the end, bring death. Death to you and to me and to Gemma.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Adam’s bitter disappointment was edged with fear. ‘Why can’t I see her? Why can’t I travel here? What is so wrong?’ He concentrated on the one piece of Gartnait’s statement he truly understood. ‘I bet you’ve been down to the village where I live.’

  Gartnait gave a sudden snort. His eyes were humorous slits of silver and he looked for a moment very like his sister. ‘I went once. Only on the hill. I do not have your courage. I did not go down.’

  ‘Well, can I at least go and see your mother?’ Adam fought back the misery which was threatening to overwhelm him. ‘I want my knapsack.’

  Gartnait frowned, then he nodded, relenting. ‘Brid hid your things when our uncle came. I will show you. Putting down his tools he stood up, dusting his hands. He glanced at the canvas bag on Adam’s shoulder and grinned. ‘You have chocolate cake?’ he asked mischievously.

  Biting back his tears, Adam smiled back and nodded. ‘And for Gemma too.’

  They ate it by the fire, washed down with weak heather ale from the silver jug.

  ‘What is Brid studying?’ Adam asked at last. His precious knapsack lay at his feet.

  ‘Poetry and music; prophecy and divination and history and genealogy,’ Gartnait replied, all words, Adam realised, as Gartnait stumbled through them, miming with his hands, which he and Brid had used over their months together. ‘It takes many years of study.’

  ‘She must be clever.’ He knew that already.

  ‘She is. Very.’ Gartnait frowned again. How clever Adam could not begin to know.

  ‘When is she coming home?’

  Gemma smiled. ‘He is so sad his friend is missing.’ She was speaking to the air above the fire.

  Adam felt himself growing red once more.

  ‘She will not come back to you, A-dam.’ Gartnait spoke firmly. ‘She must serve her people now. She is no longer a child. And that is for the best.’

  ‘But she will come back to see you?’ Adam could feel the cold hard kernel of misery in his stomach growing steadily larger. He looked from one to the other desperately.

  Gemma leaned forward at last and with a quick glance at Gartnait she smiled. ‘Poor A-dam. Perhaps she will come to see you. After the long days come, after Lughnasadh. I have told my brother he must bring her to see me then.’

  And with that, not seeing Gartnait frown and shake his head, Adam had to be content.

  At first he found he could put her out of his mind by concentrating on his school work, at least during the week. His days were spent in study, his evenings after the long drive and cycle home were spent in homework. Often now his father was there in the evenings, attempting to entertain his son with stories of the parish, with extra books bought in Perth and once or twice invitations to go, father and son, to meals with parishioners further up the glen.

  Each weekend Adam would climb to the stone and each time he would be disappointed. No Gartnait. No Brid. In his loneliness he sat on the mountainside feeling the wind stirring his hair, his bird book and binoculars beside him, his sketchpad on his knee, and alone he would consume the cake he brought with him each time for Brid.

  ‘So, Brid, your power is growing.’ Broichan was standing behind her on the summit of a small hill overlooking the great loch out of which poured the River Ness. He had been watching her from behind an outcrop of rock, listening to the ringing incantation, watching the thrusting, bellying cloud split at her direction overhead and stream away to the north and to the south, leaving the black rocks of the hill bathed in golden sunshine.

  With a start Brid lost her concentration and the clouds veered back on course. There was a sizzle of lightning, a sharp crack of thunder. Broichan laughed. ‘I still out-magic you, Niece, never forget it!’

  ‘But you don’t out-magic Columcille, I hear.’ Brid threw her head back and laughed. She was energised by the storm, strong, invincible. ‘He banished the beast you put in the loch to destroy him. The whole court has heard how he brought you close to death as a punishment for your treatment of one of your slavegirls and only saved you with his magic healing stone when you gave her up to him!’ It was starting to rain. She raised her face and welcomed the feeling of ice-cold needles on her skin, missing as she did so the fury of her uncle’s expression.

  ‘You dare to speak to me of Columcille!’

  ‘I dare!’ She almost spat at him. ‘You have taught me well, Uncle. My power is indeed growing!’ And soon, when I have learned enough I shall go home to A-dam. She veiled her thoughts carefully from her uncle, with a little smile. She had seen Adam in her dreams and in her scrying ball of crystal and she knew that she had him in her snare. He would wait for her, forever if need be.

  ‘Poor little cat. So confident. So foolish.’ Broichan’s voice was soft and velvety. Its menace brought her to her senses abruptly. ‘Don’t ever cheat on me, little Brid.’ He held out his hand to her and against her will she found herself drawn to him. ‘If you do, I shall feel obliged to give you a demonstration of my powers.’ He smiled. ‘Your brother, I think. My gatekeeper. His job is nearly done – ’

  ‘You wouldn’t harm him!’ Brid hissed at him.

  ‘Indeed I would. My powers are unstoppable, as Columcille will discover when I recall the monster I put there to devour him.’ Broichan smiled again. ‘Beware, little cat. Stay obedient. Stay careful.’

  He glanced up at the storm as he released her and turned away, leaving her standing where she was, her long white tunic and woollen cloak drenched to her skin. As he disappeared from sight the sky shuddered under a new bolt of lightning which hurtled past her and buried itself in the boiling, hissing waters of the loch.

  The summer holidays came at last. Adam grew tanned and sturdy and once again, tentatively, he began to be friends with Mikey and Euan in the village.

  He had been to kick a ball on the field behind the kirkyard with the boys after his supper and was walking back, late, up the street as the luminous dusk hung over the hills. In the distance on the west-facing side of the mountain he could see the sunlight still glowing on the dark cliffs, turning them the colour of pink damask. Where he was the shadows were dark. It was the sad time of day; the time that always filled him with melancholy. Kicking at the stones on the path he made his way reluctantly in at the gate and was brought up short by a hiss from behind him.

  ‘A-dam! Here! I wait for you.’ The piercing whisper made his heart leap with excitement. He stared round, confused. ‘Brid?’

  ‘Here. Here.’

  He could see her now, crouching behind the stone wall in the shelter of a clump of rhododendron bushes. ‘I wait for you at Gartnait’s stone and you not come.’ She was taller than last year, her hair braided, her figure fuller. She was dressed in a tunic as she always was, but this one was richer, embroidered, reaching down to her ankles, and her slim arms were adorned with gold bangles. ‘Come.’ She put her finger to her l
ips and smiled. It was the same impish grin that he remembered, though the face was more mature, the eyes less light-hearted.

  With a glance at the forbidding blank windows of the manse he ducked behind the bushes out of sight and crouched beside her in the darkness under the glossy leaves.

  She pressed her lips against his cheek. ‘Hello, A-dam.’

  ‘Hello, you.’ He hesitated, embarrassed as he felt her hands pressing against his chest.

  ‘Is your father there?’ She was whispering and he could feel her hair tickling his face.

  ‘I don’t know.’ There were no lights on in the house that he could see.

  She had found his hand. Grabbing it she pulled him to his feet and they stood together, peering out across the grass. ‘Come.’ She gave a small tug at his wrist.

  The gate could be seen from his father’s study. He glanced again at the dark square windows and his courage failed him. ‘This way,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll go over the back.’

  They ducked hand in hand into the shadows beneath the apple trees and ran round the house towards the regimented rows of potatoes and onions. Skirting the beds of vegetables, Adam led her to the pile of cut logs stacked against the wall, and out of sight of every window in the house save that of the empty kitchen he pulled her up to scramble over the loose stones and jump down onto the soft springy grass at the edge of the lane.

  By the time they had reached the steep climb through the wood beside the burn they were both out of breath and laughing.

  ‘Quickly, quickly, my mother will have food.’ Brid’s hair was slipping from its braids. Far above them the stone was still in sunlight. It was strange to stand in the shadowed valley and see the distant illumination like a spotlight. Adam stopped, looking up, and he shivered. ‘I hate it when the glen gets dark before the mountain. I always want to be up there, where I can see the setting sun.’

  ‘We go up.’ She looked at him closely, her head to one side. ‘You are growing big, A-dam.’

  ‘So are you,’ he retaliated. They both smiled and suddenly she had turned and set off ahead of him at the run. He was after her in a flash and had caught up with her before she had gone a dozen yards. They were in a small mossy dell, sheltered by a stand of silver birch. Somewhere out of sight Adam could hear the trickle of water from a hidden burn.

  It was she who pushed against him, nuzzling his neck with her lips, she who, fumbling with his buttons, undid his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, she who fondled and stroked his chest till he lost his breath in the back of his throat and was galvanised at last to reach for her body through the embroidered gown. With a throaty laugh she undid the girdle at her waist and with a small wriggle let the garment fall to her feet, leaving her naked in his arms, dragging at the belt which fastened his shorts.

  This time they took longer, savouring one another’s bodies, touching each other with gentle exploratory fingers which only gradually grew more urgent until at last Adam pushed her back and threw himself upon her, feeling his whole being expending itself between her lithe, compliant thighs.

  When it was over they lay in sleepy contentment for a while. Then she slid from beneath him and climbing to her feet picked bits of moss and fern from her body, completely unembarrassed as she walked across the clearing to the stream which she found running through the rocks. Cupping the water in her palms she washed herself, then she turned. ‘Now you, A-dam.’

  Spent, he lay back on the grass. ‘Not yet. I want to rest.’

  ‘Now, A-dam.’ He remembered the stern tone, but not in time. The double palm-load of icy water caught him full in the face.

  He only caught up with her as they reached the stone. Laughing, he imprisoned her against it, a hand on either side of her shoulders, not letting her wriggle away. ‘A kiss for a forfeit.’

  ‘No, A-dam. Not here.’ Suddenly she was afraid.

  It was his turn to be stern. ‘A kiss, Brid, or I won’t let you go.’

  ‘No, A-dam.’ She tried again to wriggle free. ‘Not here. We will be seen.’ She was angry. Her eyes narrowed and he was astonished at the sudden change in her expression.

  ‘Seen?’ He did not release her. ‘By Gartnait?’

  ‘By the god.’ She looked defiant.

  ‘Oh, Brid.’ Irritated, he released her and stepped back. ‘You think there are gods everywhere. I’ve told you it isn’t true. There is only one true God.’

  ‘I know.’ Stepping away from the stone she dusted herself off furiously. ‘So you say. The Jesus god.’ The Jesus god was powerful. His servant Columcille had several times now outwitted Broichan, to Broichan’s fury. But then Broichan’s strength had rallied … She put her uncle hastily out of her mind. There must be no possibility of him probing her thoughts and discovering Adam there. Broichan had brought her south himself, to visit her mother whilst he went on to Abernethy. There would be several long blissful days before he returned, days she intended to spend with Adam.

  ‘Jesus won’t care if we kiss here, anyway. Crosses are idolatrous.’ Adam had shoved his hands into his pockets. His face was burning suddenly. He was remembering the kirk and his father’s grey haggard face above him in the pulpit, the burning eyes boring down into his. He shivered as Brid reached for his hand.

  The bothy was deserted. Brid did not seem worried by Gemma’s absence. Quite the contrary, as it gave them more time together. Sitting down by the fire Adam waited while she brought him some heather ale, then he pulled her down beside him. ‘So, tell me about your studies.’

  She shook her head. ‘That is not allowed.’

  ‘Why?’ He stared at her wide-eyed.

  ‘Because it is secret. I am not permitted to say.’

  ‘That’s silly.’ He leaned forward and picking up a stick poked the fire with it. A tongue of flame shot from between the peats. Standing on a stone beside it was one of Gemma’s iron cooking pots. The familiar succulent smell of venison stew seeped from beneath the lid. ‘Where is your mother?’ He changed the subject abruptly.

  Brid shrugged. ‘She will come.’ She glanced over her shoulder and frowned. ‘She and Gartnait are near.’

  Following her gaze Adam stared into the old pine trees. The red-barked trunks caught the evening light and glowed with a warm intensity, but behind them the shadows were cool and dark. He could see nothing in the heart of the wood.

  Brid had risen to her feet. She was staring anxiously, her hands clasping and unclasping on the folds of her skirt. ‘Something is wrong.’

  Adam was watching her, catching something of her anxiety. ‘Should we hide?’

  She shook her head, concentrating, and he fell silent.

  ‘My uncle,’ she whispered suddenly. ‘He is here in my head. There is blood! Someone is hurt. Gartnait!’ She had gone very white.

  He did not ask her how she knew. Nervously he moved behind her. ‘What do we do?’ he asked under his breath.

  ‘Wait.’ She raised her hand, gesturing him back, then she spun to face him.

  ‘This way!’ she cried. She was already running towards the trees.

  They found Gartnait lying beneath one of the old pines, his head cradled on his mother’s lap. His face was like chalk and his eyes were closed. The shoulder of his tunic was soaked in blood.

  Gemma looked up. ‘Brid?’ The one word was a desperate plea.

  Brid was already on her knees by her brother, her hands flying over his body, barely touching him as though feeling for his wounds.

  ‘How is he?’ Adam knelt beside her. He smiled uncertainly at Gemma and shyly reached over to pat her hand.

  ‘A-dam. Good boy.’ Gemma’s face was tired, but she managed to return the smile.

  ‘What happened?’

  She shook her head. ‘The tree break. Gartnait should know not to be there.’ She gestured at the fallen branch with its rotten shredded broken end and near it the axe Gartnait must have been wielding when he was hit.

  Brid had pulled away the blood-soaked fabric of the shirt. ‘It was Br
oichan. He has done this to punish me.’ She was tight-lipped.

  ‘Broichan?’ Gemma stared at her, shocked.

  Brid looked up, her face hard. ‘Broichan. Enough. I will make Gartnait better. He is hurting.’ She glanced up at Adam. ‘I will make my brother sleep while we clean the wound.’

  He did not stop to ask her how. ‘Shall I fetch some water?’

  She nodded. ‘Good. And moss. From the wood box under the lamp.’

  ‘Moss?’ He hesitated at the word but she was already cutting away her brother’s shirt with the small knife she carried in her girdle.

  Adam filled a leather bucket with cold water from the burn and found the moss as she had predicted in a small chest in the hut below a bronze candlestick. Also in the box were some small pots of ointment. He sniffed them cautiously and decided to take them all.

  Brid nodded approval when he put his finds beside her. Gartnait was lying before her quietly, his face relaxed, his eyes closed. Adam watched as with neat deft fingers Brid swabbed the deep bruised cut she had exposed over Gartnait’s collar bone and applied one of the ointments he had produced. Satisfied that it was properly cleansed and sealed she packed the wound with moss and while Adam held it in place deftly bandaged it with her own girdle.

  She glanced up at Adam and gave a quick, worried smile of approval. ‘You make good healer.’

  He smiled. ‘I want to be a doctor when I grow up.’

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Healer.’

  She nodded. ‘Good. Now, Gartnait must come back.’ She put her palm flat over the unconscious young man’s forehead and sat quietly, her eyes closed.

  Adam watched, intrigued. ‘What are you doing?’ he whispered at last.

  She glanced up, surprised. ‘I put him to sleep so he could go away from the pain. He waited while we make it better. Now I go and tell him he can come back. The pain is not so bad, and it is better he come to home and we make him medicine to stop the hot time coming.’