by Jo Walton
He wrapped himself in his cloak and walked up to the bonfire height, where he had stood to watch Darag leave. He wasn’t entirely surprised to see Emer up there, shivering. They greeted each other and then stood in their separate silences. The snow was thickening, and as it began to grow dark, Ferdia was ready to suggest they go back together. Then a figure appeared, making his way down among the rocks. He couldn’t tell for a moment which of them it was, which was ridiculous considering how much taller Conal had grown this last year. When he saw that it was Conal, he felt a great relief. He slipped away, leaving Emer to greet him. They wouldn’t have wanted him there any more than he wanted to talk to them. When he came into the hall, brushing the snow off his shoulders, Elenn was there again, waiting for him.
“Conal’s back,” he said.
She smiled. “You never doubted Darag would win, did you?”
He hadn’t, really. He didn’t like to say that Darag would likely win anything that touched the world of the gods. Darag so hated feeling the weight of that. He wouldn’t want everyone knowing. Nor did Ferdia want to claim victory until Darag was back and risk ill-wishing him. “I have never doubted that he is the best,” Ferdia said. He let her take his wet cloak.
Emer did not sing that night. Conal told his story straight after dinner. “I have been away two nights, but to me it felt like three,” he began. “The first night, I went up first and alone, and saw no sign of the others coming to join me. The cave mouth was very dark when I reached it. I did not go inside but walked to and fro outside the entrance. For hours, nothing happened, but I kept moving, doing some exercises to keep warm. Then, in the depths of that first night, a creature came out of the cave. I have heard talk of monsters, and I suppose it was monstrous, yet it seemed to me somehow beautiful as well. It was like a huge black cat, bigger than I am, with claws like swords. I fought it all over the heights. At last, I slew it among the rocks on the very summit. I went back to the cave mouth, and after a short time, a troop of armed warriors came out. They did not see me at first and I heard them talking, using a language that was completely strange to me. They were strangely armed, too. Most of them had only short spears which they carried against their shoulders.”
Conal paused, staring into space. “I hadn’t been told to kill anyone that came out of the cave, only to defend myself against attack, so I followed them. They went over the hill, talking quietly. There were twelve of them, too many for me to fight alone, but not a whole army. I saw a woman who seemed to be their leader, and I thought she was explaining to them how they would ambush something. They were folk like I have never seen. I followed them until they seemed to melt from one minute to the next as they came over the crest of the hill near where I had slain the beast.”
“Do you think they were the spirits of our ancestors?” Allel asked. “Maybe the woman was Crua, who founded this dun?”
“Maybe,” Conal said, but he shook his head. “I only saw them in the darkness. They usually took good care not to be seen against the sky, as if they were hiding from someone. But I thought they had short hair. I would be very interested to talk to the priests about them. In any case, I went back to the cave mouth, my mind full of speculation. I watched for the rest of the night, and watched the sun come up. There was a chill mist clinging to the top of the hill. I saw ravens now and then throughout the day, but nothing else. I ate some of the provisions I had brought with me, and I slept a little, around midday when it seemed safest. I also went up to the top of the heights, to examine the body of the beast in daylight. It was gone, there was no sign of it. Nor could I find any prints of the people I had been following, nor even of my own. The ground was hard, but the thin winter grass did not even seem bent. The night came soon enough. That second night, I was attacked almost as soon as the sun was down. Bats came streaming out of the cave like smoke. I say they were bats, but they were not like normal bats for they came towards me plainly intent on attack. I fought them for a long time in the darkness, trying to protect my face from them.” He shuddered, and Ferdia shuddered in sympathy. He had never liked bats.
“Towards morning, they left and I saw people again, two men who attacked me as if they knew and hated me. I think they called my name. I fought and killed them both, but when dawn came, their bodies were gone. The day was damp and misty again. Unlike the day before, I did not sleep at all. I found I had some tiny bites from the bats, and sang charms over them. When night came, I tied my hair back very carefully in case more bats came. There were no bats. What came out was a troop of four huge horses.
“The first horse carried a woman slumped over the saddle. The second carried a warrior. The third carried a man who seemed to be me, and the last carried a woman who seemed to be my charioteer, Emer ap Allel. I called to her, but they all rode on as if they could not see or hear me. I ran after them, but however fast I ran, I could not gain on the horses, though they were only walking and I was running as fast as I could. I could not catch up, but as I went back towards the cave, I saw the man I had thought was me, walking now. I saw that he was badly wounded. He kept murmuring for water, but when I tried to give him my water bottle, he didn’t seem to see me. At last, I went back to the cave, walking to and fro quietly, reciting poetry inwardly to keep myself calm and awake.”
Conal smiled reassuringly at Emer, and then looked around at the puzzled faces in the hall. “I don’t understand it either,” he said. “I’m nearly finished. Near dawn a huge man came out of the cave carrying an ax. ‘Conal ap Amagien,’ he said, ‘let us have a contest. Kneel, and I will strike off your head, and then you may do the same for me.’ ‘Let me rather strike first,’ I replied. ‘And let me know your name, for it seems you know mine.’ ‘I am called Bachlach,’ he said and laughed, so that I knew his name meant something, though I had never heard it before. He then handed me his huge ax and knelt before me. I hewed as hard as I could and chopped off his head. He then stood, picked up his head, put it under his arm, and bowed to me.” Conal hesitated. “I think he went away, back into the cave. Perhaps I fell asleep. The next thing I knew, it was morning, a wintry morning with some snow in the air. I waited all day and returned here at sunset, to find that only two days had passed, and not the three I had experienced.”
There was much muttering about Conal’s story, especially about the strangely armed people and the huge man, Bachlach. Elenn seemed especially concerned about Conal seeing Emer on a horse and kept asking what it could possibly mean.
“His death, do you think?” Mingor asked. “Seeing himself as an old man wounded and looking for water?”
“I’m glad I never have to go up that hill,” Elenn said.
“Kings only have to spend one night,” Mingor said, not sounding very happy about it.
Ferdia was glad the kingship ritual of Lagin was nothing so unpleasant. He didn’t see why Maga had thought this an appropriate test, unless she had also wanted to make sure Darag would win. He wondered what Darag was seeing, out there beyond the walls of the dun.
The next day was bright and very cold. At sunset, everyone gathered again at the bonfire height. Ferdia and Laig were there first, and the others came by ones and twos until the hillside was full, the way it had been when they all left. Maga and Allel were both there, dressed in their finery. Conal looked better for his night’s sleep, and Leary’s arm was evidently healed enough that he did not need it bandaged anymore. Elenn came over to stand with him and Laig. Ferdia wished she wouldn’t take the puppy with her everywhere, or at least that she would train her to wait quietly. The puppy ran about, chasing smells. At least she showed no sign of trying to go up the hill. Laig talked to Elenn about how she should train her, most of it sensible advice that he doubted Elenn would follow. They waited until it was much darker than it had been the night before when Conal came down. The conversation died down as sunset passed.
“What happens if he doesn’t come until tomorrow?” Laig asked. The thought had crossed Ferdia’s mind, too. Was four days closer to three
than two? Past that came the thought he did not want to think at all—what if he never came? What if the dark world he feared claimed him entirely?
“There he is,” Elenn said, pointing. And there was Darag, making his way slowly down.
“Greetings, Darag, first among the young champions of Oriel,” Maga said as he came down among them.
He looked dazed. He ignored her entirely and went up to Ferdia, who let him lean on his arm. “Get me to where I can sleep safely,” he muttered.
“Darag’s very tired, he needs to sleep before he talks,” Ferdia said as loudly and decisively as he could. Nobody argued. “Are you wounded?” he asked quietly.
“Nothing to make a fuss about,” Darag said. “I just need to rest.”
He and Laig supported Darag back to the hall. They took him to the room where they had been sleeping and undressed him. He let them do it, he was almost asleep already. He was cold, and wounded in several places by what seemed to be teeth and claws as well as a sword. Laig insisted it was his place as charioteer to sing over the wounds, so Ferdia let him. They wrapped Darag in warm blankets, and Ferdia lay down beside him so he could share his warmth with his friend. Laig lay down on Darag’s other side, and they all three stayed like that all night, not going into the hall to eat.
In the morning, Darag woke very early, in the first light of dawn. He woke Ferdia by laughing.
“There can’t be anything much wrong if you’re giggling like that,” Ferdia said, deeply relieved.
“You were snoring low and Laig was snoring high,” Darag said. Laig was still snoring, proving Darag’s point.
“So what happened?” Ferdia asked.
“Oh, lots of strange things,” Darag said dismissively.
“You’ll have to do better than that when you tell your story in the hall,” Ferdia said.
“Nive’s hair, is that what she’s making us do? What happened with the others? I know I was last down and won. I wasn’t quite so far out of it as that.”
“Leary lasted one day, Conal two. They both thought they’d done three. Leary fought a monster and some warriors. Conal had some very strange adventures, including seeing himself as an old man and meeting an ogre who cut off his head,” Ferdia said.
“Bachlach,” Darag said. “He cut off mine, and I knelt for him to do it. I’ll mention him. There’s ever such a lot I won’t say, though, daren’t say to Maga.” He yawned. “I think I’ll sleep a little more now. I didn’t sleep a wink for three days. I’ll tell you all about it when I wake up again.”
He put his head down and was asleep again almost at once. Ferdia lay propped up on his elbow, feeling happy and proud, watching over Darag as he slept.
6
THE SUITORS
21
(CONAL)
Conal took a deep breath and smiled pleasantly. Nobody was looking at him except Inis, but he had to be ready for Maga. It was half a month before the Feast of Bel and he was back in Connat again, trying to prevent a full-scale war after four anguished months at home. It had taken all his powers of persuasion even to get Conary to agree to let him come.
Orlam was pacing all around the little house where the four of them had been left to wait. “They can’t do this to us,” she said, touching her hand to the green leaves on the spray of beech pinning her cloak together. Conal glanced down at his matching one for a second.
Ap Carbad, who, as senior herald, had carried the large branch all the way from Ardmachan, shook his head. “If word goes out that Maga has abused heralds, she will lose her allies, and if she were to kill us, Conary would in honor be bound to invade Connat,” he said. “But we are only being kept waiting, not abused so far.”
“Her allies might not take any notice,” Conal said. “They’re panting at the prospect of carving up Oriel.” He would never have believed things could be so bad. A year ago, he had fought off Atha’s attack. Now Atha was their only ally, and depending on what Beastmother’s threat had meant, Oriel might be about to be destroyed. Suffer, he thought for the thousandth time, turning it over in his mind. Suffer as the mare suffered. The mare had died. Would they all die in the first battle? Or die as soon as the border was crossed? Or would they all be in some way struck down, transformed and helpless as his dreams told him? In some ways, that would be the worst of all.
Ap Carbad sighed. “Can a kingdom be carved up like a cow?” Immediately, Conal’s overactive mind offered up the image of Amagien carving the cow at Edar. The first among the young champions. His father would never forgive him for losing, never. He would never forgive himself. He felt sick at the memory. “Would the gods allow it?”
Inis looked up. “Kingdoms can be lost. The victors make a new peace with the gods of the land. This is how our ancestors took Tir Isarnagiri. It isn’t even difficult. A man and a woman lie together on the earth and call on the gods to answer, and the world changes, names change. The land gods listen to the king, whoever the king is, and that is one way to make a kingdom.”
“But the law prevents such wars,” Orlam said gently. “Unless there is cause for a bloodfeud, and there is no such cause here. No cause at all.”
“The law is what we have come to call on,” ap Carbad said. “We will tell Maga that she will be placed under the Ban if she takes advantage of our weakness to invade for her own power.”
“It will be enforced,” Orlam said. “It might be little comfort to us afterwards, but they are sure at Rathadun. And the threat of the Ban ought to be enough to prevent Maga from this course.”
“Or anyone,” ap Carbad said. “Why do people risk such wars, dead against the Ward?”
“Feuds, or invasions of strangers,” Inis said, and his eyes had that glaze that meant he was looking across the worlds. “Or the Ward may be broken. All these things are coming, too. Soon, but not yet. Maga is enough for now, and set on her purposes.”
Conal had about a thousand questions, but he knew better than to ask his grandfather. “That’s not cheering news,” he said. Inis grinned.
Ap Carbad frowned. “That Beastmother is ready to destroy all of us for breaking our covenants with the animals is hardly cheering news either,” he said sternly. “Don’t make remarks like that to Maga. I told Conary you were the wrong choice for this mission. Too young and frivolous.” He sniffed.
“My father said the same,” Conal said and smiled.
Orlam whirled around. “Can we stop having this stupid argument? We’re all heralds of Oriel. We need to be united. Conal is here and will do what he can. Conary wanted to send a nephew. Darag is … busy, and my brother would hardly be appropriate.”
Being as it was all Leary’s fault that Maga knew about their weakness, to be sure. Conal would have replied with an attempt to conciliate ap Carbad, but the door opened and a champion of Connat came in. “Come to the Lower Hall, Maga will see you now,” he said, bowing.
They followed him out in silence.
The Lower Hall was crowded. Maga and Allel sat together on a bench at one end, their three children standing behind them. Conal didn’t look at anything else for a while, for there was Emer, Emer at last. His heart rose at the sight of her after so long. She looked tired and sad, and her face was pulled down where her scar was. He longed to hold her, to smooth her cheek, to get into a chariot with her and drive far away. She smiled when their eyes met, which was enough to let him know that everything was all right. Then she looked away.
To her right stood two priests, one middle-aged, his shawl folded tidily, the other very old, her white hair so thin that it hardly showed where it was cut for the gods. Her eyes were very dark and alert, moving over the crowd. To Maga’s left stood a man who must be her lawspeaker. He was smiling at Orlam. Next to him was ap Dair the Poet. Conal looked over the crowd and was surprised to meet Ferdia’s eyes. He looked bemused, as so often. Conal felt a little sorry for him. Next to Ferdia was his father, Cethern of Lagin. He was looking at the heralds appraisingly. His uncle Lew of Anlar was there, too, dressed in armor, av
oiding Conal’s eyes. Things were very bad if even Anlar had deserted Oriel. Yet Lew’s being here in the hall might be good. All of the leaders of Maga’s allies must be here, and some of their champions as well as most of hers. Perhaps it would be possible to shame her in front of them.
After they had been given heralds’ welcomes and safe-conducts, ap Carbad spoke first as they had agreed, holding up his big beech branch.
“We have heard that you intend to make war on Oriel, and King Conary would know why.”
Maga smiled. Conal didn’t like to look at Maga. He had expected her to look like Elenn, but she didn’t. When she smiled like that, she looked like a twisted version of Emer. It was painful to see. “That’s easily answered,” she said. “We do not intend to make war.”
Ap Carbad was silent for a moment, clearly taken aback. “Then we have been misinformed,” he said in a tone of doubt.
“And all these military preparations we saw as we came south?” Conal asked, his tone one of polite inquiry.
Maga laughed. Conal looked away from her. Elenn, he noticed, was looking into the crowd. Mingor and Allel both looked at Maga with approval. Emer was frowning and staring at her feet. “We are planning a cattle raid,” Maga said, spreading her hands. “You see, my husband has a wonderful bull, and I would have one to match it for my herds. I have heard that Amagien the Poet has a truly wonderful bull, famed in song, at his farm of Edar.” Her eyes rested on Conal for a moment, full of contempt and triumph. “We have decided to go raiding up through Oriel until we should reach our prize or be stopped. There is nothing in the law against that, is there, lawspeaker?” She was so smug she was almost purring. A ripple of laughter ran around the court. Most of their arguments were demolished by this outrageous claim. A raid was different from a war.