by Lexi Ander
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HE WOKE LATER WHEN Ewen added his pallet and covering to Roi’s. The air was cold and moist when he lifted the fur to lie next to Roi. Oddly, Ewen’s clothes were cool, yet his skin seemed warmer than Roi’s.
“Ewen.” The timing was wrong, but his liege had dodged Roi all eventide and he needed to ask the question whilst he had the chance. He had said Roi’s duties would change, though not what they would be.
“Aye, Roi,” Ewen mumbled into the back of Roi’s neck, sounding half asleep.
“What position do I serve in yer household?” Suspecting what Roi did about Ewen’s status, surely he would already have a manservant. What would Roi’s duties be once they reached Ewen’s home?
Ewen breathed deeply. Roi thought him asleep when of a sudden, Ewen answered, “You be the beast’s companion.”
The peoples of the Highland wilderness were pastoral? What types of animals would they care for? Roi must have spent more time mulling over Ewen’s confounding words than he thought, for when he asked Ewen what a beast’s companion did, Ewen snored loudly. It seemed Roi would not acquire a proper answer until morn.
Wriggling out from under Ewen’s arm, Roi stumbled to the edge of the low firelight, blinking rapidly in order to see into the dark woods. He would not go far. Roi had learned his lesson earlier about the hazards of the forest floor. He simply needed discreet cover to relieve himself, unlike some who needed no privacy unless in the proximity of the fairer sex. Though he had been raised amongst priests in Cerridwen’s Temple of the Moon, being pagan did not mean he was heathen as well.
Finding sufficient cover, Roi leaned against the tree. Somehow, his belted cloak had become askew, hanging longer upon one side than the other. After all, he had mimicked Ewen’s kinsmen who crawled into their pallet fully clothed. Roi had slept clothed afore, simply not in as much as he wore now. The garments of the island people had been heavily influenced by their Norse and Gaelic ancestors, and Roi was beginning to believe his robes and simple breeches had far less material than the Ewen’s infernal ancestral garb.
Finally no longer encumbered, Roi sighed as he released his water and stared out into the forest, wondering again what the duties of a beast’s keeper were. He had heard Highlanders mainly raised cattle, so would he be accountable for all of Ewen’s animals? What made Ewen believe Roi could handle animal husbandry? He knew not what to do with them, other than stay out of their way, given the great horns on their heads. Give him a sword, medicinals, wood to carve, or even a small garden plot, Roi knew his way about those. As an excellent fisher, he could also skilfully repair many types of nets. But he would likely not be fleet enough of foot to chase cattle about.
Try as he might, Roi could not say he was overjoyed with his new position, which he was woefully unready for. It would be a huge disaster, he was sure. As much as Roi enjoyed spending time with Ewen and getting to know his leige, he could not picture himself being happy as a beast’s keeper. However he had spent much of his life helping others, and being useful in a dozen other ways. Mayhap there was something else he could do to earn his keep.
When Gillie Ainndreis and his Christian followers had torched Roi’s temple, the few fiercely guarded books they had owned were destroyed along with all the scrolls. Roi missed reading, and it appeared he mayn’t be in a position to do so again. Instead, if Ewen desired to come to Roi, he would stink of animal and dung. Roi wrinkled his nose in repugnance. Knowing what he did about health and apothecary, Roi tended to be careful of personal cleanliness. Would it even be possible as a beast’s keeper?
He shook off and settled the belted cloak into place. One of the leggings had sagged to barely above the knee, and the lacing of the soft boot had come undone. Roi ignored them. Camp was not far, and he would need the firelight in order to figure out how to retie them both. Upon the morrow Roi would insist upon trouse and a plain tunic, otherwise he might strangle himself upon Ewen’s ancestral garb.
The sigh he exhaled carried, seeming louder than he had intended. Living past his fated death, travelling down this strange road to a new destiny Roi could decipher not, both discomfited and confounded him. An utterly new view greeted him, and lately he found himself lost in the unknown. Roi was accustomed to being a priest, a keeper of the temple of his goddess. What did he know of the manner in which a Highland toisech lived? What were the customs of his people? He wished not to disappoint Ewen, yet his lack of knowledge and skill guaranteed he would.
An odd noise sounded off to his right. Roi had been staring off into the dark, seeing naught whilst his mind turned over his circumstances instead of rushing back to the safety of camp. All his life, Roi had lived by the sea. The Northmen were fond of telling hunting tales and describing the predators of the forest. Roi’s imagination supplied a horde of huge, rabid beasts that would rather eat him than ignore the ignorant fool who dared piss in their wood. The rustling came again, now betwixt Roi and the muted glow of the campfire.
A large animal walked along the edge of campfire’s dim light, nose to the ground as it sniffed much like a hunting dog tracking a scent. Roi held his breath as his heart sought to beat its way from his chest. Glancing about, he became aware of the harsh truth: he had left sword and dagger in camp. For truly, nothing his gaze touched upon could be used to defend himself. His body bade him run, but his mind called back to all the tellings from hunters who said Roi would die if he did.
Hope quickened his blood when he spied a huge old tree that even someone as out of place as he could hastily climb with little trouble. The sprawling branches were Roi’s only hope. If he called out, the creature would be upon him afore Ewen or his kinsmen could discover him. Roi had no hope of overcoming the beast unarmed, and he could not slip away afoot. A sickening thought, that mayhap the creature might climb the tree as well, dulled Roi’s growing hope. The large, round shape lifted its head towards him.
Roi ran.
He imagined every Northman he called friend jeered at him as his legs pushed him towards the haven of the tree, his mind’s eye holding the vision of a huge boar pursuing him. Or it mayhap it be one of those big cats with teeth longer than his fingers and claws able to open his soft belly with ease. Behind Roi came the harsh, appalling noise of breaking branches and disturbed forest litter as the creature gave chase.
He leapt and struggled up onto the lowest branch, too dismayed to glance behind him to descry where the animal was. Roi climbed up a few branches until there be sufficient distance betwixt him and the forest floor afore he chanced a look. The creature sat idly at the base of the tree. Roi had yet to call to mind what the animal might be, and even though he harboured a pinch of desire to know, he would be dropping down to check breed or gender of said animal no time soon.
The loose legging was lost, along with the boot. Roi bled from a couple of places, but in the dark they did not appear to be deep. He thought he had not gone far, natheless when Roi searched for the glow of the fire, he found naught. He dashed away the thought of calling for help when he imagined every hungry animal gathering under the tree to devour him. He would wait for the creature to wander away, then run back to camp. When Roi glanced down again, the dark beast still sat at the base of the tree, from time to time letting out odd grunting noises.
The rain started as a fine mist and worked its way up to fat, heavy drops. Roi curled woefully up against the main trunk of the tree and pulled the cowl of the cloak’s hood about his head and shoulders. He wondered, briefly, how he would endure this new yet curious way of life.
Roi dozed lightly, bone weary but too afeard of tumbling from the tree to truly rest. Each time he glanced down, the animal lay at the base. After a time, the barest lightening of the cloudy sky heralded the dawning of a new day. He closed his eyes once more to await the dawn.
“Will you stay up there all day?”
He startled awake, clutching at the rough bark to keep from pitching forward off the branch. Ewen stood below, staring up at him. Bare chested, his
liege only wore his red speckled cloak belted at the waist, leather greaves, and boots. His feet were spread a measured length from each other upon the muddy ground as he gazed up.
Afeard for Ewen’s safety, Roi sought a sign of the beast. “Ewen, it be not safe,” he hissed down as loud as he dared. “There be a large animal…”
Behind Ewen appeared a huge brown bear, the muzzle a black-brown. Roi pointed with burning dread, fear gripped his throat rendering him unable to speak. The bear stood upon its hind legs and gave a mighty bellow that made the hair upon Roi’s arms stand upon end. Ewen calmly turned to gaze at the beast.
“Fool! Do not wait for it to eat ye!” Roi bit out. Why did Ewen not move? Roi’s mind was split betwixt descending the tree and fetching Ewen or climbing farther up himself.
Ewen laughed. “He be the reason you slumbered in the tree?”
Were all Highlanders this carelessly reckless when it came to wild animals? Was there a trick to taming the beast that Roi knew not? Ready to bellow a bitter speech of foul curses at Ewen for his odd behaviour and unwarranted laughter at Roi’s keen sense of self-preservation, another, more lightly coloured bear came barrelling out of nowhere to hit the looming brown bear. The two tumbled in a whirl of limbs. First there were churlish noises of rancour, and then the two beasts gave forth sounds of pain. Ewen stood and grinned fondly at the thrashing creatures. How had Roi missed the signs of lunacy? Ewen had seemed perfectly normal until now.
Roi had faced armed men at the threshold of his temple, held a centre of calm when he braved the threat of flame as Gillie Ainndreis’ men scathed his visage, and fought for days in a battle with over fifteen thousand men to come away without a wound or mark. Yet never had Roi felt such affright. He understood that part of the fear was the unknown; he had always seen the path he needed to take, and now the dreams had dried up, leaving him oddly vacant. Some of the dread came from new customs and people and the uncertainty of his obligations. This strange new life Roi was not well-acquainted with, for he knew little of how to live away from the sea. How could he rely upon Ewen when Roi did not know him? What kind of future did Ewen bring to Roi’s doorstep with his cold shoulder and secrets he alluded to but never spoke of? Roi was aware of all of this, yet his mind’s reasoning was firmly intent on closing down, allowing the base urges to be brought to the fore, taking over his deeds.
With ever quickening movements, Roi climbed farther up the tree, looking for a way to escape, seeking a place of safety, firmly intent on putting more distance betwixt him and all that no longer made sense.
“Roi, what be you doing? Where be you going?”
He missed the sound of the waves against the beach, the smell of the salty air. Never would he hear another storm come across the water, behold the sun melt into the ocean.
“Roi, you have to stop.”
Trees like this one did not grow upon the islands. Roi had never been in a grove, much less a wildwood. The sight strangled his senses, made him feel as if his nose were pinched and a hand blocked the breath of his mouth. Rather than drowning by water, Roi was choked by the harsh colours and this new landscape that pressed in upon him. No, no forests sat upon the islands. Only carpets of greenery and stubbly rocks with flowing beds of flowers in the summer. No temple stood there now either. It had been burnt to the ground.
“Roi!”
The scream of anger halted Roi’s mad thoughts. When he glanced down, Ewen appeared much, much smaller than afore. The branches under him swayed in the breeze, rocking Roi and soothing his frayed nerves.
Ewen lifted his hand, fingers curling towards Roi, once, twice, in a come-hither gesture. “I need you to come back down.”
The two bears had stopped fighting, and they too stared up. Why would he climb down?
The bears’ manners were off. Was the forest enchanted? Had Roi by chance stumbled upon a sacred place, and this was the reason for Ewen’s ease? Roi had heard tellings of the faeries, such as the ghillie dhu, yet he had never been sure if he believed the wild, unlikely tales. Not to say that Roi doubted every enchanting tale of fantastical beings and magical places, that which for the most part went unseen by man’s eye. After all, he received visions of the future from a goddess and read most people’s intent at a glance. Who was he to dismiss the impossible when he himself had performed the unlikely?
Below, the form of the bears began to change as they both stood upon their hind legs, taking the shape of men until Donn and Arailt stood in place of the two animals. Stricken dumb, all he could do was stare. There were no words of wonder, for his mind went utterly blank and his limbs began to feel heavy and blunt.
“Roi.” The anger fled from Ewen’s voice. “Would you please come down?”
The branches continued to sway on the wind, rocking him gently like a babe in its mother’s arms. The motion slowly freed him from the rough and harmful thoughts plaguing him, replacing them with the calm of the high places. He finally grasped how bone weary he felt. After a long, wet night without sleep his hands and feet were chilled. And then Roi noticed her: a tawny owl upon a branch not too far from his delicate perch. She had a rounded head and a rounded body no bigger than a pigeon. A dark ring of feathers surrounded her face and eyes, the colour mainly reddish-brown above the paler ones.
Cerridwen’s bird of prey watched Roi as if she awaited him to grasp a matter of great weight. Why was she there? For that matter, why had Cerridwen left him in the land of the living? The bird and Roi spent a long while staring at each other. The tilt of her head conveyed that she awaited him to listen long enough to become aware of that which would answer his questions.
Then he understood. Naught about the confounding chaos that being inland stirred in him, but enough. Enough to bestow unto him a peace of mind he sorely needed.
“Thank you,” he whispered, not wanting those below to hear him. “Thank you for reminding me there be more than what I perceive with me eyes.” Without words, Cerridwen’s silent messenger assured Roi he had been not cast away again.
Leaving the height of the tree with a cloak belted about him would be not as easy as climbing up had been. Halfway down, the dead branch under Roi’s foot made a sudden, sharp sound and gave way, leaving him hanging, swinging by one hand from the limb above.
Ewen called his name more than once, talking quickly, but Roi could not listen to him and climb at the same time. Unwrapping the sodden cloak, he dropped it to the forest floor, leaving him clad in simply a boot, a legging, and a thigh-long linen tunic that did naught to keep his stones and breech covered. The cloak had hindered his downward climb, snagging upon branches, and would have caused him to fall if he had worn it much longer.
As he hung from the last limb, a warm, a rough hand grasped his bare ankle. He heaved a sigh of relief. Believing his liege when Ewen vowed he would catch him, Roi let himself fall into the arms of Ewen and his kinsmen. He glanced up at the tree, amazed he had in sooth climbed the height, and then down, without breaking a limb—or his neck. Cold and weariness caused Roi to tremble. A dry cloak, not his own, wrapped about him.
Ewen roughly massaged Roi’s numb hands, the fingernails chipped, torn, and an alarming shade of blue. Donn and Arailt loomed close by, their countenances ones of worry. At some point in Roi’s descent they had dressed, whether truly or falsely, and they appeared unchanged from who they were yesterday.
“You stubborn man.” Ewen cupped his face, drawing Roi’s gaze to his.
Angry with Ewen, albeit too stunned to speak of his displeasure, Roi chose instead to answer the question instead of causing a scene. “There be nowhere else to go with feral beasts fighting below.” He had not meant to run; it was not an action he was proud of.
“I meant not to scare ye.” Donn’s cheeks flushed a rose pink. “I thought Ewen told ye about us. I came across ye when I were making the rounds, and did not look for ye to run and climb a tree.”
“Methinks there be a great many things I do not know about all of ye,” Roi replied angrily.
“I be merely a body servant, of no matter or station. Why would he draw me, a stranger, a spoil of war, into his confidence? He knows me not, and neither do I know him. He hinted at a secret, a gift of yer people, but any guess given would have been nothing like the truth revealed this day.” Roi barely kept the frost from his voice. It was not Donn’s fault Roi had not been warned.
“Why did you not come and call for me earlier?” Ewen demanded, brushing off Roi’s ire.
His liege might well have ignored him; as Roi had said, he held no status with Lord Ewen or his kinsmen. A gift of the king, mayhap a willing gift, but a possession natheless. Roi broke away and stumbled towards where he believed the camp to be. Along the way he came across his lost legging and boot. Roi snagged them off the forest floor without stopping. Ewen, Donn, and Arailt trailed behind, the chatter betwixt them easy to follow.
“Too many large animal scents upon the wind.”
“Both humans and dog,” Arailt added.
“There be a lynx that came through. I thought the small cats had been gone from the forest for some time. She moved away from the smells left by the men, staying a distance and watching us. I could not chance leaving Roi alone if the men were close. Neither could I call for help and give us away.”
Reaching the camp, Roi saw the furs had been taken up, the oxen hitched to the wains. He approached one of the wains, and sorted through his few belongings for a pair of trouse. He leaned against the step as he unwrapped the remaining legging then pulling the trouse over his chilled leg.
Roi interrupted their suppositions. “Be all of yer kinsmen like Donn and Arailt, or only those who carry the essence I behold about some of ye?” His tone was churlish yet he could not bring himself to care.
