by Cait Dee
Once the trout is cleaned and scaled, I use the dirk and a chunk of quartz to make a spark and get a fire going. Before long, the smell of roasting trout fills my mouth with water. Oil from the fish drips into the fire, making the flames hiss.
As we sit and watch our breakfast cook, I remember the last time I saw Dalziel guddle a trout. It was a few weeks before he’d left for Aberdeen. We’d returned to the bothy after spending the day fishing and foraging for birds’ eggs. Dalziel presented the trout to Grizel, who entreated him to stay for supper. While we were eating, a drunken Dougal Rennie showed up. He dragged Dalziel away by the ear, calling him a poacher and saying that he’d find himself at the end of a noose. Grizel tried to intercede but Dougal struck her across the cheek and she fell to the ground. I just stood there watching; breathless. Nobody had ever hit Grizel before. Her eyes blazed fire but she said nothing. After Dougal dragged Dalziel home, she rubbed a poultice of comfrey on the purple bruise that streaked across her cheek and told me never to speak of it.
‘Is Aberdeen all you expected?’ I ask Dalziel after we finish eating. It’s an odd thing to say, as if I were an old aunt engaging a small lad in conversation. But nothing comes easily between us now. It’s as though we’re out of step. I don’t even know how to talk to my oldest friend anymore.
Dalziel pokes at the dying fire with a stick. ‘I like it very well. The elders say that I have a quick mind, and that I have potential.’
‘For what, witch finding?’ The words come unbidden from my lips.
Dalziel stamps out the embers with a glare. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘Isn’t it? Why you, Dalziel?
‘Why me, what?’
‘Why did the witch finder choose you to ride with him? Why not another boy?’
‘Because I know the road to Strathcraig.’
‘And you knew Grizel.’
‘We should keep going; we’ve not made enough ground today.’ He stands up and gathers our belongings.
‘What did you tell him — Finster — about Grizel?’
After a long pause he says, ‘Nothing he didn’t know already.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘The trial was over by the time we reached Strathcraig.’
‘She healed people. She helped them. Did you tell him that?’
Dalziel starts walking faster but I am on his heels.
‘Answer me!’
He turns around and looks so furious that for a moment I fear he might strike me. ‘We’re not bairns anymore, Iona! This is the way the world is — do you not see? King Jamie himself says witchcraft is the scourge of the modern age. This is all anybody talks about at the university.’
‘But you never really believed it — that Grizel worked malefice against the Calders?’
He turns his face from me. ‘Nae, of course not. Not the charges they brought against her. I’m truly sorry about Grizel. She never showed me anything but kindness.’
‘Why didn’t you tell that to the elders? To Finster?’
‘I did,’ he says quietly. ‘I did speak out for her. Do you not think I remember what she did for my mother? Of course I told them what sort of person she was.’
‘And? What did they say?’
‘They said it doesn’t make any difference,’ he replies. ‘They said that anyone who works magic, for good or ill, cannot be saved.’
* * *
As the afternoon sun sinks towards the horizon, Dalziel warns that we will need to make a shelter. We find some fallen branches and make a lean-to and then sup on the remaining oatcakes and trout left over from breakfast. I pass Dalziel the flask and we share the last of Ishbel’s wine.
‘Och, I’d forgotten how good that was!’ He swallows the final draught.
‘Nobody makes grosset wine like Ishbel,’ I say, a feeling of melancholy starting to envelop me. ‘I’ll never taste it again.’
‘Don’t say that.’ Dalziel looks uncomfortable. ‘You’ll not be gone forever.’
‘How do you know? And how would you like it if you had to leave Heatherbrae, never to return?’
‘I did, if you recall. And I don’t regret it one bit. I’ve no mind to go back there. Oh, but you should see the university, Iona! All those brilliant scholars walking about in their black robes and velvet bonnets. And in Aberdeen there are folk plying every trade you can possibly think of, all living cheek by jowl. And you know, I saw the sea for the first time there. It goes on and on, forever. The sailors — they’ve tales the likes of which you’ve never heard before! You’ve no notion how vast the world is, not when you live in a tiny clachan like Heatherbrae.’ His eyes sparkle in the firelight.
My whole body stiffens. ‘Heatherbrae and its folk must seem dull indeed, after all that.’
He shakes his head. ‘You misunderstand me,’ he says. ‘Once your eyes are opened to the world, you cannot close them again. All you can think about now is that you’ve lost your home, and indeed that may be so. But you also have the whole world before you.’
A searing rage burns through me. ‘You can hardly compare my plight to yours! It was all arranged for you, Dalziel. Nobody gave me a letter of introduction and a scholarship. What do you suppose will become of me, out here all alone, with a witch hunter pursuing me?’
He avoids my gaze. ‘I do not wish to quarrel with you. All I was trying to —’
‘Pray hold your tongue before telling me how good I have it, when I watched them burn Grizel but two days ago.’
There follows a long, uncomfortable silence.
When my anger cools, a strange thought occurs to me. All through our childhood, Dalziel must have felt as unsafe as I do now. He could never lower his guard while he lived with Dougal.
‘Do you feel safe now? Is that why you love Aberdeen so?’ I ask him.
He swings around to glare at me. When we were growing up we never spoke of Dougal, not directly. A few times I tried to broach it with him, but he would never be drawn on the subject.
‘When I saw him, he told me my place was in Heatherbrae. He said I had no business reading at the university, that I was a good-for-nothing for leaving him to run the farm and that I must come home at once. So I said to him, “Over your dead body. If you ever see me again in your cot-house, you’ll know your end is come, old man.”’
‘You never did!’ I say, astounded. Dalziel was always terrified of his father. He wouldn’t have baited Dougal like that before, not deliberately.
His jaw is tight, his brow scarred by a frown. His eyes are as cold as the day I saw him in Strathcraig. Dalziel had good reason to hate his father, but the lad I knew so well only a twelvemonth ago never harboured any bitterness in his heart. I cannot help but wonder what happened to change him so much.
Grizel once warned Ishbel and me that magic in the hands of an untrained initiate was a dangerous weapon. There are few things worse in this world than a weak person with a sense of false power, she once said. It does nocht but fill their hearts with a craving for vengeance.
Did meeting a powerful man like Finster — the king’s own adviser — finally give him the courage to stand up to Dougal?
As I look upon Dalziel, I wrap my cloak a little more tightly around my shoulders.
After a long time staring into the flames, he yawns loudly and says something about getting some sleep.
‘Here — have my cloak.’ He begins to undo the clasp around his throat. It’s a peace offering, of sorts.
‘Nae, I have Ishbel’s cloak. And the fire.’
The fire crackles with all the dry wood we could find, but we both know it will burn out overnight.
‘Will you not lie down here? We’ll both stay warm that way.’ I point to a space on the ground between the fire and me.
He blushes and shakes his head. ‘It would not be proper.’
‘Oh aye, but it would be proper to freeze to death. Have it your way. Just don’t expect me to bury your body in the morning. The ground’s too hard.’
He laughs then, a musical sound. Not for the first time I think that he looks like an angel when he laughs.
The distant sound of a howling wolf pierces the quiet of eventide. Dalziel and I exchange a nervous glance. ‘Very well,’ he says. ‘Move over.’
He stretches out next to me and throws his cloak over both of us.
In the warm glow of the fire, Dalziel quickly falls asleep. Comforted by his body so close — his warm, rhythmic breath in my hair, the twitch of his leg against mine — my eyelids grow heavy. For solace, I wrap my fingers around the bloodstone.
Instantly I feel my heart quickening. I open my eyes. The bloodstone is still in my hand, but I’m no longer lying next to Dalziel by the campfire.
Instead, I’m trapped on a small island in the middle of a flowing river. On one bank stand Grizel and Ishbel. They call to me, their lips moving with an urgent message, but I cannot hear what they say over the sound of the rushing water.
‘Iona, wake up.’ I open my eyes and look into Dalziel’s dark blue ones. He’s crouched next to me. ‘It was only a bad dream.’
I’m shivering so he drapes his cloak over my shoulders. Then he helps me sit up. I nod my thanks but hold my tongue. It was no ordinary dream, but there’s no point saying that to Dalziel.
He lies down again and soon falls into an easy slumber. I try to do the same but now I’m too restless for sleep. I stand and stretch out my aching back. Then I crouch down and poke at the remains of last night’s fire, listening to Dalziel’s soft snores, and wonder about Grizel and Ishbel’s message for me.
Before long the first rays of light appear in the eastern sky, signalling that dawn is not far away. We break camp and head towards the river. The sound of rushing water reminds me of my dream. Dalziel confirms that we will reach the river soon, but it cannot be crossed here. He’ll take me further downriver to a ford. It will be another full day’s walk.
* * *
We’ve been walking all morning, mostly in silence, an uncomfortable feeling gnawing at me. A thought about Ishbel kept returning to my mind, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it.
‘Stop for a moment,’ I say to Dalziel.
‘Forgive me, I’m walking too fast. How is your ankle? Are you in pain?’ He searches my face for signs of discomfort and begs me to sit down. His cheeks are flushed. His dark brown hair is messy and his clothes crumpled, but he has never looked so handsome.
‘A moment’s rest, that’s all.’ I sit down on a rock.
He sits next to me and passes me the flask, now filled with water. I take a gulp.
‘We should keep walking, if you can manage it,’ he says.
‘Of course I can.’ I’m annoyed he would think otherwise.
He stands to leave, but I need to ask him about what’s been bothering me, if only to put my own mind at rest.
‘The witch finder — did he return to Aberdeen? Or did he journey to Heatherbrae with Gregor and the others?’
Dalziel rubs his nose and stares at the ground. His silence confirms my worst fears.
‘You’ve known this all along and you didn’t think to tell me?’ I cry. ‘We must go back. She’s in danger —’
‘This, again? I’ve already explained —’
‘Then explain again,’ I say, furious at his indifference. ‘And don’t lie to me. What will the witch hunter do to my sister?’
Dalziel’s face is a mask. ‘I wish you’d stop calling him that. The meister is an intellectual, a man of great learning. Let’s speak of it no more.’ He turns his back on me to make it clear he won’t be pressed on the subject.
The meister. I grab his arm to make him stop walking.
‘Ishbel doesn’t forge magic,’ I say, trying to hide the panic in my voice. ‘She’s a reformer like Gregor. Everybody knows that.’
‘Then there’s no reason to concern yourself,’ he says.
He turns then and looks into my eyes. ‘I told you: Gregor will keep Ishbel safe. The meister might want to ask her some questions. That’s all.’
‘Questions about what?’
Years ago I told Dalziel about Ishbel’s love spell. Even that one piece of information could get her killed.
‘About you, of course. Where you might be headed.’
‘Oh.’
‘I’ve put everything aside to help you, Iona. Perhaps you could remember that, instead of attacking me at every turn.’
Chastened, I turn my face away from him. ‘Forgive me. I didn’t mean —’
‘We’ve wasted too much time already,’ he interrupts. ‘Let’s go. And try to keep up with me.’
* * *
‘It’s not far from here, perhaps a mile or two.’ Since late morning we’ve been walking alongside the river. Dalziel asks me if I need to rest again but I shake my head. The sun is tracking low in the sky and I must cross the ford before evenfall.
Up ahead, a pile of scattered boulders slows the river’s flow. At the ford the water looks shallow, perhaps only knee deep in the middle.
I turn to Dalziel, unsure of how to say farewell, but he looks preoccupied as his gaze roams the horizon.
‘What’s the matter?’ I ask.
‘You mustn’t go yet. Stop awhile. I’ll build us a fire,’ he says.
‘It’ll be dark soon. I must go now, before the sun —’
‘There’s plenty of time!’ He stands opposite me, and now his eyes meet mine. ‘I don’t know when I’ll see you again.’ With his forefinger, he smooths away a sweaty curl that’s hanging in my eyes and hooks it behind my ear, a gesture so unexpected and tender that it makes my cheeks glow.
‘Very well,’ I reply, unsure of what else to say. Despite the tension between us, I have no desire to ford the river and leave him behind forever.
Eddies of white mist begin to roll in from upriver. In just a few moments, a thin veil blankets the water and continues snaking south, flowing with the current. Through it, on the opposite bank, I see a figure. Immediately it calls to mind my dream journey to the Unseen world. I crane my neck, hoping that it might be Grizel. But it’s just an old woman with grey matted hair, beating clothes against a rock.
‘Hark at that,’ I say, as Dalziel gathers kindling. ‘What’s she doing all the way out here?’
He’s busy searching the ground for some flint and doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he asks me for my dirk so he can light the fire. I hand the blade to him.
‘Do you wish to cross, bonnie lass?’
The old woman is a good distance away, but it’s as if she has just whispered in my ear. I look over and she holds up a white cloth with dark red stains on it.
‘Dalziel,’ I whisper. ‘Do you not see the old woman?’
He looks up. ‘What are you talking about?’
He goes back to his fire making, but his answer has unsettled me even more. I can hear the slap of the woman’s washing against the rock as if she were right beside us.
From the clearing up ahead the sound of a horse’s hooves cuts through the stillness. The rider comes into view, a shadow against the setting sun. He is here to cross the river, I tell myself. But instead of leading his chestnut mare through the water, he stops several feet away, observing us.
Dalziel turns to face me, teeth clenched hard. ‘Forgive me,’ he says, as he reaches out to grab my shoulders.
I give him a sharp push in the chest and reach for my dirk, then remember I just gave it to him.
‘Don’t let her get away!’ says the rider, his words sounding clipped and strange.
I look up and see a shock of yellow hair beneath the hood of his black cloak. To my horror, I realise it’s Finster, the witch finder.
Dalziel is to my left and Finster blocks the ford crossing ahead of me. If I can make it to the crossing, I’ll take my chances with the old woman, though I’m certain she is the Faerie washerwoman of the ford; her appearance a certain omen of death.
‘Mistress!’ I shout, as Finster tries to corral me back to Dalziel. ‘I wish to cross the river
.’
A cackling laugh rings out in reply; it seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere.
‘What devilry is this?’ asks Finster in his strange accent. ‘To whom does she speak?’
‘Iona, please!’ Dalziel begs. ‘You’re only making things worse for yourself.’
Finster is upon me now, the front hooves of his horse knocking me to the ground. I am winded and only just manage to roll aside to avoid being trampled.
Gasping for air, I haul myself up and run towards the ford, but Finster’s whip catches my left foot and pulls it from under me. I land heavily on the ground, wincing in pain. Hot blood seeps from my wounded ankle. He releases the whip, but there’s no getting away.
‘Will you help me wash this sark, child?’ Again, the old woman’s watery voice rings in my ears.
‘Aye, I will,’ I call to her.
I grab a handful of dirt and hurl it into the mare’s eyes. She rears up, almost throwing Finster to the ground. It takes all the witch finder’s skill as a horseman to keep his mount under control. Dalziel stands aside, looking unsure of what to do. In the moment of confusion, I take my chance and run into the river, wading as fast as I can through the icy water, heedless of the pain in my ankle.
When I reach the other bank, the old woman stands blocking my way. She holds the bloodstained cloth out to me.
‘Will you wash it, lass?’ she asks.
I nod and take it from her.
With a sad smile she stands aside to let me pass, her eyes filled with sorrow.
I look back to see how close the witch finder is, but the mist has thickened to a soup-like fog. The ford has disappeared and so has the other side of the river. It’s now too dangerous to attempt the crossing on horseback. I hear the witch finder berating Dalziel and then the sound of hooves moving along the bank; Finster, no doubt, searching for another place to cross.
When I turn around again, the old woman is gone.
