by Edith Pattou
"The Queen of Ghosts must have ordered Bricriu to find out what he could from the girl and then, depending on what he learned, to abduct her. If she did not have the stone herself, she might know where it was, or, indeed, serve as bait for the true holder of the stone—her elder brother, if he still lived. Medb knew Cuillean, and she knew that any son of his must come to save his sister."
Collun's cheeks were burning.
"But why didn't Medb come for Collun in Inkberrow?" asked Talisen.
"She did. Once she found out from Nessa where Collun was, she sent Urlacan. But Nessa must have held out against Medb for a period of time, hence the delay. You had left Inkberrow by the time Urlacan got there. He was doubling back when he found you at the Traveler's Rest."
"Where is Nessa, then?" Collun asked, his voice barely audible.
"She is being held somewhere in Scath, I believe. Not at Medb's fortress, Rathcroghan, according to a source I trust. But that is all I have been able to discover."
"Why would Medb keep her alive?" Collun said the words with difficulty.
"I do not know, but it is my guess that Medb deems a live hostage more valuable than a dead one. Perhaps, also, she has some idea of using Nessa to flush Cuillean out of hiding—that is, if he still lives." The room went still, and no one spoke for several moments.
"What is to be done?" Collun finally said, his voice hollow.
"The better question, son of Cuillean, is what is it that you choose to do?" said Crann. His words were formal and distant.
Collun's head whirled at the sound of his naming. "Son of Cuillean." Was it possible? He hovered between laughter and tears. That he was not the son of the man he had long called father—the silent, grim blacksmith who had shown him little love—was not a surprise. Indeed, he wondered why he had not guessed it before. But to find that he, a cowardly farm boy with dirt under his fingernails, was the son of one of Eirren's greatest heroes ... If it were not so painful, he would call it the best joke he had ever heard.
He realized they were all looking at him. What was his choice? What other choice was there for him? He must finish what he had begun. "I would find my sister," he said simply.
Crann nodded, then fixed his bright gaze on Collun. "If you will have me, I would journey with you, son of Cuillean."
Collun felt a surge of relief. With Crann as companion, perhaps there was a chance of finding Nessa and bringing her back alive.
"And I would go with you, too, Collun," said Brie, her voice quiet but firm.
Collun opened his mouth to object, but Brie's dark eyes looked stubbornly into his.
"I'm coming, too, of course," said Talisen. He strummed his harp with a dramatic flourish.
Crann rose. "It is settled, then. We will leave tomorrow."
"But where do we go?" asked Collun, picking up the dagger from the game board.
"We go to Scath."
The wizard's words sent a shiver of dread through the group. "I have eyes in Scath and hope to know more of your sister's whereabouts by the time we reach its border." The wizard stood. He moved toward Collun.
"You have learned much today, spriosan." He rested his hand gently on Collun's shoulder. The boy could feel warmth emanating from the wizard's long fingers. Then Crann made a gesture of farewell and left the room.
Talisen was plucking the strings of his harp. "To think that all this time I was keeping company with the son of Cuillean! I will have to make a song about it."
Collun stood abruptly. "I want no such song," he said roughly.
"Collun...," began Brie.
"You knew, didn't you?" Collun said, turning toward her.
"The very first time I saw you in the Traveler's Rest, I noticed the resemblance to Cuillean—the color of your hair and eyes. But you said you were the son of a blacksmith, and I sensed no guile in your words. Then I heard you speak your mother's name in Temair."
"Cuillean was a friend of your father, wasn't he?" said Talisen.
"Yes," replied Brie, her voice flat.
"This is astounding, is it not, Collun? A true adventure," Talisen continued, enthusiastically. "To find you are the son of a great hero, hidden away in Inkberrow for all these years. I never did like that old beetle-browed Goban. Son of Cuillean...!"
But Collun only felt blank inside.
"Just think what they'd say back in Inkberrow if they knew you were the son of Cuillean," continued Talisen.
Son of Cuillean, son of Cuillean ... The words echoed in Collun's head. He rose. Brie gave Talisen a warning look, but he went prattling on.
"And all that time Emer was really wed to Cuillean..."
"Quiet!" Collun suddenly shouted, his voice cracking. Then he felt his stomach heave. He fled from the room. Leaning his forehead against the cold stone of the corridor wall, Collun retched until his stomach held nothing more.
SEVENTEEN
Fiain
Collun didn't know how he got there, but he was in the cavern of the horses, sitting by the pool. He cupped his hands and filled them with cool water to splash on his hot face. Then he idly began plucking handfuls of the flower turf. It was not long before the familiar white-and-gray muzzle dropped down by his hand.
The animal must have sensed Collun's turmoil for he was uncommonly patient, allowing the boy, for the first time, to stand beside him and run his hand along his mane. It was soft, not wiry and coarse like manes Collun had touched before. He had an overwhelming urge to bury his face in it, but he did not dare.
And then, again without knowing how it happened, Collun was astride the horse. His hands clutched Fiain's silky mane. They were moving through the Ellyl herd. They came to the end of the cavern, and Fiain took them through a passage to an even larger one. And then they were flying over the ground at a gallop. For a brief moment Collun was terrified, but then he abandoned himself to the dizzying sensation of motion and speed.
His legs were locked fast to the horse's body. He buried his hands and face in the streaming mane. Hot tears coursed down his cheeks. The horse moved with the fluid grace of a nighthawk, and Collun wondered if its hooves were even touching the ground.
And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the ride was over. Fiain came to an abrupt stop. Collun tumbled off his back onto the spongy turf.
Collun looked up at the horse, who was grazing unconcernedly beside him. He had never seen a creature so magnificent, so lit with fire and strength. He could not believe he had ridden this horse, or that he would ever have the courage to do so again. Fiain raised his head and looked at the boy. Collun felt something nudge into his thoughts.
It wasn't a word or a sentence, but more like a feeling inside him. Yet it wasn't from within him. And it was laughter. Suddenly Collun realized Fiain was laughing at him, as Talisen might, or Brie. Then the horse turned, flicked his tail, and broke into a trot. Wiping the remnants of tears from his cheeks, Collun stood and followed. They had covered a large distance during their wild ride, and Collun was weary by the time they returned to the cavern of the horses.
He saw Ebba making her way toward him. Fiain went directly to the silvery pool and began to drink.
"Then it is true," Ebba said as she reached Collun's side.
"What?" asked Collun.
"That Fiain has chosen you. And now that I know your history, it does not surprise me. Fiain is one of the foals sired by the Gray of Macha. The Gray was the Ellyl horse that Cuillean found and tamed many years ago. Fiain will go with you when you leave."
Collun could not believe it. "But I cannot ride him."
"If I am not mistaken, you just did. Anyway, he will teach you, and I will help, if you like. Here he comes." And Fiain was indeed approaching, his regal head held high. He allowed Collun to mount him, with Ebba's help.
Collun spent the rest of the afternoon learning how to ride an Ellyl horse. Ebba was a patient but unrelenting teacher. There was no saddle, and Collun had to learn to hold himself on the horse with only his legs, as he had done instinctively durin
g that first headlong flight. Nor did Ellyl horses wear bridles; they could be guided only by pressure from the knees.
"Eventually you and Fiain will be able to communicate without speaking," said Ebba. "And he will need no physical guidance." Collun nodded thoughtfully, remembering the silent laughter that had edged into his thoughts.
By the time he and Ebba left the cavern of the horses, Collun's legs felt like overcooked runner beans, but he glowed with pride because he finally had been able to mount Fiain without Ebba's help.
When he entered their quarters, Collun found Brie attaching feathers to a new set of arrows. But she worked with an absent air. Collun sensed she had been waiting to speak with him. She seemed reluctant to begin, so Collun told her of his day in the cavern of the horses.
"Fiain is the foal of the Gray of Macha," he said, his eyes alight, "the Ellyl horse that my fath—" the word felt strange on his tongue "—that Cuillean rode. It is amazing, is it not?"
Brie nodded, her eyes on Collun's face.
"Tell me about Cuillean," Collun said suddenly.
Brie was silent for a moment. "Cuillean was friend to my father. More than a friend; in truth, they were blood brothers. They swore an oath sealed by blood from their veins." Brie's voice had taken on a different sound; there was something hard and distant he didn't understand.
"Collun ... There is something I must tell you..." Brie's voice trailed off. Collun waited.
"It has to do with my father's death. You heard the traitor Bricriu speak of the manner in which my father died. But there is more. You see, I was there when he died." And again that queer, hard tone came into her voice.
"When my father set off that day it was because he had received an urgent message from his friend, Cuillean. The message said to meet him in the Ramhar Forest. Cuillean did not give a reason, but they were blood brothers and so my father went.
"Soon after he had gone, I discovered that, in his haste, my father had saddled his horse with a bridle and reins that were badly frayed on one side. I had noticed the fraying the day before and had meant to set them aside to be repaired, but I'd forgotten. I was angry with myself and so decided to follow my father and take him a fresh set of tack.
"I followed the path I knew he would take, and when I came to the Ramhar Forest I heard the sound of men fighting. I approached quietly, and from the shelter of a copse of rowan trees I saw my father surrounded by more Scathians than I could count. He was on foot with his back to a tree. He had just lost his sword—and part of his hand with it." Brie's eyes closed and she had to stop for a moment before she could continue.
"His death was upon him. His wounds were deep and many. But his murderers were not content merely to take his life. They sought also to rob him of his honor. They tortured him, forcing him to grovel and beg for his life. Then they made him tell all he knew of Eirren's army and of Temair and the royal dun. And my father told them. In his pain and his fear of death, he gave up his honor. For that, I shall never forgive them."
Brie paused for a moment, her eyes glittering, then continued. "For a moment, as I watched my father die, I was lost in madness. I wanted to kill each one of those cowards with my bare hands. I cared not at all for my own life. But then my thoughts cleared, and I knew my death would avail my father nothing. I watched and listened and memorized each face, especially that of the man who led them—a Scathian wearing a patch over his left eye. I have sworn to avenge my father's death and the manner in which he died, even if it costs my own life."
She stopped speaking. Her face was so frozen with hatred that to Collun she looked like a stranger.
"What of Cuillean, my father? And the message that he sent? Was he not there?"
Brie did not answer for several moments. Then she turned her head and stared at Collun. Slowly her eyes came back into focus, and Collun recognized her again.
"No, Cuillean was not there. And the truth is, I blamed him. In my rage and sorrow, I looked toward the man who ought to have been with my father, to stand with him against the cowards who killed him. And Cuillean was not there."
"But where was he? Why had he sent the message?"
"I do not know. But it was around that time that Cuillean disappeared."
"Then perhaps the murderers got him first," Collun said slowly. He felt suddenly exhausted. To gain a father and lose him in such a short time was more than he could take in.
"Perhaps, though I saw no sign of it. It is more likely they used Cuillean's name to lure my father to his death." Her eyes were on Collun's drawn face. "Go to bed, Collun. It has been a long day."
"Is there more you would tell me?"
"No, except that it was my anger toward your father that caused me to act so to you, his son. When I heard you say that Emer was your mother, I knew then you were indeed the son of Cuillean, as I had guessed when I first saw you. I hated you for who your father was, but that was not right. You have been a friend to me. If you had not risked your own life with the creature Nemian, I would have lost mine. I hope you will forgive me," Brie added, meeting his eyes with a tentative smile.
"Of course." Collun's glance fell on her neck. There was still a faint shadow of the mark Nemian had left behind. Without even being aware of what he did, he reached up and gently brushed the mark with his fingers. Brie looked at him in surprise. He quickly pulled his hand away.
"I, uh, I think I'll go to bed now," he stammered.
"Yes. You must be weary," Brie responded. They bade each other good night awkwardly, and Collun limped off to his pallet in the next room.
When he woke the next morning Collun rolled over and let out a moan. His muscles ached from his all-day riding lesson. But Ebba glided into his room and calmly rousted him out of bed and into the common room, where the morning meal waited.
As they were finishing, Crann entered. "Come." He gestured to Brie and Talisen. "King Midir has graciously offered horses to all in our company. He has selected those that are gentle, but they are Ellyl horses and you will need help to manage them. Ebba has volunteered to instruct you."
Collun accompanied them to the cavern of the horses and watched as Brie quickly adapted to her mount. Talisen, however, was awkward and impatient and took several tumbles. Ebba finally suggested that he try singing a song to the skittish horse. "Ellyl horses love music as much as you do."
Crann's horse was a magnificent white mare named Gealach, a gift to Crann from the Ellyl king. The wizard needed no instruction in Ellyl horsemanship.
Then it was time to leave, and they had to say goodbye to Ebba and the other Ellylon they had met. The king came to see them off.
Brie stepped forward. She had resumed her boyish travel garb, but she'd left her hair yellow. On her back she wore her new bow, with the design of a flame-bird, or tine-ean as the Ellylon called it. The old one, her father's, she left with Ebba. She would be back for it one day, she said, when her journey was done.
She approached the Ellyl king. "I owe you much, King Midir., And your son, for bringing me here."
The king did not smile, but there was a glint in his eye. "Silien is as stubborn as his father. He will rule Tir a Ceol well one day."
Then Fara appeared from nowhere, threading herself between Brie's legs. The girl crouched and ran her hand along the faol's arched back. "Thank you, Fara," Brie said softly. "I hope we meet again." The faol looked up into Brie's eyes and made a low sound. Brie smiled, her eyes bright, then quickly mounted her horse.
Crann stepped forward and solemnly shook the Ellyl king's hand. "Midir," he said, "much rides on the outcome of the comhairle. Ellyl and human may be different in many ways, but at heart you want the same thing—to live as you will in a land you may call your own. If we do not meet again, I wish you and your people well."
"Are you sure you have made the right choice?" asked the Ellyl king with the air of one continuing a long-running argument.
Crann nodded. "I journey with the boy."
"There may be a greater need for you elsewhere in
the weeks and months to come."
"I owe it to his mother. And his father."
"Then watch out for yourself, wizard," responded Midir gravely. "You are old, but you are not immortal."
"I would not have it otherwise," Crann rejoined with a quick smile.
As Collun mounted Fiain, he ground his teeth together against the pain in his stiff body. It was not much better when he sat astride the Ellyl horse. But Fiain assumed a rolling, steady gait, and soon the pain subsided to a dull throb. Collun grew used to it.
It took them longer to leave Tir a Ceol than it had to enter, because as Crann explained, the safest porth was near the Western Sea. Though this new route made their journey longer, the distant exit might throw off those who pursued them.
When they finally emerged from under the ground, Collun closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, joyfully letting his lungs swell with the brisk autumn air.
Collun saw that the first frost had come and gone while they were in Tir a Ceol. Many of the leaves still on the trees were shot through with blazing oranges and reds. Collun drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders.
By the campfire that night Crann took out an old map. It was etched on a piece of worn and stained leather, yet it was clearly drawn and easier to read than most maps Collun had seen. Crann's long finger traced the route they would take to Scath.
Just before he rolled the map up, Crann pointed to a dot on the western coast of Eirren. "This is where Cuillean's dun lies," he said, with a glance at Collun.
"Does no one live there now?" asked Collun.
The wizard shook his head. "It has stood empty for more than a year, though with all his wandering Cuillean spent little enough time in it even before he disappeared." He paused, then said briskly, "Come. I will show you how to make lasan."
"Lasan?" queried Collun.
"You are skilled with the teine stone, spriosan. But there is a quicker way to kindle a fire." The wizard bade Collun gather the wild fungus called agaric that grew on tree bark. Then he showed the boy how to make fire sticks using the agaric and small pieces of splintered wood. Crann called the fire sticks lasan. When he rubbed one across a rough surface, it burst into flame.
