Hero's Song

by Edith Pattou

  He ate hungrily, and as he was finishing, Collun glanced at the slumbering maiden and whispered to Mordu, "What should I call her now? Has she a name, other than Beara?"

  "You may call me Mealladh, son of Cuillean." The maiden sat up in her bed, yawning. "It is one of my early names. The Wizard of the Trees used to call me Mealladh." The maiden climbed out of her bed and padded over to the table in her bare feet. She sat down and began eating the last of the bread. Collun gazed at her anxiously, but she remained silent, munching the bread, her eyes distant. She spoke abruptly.

  "The news I have for you is not good, Collun," Mealladh said. Collun's body stiffened.

  "Is Nessa...?"

  "No, she is alive. But while I slept I saw where she is and who guards her." Silence filled the room. The maiden pushed the empty bread plate away from her with a frown. "Why can we not talk of something else? This is my favorite of your bread recipes, Mordu. Do you use goat's milk?"

  The blind man did not answer.

  "Bring me more. I cannot get enough."

  But Mordu did not move. Collun stood, his heart pounding. "What is it, Lady? Who guards Nessa?"

  "It is the Wurme," the maiden said finally.

  "What?"

  "The Firewurme, Naid, guards her. I am sorry."

  TWENTY-TWO

  Scath

  Collun stared blindly ahead. The Firewurme.

  The maiden shuddered and rose, moving across the room to one of the arrangements of apple blossom branches. She fiddled with it absently, then pressed her nose into the pink and white petals, inhaling deeply. "It is a loathsome thing. If I had known I would dream of the Firewurme, I never would have agreed to your request. Cruachan was an evil man. Evil." She shivered again and turned toward Collun.

  "The Wurme guards your sister on an island off the north of Scath. The Isle of Thule. She is in some sort of cave. She looks ill and thin. Oh, how I hate bad news! Mordu, please bring me more bread. And apple wine." She moved to the mirror on the wall and smoothed her hair. She turned back to Collun with a smile. "Well, it is a shame. But when you have lived as long as I, you see that one life is no more than a feather in the wind."

  Collun looked away.

  "Of course," the maiden continued, "it is disappointing to travel so far for naught, son of Cuillean. But you can return to your home now, knowing you have done all that you could."

  Collun shook his head slowly. Home. He had no home. "Do you know the way to Thule, Lady?"

  Mealladh looked at him in disbelief. "Thule? You do not think to go to Thule?"

  "Yes."

  "You know about the Firewurme?"

  "Crann told me."

  Mealladh shook her head. "Then there shall be no more talk of going to Thule. You are young, with many years to live." Mordu placed a platter of hot bread on the table. Collun closed his eyes and breathed in the warm, fresh aroma. Then he reluctantly opened them again. He drew Crann's map out of his jersey. Unrolling the old leather, he looked up at the maiden.

  "Show me Thule."

  Mealladh looked with distaste at the map. Then, peering closely, she laid her finger on a small dot off the north coast of Scath.

  "But truly you cannot go there. You are welcome to stay with Mordu and me for as long as you like. There is much that Mordu can teach you of plants and growing."

  Collun thought of the bountiful herb garden. He took a deep breath.

  "I will go to Thule," Collun said resolutely.

  The maiden exclaimed in annoyance. "Oh, I am tired, and you are making me cross! This is not the way I thought to spend my first day with teeth that can chew and knees that bend—dreaming of Wurmes and listening to stubborn boy-children." There was a hint of the hag's crackling voice in her last words.

  "Mordu, tell me quickly, why should I not use my words of changing on the boy-child? I need practice, and when he goes to Thule, the Firewurme will destroy him anyway. Would he not make a handsome apple tree? I do so love apple trees."

  Collun looked uneasily at Mordu, who was pouring a goblet of wine for Mealladh, his blind eyes fixed un-seeingly over her head.

  "The boy would indeed make a handsome apple tree. But you have so many apple trees already. And do not forget he brought you your golden apple."

  "Of course he did." She sighed. "Very well. I will show you the way to Thule, boy-child. And it is a good way. It is easy to follow and avoids the places where the Scathians dwell. But it will have to wait until tomorrow. Perhaps you will have come to your senses by then. Now, bring me more bread, dear, kind Mordu."

  ***

  Collun slept well that night. When he awoke, Mordu fed him a hearty breakfast of apple cakes and clotted cream. As he ate, Collun heard Mealladh outside, singing as she moved about her apple grove.

  After feeding and grooming Fiain, who had been waiting patiently outside the house, Collun spent the morning in Mordu's garden replenishing his wallet of herbs. He found a large cluster of agaric growing on the roots of a nearby tree and spent several hours making lasan for kindling fires. He collected an extra quantity of the fungus to keep in reserve.

  As his fingers shaped the agaric around the end of a shaved stick, Collun called to mind all that the wizard had told him of the Firewurme. As he remembered what Crann had said of the guam that burned without flame, his eyes fell on a clump of mallow growing off to the side. Something else stirred in his memory.

  When he was young and just beginning to be interested in herb lore, an old woman had come to Inkberrow. She was said to have great skill with herbs and healing. Her face had frightened Collun at first because it was sprinkled all over with warts. One wart sprouting from her eyelid was so large she could not open her eye all the way. She looked as if she were constantly winking.

  Goban had been furious when he found out later that Collun had traded four carrots, three sweet potatoes, and a prize yellow squash for the old woman's secrets.

  And Goban had been right, for the things she had taught Collun turned out to be useless. Most of it was superstitious foolishness, such as how to tell a maid whom she would marry by thrusting a turnip root into the fire and seeing which way the sparks flew. There had been a few recipes as well for cure-alls, such as a concoction of moth wings and dandelion greens that was supposed to cure insomnia. He had tried one or two, and they had done nothing, so he discarded the rest. But he remembered there had been one for a salve that would miraculously heal insect bites and burns, no matter how severe. It had been made of mallow and several other ingredients.

  "Mordu," he called to the blind man, who had come to the garden to gather herbs for the midday meal. "Do you know of a salve made from mallow that is good for healing burns?"

  Mordu scratched his smooth head and thought for a moment. "Yes," he said slowly. "Mallow and leek arid goat's thorn, the leaves only. I think that is all. No, some gentian as well. I have not used it myself but remember it from long ago."

  "Equal parts?"

  "Yes, except for the mallow. Two of that to every one of the others."

  Collun plucked several large fistfuls of the musky-smelling mallow plant with its pink flowers, as well as a quantity of the other ingredients Mordu had mentioned. Whether such a salve would work against the Firewurme's burning guam he did not know, but it would do no harm to bring the ingredients along.

  Mordu called him in for a delicious meal of pheasant and gillyflower pie. The maiden once again showered Mordu with praise and ate with such gusto that conversation was almost impossible.

  When the maiden had taken her last gulp of wine, she turned to Collun. "Is it still your intent to go to Thule?"

  "Yes, Lady."

  She sighed. "Very well. Then I will show you the way. Where is your musty old map?"

  They bent over the wizard's map. Mealladh's finger traced the route. "You will journey this way through the north of Eirren. When you come to this small river, you will know you are in Scath. Follow along here." Collun watched closely. "It will take you several days, at
least. But eventually you will come to the River Omagh. After that it is simple. Just follow the Omagh to the top of Scath. There you will find Thule." She paused. "Now, Mordu has packed some items for your journey. Come."

  She led Collun outside, and Fiain had indeed been laden with two leather packs filled with food, blankets, and two extra cloaks lined with fur.

  The maiden then presented Collun with a large red apple. "An apple for an apple," she said with a flashing smile. "Though I have already given you far too much. I remember I had a soft spot for your father, as well."

  "You knew Cuillean?"

  "I met him once or twice, when he was young."

  "Do you know where he is now?"

  The maiden laughed. "You are allowed only one missing person per visit, Collun, son of Cuillean. Now go"

  Thanking Mealladh for the apple, Collun tucked it safely in one of his leather packs and then mounted Fiain.

  "Farewell, Collun," Mealladh trilled. "I wish you well on your quest."

  Mordu stood behind his mistress and raised his hand, a solemn smile on his pale face.

  Collun waved good-bye, and the Ellyl horse broke into a brisk trot, happy to be setting forth once again.

  Collun glanced back just before leaving the apple grove and saw Mealladh moving among her trees, weaving apple blossoms into her yellow-gold hair.

  ***

  As he passed the copse of hazel trees, the wind began to blow chill once more. He pulled his cloak tightly around him. When they came close to Trout Beck, Collun spotted a thin curl of wood smoke rising above their old campsite. He cautiously guided Fiain toward the smoke. He could see a figure standing over a campfire. It turned toward him at the sound of Fiain's hooves on the ground. Collun's heart contracted.

  It was Brie. She was alone.

  He rode up to the fire and dismounted.

  "What happened? Where are Talisen and the prince?" He shivered slightly in the cold wind.

  Brie poured him a cup of hot chicory. Handing it to him, she said, "On their way to Temair. Not long after we left you, we came across a man on foot; his name was Poddup. He was a messenger from the king. He was traveling with an urgent message for the queen in Temair, but he had lost his horse and almost his life at the hand of Scathians. The tidings he bore were grave. Medb is planning a full-scale invasion in a fortnight. A war host has begun to gather."

  "Has there been any talk of the Wurme, of Naid?"

  Brie shook her head. "Why?"

  Collun told her of Crann's fear that Medb would call on the Firewurme when she invaded Eirren. Collun also told Brie all that had happened in Beara's cottage.

  Brie absorbed his story in silence, then said, "Perhaps the Queen of Ghosts plans to summon the Wurme only if the need is great."

  "And perhaps she knows even now that I go to Thule. But I must. It is all I know to do."

  "Then you will need this." Brie drew Collun's dagger out and handed it to him.

  Collun shook his head. "Did you not hear what I just said? If taking Nessa was part of a plan to lure me into bringing the stone to Thule, then I would be playing right into her hands."

  "Perhaps," answered Brie. "But the more I thought about it, the more I felt the dagger and the stone belong with you, Collun. And I believe the wizard Crann felt so, too. Otherwise he would have cautioned you against carrying it into Scath."

  "But..."

  "We will not let the Queen of Ghosts get her hands on the Cailceadon Lir," Brie said, her voice confident. Collun slowly took the dagger from her. Then he stopped.

  "What do you mean 'we'?" He gazed around the campsite. "And where is your horse?"

  Brie smiled. "I did not come just to give you the dagger. I go with you to Thule, Collun. I gave the messenger Poddup my horse. He will guide Talisen and Gwynedd to Temair much more surely and quickly than I ever could."

  Collun shook his head. "No. I would not ask you to face this kind of danger..."

  "You did not ask me." She paused. "Anyway, the others are halfway to Temair by now. I'm afraid you are stuck with me."

  Collun gazed at Brie, searching her face. Finally he nodded in acceptance. "But I face the Firewurme alone." Brie opened her mouth to protest, but Collun held up his hand. "If you do not promise me this, I will ride off and leave you to find your way back to Temair on foot."

  Brie was silent for several moments. "Very well. I promise." She washed out the pan and cups she'd used and doused the fire. Swinging up behind Collun on Fiain, she said, "Talisen grumbled a good deal when I told him what I proposed to do. He accused me of wanting all the glory of the quest for myself, but finally he agreed it was for the best. They dropped me several leagues from here, and I walked the rest."

  Fiain broke into a brisk trot, and the campsite was soon far behind them.

  The wind grew more bitter as the day wore on. Though Collun could not be sure of the date, he knew it was near the beginning of the month of Ruis, and winter had its grip upon the land.

  They had been traveling for three days when they came to a small river, and they realized they had passed into Scath sometime that afternoon.

  The terrain grew rockier and the trees fewer, though there were occasional small clusters of pine and yew trees. As Mealladh had promised, the route they followed was uninhabited.

  They came across a deserted village on the fourth day. Collun remembered Crann telling them that when Medb came to power, she had moved the Scathians from outlying villages and farms in order to exert her control more easily over them. Now most of the population lived in huge cities hewn out of black rock cut into the sides of the Mountains of Mourne. The only farms that remained were spread out from the cities. The more remote areas were completely empty of people.

  The weather was cold and overcast, but it stayed dry. Their journey began to take on a sameness as they rode all day and into the night, sleeping for only a few hours before setting out again.

  Collun began to feel an increasing sense of urgency. Though he dreaded reaching their destination, he pushed forward relentlessly.

  On the morning of the fifth day of their journey, Collun awoke from an uneasy sleep. Brie had already risen and kindled a fire. They had taken shelter in a deserted Scathian village. Collun's eyes nervously scanned the dark shapes of the buildings, indistinct and eerie in the dim light of dawn. He could see his breath. He held his hands over the fire Brie had made. They had not yet begun using the fur-lined cloaks Mealladh had given him, but Collun could tell the time was fast coming.

  Brie poured him a cup of hot chicory sweetened with a splinter of chocolate Mordu had supplied. Collun took it from her gratefully, breathing in the steam that rose from it. As he took his first sip, Collun heard the call of a bird. Then he realized what it was that had awakened him. His body tensed. A scald-crow.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Blizzard

  There was only one bird, but it had spotted them. It circled several times, with each circle dipping lower and tighter. Collun reached for his dagger, while Brie silently lifted her bow to her shoulder and notched an arrow to the string. Then, unexpectedly, the scald-crow spun off, winging away at high speed in an easterly direction. Collun watched until it had disappeared. Without a word, Brie doused the fire with the leftover chicory. They hurriedly packed up and mounted Fiain. The Ellyl horse sensed their urgency at once and set off at a gallop.

  "I wonder how long it will take the bird to reach Medb's dun," Collun said, his heart pounding.

  He scanned the sky. Outlined as they were against the stark landscape, he and Brie were easy to spot from above. He shuddered, remembering the ice-dark feeling of the scald-crow feather that had brushed his forehead months ago.

  Brie pointed to the clouds. "Look. Snow blossoms," she said.

  Collun looked up. Indeed the clouds had changed, taking on the shape of gigantic white flowers with streaks of gray radiating from their centers.

  "A storm is coming," Brie said.

  "Will it hide us?" Collun asked
with a flicker of hope.

  "Perhaps," answered Brie, but she sounded worried.

  The first of the white flakes began to fall by late afternoon. They brought out Mealladh's fur-lined cloaks and put them on. The snowflakes were thick, and they clung stubbornly to eyelashes and hair before melting.

  Their cloaks were soon damp, though they kept the rest of their clothing mostly dry. Brie and Collun snuggled into the hoods gratefully. The snow was piling up.

  They came upon a dense bank of red-berry juniper shrubs and decided to stop there for the night. They dug out a small shelter beside the bushes, and though it was difficult to kindle a fire, they finally managed to get a small blaze going. Except for the apple Mealladh had given Collun, they were close to the end of their provisions. Brie was able to find little game in the snow.

  Holding the map up to the flickering light of the fire, Collun and Brie estimated they were well over halfway to the Isle of Thule. But Brie was worried about the snow. There was danger in traveling through a blizzard, especially in a hostile land with little hope of shelter and food. She showed Collun how to make coverings for their hands by cutting up an old jersey and securing it at the wrist with twine.

  They slept huddled together under the prickly juniper branches. Collun occasionally heard Fiain snort and stamp his feet to keep warm.

  When they woke to the dim light of the winter sun, the snow was still falling lightly. The countryside around them was swathed in white, an undulating series of curves, broken only by the knob of an occasional tree.

  With fingers made clumsy by the cold, they rekindled the fire and melted snow to drink. They carefully portioned out the last of their food, saving the rest of the dried fruit for Fiain. Collun gave the horse a vigorous rubdown, dusting the snow from his mane.

  Soon they were under way. The snow, which had been falling only lightly when they awoke, began coming down more heavily as the afternoon progressed. The wind blew harder from the north, swirling snow into their faces. Fiain walked slowly, his head bowed low. The whirling whiteness became so thick that Collun could barely see beyond Fiain's ears.