Fire Arrow

by Edith Pattou

  Using the rock as a shovel, Brie enlarged the hole and worked her way around the buried object until she could grasp it. It wouldn't budge. She dug and loosened soil for some time, rain saturating her cloak until water dripped through to her neck and trickled down her back. Finally, tugging hard, she pulled the object out of the ground.

  It was a long thin packet, wrapped in some sort of waterproof material that reminded Brie of the material used by fishermen to line their curraghs, the small boats they went to sea in.

  Her fingers shaking, Brie started to unwrap the packet.

  Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed it from her. Brie jumped up, but she slipped on the grass and fell awkwardly on her side. Rising, she took off after the hobbling figure of Bricriu as he scrambled up the hill. He was headed toward the nearby forest. Brie could see a horse tethered at the edge of the trees. She ran faster. Then her foot hit a mossy patch and she slipped again. Letting out an oath, she clumsily regained her footing. She was slathered with mud and grass but kept slogging toward Bricriu. He was just mounting his horse when Brie reached him.

  Bricriu savagely whipped the gray horse. Brie thrust out a muddy hand and caught him by the leg and stirrup as the horse began to bolt. She was dragged several yards before the horse halted, unnerved by the extra weight. Bricriu again beat the horse's flank with a leather whip. This time the horse reared. But Brie held fast.

  Bricriu let out a grunt, trying to pry Brie's hand loose while he continued to flail at both Brie and the horse with his whip.

  Keeping her head low to avoid the lashes, Brie lunged up. She grabbed Bricriu by the neck and pulled him off the horse.

  They landed hard in the muddy grass and for a moment neither moved, the wind knocked out of them. Then silently they began to struggle, face-to-face. Bricriu's ravaged face was distorted by a look of naked desperation; Brie almost felt pity for him. All of the man's strength was concentrated on getting free of Brie and he barely seemed to see her, though her face was inches from his own.

  But because of Bricriu's ruined body, Brie was the stronger of the two, and inexorably she gained the advantage. She deftly pinned him facedown in the mud, his hands twisted behind his back. Then she quickly dislodged the packet from his grasp. Bricriu let out an animal-like howl. Brie rolled him over onto his back.

  "Who sent you?" Brie asked. "Medb?"

  Bricriu's body shuddered and a look of fear creased his face. He shook his head violently.

  "Then who? And why?"

  Bricriu's hollow eyes stared up at her.

  Brie heard a noise from the dun and, distracted, slightly eased the pressure on Bricriu's arms. Swiftly he twisted away from her and leaped up. With a berserk speed that astonished Brie, Bricriu darted into the forest. She heard a shrill whistle and saw Bricriu's horse plunge after him through the trees. She could just make out Bricriu swinging himself onto the animal, then they vanished from sight.

  Several of Amrys's men rode up. Two went in pursuit of Bricriu while the third bore a muddied, drained Brie back to the dun.

  Aunt Rainne took one look at her and ordered hot water and clean towels sent to her room immediately.

  Blissfully Brie lowered herself into the large tub of hot water. She sat there, eyes closed, savoring the sensation. When she opened her eyes she caught sight of the packet, still unopened, lying on the table where she'd placed it. Quickly she finished her bath.

  After she had dried herself and dressed in clean clothing, Brie reached for the packet. It, too, was caked with mud and the oilskin material was several layers deep. She peeled off the layers until she came to a stiff leather case. It was tooled with a graceful spiral design and was fastened with a leather cord. With some difficulty she untied the cord and opened the case. Inside was a pristine white velvet cloth. Amazed at how well the waterproof material and leather case had protected the cloth, she washed the mud off her hands again; then, carefully, she unwound the cloth, marveling at its whiteness.

  Inside several layers of the soft, rich material was an arrow. Brie stared at the slender, perfectly straight object. For a moment she was afraid to touch it. Then she wrapped her fingers around the shaft. A sudden strong heat pulsed against her hand, going halfway up her arm. She let out a small cry but did not drop the arrow. Slowly the heat faded to a gentle, barely perceptible warmth.

  Gingerly Brie held the arrow up into the faint light coming in the window. The shaft was ringed by dozens of colorful bands. She peered more closely. It seemed to her that if her eyes could see differently, if they were somehow stronger, she would be able to see tiny pictures on those bands, pictures that told a story. As it was, the designs were too small, just a blur of color and line. The arrow was fletched with deep golden feathers.

  It was an extraordinary arrow and Brie suddenly felt a keen desire to notch it to her own bowstring and let fly. But she wrapped the arrow back up in the white cloth, discarding the tarred oilskin fabric. She pulled the blue box to her and placed the arrow inside. A perfect fit.

  Then she took the arrow back out of the box and unwrapped it. She stood, flinching slightly at the stiffness in her legs, crossed the room, and slid the arrow into her quiver. For some reason it looked right, as though it belonged there. Brie suddenly recalled Aelwyn's words: "An arrowhead pointed at your own heart..."

  There was a knock on Brie's door. One of the serving women entered, saying that Aunt Rainne would like to see Brie as soon as it was convenient.

  "The burial will be at midday today," said Rainne in her practical dry voice. Brie nodded. "The man Crin ... that is, Bricriu, has disappeared without a trace."

  "I believe I know what he was after, perhaps even why he killed Masha." Brie held up the bundle of white linen cloth.

  "What...?"

  "Masha told me where to find it before she died. It is an arrow," she said unnecessarily as the cloth fell away.

  Uncle Amrys took a step closer. "May I?" he asked, holding out his hand.

  Brie handed him the arrow, watching to see if he felt the same heat that she had when she had first held it. But his expression did not change as he took the arrow.

  "I believe my great-grandmother Seila gave this to Mother on her wedding day," Brie said.

  "The blue box!" exclaimed Rainne. "An arrow; now that's one we didn't think of."

  "And no wonder Conall was displeased," added Amrys.

  "Why?" asked Brie.

  "It is unlucky to receive a sharp object, such as a knife or a sword—or even an arrow—as a wedding gift. It is believed to be an omen that the union will be severed. Interesting design," Amrys commented, examining the shaft of the arrow. "Can't quite make it out. Almost Ellyl-like..." Then his eyes narrowed. He brought the arrow closer to his eyes. "Curious..."

  "What is it?" asked Rainne.

  "May I take this to my study?" Amrys asked Brie abruptly.

  "If I may come with you."

  "Of course." Brie followed her uncle out of the room, while Rainne stayed behind to attend to the plans for Masha's burial.

  ***

  Amrys set the arrow down on his desk and crossed to his bookshelves. Taking out a large dusty book, he thumbed through the pages.

  He replaced the volume, then took out another. Bringing the book back to the desk, he set it down next to the arrow. He riffled through the pages and began muttering, "No, it's not a peregrine..." Then he retrieved yet another book. "By Amergin, this is most fascinating..."

  Impatiently Brie circled the desk and peered at the open books. They were books about birds.

  "There it is, a goldenhawk," he said finally in triumph, stabbing at a picture with his finger. The bird was a deep gold color with dark markings on its outstretched wings and had the curved beak and proud stare of a bird of prey.

  "The fletching feathers?" Brie asked.

  Her uncle bobbed his head excitedly. "Extremely rare. And found only in Dungal. Quite extraordinary."

  Brie felt a quickening of excitement. Dungal again. Seila had br
ought the arrow from Dungal. And Aideen had told Masha where it was hidden, so that one day it would come to Brie.

  "Uncle Amrys," Brie said suddenly, "when you first touched it ... did the arrow feel hot to you?"

  "Eh? Hot, you say? No, not particularly. Why?" He looked at her with a puzzled expression.

  "Uh, no reason."

  That afternoon Brie helped her aunt prepare Masha's body for burial. They wrapped her in an ivory linen cloth. The border of the cloth was woven in brown thread and depicted the three faces of Solas, the goddess of birth, death, and rebirth.

  Dun Slieve had its own burial ground, a traditional passage grave built on a nearby hilltop. Carved inside the hill was a large vaulted inner room, which was entered through a long cruciform passage. Masha's conra, the wooden box in which she was placed, was interred beside that of Aideen.

  Brie stayed behind in the passage grave after the others had returned to the dun. Standing silently beside the graves of her father, her mother, and now Masha, Brie tried to think of some last words to say to them, but she could not. Her breathing loud in her ears, she abruptly turned and left the burial place.

  ***

  "I go tomorrow," Brie announced that evening at dinner.

  Her aunt and uncle looked stunned.

  "Where?" said Amrys.

  "Why?" Rainne asked simultaneously.

  "I go to the Blue Stack Mountains and from there, most likely, to Dungal, in pursuit of the traitor Bricriu," Brie replied calmly. And my father's murderers, if he should lead me there, she thought to herself.

  "This is absurd! I will not have my niece wandering about the country on foolish and dangerous missions," sputtered her uncle. Brie saw her aunt shoot him a warning glance.

  Brie's gaze fell to her plate. Uncle Amrys continued to speak, his cheeks flushed. "No one in their right mind would even think of venturing across the Blue Stack Mountains. I will not allow it."

  Brie's chin went up and she gazed defiantly at her uncle.

  "Amrys, would you please pass me the bittergreens?" interrupted Aunt Rainne. Brie's uncle turned to Rainne with a look of irritation. Then he glanced around the table vaguely. Finally locating the platter at his elbow, he handed it to Aunt Rainne.

  Before he could resume his lecture, Rainne spoke, her tone direct and gentle. "Breigit, you lost your mother before you even knew her, and then, at a young age, witnessed the murder of your father. And now Masha. If this man Bricriu murdered her, then it was a vile act and he should be punished. But it is not up to you to render justice."

  Brie opened her mouth to speak, but Rainne continued. "I know you wish to pursue your father's killers, but do you not think it better to return to the business of living your own life? What good can such a journey do you?"

  "I do not wish to speak of this anymore, Aunt Rainne," Brie interrupted, her voice implacable. "I leave tomorrow."

  "It is preposterous!" exclaimed Amrys.

  But Rainne bowed her head and said softly, "Very well. I understand that you are seeking answers, Breigit, and your uncle and I want you to know that if you discover that these answers lie at home, at Dun Slieve, we are here and always will be."

  "Thank you," Brie replied, her own voice softening.

  "But Rainne—," interjected Uncle Amrys.

  "My dear, do you not have a map of Dungal somewhere about? I remember you telling me you found it among those documents you purchased from that vendor in Temair."

  "Why, yes, I do believe you are correct. Got it at the same time I received the Vetigullian manuscript. I'm quite sure the vendor had no idea of its true worth." Amrys's eyes brightened at the memory, his anger at Brie vanishing. "Indeed, it was quite an extraordinary find..."

  ***

  That night Brie had the dream again. This time the bird came so close she could almost feel the powerful yellow wings beating against her face. When she woke she was gasping for breath and covered in sweat. At least I didn't scream, she thought grimly.

  She rose, still shaky, and crossed to a small basin of water. She rinsed her face in the cold water. Wiping her face with a towel, she glanced at her quiver. Suddenly she wanted to see the arrow.

  Quickly she pulled it out. The arrow was warm; it gave off a reassuring warmth that felt good against her skin. She ran her fingertips over the soft feathers. A goldenhawk, she mused, then her body went rigid. Was it possible...?

  She put the arrow back in the quiver, donned a jersey for warmth, and exited her room.

  Brie impatiently ascended the stairway to her uncle's study, thinking she must be losing her mind. She entered, lit an oil lamp, and began scanning the shelves. Finally she found the book with the picture of the goldenhawk. She stared at the bird. Except for the coloring, it was exactly the same as the bird in her dream.

  FOUR

  Goat-man

  That morning as she readied herself for the journey, Brie thought how good it would be to sleep out in the open again. She was not sorry to leave the room of her childhood.

  Aunt Rainne had packed food for Brie, and Uncle Amrys gave her his favorite skin bag filled with spring water. Brie gratefully accepted the provisions, although she declined the map of Dungal her uncle offered. She could see that he was exceedingly reluctant to part with it, and besides, she had the wizard Crann's map, the one Collun had given her.

  At the entrance to the passage grave, Brie paused for a moment to say a final farewell. "I have the arrow. Thankyou, Masha," she whispered into the cool gloom of the chamber.

  Then she whispered to Ciaran, "I'm ready," and the Ellyl horse burst into a powerful canter. Brie leaned into the horse's neck, her fingers twined in the soft mane.

  ***

  Just before twilight Brie stopped by a copse of rowan trees. She gave Ciaran a brisk rubdown then ate a small meal. Leaving the Ellyl horse munching contentedly on a patch of clover, Brie walked a little way into the trees, carrying her quiver and bow. As she tested the string, she noted that the light in the sky was growing dim.

  "Well, why not?" she said with a reckless grin. Brie fixed her sight on a barely visible knothole on the lower trunk of a far distant rowan. "Let's see what you can do." She reached into her quiver for the arrow from Dungal. It felt warm to the touch and hummed lightly against her fingers.

  With a sudden feeling of great joy, Brie nocked the arrow to her bow. Then she let fly. There was a whishing, sizzling sound, and she felt as if the tips of flames were licking at her face. Her string snapped in two, and the fingers that had held the fletched end of the arrow blistered.

  She had squinted at the last moment and realized it was a good thing she had. As it was, her vision was blurred by burning white dots as if she had been gazing too long into the sun.

  She didn't move for several moments, waiting for the dots to fade. Ciaran was beside Brie, nosing the girl's burnt fingers with her soft muzzle. When Brie was able to see again, she went to retrieve the arrow. The arrowhead was lodged directly in the center of the knothole, and the bark all around it was charred black.

  Brie pulled the arrow out of the tree. Holding it lightly in her hands, she gazed down at the arrow from Dungal.

  Fire music, said a voice next to her. Brie jumped, almost dropping the arrow. She swung her head first to the left and then the right. But no one was there. No one but Ciaran.

  "Who's there?" Brie said nervously.

  The arrow. It has tine draoicht. Fire music.

  Brie looked carefully around her. Then she looked at Ciaran. When their eyes met, Brie knew; the Ellyl horse had spoken the words inside her head. She gaped at Ciaran.

  Brie remembered Collun telling her that he and his Ellyl horse, Fiain, had been able to communicate wordlessly. But up until now, Ciaran had given no sign of talking or making contact with her in any way other than the usual ways one communicates with a highly intelligent horse.

  Brie felt a little shy. What was she supposed to do now? she wondered. Could Ciaran read her mind, or did she need to speak out loud, or..
.?

  Salve. On your fingers. Ciaran lowered her head to tear up a mouthful of grass, then casually walked away. The conversation was over.

  With several backward glances at the Ellyl horse, Brie slid the arrow back into her quiver. Then she turned her gaze on the blackened tree. Clearly this arrow isn't for felling a guinea hen for dinner, Brie thought wryly, unless one prefers it cooked to a crisp.

  After Brie rubbed bayberry salve on her fingers and bandaged them, she restrung her bow. She had carved the bow herself in Tir a Ceol, the land of the Ellyl. It was fashioned in the image of a flame-bird, or a tine ean as the Ellylon called it. A fire arrow for a flame-bird, she thought with a smile. And, in fact, her own name, Breo-Saight, meant fire arrow. Why so much of fire? she mused. Perhaps Talisen had been right when he dubbed her Flame-girl, she thought, grinning at the memory.

  Breigit was her birth name, so where had the name Breo-Saight come from? She could not remember. She distantly recalled someone promising that one day her arrows would fly so high and so fast they would set the clouds on fire. Perhaps her father, though he was not one given to fanciful images. It sounded more like her mother, Aideen, what little she knew of her; but Aideen had died at Brie's birth.

  ***

  At first Brie would startle whenever Ciaran's words came into her head, but gradually she got used to it, until it began to feel as if it had always been so. She found it felt most natural to speak out loud to Ciaran, though she sensed the Ellyl horse often knew her thoughts without her saying them. Ciaran rarely spoke more than a few words at a time and seemed to have an innate sense of politeness. She never barged into Brie's mind at an inopportune moment, except occasionally to let Brie know that it was time for a grooming session, or that Brie's own face needed washing or hair required tidying.

  ***

  As Brie rode north, Dungal was ever in her thoughts. She felt she was being drawn there, for good or ill. First the wyll, and now Bricriu, for surely Dungal was his destination. And when she found Bricriu, she felt certain he would somehow lead her to her father's killers.