by Sam Taw
Renowden was the only one who ventured to speak. “No better then?”
“Worse. She’s burning up with fever and I can’t get her to take water, let alone any of my tonics. Not that they would help.”
“You’ve seen this before?”
I nodded. “The blue lines under the skin and fever, many times. Rarely does it end well. The black scab and rash are new to me, but from what you told me about your friend, her prospects are not good.”
Ren comprehended my train of thought. “I should go and tell Tallack that he’ll be one less slave before the day is out.” He ducked back outside leaving the blushing couple standing around like spare parts.
Sorcha looked a pitiful thing, flailing her skinny little arms about and mumbling in her sleep. All I could think about was how she’d been spared the knife less than a moon ago and now she would meet up with her dead kin after all.
I stole a glance at Kewri, trying to decide whether he was pleased with this development or anguished. Sorcha’s death would put paid to Senara ever discovering his duplicity, thus assuring their continued affair. From his expression, I detected a sadness, but little more. He is not easy to read at the best of times. I suspected that he would have been more vocal had Senara been absent from my house.
Rinsing my cloth in the cool water, I continued to dab Sorcha’s brow and neck. “Have you spoken to the Chief about your scouting trip?” I asked Senara.
“Yes, I did that before…” She darted her eyes towards Kewri and then back at the floor rushes.
“And? What’s Brea up to?”
Beginning to relax in my presence, she let her arms swing to her side and then to the tin pouch attached to her belt. “I managed to befriend a Duro scout, well… I say befriend; it took a few grains of the Chief’s tin to get him on board.” She unhooked the purse and held it out to me.
“How did that come about?” I grinned at her ingenuity, gesturing for her to hang onto the purse for another occasion.
“He was patrolling near to the campsite I’d built for myself. Blundering kyjyan made more noise than Blydh’s Head Hunters coming back from a raid. I slipped around the perimeter, caught him in a headlock and threatened to slash his throat if he didn’t tell me what I wanted to know.” She shrugged. “One thing led to another and he’s now my paid spy. Turns out, Duros are not the loyal creatures that we pegged them to be. They’d sell their children for a nugget or two.”
I repressed a cackle. She really was something of a marvel.
“We were right about Brea.” She continued. “They hate her. She’s gathered a group of the best warriors together and pays them handsomely for protection and to enforce her orders within the tribe. Their elders are in uproar over her latest plan. She has commanded the tribe to build a compound like this one.”
“Why are they against such a plan? It was our saving grace when they attacked us.”
“Because the stupid kyjyan has learnt nothing after the fireball raid. She’s insisting they build it in the Sid Valley.”
I must have looked puzzled since she spelled out their problem in no uncertain terms.
“The site floods every spring.” Her mouth fell open and her eyes screwed up tight chuckling with laughter and holding her middle. “Sorry.” She stopped abruptly, remembering the deathbed patient at my side.
“How far into the build are they?”
“According to the scout, the warriors and able men are all dragging their heels. They’ve cleared some of the woodland, but hardly any of the defences are even started.”
“I can’t say I blame them.” With our enemy’s attention turned inward, we could assume that we’d be safe from further attack for the time being. That was something in our favour. It seemed to me that this would allow us to travel to the hot springs on Belgae lands to seek a cure for Blydh, without worrying about our people while we were away. I needed to speak with Tallack.
Looking at Kewri, I was hesitant to ask. “Can I leave her care with you for a little while? I have to go to the Long Hut.” My features were set to stern and my jaw rigid. He could see that I needed him to be on his best behaviour. He nodded sheepishly.
“Good. Thanks.” I grabbed my cloak, although it was quite clement for the time of year, and pointed at Senara. “You’d better come with me. I’ve a feeling I shall need your services again, my dear.” She visibly brightened at my deliberate familiarity and strode behind me across the mud to the Chieftains’ hut.
If only Tallack had extended the planking from the centre of the island to my house, I would not need to clean my pattens so often. The torches were lit, the guards were posted outside the front entrance, and the singing was bawdy and raucous. Senara’s news must have gone down well with the warriors. They were all on the wrong side of many jugs of ale.
Pushing through those gathered in the doorway, we weaved between the elders’ benches and Sea Warriors to get to the top table. The two Chieftain tall chairs were unoccupied. Treeve sat in solitary splendour in the Ruvane’s chair between the two. The closer I moved to the top table, the angrier I became. I was about to spew forth a biting verbal reprimand for Treeve’s arrogance, when Tallack grabbed me from behind around the waist.
“Aunt Mel!” He lifted me off my feet, squeezing the air from my lungs and crushing my ribs as he spun me around. “Come and have a drink with us.”
“No time for that. Put me down you great oaf!”
His booming laughter was infectious, setting off his sailors and the elders, who shared in the amusement. “We have much to celebrate. Senara told you the news about the Duros I presume?” He let me down gently before pushing me towards the platform and his tall chair.
“She did.” He sat next to his lover and patted the empty chair on the opposite side where his mother usually sat. I scanned the room. The elders and their wives filled one side of the hall, Tallack’s crewmen on the opposite side. Where was Blydh and his Head Hunter Clan? “I can’t see your brother.” I meant it as a question for him to answer, but all I got in response was an ineffectual shrug.
Sitting by his side, I drew close to my nephew and explained what the priest had told us at the Nine Children Stones. I got the impression that he was only half listening, his hand strayed to Treeve’s knee making him giggle. In hind sight, it was probably a stupid idea to reason with him while he was in his cups. I tried one last time to gain his support. Without that, I would never manage to coax Blydh into the trip.
“You know, Endelyn believes that he’s likely to make a full recovery following the ritual at the hot springs; no more angry sniping or reckless behaviour. Blydh would be back to his old self.” I thought that mentioning Endelyn might sway his decision, but it barely made a dent.
“If that’s what she recommends, then you should do all you can to make it happen, Aunt Mel. I have faith in you.”
I honestly believe that these youngsters only think about the night ahead of them and no further. That is no way to lead a tribe. All I’d achieved was to shift the entirety of the problem onto my own shoulders. How in the name of Cernonnus was I supposed to convince Blydh to travel into a dangerous tribal region to remove the demonic spirit he had no clue about? I tapped my foot on the platform, holding in my frustration.
Senara was yanked onto the warrior benches and was singing along with the rest of them until my head swam. This entire enterprise was futile. Tallack was in no mood to listen and I had to clear my head. Stomping from the top table, I left Senara to her revelry and slipped out of the back door by the roasting pits.
Not one of the slaves stopped me to ask about Sorcha. I know she’d only been in camp for a short time, but it seemed that she was not well liked among the warriors, elders nor slaves. At this rate, only Kewri and I would be sorry to see her leave this world. I took the long route back to my hut, skirting the southern end near to Paega’s cage with the intention of walking up the eastern board walk to see if I could glimpse the white hart in the darkness.
Some of the el
ders’ children were up late, taunting Paega through the gaps between the posts and hurling dead rats and midden waste at him. He was wretched. All skin and bone and covered in his own stinking mess. As soon as the slimy filth hit the ground, he rushed over and picked through it looking for scraps worthy of eating. I felt sick. Was there no one in this compound who showed any compassion at all? Did family honour and loyalty mean nothing to this generation?
Every time I closed my eyes, I could see him standing there, sorting through the piss-soaked eggshells, bones, and rodents looking for food. Not even a brief sighting of the white stag cheered my mood. Dragging my feet along the planks to shuck off the mud, I headed back towards home. Kewri and Renowden were standing in the doorway looking out for me.
“Has she…?” I asked, predicting their answer.
Ren nodded. “Just a short while ago. I’m sorry, Meliora. I know you were fond of her.”
The moment he said it, guilt washed over me. I should have stayed with her to the end. She was forced to abandon her tribe, her mother’s comfort and most of her kin to sail to our shores. Now she would never leave them. The men parted, allowing me to pass by into my shelter. The moisture had already dried on her pallid skin. Her face, once pink and dotted with freckles, was grey and haunting; that shock of wild red hair, lank and drenched in stale sweat.
“Shall I carry her into the unfinished shelter out there?” Ren offered. There was no point in leaving her on the bunk indoors. She had no one to mourn for her. There would be no songs of passing, nor ritual cleanse at the riverbank, nor pyre on which to send her into the arms of Cernonnus.
“Thanks, Ren. Can you make sure that the entrance is barred well? I don’t want the camp dogs to get at her.”
He gave me a thin-lipped smile and nudged Kewri to assist. Poor brute was stung into silence. He must have had some feelings for her, however fleeting.
I watched Ren take her by the arms while Kewri latched onto her ankles. She bowed in the middle like a skinned rabbit, her arse grazing the rushes on the floor. They saw me frowning and adjusted their grip. Following them out into the cool night air, I could hear the celebrations going strong in the Long Hut.
“I don’t suppose either of you have seen Blydh have you?”
They both snapped their heads around to face me, stopping in their tracks.
Exchanging glances, they seemed to be conducting a silent argument over who should give me their news.
Ren lost. “He stopped by your hut while you were out. He took the whole pot of poppy resin and rode out of camp with his hunters.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I didn’t think the day could get any worse. Blydh had sneaked out of camp with my entire supply of resin and without the hunters’ usual whooping and hollering. With him controlling his own dosage, there was every chance he was crazed and leading his clan straight into the arms of the Duros. They would be outnumbered and butchered before dawn. How could Tallack have let him leave like that? Surely, he knew that his brother was not in his right mind?
There was nothing to be done but wait and hope for the best. Ren suggested that we make an offering to the Morrighan, to sacrifice a chicken or goat and ask her to spare our men in the raid, but I couldn’t face anymore blood and death. If the gods had their sights fixed on taking my nephew, no amount of slaughtered livestock would alter his fate.
“No, Blydh has to live by his decisions.” I turned to leave but stopped mid-thought. “Would one of you mind taking the left-overs to Paega’s cage? He is in a bad way and he’s still my kin when all is said and done.”
Kewri said he would make sure Paega got food and water, which was a weight off my mind. I stayed in my hut and burned a fresh bundle of herbs on the fire, wafting the smoke around to help Sorcha’s spirit on its way, and then turned in for the night. Kewri chose to sleep elsewhere, no doubt he and Senara had discovered somewhere private and sheltered for them to be together. My hut seemed enormous when they’d all gone. It was the first time I’d felt truly lonely in quite some time.
Under my furs, with the fire piled high with logs and the wooden panel barring entry to any who would disturb me, I wept a silent tear for Sorcha’s passing. I was fond of her. The happy memories of my time staying in the Novantae camp with nothing but grief in my heart will stay with me forever. Her family showed me such kindness and in return we killed her father and brothers and enslaved her for one terrible mistake.
Come morning, I heard the muttering and coughing of people gathering outside my house. For a few moments, I pulled the furs over my head and tried to block out the noise, but curiosity got the better of me. Wrapped in my warm cloak, I yanked the door panel aside and peered out between the skins.
Slaves, elders and Sea Warriors were taking it in turns to peep around the door of the unfinished shelter. Initially, I thought they were there to pay their respects to Sorcha, but something about their postures and murmurs made me suspicious.
“What’s the commotion?” I shrieked, sending the timid among them running. “If you’re here to sing her passing, stay. If your purpose is to gawp at the body, move your kyjyan arses away from here! Go on, scat!” Many did indeed scurry away, leaving me to wonder why they had clustered there in the first place. I poked my head into the shelter. Sorcha’s body was uncovered revealing the blue veins, the red rash, and the black sore on her leg.
Two of the slave girls from the roasting pits lingered behind. One stepped a pace closer. “Please, Fur Benyn?”
“Yes, what is it?” I snapped, looking around for something I could use to cover Sorcha’s body.
“We worked closely with her.” The girl stammered. Poor mite looked petrified. “People are saying that the black scab will kill us all, starting with those who shared her bedding.”
So that was what all the rumpus was about. They cared nothing for a slave girl dying, particularly a foreign one from the top of the world, as long as they survived. “You can rest assured, girls that this was the result of dishonouring Cernonnus himself. I was there when it happened and only Sorcha was affected. Make sure that you spread the word across camp. No one else will die from this, you have my word.”
They looked mightily relieved by my announcement, but I feared that it would take more than a promise to convince the elders. I stood and guarded the shelter until the last of the stragglers had melted away. Kewri was plodding up the boards past the pony pen. I beckoned him toward me and kept my eyes peeled for anyone else who might be trying to sneak a peek in the hut.
“How are you doing, Kewri?” I analysed his face. There were loose pouches under his eyes and mud smeared over his clothes. He puffed like he’d been running for half a day.
“I’ve been out to the forest at the northern side of the camp since dawn.” He took a deep breath and released it slowly. “One of the weaver women made this for me too.” From behind his back, he produced a ring of moss studded with early spring flowers.
“You picked them for Sorcha?” I was stunned. He obviously had deeper feelings for the Skotek slave than I thought.
“Not me, Fur Benyn. I traded with the weaver to make it for me.” His face crumpled. “I know that normal slaves only get a hole next to the midden pile, but Sorcha was still a daughter of a Chieftain. I spent the morning digging her a proper grave next to the pond at the edge of the forest. I hope you will permit me to lay her to rest there.”
It was hard not buckling alongside him. All I could do was nod my consent. He took one of the furs from his own bunk and wrapped her body within, stooping low to pick up the bundle into his arms. Together, we headed for the northern end of the island and waited for the watchman to open the gates.
By the time the bridge was lowered into position over the River Exe as it forked to surround our island, we had drawn quite a mass of spectators. Among them was Endelyn. She said nothing, but fell in line behind us as we walked to the grave site. For one moment, I thought that a few others might join us, but they stopped following as soon as we were
clear of the river.
The breeze was fresh and easterly until we reached the edges of the forest. In the shelter of the trees, Kewri led us to the small trench he’d dug next to a pond. It was a beautiful spot. Catkins dangled from the weeping willows, sunlight streamed in between the new shoots and leaves, and birds sang all around us.
Kewri had laid a twisted trail of ivy around the grave to open the portal to the Underworld. Stepping into the narrow hole, Kewri lowered Sorcha’s body down and removed the fur wrap. With great gentleness, he arranged her limbs into that of a sleeping babe, her knees tucked up to her chest, her hands close to her face.
From his pocket, he produced a tiny bone comb and a carved wooden horse. “Not much to help her on the other side.” He muttered. “But it’s better than nothing at all.”
I wondered if he’d stayed up all night to carve the timber beast. My chest almost exploded with remorse. He was in more pain than I had imagined. It hurt him to think of her unable to pay her way into the afterlife. I might be a cantankerous old woman at times, but I’m not heartless. I dug into my metal pouch from around my neck and handed him a small nugget of tin. He gave me a teary smile and tucked it into her hand.
As he clambered out of the hole, he looked pointedly at Endelyn. It was an unsubtle hint for her to speak the funeral rites over the dead. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence before the priestess caved in to his expectations.
She stood at the end of the trench and lifted her face to the sky, her palms raised to shoulder height. “Cernonnus hear me.” She began. “Take this poor creature into your realm and forgive any offence she gave at the standing stones of the Nine Children. Sorcha was little more than a child herself and not aware of her actions. She has paid the price for her sin. Please allow her safe passage into the Underworld and a peaceful reunion with her kinfolk and ancestors, we beg of you.”
Endelyn spoke at such a speed, with no pauses nor sentiment as if to reinforce her anger over the events from the past few days. Kewri and I intoned our own muttered farewells, barely audible to any but ourselves and stooped to push the circle of ivy into the grave around the corpse. Endelyn marched off immediately, leaving Kewri to back fill the soil and roots dislodged from the hole. I waited by his side for as long as I could bear, before turning towards home.
