by Jaine Fenn
Sais had hoped for a fire, both for warmth and for comfort. The idea of sleeping outside made him feel exposed and vulnerable. He asked Kerin, ‘Are we safe out here at night?’
‘There might be wilder-dogs: someone will stay awake to watch for them,’ she said.
‘Wilder-dogs? I don’t know what those are.’
‘They are scavengers. They are too small to take a bullock, and rarely bother people. We should be fine.’
‘So the ditch around the village wasn’t to keep these dogs out?’ It hadn’t looked like much of a deterrent.
‘No, that is to defend against reivers.’
‘And they’re what? Outlaws?’
‘Aye. But they have not troubled us for many years.’ Kerin didn’t sound convinced, but before he could ask more, Huw called them over to eat - he appeared to have appointed himself their guide. Sais tried hard not to stare when Huw picked at the scabby rash on his neck and ear.
Bedrolls were unrolled and food was passed around. Without a fire to sit round, the men formed little groups. Sais nodded to the two men sitting with Huw when he took his place. He was careful to mutter under his breath and make the ‘circle of the world’ gesture over his food before he ate.
After the food was finished, a water-skin went around. Sais took a gulp and spluttered: it wasn’t water but a sour yeasty drink that foamed up his nose.
Huw and his companions laughed. ‘Ha,’ said one, ‘looks like our upland ale is too strong for delicate lowland tastes.’ Sais toasted him with the skin and took another, more careful swig.
Sais had hoped to see the night sky, but as darkness fell, clouds crowded in. He steeled himself to pull his boots off. By the end of the day’s walking his feet had become mercifully numb, but when he’d taken the weight off them they had started to throb and now he could feel the blisters as well. He kept the socks on, despite the smell.
His sleep was fitful. He found himself waking up every few minutes, because he was cold or stiff or damp, or all three. At least there were no nightmares.
The next morning his feet felt like they’d been boiled. He forced them into his boots, biting his lip. Every step hurt. He tried walking in slightly different ways, putting his foot down at an angle, taking longer strides, walking on the sides of his feet. Some ploys worked for a while, until something else hurt - a calf muscle, his knees, his toes. When Kerin asked if he was all right, he snapped at her. He didn’t apologise, because that would have meant opening his mouth, and if he did that he might just start crying from the pain.
The valley opened out onto a plain of tawny grass. Distant mountains lurked like earthbound clouds under the overcast sky. They ate their lunch beside the stream they’d been following, then filled their water-skins before striking out across the plain. Damaru stuck close, apparently disconcerted by the open terrain. From the pointing fingers at the front of the party, Sais guessed they were aiming for a particular feature in the far mountains. During the afternoon they also passed several waymarkers, chest-high posts painted white, with a deep groove cut in the top. The ground was relatively even, allowing the sled to be towed rather than carried.
Huw spent most of the day walking with them, chatting with Kerin. At one point he darted away and returned with a handful of pale green leaves, which he waved under Sais’s nose. Sais, sunk in misery, was tempted to tell him where he could shove his leaves, but Huw said, ‘Put these on the blisters tonight. T’will sting like a scold’s tongue, then the blisters will go numb. The next day you will feel as though you have grown a second skin just for walking on.’
Sais made himself grunt a thank you.
That evening, Damaru again refused to stop. Sais was in no state to help, but he watched, concerned, as Kerin physically wrangled her son back to the drove. Fychan stared belligerently at them, but said nothing this time.
While the drovers made camp Sais addressed himself to his feet. He took a deep breath and pulled one sock off, wincing as the skin tore. He felt compelled to count the blisters - just six, so why did his whole foot hurt? He applied one of Huw’s leaves to the largest blister on his heel and gasped in shock - even though he’d been expecting pain, this felt like acid being dropped onto raw skin. He fought the urge to rip the leaf off, and after a few moments, glorious numbness spread. He gritted his teeth and applied the rest, then eased the sock back on to keep the leaves in place. The other foot hurt just as much.
He was colder than ever that night, and more than once he awakened thinking he could hear howls in the darkness.
Once they got going the next morning he felt better. Huw’s herb had reduced his blisters from agonising to merely sore, and his body had started to get used to walking. The journey was giving him a chance to think, though the conclusions he was reaching weren’t comforting: his memory wasn’t returning by itself, and though he was getting by, some things, like the Skymothers, or his own past, remained complete blanks. When Huw went off to take a turn on the sleds he mentioned his concerns to Kerin. ‘It is possible you have a malady of the spirit,’ she said.
‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
‘I am not sure myself. Perhaps you need a priest.’ Kerin didn’t sound enthusiastic.
‘Are we likely to meet one out here?’
‘There will be one waiting for us at Piper’s Steps, to accompany the drove to Plas Aethnen. And we can ask the men from the other villages who will meet us at the Steps if they know anything about you.’
In the afternoon sleet like chunks of freezing cloud began to fall. Though Sais’s rain gear was well-greased, the wind drove the sleet inside the stiff woven cloak and the damp seeped through the hat to chill his head.
When he saw an orange glow ahead he wondered if the bone-biting cold and constant discomfort was making him hallucinate.
Around him, the drovers sped up: they must have seen it too.
Huw, walking with them again, said, ‘Ah, we have not made such bad time; we should be there long before nightfall.’
‘Is that the meeting point?’ asked Kerin. When Huw nodded, she explained to Sais, ‘This is where we meet the drovers from Penfrid and Carregogh. The fire is lit by the first of the three villages to arrive.’
A fire sounded like a great idea, though Sais hadn’t seen any trees since they left the village. ‘What do they burn?’ he asked.
Kerin replied, ‘When a boy becomes a man, he walks out here with a pack full of supplies - much more than he needs for his journey. He spends the night out here, making any repairs that are needed to the storage hut. Older men do it too, as a way of being alone with their thoughts and the grace of the Mothers. They leave most of what they bring for the drove. I expect you have similar customs in the lowlands.’
‘I’m sure we do,’ he said. Everyone assumed he was a lowlander, but he had his doubts, though he said nothing.
CHAPTER TEN
Just by dint of travelling with the drove without complaint or fuss, Kerin found she and Sais were becoming accepted. When they met up with the drovers from Penfrid and Carregogh, most of the Dangwern men were happy to explain the presence of a stranger and a woman; only Fychan and Howen scowled and changed the subject when asked.
They made merry that evening, passing around a skin of heather ale, singing, and telling tales of old droves. Kerin enjoyed being included in the fireside circle, and even Damaru came into the light for a while, leaning up against Kerin as he watched the flames. Sais, sitting on her other side, politely declined requests for a song or story.
The next morning, there was dissent. By tradition, the drove leader from Dangwern took charge, but the councillors from Penfrid and Carregogh would not accept the leadership of a boy on his first drove. In the end, Howen took over.
The argument was loud and public, and watching it Sais whispered, ‘Did Arthen really think the others would accept Fychan? He’s such - he’s so inexperienced.’
‘Arthen does not make his decisions lightly,’ Kerin replied. ‘He may have suspecte
d Howen would take charge, but he must believe Fychan will make his peace with Damaru.’
‘I didn’t know Fychan had a problem with your boy - well, no more than he appears to have with anyone else.’
‘Back when people thought Damaru merely simple, some of the village lads used to tease him. One day he fought back, and moved the pattern so the leader’s stick went into his eye. That was the first time his true nature became apparent.’
‘Shit, Kerin! So the reason Fychan wears a scarf round his head is because Damaru put his eye out?’
‘It was not so bad at the time. I tried to help, but Gwellys would not let me. Then the cut went bad, and he lost his sight.’
‘We’d better hope he doesn’t bear a grudge, though I’d say he’s just the type.’
Once the new order of the drove was settled they set off: the councillors at the front, then the common men, then the three sleds, with the cattle bringing up the rear. Fychan walked a little apart from the other leaders, talking to Cadmael but ignoring everyone else.
The next day they woke to fog. They could see but a short distance and the plod and plash of the animals’ hooves on the damp ground was swallowed by the mist. Kerin found herself more alert then ever to Damaru’s position, concerned he would wander out of sight. Sais made little attempt at conversation.
That evening another row broke out amongst the leaders, conducted in harsh, angry whispers to avoid eavesdroppers. Fychan was not the focus this time; he stood off to one side and glared.
Despite their leaders’ attempts at secrecy, the rumour soon went round: they had missed a way-marker. They were lost.
‘Can’t we just wait until the fog lifts and retrace our steps?’ asked Sais.
‘Aye,’ said Huw, ‘we can. But if we do not reach Piper’s Steps in time to meet the ox-carts, we will have to carry the sleds the whole way. That will be hard work, especially in the drylands, and we will most likely not arrive in Plas Aethnen in time for the market.’
The fog persisted the next day. Kerin asked Damaru if he could find their path, but he just gave her a look she knew well, the one that said her question had no meaning for him.
In the evening Kerin heard howls in the darkness: the wilder-dogs shadowing the herd were awaiting their moment. Those on watch that night kept their weapons close to hand.
The fog lifted the following afternoon, and the sun set in a froth of red cloud. The next day broke clear, and the dawn was greeted with smiles and prayers of thanks. The joy was short-lived: those who knew the route took their bearings on the mountains at the edge of the plain and soon confirmed that they were a long way off-course.
The following day they set off before dawn and travelled until after dark. By the time they stopped Sais looked fit to drop, and even Damaru was flagging. The day after that they started out early again. Huw had overheard the leaders talking the night before when he went to relieve himself. ‘We will reach Maen Bulch today - they plan to carry on through, rather than risk stopping,’ he told Kerin and Sais.
‘What’s wrong with stopping there?’ asked Sais tetchily.
‘Tis just’ - Huw made a dismissive gesture with his hand - ‘tis not a very comfortable place to sleep, is all. Do not mind me, I fuss like a girl.’ He walked off.
‘Kerin, is there a problem?’ Sais asked once Huw was out of earshot.
‘I did not want to say, in case it worried you. The last time the drove encountered reivers, it was in Maen Bulch.’
‘Great,’ he said.
The land rose gently for the first part of the morning, and soon slabs of rock showed through the grass.
They reached a cleft in the hills at midmorning. Howen called for the drove to halt and a contingent of armed men, including Gwilym and Fychan, moved to the rear.
As they headed into the valley grass gave way to rocks. The overhanging crags combined with the low cloud to give the impression that the land and sky had sealed them in. The valley floor was strewn with boulders spattered with growths in hues of green and orange and yellow. Sometimes the way was barely wide enough to allow three to walk abreast, and the sleds had to be carried all the time. They kept crossing and re-crossing the stream that tumbled down the centre of the valley, and Kerin soon had splashes up her legs and grazes on her hands from scrambling amongst the rocks and pools. The cattle managed better, as they were well suited to rocky terrain, and they did not mind getting wet.
At first Damaru clambered over rocks and peered into crevices; Kerin kept an eye on him, but was not too concerned. When he started to climb up the valley walls, his eyes fixed on the distant skyline, she panicked, and almost screamed at him to come down, drawing sharp looks from the men. After that he stayed close.
Those men not carrying the sleds unwound slings from their belts and picked up stones as they went along. Kerin jumped at every slight movement among the rocks, real or imagined.
Lunch was grabbed while they changed shifts on the sleds. By the afternoon Kerin felt calmer, even smiling to herself when she spotted a dipper bobbing its tail before flying low over the bubbling stream.
A while later, a shout came from behind for the drove to halt. Sais scanned the rocks nervously. Kerin turned when she heard someone calling, ‘Mistress Kerin, your services are required!’
She ran back to find several men standing over a small bundle of fur. A steer had kicked one of the dogs into the stream. His master had rescued it and now it lay on the bank, wide-eyed and trembling. Though there was no mark save a small cut on its side, Kerin saw in the animal’s eyes that it was doomed. When she felt its flank, bone ground under her hand. The animal gave a sharp yelp and feebly tried to bite her. She looked up at the dog’s master and shook her head. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. The man hurrumphed and turned away. One of the men murmured that he would take care of it.
Walking back, Kerin’s sympathy for the dog was tempered with the small satisfaction that they had been willing to call on her skills as a healer.
The delay cost them precious time. As the sun sank behind them and darkness crept up the valley, several drovers began to pray under their breath.
They would have to stop soon, or risk injuring themselves on the treacherous terrain. Before the light went completely, Cadmael came along the line, organising watches for the night. Kerin offered to take the first watch by the Dangwern sled with Sais; with the drove strung out along the valley floor, they needed every pair of eyes. There was no room to unfurl the awnings, so the men slept wherever they could find space to stretch out.
She and Sais sat next to each other against the sled, not quite touching, facing up the side of the valley. They could see very little: clouds hid the sky, and the moons were both on the wane. Kerin made out the faint glint of the stream, and the dark shapes of the larger rocks, but little else. She would have enjoyed the comfort of conversation, but they found themselves listening hard for any sound not made by the stream or the restless cattle.
Eventually she felt Sais sag beside her and then give a gentle snore. Exhaustion had won out over fear. Despite the tension and discomfort, her own eyes were getting heavy, and her legs had gone numb. She got up and stretched, careful not to disturb Sais.
One of the nearby rocks was gone.
That had not been a rock; that was where Damaru had been sleeping. He must have got up. It could be disastrous for him to wander off now: many of the men on guard had spears and knives, which they would eagerly employ against any apparent intruder who did not immediately identify themselves.
She heard the scrape of a boot on rock. Without thinking she called out, ‘Damaru, is that you?’ The night swallowed her voice.
Whoever it was stopped moving.
‘Damaru, answer me!’ she hissed, taking a step forward.
Silence.
All she could think of was finding her son. She must wake Sais—
She turned around. There! Was that movement? A moment later someone grabbed for her, but her attacker must have assumed she was fa
cing the other way. He brushed past, and missed.
Stark terror coursed through her. She stumbled and fell, then began to crawl away hurriedly, her limbs at once weak with fear and suffused with energy. Her heart thundered in her ears.
She stubbed her finger on a rock, and the pain brought her back to herself. She must warn the drovers that something was amiss! Yet if she drew attention to herself, she was doomed. Indecision froze her voice and limbs, even as one grasping hand found a loose stone.
From the far side of the sled she heard a scuffle and a groan, then the sound of a body falling to the ground.
The worst had happened. Reivers were overrunning the camp.
She sat down, her back against the rock she had bruised her finger on. Shapes moved silently through the darkness. The nearest, she knew, was looking for her. She raised her arm so she could thump him with the stone when he found her and drew a deep, ragged breath, ready to scream—
Someone grabbed her wrist. For a brief but wonderful moment she thought it was Sais, or Gwilym, or even Fychan, and that this was all a mistake, and they were not under attack after all. Then she felt something cold across her neck, and a voice she had never heard before said in her ear, ‘Make a noise, and you die.’ The rough hand on her wrist moved up to fold itself over her upraised hand. ‘Let go of the stone, boy.’ She did. It fell to the ground. He kept hold of her hand and whispered, ‘Cover his mouth.’ Another man scuttled round to crouch in front of her.
Over the man’s shoulder, Kerin saw sudden movement. Sais - it had to be him - exploded to his feet and hurtled into the reiver nearest the sled. Both men flew back. She heard a splash.
The man in front reached out towards her. His hand brushed her neck, and she pressed herself into the rock. The man paused, and felt lower. He gave a brief huff of surprise. ‘Tis the woman we heard!’ he whispered to his companion.
