‘Jiya?’ It was the hare that spoke. ‘It's all right. They've gone.’
‘I hid it,’ she said. ‘It's not here.’ She did hide something but couldn't remember what it was. ‘I knew they'd come. You can't take me. I know.’
The hare removed its ears. It was the druid, Ruan. Her body stretched back to normal size. ‘I will only take you if you're ready to go,’ he said.
Tosk pushed in front of the beasts, half the size he should be. ‘Jiya's all right,’ he shouted with Skaaha's voice. ‘Leave her alone.’ He came to stand in front of her. ‘It's not her fault. They were robbing us. Look!’ He held up a sword taken from the first man she'd killed. ‘It's Kerrigen's. They stole it from Ruan's hut. She stopped them.’ He looked up at her, beard twisted to one side of his strangely young face, a blood-mark on his forehead. ‘You're fine, aren't you, Jiya?’
‘I'm growing into the sky,’ she said, feeling her body do it, looking down. Kerrigen's sword was too large for this small Tosk, too big for Kerrigen, who stood to one side, shifting from foot to foot. ‘You called to me,’ she told her dead sister. ‘I heard you.’ She dropped her own sword and fell to her knees, reaching out to the apparition. ‘I saw what happened.’ But what she saw had forgotten itself. Her head still buzzed, full of bees. ‘I hear it.’ She clucked her tongue. ‘Tluck-tluck-tluck.’ She clamped her hands over her skull. ‘Tluck-tluck-tluck. Do you hear it?’ She grasped Ruan's fur cloak. ‘Do you hear?’
‘I hear,’ Ruan assured her. ‘Time will tell what it means.’ He put his arm round her shoulder, drew her close. ‘Come, I'll give you something to quiet it now.’
Skaaha's heart hurt. Jiya couldn't be saved; her aunt shut away in Ruan's lodge. Shamed, she helped clear the mess. Damage to the roundhouse roof was minor, the fire quickly extinguished with cauldrons of sea water, smouldering thatch cut out to be replaced come daylight. Inside houses, bedding and clothes were tossed around, baskets tipped out, contents rifled, Skaaha's hidden pack scattered. Villagers raged.
‘Swine.’
‘Can't trust anybody these days.’
‘Wouldn't have happened while Kerrigen lived.’
‘On Sowen too!’
‘What kind of person desecrates a festival?’
‘It's the bog for them when we catch them.’ The threat was empty, a symptom of anger. Eternal death was for treasonable crimes, like killing a priest. Physical death was extreme, yet three intruders were corpses. If islanders stole, druids punished them by exclusion from festivals till reparation was made. Strangers were branded or lost a hand. Feelings ran high, and in all directions.
‘Where were the Ardvasar men?’
‘Never here when you need them!’
‘In their cups, I bet.’
‘So much for patrolling the coast.’
‘Is this what we keep warriors for?’
‘Kerrigen would have sorted them out, and hunted down the thieves!’
‘If they'd got to my larder, I'd take a coracle and follow them to the end of the world myself,’ Lethra threatened. ‘I'd give them what for!’ But there was also relief. They faced a harsh winter if the stores had gone, their debt to Jiya troubling but immense. Even Erith recognized it.
‘Though I don't know why she had to fire a flaming arrow into my roof!’
‘I expect that was an accident,’ Ard soothed. ‘She needed light to see by to throw the spear.’
‘So she gets it by burning us out of house and home’ – the exaggeration was out before Erith could stop it – ‘while you defend her?’
‘That's unjust,’ Ard said. ‘I admit my shame. Do you have none?’
Erith calmed herself. ‘I'm just saying she might have aimed better. Why did it have to be my roof?’
Hearth fires were re-lit and the council met. The three house-keepers, Lethra, Erith and Kenna, were joined by one man from each home, with the druids as advisors. Ard favoured going after the gang, but the current would have carried them rapidly up the coast of Alba. They could be anywhere on the mainland.
‘Only a few small treasures are missing,’ Ruan reported. Jiya had prevented Kenna's jewellery being taken to the boat; the basket was found beside one corpse. The other two had carried all of Kerrigen's honours. ‘So we have those back.’
‘But why steal them in the first place?’ Erith asked. ‘They can't be used.’
Ruan shrugged. ‘I doubt they knew the owner had died.’
‘Warrior honours in a druid lodge,’ Lethra snorted, ‘and they couldn't tell?’
‘The forge store is full if they wanted weapons,’ Kenna added. It made no sense. Metalwork could be sold, but the store was untouched. ‘The state of my house,’ she grumbled, ‘like they looked for something.’ The others agreed but could think of nothing in their houses worth the effort the robbers had expended on the search. There was also nothing to distinguish the corpses, the trade tattoos below their left ears burned out, a druid custom to exile persistent troublemakers from society.
‘Outsiders,’ Tosk said. One body bore a second tattoo. ‘If it's a clan mark, it's been altered,’ he added, examining it, ‘or we'd know who they were. But they're from Alba, not beyond it. No one would take the open sea in a sail-less craft.’
Ard engraved a copy of the design on to a metal disc, in case the record would help to identify the escaped thieves some day. If they were found, druid law would be applied.
Despite mutterings that the otherworld was too good for them, the priests cremated the dead in the bonfire. Villagers threw the charred bones in the bottom of the new rubbish pit. This insult to their remains meant the robbers should arrive tainted in the next life, ready to make amends. The druids had Jiya, drugged and tied in Ruan's lodge. They would decide the justice of the deaths.
Next morning, as he stripped off, Thum bent close to Skaaha. ‘What will you do now?’ he whispered. It was first light. The smell of roasting mutton for the evening feast already drifted round the village.
‘I don't know.’ She watched him go to exercise with Eefay, unable to join in. Her aunt was in trouble. Not knowing who they were, she'd killed three unarmed men. They might have been visitors from the otherworld, or villagers in disguise playing a trick for Sowen. Despite anger at the thieves, people were uneasy.
At breakfast, Ruan came looking for her, staff slung on his back. With him he brought her mother's weapons, shield and winged helmet. For the first time, she wanted to speak with him, to ask his advice. Guilt stood in the way.
‘It's good you've eaten,’ he assured her. ‘After the spoiling, we have a long walk. But you must fast now till evening.’
‘I want to come,’ Eefay piped up.
Skaaha shifted uncomfortably as the druid considered the little girl. He would say yes. People always said yes to Eefay.
‘This is for Skaaha alone to do,’ he said.
‘But I can watch, can't I?’ Eefay persisted. ‘It's not fair. She gets to make the sacrifice and be the chosen one.’ Her petulance became aggressive. ‘Donal would make you take me.’
‘Your father has no say in this.’ Ruan spoke calmly, yet the manner of his speech did not allow for argument. ‘And you have a lesson to learn. Life is fair with one gift only.’
‘But I want to go!’ Eefay wailed.
Erith came over. ‘Wants and gets are two different things,’ she said, taking the little girl's hand. ‘Come, we've chosen you to sing at the feast tonight. You have to learn a special song.’ She winked at Skaaha and led her sister away.
The spoiling took place in the forge, where Tosk waited, chanting, dressed for the ceremony. Kerrigen's weapons were put beyond use, the shaft of the spear burned, its iron tip and the blade of her sword heated, beaten out of shape, and cooled in sea water. Ruan slung them, with the shield and winged helmet, in a pack on Skaaha's back. This was her burden: a large one, but not heavy, not like her aunt.
‘If Jiya hadn't killed those men, I couldn't make the sacrifice,’ she said.
‘You o
we her a debt,’ Ruan agreed, puncturing her defiance.
Up on the hill path, the smell of woodsmoke drifted from the bonfire. The air was cold with the promise of frost, the sky a clear, sharp blue. North of them, the rounded red mountains were redder. The jagged, black mountains beyond jumped closer. Home lay far behind them: the sweeping curve of Loch Bracadale, the green peninsula of Ullinish, the solid, reassuring brochs of Doon Beck and Doon Mor.
‘Does your sister always get what she wants?’ Ruan asked as they walked.
‘Mostly. She's very pretty.’ Skaaha shrugged. ‘Everybody loves her.’
‘Yet she's angry with you.’
‘Is she?’
‘You have what she wants.’
Skaaha couldn't think what she had, but it was true that Eefay always asked to go where she went, do as she did, have whatever she might have. ‘Aren't fostered children the same?’ she asked.
Ruan shook his head. ‘Does Calum chase after Thum?’
The youngster sometimes rolled about the grass in the mornings, copying them, but it was just child's play, not because Thum was doing it. Skaaha had been surprised to discover they were brothers. There was warmth between them, but no passion, none of the anger that swelled between her and Eefay. The boys' lives were not tied together, sharing a home and mother, as hers had been tied to her sister's.
The track was not demanding, mostly flat plateau between low peaks. Where it passed through forest, Ruan played his reed flute as they walked.
‘To please the beasts,’ he joked when she asked.
‘Do they like to dance?’
‘They like to know we're about.’
Gradually, she relaxed. Her worry for Jiya could wait. In front of them, the land spread out into a wide green valley. Before long, they reached a clustered group of small lochs. The druid led the way around the rocky shore, keeping them upwind of trees on the opposite bank. She spotted a lynx in one, and knew it saw them. There would be bears here too but, though his only useful weapon was a sling and a bag of stones, the druid was unperturbed. His confidence inspired hers. Bears would think they were parent and cub and steer clear.
‘What are you grinning about?’ Ruan asked.
‘You don't look much like Mummy bear,’ she said, giggling.
‘There's always something to be grateful for.’ He smiled back. ‘We're here.’ They were on a rocky outcrop above the loch. Below, there was no shore, only deep water gently lapping the sheer stone face. ‘Will I stay with you?’
‘It doesn't matter. I'm fine.’
‘Don't fall in.’
She stepped back from the edge, shook her mother's honours off her back on to the sparse grass. Images filled her head: the old door-keeper; peats burning in the fire-pit; curving stone steps; smoky lamps; curtained chambers; a voice. Pain is the teacher. Extricating the spearhead, she walked back to the edge, paused to get her grip – she did this for Kerrigen, so her spirit would wake in the afterlife – and threw. In spite of the bent tip, it flew down into the loch, slicing through the water. Next, she lifted the bronze shield. Throwing it was more difficult. She swung around. The disc spun away from the cliff edge, falling with a splash. Aghast, she turned to the druid.
‘It's floating,’ she said.
Without a word, he stepped forward, put a stone in his sling, swung it over his head and jerked it forwards. The stone clunked against the rim of the shield, tilting it. As it dipped below the surface, water filled the boss. In moments, it was gone.
‘There is no need to throw,’ he said gently. ‘Just hold them out over the edge and let go.’
A lump formed in Skaaha's throat. She lifted the winged helmet. Like all her mother's accoutrements, it was beautifully made. Kerrigen loved fine things, skilled workmanship. Skaaha had envied her only this, with its bronze feathered wings and delicate roped edging. She could see now who had made it. The craft was Ard's, from the time when they made her. Her eyes filled with tears.
‘It wouldn't be a sacrifice if it was easy.’ Ruan's quiet voice neither prompted nor insisted. ‘No one will make you do what you don't wish to,’ he added. ‘Keep it if you must, but think first how well it protected your mother.’
Skaaha blinked furiously. Tears spilled down her cheeks. If the helmet had stayed in place her mother would have lived. Bending, she lifted a heavy stone, put it in the helmet then dropped it over the edge. Gleaming, it fell, splashing into the water, sinking out of sight. Only the sword remained. She gripped the haft in both hands and held it out over the edge, the buckled blade pointing downwards. She held it a long time, this last reminder of the warrior queen who was her mother. Then she let go.
Ruan joined her at the cliff edge, putting his arm round her shoulder as they gazed at the ripples fading out over the loch below.
‘Bravely done,’ he murmured. ‘Brave girl.’
‘She'll watch over us now,’ she said, ‘me and Eefay.’ But she knew he didn't believe it and turned on him. ‘Why do druids sacrifice when you don't believe?’
‘The dead need to be let go. Keeping their treasured possessions is a way to keep them here. Would that be good for anyone?’
She considered. ‘No. If they're in the afterlife, or,’ she added doubtfully, ‘if there is an otherworld, they'd be unhappy if they still wanted to be here.’
‘And so would we, wanting that,’ he said.
Half-way home, they stopped to break their fast with cold water from a mountain stream. The days were short now, the light already fading. A great white-tailed sea eagle flew overhead, barking as it went. Rau… rau… rau…
‘A good omen,’ Ruan said, watching it head inland to roost.
‘I know what it is,’ Skaaha said. The wet rock under her hand was knobbly, like the bones in Eefay's shoulder when she'd pushed on it to raise herself and saw the warriors surrounding them. ‘It's death.’
‘The eagle?’ Ruan looked puzzled.
‘The only gift life gives to everyone.’
Like water, his eyes took on the colour of the sky. At the loch-side, they had been sharp winter blue. Now they were warm grey. He smiled. ‘Wise as well as brave,’ he said. ‘You'll keep me on my toes.’
‘What happened to Jiya?’
‘Her spirit doesn't fit well into her mind and body. She sees the world differently. Sometimes that frightens her.’
‘I know. I mean, what did you do?’
‘I gave her cordial to calm her, but she can't have it for long.’
‘You'll take her to Suli.’
‘Yes. She'll be safe there.’
Desperation gripped her. ‘I could take her to Glenelg.’
‘Is that what you planned?’
Caught out, Skaaha stared down at the sparkling water. ‘Will I see her again?’
‘Maybe.’ He gripped her shoulder. ‘Be where you are, Skaaha, always. There is nothing you can do for Jiya.’ They rose and walked on. Soon, the smell of roasting mutton would have drawn them to the village, even if they'd been sightless.
The feast was held in Lethra's roundhouse. As larder-keeper, the chief's home smelled of beasts from the pens outside, and of milk, cheeses, smoked fish and drying meats or, depending on the tasks in hand, of mead, ale, beer, berries, fruit or herbs. To enter it was an assault on the senses, one that whetted appetite.
Backed by other children, her thwarted desire forgotten, Eefay sang the rest-and-be-thankful blessing for the harvest bounty and basked in delighted applause. In the quiet time after the feast, family gifts were exchanged. Skaaha fixed the gold armlet she'd made round the top of Eefay's arm.
‘There,’ she said. ‘Now you'll be even more beautiful.’
Eefay stared at it, amazed. It was the first piece of jewellery she'd owned. ‘I'll never take it off,’ she vowed. Then her eyes clouded. ‘The bad men took my present for you. It was a dagger.’
‘That's all right,’ Skaaha assured her stoutly. ‘They nearly had yours too, except for Jiya.’ But when her sister ran to show off her
present to the others, the ache of disappointment swelled. Even where no one favoured either of them, Eefay always got and she didn't. That was the way of things.
11
Huddled in the cove, out of sight of his boat or the broch, Mara raged. ‘Nothing?’ she hissed, furious. ‘You found nothing?’
‘Weapons, but not that one.’ The outsider spat on stones. ‘I lost three men. Half of us. Dead, I'm sure. You never said about a warrior. Crazed, that one is.’
The stink of him offended her. Even in pitch dark, grease shone on his beard. ‘She has it. I know she has.’
‘Then it's well hid.’ He blew his nose with his fingers. ‘Reward, you said.’
Mara forgot caution. ‘You had the honours, and lost them!’ she snapped. They would have been some consolation. But the sacrifice was made by now, Kerrigen's spirit awake in an afterlife from where the dead could be vengeful. ‘You owed me,’ she snarled. ‘I should've taken your hand off when I first caught you. Be grateful I don't take your head!’
‘Hasty, that is.’ He held up grimy hands then quickly dropped them, shoving them into the pockets of his ragged coat. ‘There's other uses we could be.’
The truth of this kept her in check. Warrior queens made enemies. Those who lived by stealth could do what others couldn't. There could be other opportunities to recover her possession. Clearly, Jiya didn't recall what or where it was. As for Kerrigen, the druids might be right, her dead rival safely in the otherworld, a mewling baby at its mother's breast. ‘Your mouth stays shut,’ she said, ‘even with your men, or I will hunt you down. Now get out of my sight.’
He scurried away, stumbling over pebbles, his bulk a blacker shadow in the dark. The smell of him remained.
*
The last day of Sowen was spent culling older beasts, the carcases salted, dried or smoked except for one fat porker, spit-roasted for the evening feast. Skins were stretched, scraped and set to dry inside roundhouse roofs, sheepskins washed in the freezing river, scrubbed with soapwort, oiled then steeped with herbs to protect against moths. During winter, they would be routinely worked to keep them supple.
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