At sunset, everyone cheered the new moon born into the western sky. The bonfire flared again, its embers raked down for the Carlin's leap into the future. She danced around, sweeping glowing cinders into the low heap. Finally, with a roll of drums, she leapt, blacks trailing out, only just clearing the flickering flames, her pointed hat held in place with one gnarled hand. As she landed, the rift between the two worlds healed. Hands drew her forward to safety.
‘Aye-yie-yaa!’ the people cheered. Winter had begun. The blue hag screeched her prophecy of snow to come before the moon was full. Everybody queued to jump. The Carlin swatted each one as they landed, her broom applied more vigorously to any who fell short and were hauled out, smoking.
‘Jump with me,’ Thum said, shyly, holding out his hand to Skaaha, ‘into our new lives, for luck.’
‘I'm staying in Kylerhea.’ She made a wry face. ‘I'm the chosen one.’
‘Then you'll need luck,’ he grinned.
She took his hand, and they jumped together, making a clean leap of it. When the last had leapt, the hag stomped back to the cave, muttering all the way about being unnecessarily manhandled over an easy jump. She would not be seen again till spring.
First light also brought departures, as visiting family and friends were waved off home. When they were gone, houses would be swept clean, fresh herbs scattered to deter pests or pestilence, rubbish thrown into the new pit on top of the charred bones of the robbers. About to leave, Thum came running over to find Skaaha.
‘I wanted to give you something,’ he said, embarrassed, ‘for teaching me and persuading Tosk. But I can't make things like you can.’
‘Make yourself a warrior,’ Skaaha said, ‘and protect us.’
‘I'll do that,’ the boy said. ‘But I also found this for you.’ He held out his hand. ‘Gern showed me how to pan the streams for it.’ In his palm nestled three large shining nuggets of silver. ‘Ard promised to make you a brooch with it, for Imbolc.’
Skaaha had trouble closing her mouth to speak. This was Bride's metal, the silver of winter moon reflecting a pale spring sun whose low light silvered trees, grass, hills and sea. Her eyes flitted from the coveted nuggets to the boy's flushed face. Before she could say anything, or hug him, he thrust the nuggets into her hand.
‘Well, take it then,’ he said, gruffly, and scurried back to Ruan.
The druid rode one of the shaggy ponies that brought them to Kylerhea, and led another. On it sat Jiya, head hanging. Her face had changed, features dragged down, heavy, immobile, the wildness gone from her eyes and replaced with a vast emptiness. A rope bound her wrists together. Skaaha went over, put a hand on her aunt's thigh and looked up into the dreadful lifelessness of her expression.
‘It'll be all right, Jiya,’ she whispered, but nothing seemed all right about the warrior, and she did not reply. An arm went round Skaaha's shoulders.
‘It will be all right,’ a voice said. ‘Visions should be a blessing.’ It was Erith, the bulge of her pregnant belly pressing against Skaaha's side. ‘The druids will make her well.’
‘Will they?’ Unconvinced, Skaaha shook off the forge-keeper's arm. Erith had never wanted her or her aunt to be here. Thum waved furiously from his seat behind Ruan as they rode off. Jiya did not look up or round.
Saying goodbye to Eefay was infinitely easier. It had taken just those few short days to remember how annoying she was. ‘When they see I'm wearing gold,’ the little girl crowed, ‘they'll think it's a warrior queen coming back!’
‘Well, you are,’ Skaaha assured her. ‘You just have to grow a bit.’ With nuggets of Bride's silver nestled in her pocket, she envied her sister nothing except her innocence. They exchanged hugs, kisses and promises of future visits. Tosk helped the little girl into a coracle. He was crossing too, making his way to Cairnpapple in the navel of Alba. As the small boat rowed above the current before being allowed to pick it up and be pulled down and across to the opposite coast, where Donal already waited, the sisters waved till they could wave no more.
‘Live the day well, Eefay,’ Skaaha shouted. The answer, if there was one, drowned in the swell. She watched the craft dock safely on the other side, and waved again till Donal put her sister up on his horse and rode off out of sight. Cold began to bite, and with it, loss. None of her own people were here now; no Jiya or Eefay, not even Ruan, and not Thum, the best friend she'd made. A hollow space opened inside her. Drawing her cloak tight, she hurried home. Inside, two older girls waited.
‘Erith says you can come with us,’ Kaitlyn, the taller, blonde girl said.
‘Where to?’ Chittering, Skaaha just wanted to stay by the fire.
‘The cavern,’ the red-haired girl answered. Freya, her name was. She worked in the smelter. Kaitlyn trained with the crone, milking ewes, goats and cows.
‘I don't want to sit with Lethra,’ Skaaha complained. ‘Not again.’
‘Shhh.’ Kaitlyn put a finger to her lips, in case the children in the house heard. ‘She's gone home,’ she whispered. ‘It's ours now. Any time we want to be there.’
Skaaha couldn't imagine wanting to be in a smoky cave halfway up a freezing hill. But the two girls were keen, and the alternative was clearing up, so she went with them. On the way, they explained. Freya had played Bride last Imbolc, Kaitlyn at Imbolc two suns before that. The Bride in between, from the nearest fishing village, had gone to be a druid. Now it was Skaaha's turn. She would bring the gift of fire, bless babies with their names and grant wishes. They would be her companions.
‘It will be Kaitlyn's last time,’ Freya confided. ‘She comes of age at Beltane.’
‘If I can wait that long,’ Kaitlyn said, rolling her eyes. ‘I keep looking at men and thinking, Mmm, bet he'd be good.’
‘Good for what?’ Skaaha asked.
The others laughed.
‘You'll find out,’ Kaitlyn assured her. ‘That's what we're for.’
‘There's a reason why you were chosen,’ Freya added. ‘Lethra always knows, says she can smell it.’
‘Smell what?’
‘The change coming. You wait. You'll be fine till Imbolc is past, then you'll bleed. The old witch is never wrong.’
Kaitlyn pushed aside the curtain of broom that screened the cavern entrance. All evidence of their chief's seven-day occupation was gone. There was food laid out, a jug of ale, a fresh straw mattress and peat smouldering in the hearth. It was warm enough, cosy and private. Kaitlyn sprawled on the bed.
‘Peace,’ she sighed. ‘No Lethra to nag and complain.’ She glanced at Skaaha. ‘No Erith to bug you. And’ – she turned to Freya – ‘no Kenna waiting to pounce when you come of age.’ Kenna, the noman furnace-keeper, liked an occasional young woman in her bed to break the monotony of men. Anticipation lit Kaitlyn's face. ‘We could even sneak some boys in.’
‘That's the last thing we want,’ Freya objected.
‘Only because you're too young yet.’ Kaitlyn rolled on to her stomach and considered the redhead. ‘You could watch and learn.’
‘Like I haven't seen that a million times already,’ Freya exaggerated. ‘And even if I see it a million times more, I'm still not doing it. Ever.’ She turned to the food. ‘Cakes and ale,’ she drooled. ‘That's a lot more fun.’
Girls, apart from her sister, were a mystery to Skaaha. At Doon Beck, she spent her time with women, or sometimes with young men in training. Girls of her age were rare. If she saw any, it was at festivals or when visiting family homes with her mother. Having two for company was new and exciting. There was no privacy in the village, only on hills and moors, in forests, or further down the shore. Meeting the bear had taught her to stay in sight of houses. Now, she was growing up, and for a few moons over winter, she had a special place to go and two friends to share it with.
‘Boys are all right,’ she said, ‘if they bring something we want.’
‘Like?’ Kaitlyn asked.
‘Peats for the fire,’ Skaaha shrugged. ‘Hazelnuts to roast.’ She looked at F
reya, who was busy pouring ale into the three horns. ‘Beer?’
Kaitlyn sat up, spreading her hands to indicate length. ‘And a good stiff –’ the two younger girls stared ‘– broom to sweep the place out.’ All three began to giggle.
Stockpiled charcoal meant the ironworks wasn't idle over winter. Forge and furnace were the warmest places to be. Work filled the long evenings. Bride-in-waiting and her maidens spent every spare moment in the cavern. Though they didn't dare invite boys, they talked about them plenty, grumbled about their respective house-keepers, shared life histories and secrets, did each other's hair and played games. It was treasured time. Anything that intruded was resented.
The full moon brought the promised snow. Skaaha hurried through it, heading for the cavern. Icy flakes stung her cheeks like tiny needles. Erith, wrapped up against the chill, stood outside the larder entrance, a bowl of pickled herring for the evening meal in her arms. The forge-keeper still shunned Ard, though his child was due soon.
‘Skaaha,’ she called, her voice strangely strangled. ‘Would you take this?’
Skaaha turned, annoyed to be distracted. In Erith's footsteps, the slush was bloodied. At her feet it melted steamily in a pool of warm water. Annoyance became fear. ‘What's happening,’ she gasped. ‘What's wrong?’
‘It's just the baby coming,’ Erith grunted. ‘I don't want to drop the food.’
Skaaha took the bowl, and gripped the forge-keeper's arm. ‘I'll help you back.’ Together, they walked slowly to the roundhouse. At the doorway, Erith stopped, gripped by pain. Skaaha ran in, dumped the bowl and ran back.
‘Go fetch the druid.’ Erith groaned, still unable to take the next step.
Skaaha pelted through the slushy snow to the druid huts. Erith hadn't said which one so, with Ruan gone, she went to the older woman's, unceremoniously bursting in the door. She'd never been in a druid lodge before. The small round room was larger than she expected, festooned with drying herbs, bark, mushrooms and other shrivelled fruits. It smelled of spiced smoke. The startled druid stared up at her from where she sat grinding something in a bowl behind the central hearth.
‘Erith's baby's coming,’ Skaaha gasped. ‘I'm to fetch you.’
‘Ah, right.’ Although she appeared bumbling, Nechta was rapidly on her feet, wrapped in a cloak, searching among pots for those she wanted. ‘Now, yes, and this.’ Having found the required creams and brews, she turned to Skaaha. ‘Don't stand dithering, child. Go tell Yona to bring her needles.’
Yona was the third druid in the cell. Skaaha dashed off next door. This lodge was quite different, cluttered with rocks and crystals instead of plants, sweet with the smell of soap. Skaaha didn't wait this time, but scampered back to the roundhouse. The ground was slippery, but Nechta had beaten her to it. There was no time to wonder how she'd moved so quickly. Nechta shooed everyone else out and issued orders.
‘Keep the door closed. You’ – to the cook – ‘take the food to Lethra's. Feed your people there. You’ – to Skaaha – ‘put another peat on. Come now’ – taking Erith into her curtained chamber – ‘we'll get you sorted, see how close it is.’
Skaaha put two peats on, lit some lamps and waited. Yona hurried in, bringing a cold blast of air and closing the door tight behind her. Skaaha sat on, pushing away the selfish thought of her friends waiting in the cavern. This baby who was being born would be her sister or brother, sharing Ard as their father. It would link her to Thum, his sister or brother too, Erith his blood-mother. As Bride, she would bless it with the chosen name – a good omen.
Nechta came out of Erith's chamber to warm a pot of foul-smelling cream by the fire while Yona inserted her witching needles into different points of the labouring woman's limbs and trunk. The druids' presence was calming, soothing, but the grunts and moans of the birthing forge-keeper caused Skaaha's stomach to clench. Following instructions, she boiled water then set it to cool. Then she waited, and waited, trying not to hear the urgent groans of delivery or the frantic gasps that came between. It seemed to go on and on. Erith began to panic.
‘Something's wrong,’ Skahaa heard her groan. ‘This isn't right.’
Yona started to croon, a rhythmic chanting that did nothing to quiet the rising fear in the room. The baby was coming into the world the wrong way round, and it was, indeed, taking far too long. Eventually, the last sounds of birth assaulted Skaaha's ears, then an interminable silence that was full of noise: Yona crooning, Erith begging reassurance about her baby, Nechta not giving it but taking the warm water, cleaning the little blue body, rubbing it, shaking it, smacking it, but still that one unbroken silence settled among darkening shadows around the room.
When everything was done in the birth-bed, Nechta left to fetch something to help the bereft mother forget, Yona to tell Ard and the others. Told to sit with Erith, Skaaha eased aside the chequered curtain. Propped up, the exhausted forge-keeper held the shawl-wrapped body of her dead daughter in the crook of her arm, her fingers pushing the cover aside to check the perfect little body, the limp arms, the tiny fists, stroking the baby's legs, cupping the small feet. Faint sounds escaped her lips, like the whimpering of an injured beast.
‘I'm sorry,’ Skaaha whispered. There was a long quietness. Erith rested her pale cheek on the baby's head. It looked asleep. Not knowing what else to say or do, Skaaha repeated what the druid had told her. ‘Nechta said her spirit wasn't ready to leave the otherworld yet. She's still alive there.’
Erith looked through, or beyond, her. Her haunted eyes filled with tears. ‘If that's true,’ her voice cracked, ‘why can my heart not hold the pain?’ A sob shook her shoulders, then another, great gut-wrenching sobs that shuddered the whole length of her body and emerged in howling cries akin to rage.
12
The fine blue cloth was stained, the marks brown like rust. Sitting on her pallet bed in Erith's house, Skaaha unravelled it. Inside were two, almost evenly shattered, pieces of a spear, the ends splintered. She frowned. ‘Jiya sent me a broken spear?’
Ruan shrugged. ‘She galloped off while I took Thum to Mara. When I caught up, that was hidden in her clothes. Before I left her with Suli, she insisted I bring it to you, that you keep it.’
‘That's all she said?’
‘Not all.’
‘Then what else?’
The priest clucked his tongue. ‘Tluck-tluck-tluck.’ Then, with lengthening pauses between, ‘Tluck – tluck – tluck – tluck.’
‘What does that mean?’
Again his shoulders rose and fell. ‘Only Jiya knows.’
‘Maybe she means to come back, and wants me to mend it.’
‘Maybe.’ He shifted, embarrassed. ‘Does it help to know she’ – he cleared his throat – ‘forgave me?’
‘Maybe.’ Skaaha re-wrapped the weapon. ‘I'll keep it safe till she comes.’ She tucked it under her bed. The tattered cloth was familiar. Kerrigen had a sash cloak of similar fine blue wool, but she couldn't say so in case the druid insisted she burn it.
With the package delivered, Ruan went in to see Erith. The full moon had waned to a dying crescent since the baby, but she was not recovering. It had been three days before she gave up the body for cremation. The ashes and remaining bones were stored in a clay pot which she kept in her chamber. Her husbands were still banished to other beds, the rift with Ard, her baby's father, not repaired. Ard, distraught, worked late in the forge, the lamps guttering long after everyone else rested. Nechta's potions quieted Erith's grief but did not restore her spirit. Healing was needed, or winter would take another life from them.
Lounging listlessly in her chamber, the forge-keeper was neither pleased nor displeased to see the druid. She was pale, lips colourless, eyes heavy. Ruan squatted cross-legged beside her bed.
‘I missed seeing your baby,’ he said. ‘Tell me about her.’
Making flat-bread on the hearthstone, Skaaha listened to the murmur of his voice. He spoke as if expecting response, as if genuinely interested. When no answer cam
e, he chatted amiably about the child, surmising the colour of her hair, eyes, the length she measured, who she was most like. Skaaha was about to go tell him, for she remembered every detail of that baby, when she heard Erith speak in reply. It was just a word, then a stumbling phrase, then a flood. The relief was immense. Responsibility for Erith's life lifted from her shoulders. Ruan had taken the weight. He knew what to do. Skaaha wrapped the hot bread in cloth and headed for the cavern.
Freya had brought honey, a small pot sneaked out before Kenna, the furnace-keeper, returned from the smelter. The golden liquid dripped from the warm bread.
‘Why did you stop that stuff you did in the mornings?’ Kaitlyn asked Skaaha, licking the sweet drops from her fingers.
‘Yeh, I noticed that,’ Freya said. ‘Is it too cold?’
‘No.’ With Thum and Jiya gone, her routines had been lonely, purposeless. After the baby died, she stopped. ‘It's for warriors. I'm a smith now.’
‘Not just warriors,’ Kaitlyn said. ‘That Ruan does it, twice every day.’
‘Does he?’ Skaaha said, astounded that a druid would, or could.
‘Sun-up, and sunset,’ Kaitlyn said. ‘Round the point, on the shore. I've seen him when we bring the beasts in. Sometimes I go to watch.’
‘Why?’ Freya asked, dribbling honey on another chunk of bread.
‘Grow up, you.’ Kaitlyn couldn't believe she needed to be told. ‘The man's a god.’
‘I mean, why does he do it?’ Freya corrected between bites of bread. ‘And on his own. That can't be much fun.’
‘It's fun for some of us,’ Kaitlyn said. ‘I'm glad he's back. If you want, we could all go watch him tomorrow morning, if it's dry.’
They met at the cavern before anyone else woke. Skaaha almost encountered Ard, who was outside emptying his bladder when she sneaked out, but he had his back turned and didn't see her. It was less cold than it had been, the first light snowfall long gone, and not raining. Giggling and shushing each other, the girls climbed above the cavern, making use of what cover remained in the stunted trees and scrub on the low slopes. Above them, a grizzled wolf watched their creeping progress then loped off. The grey dawn behind Glenelg blackened the hills but lightened the sea.
Warrior Daughter Page 10
