‘If it was just theft,’ Skaaha said, ‘they'd have gone to the forge.’ Kylerhea's wealth was stored there: tools, weapons and jewellery. Homes held only normal household goods. Druids had nothing of value, except knowledge.
Ruan agreed. ‘Erith, or Kenna, thought they were searching for something else.’
‘Or maybe they found it.’ Eefay suggested. ‘What was in your lodge?’
‘Kerrigen's honours,’ Skaaha answered. ‘I sacrificed them the day after.’
‘And they'd be no use to Mara,’ Ruan pointed out.
‘Yes, they would,’ Eefay corrected, ‘if she meant to stop our mother's spirit waking in the afterlife, or watching over us.’
‘If she believed that,’ Ruan said, ‘then she feared the dead queen. Why?’
‘I don't know,’ Eefay snapped, ‘except everything comes back to Kerrigen!’
Tluck – tluck – tluck – tluck – tluck. The sound, slowing now, continued.
‘What is that noise?’ Skaaha said, turning. It was familiar, like an old song. Outside the stable, Hiko had a chariot turned upside down, and was working on a wheel. She ran to him. ‘Do that again,’ she said.
‘What, this?’ He spun the wheel. Tluck-tluck-tluck-tluck. ‘Broken spoke,’ he explained. Dangling, it hit the axle with every turn. Tluck – tluck – tluck – tluck. ‘Soon have it fixed,’ he grinned, stopping the wheel to prise out the linchpin.
‘Leave it for now,’ she said, and called the others over. ‘That's the noise Jiya made. You heard it,’ she told Ruan.
‘Yes.’ He clucked his tongue. ‘Tluck – tluck – tluck. It's similar.’
‘Then I know what else the outsiders were looking for,’ Skaaha said. ‘Only it wasn't there. Not then.’
‘Is this some other secret?’ Ruan asked.
‘You brought it to me.’ She ran to the broch, leaving them to hurry behind. In her chamber, she hauled the broken spear from below her bed. ‘It's Mara's,’ she told Ruan. ‘Donal said, and this’ – she gripped the tattered blue cloth – ‘is what's left of Kerrigen's sash cloak. The marks on it’ – she swallowed hard – ‘will be her blood.’
‘You said it was an accident!’ Eefay howled.
‘It was,’ Ruan answered, though he gazed at Skaaha, ‘but you think…’
‘I think Mara caused it,’ Skaaha finished for him, ‘with this spear. I think Jiya saw it happen, but she was crazed and can't remember. Kerrigen knew that ground as well as she knew her footing in the chariot. She wouldn't make a mistake.’ Skaa-haa – Kerrigen reached out, not for help, but to tell her daughter what had happened.
Now it was Ruan who reached out, put his hand over hers and squeezed. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘Mara did that, when she brought me home to the wake. That's when she changed. She hated us, yet she took my hand and squeezed it as if she cared, as if she were a friend.’ A sob shook her body. ‘But she'd taken our mother's life away, just to win a race.’ Ruan gathered her into his arms, holding her as she wept.
‘I'm going outside,’ Eefay snorted, swishing the curtain, ‘to hit something.’
Skaaha buried her face in Ruan's shoulder, weeping for the futility of her mother's death, a brave, beautiful warrior killed by envy; for the loss of self-belief, robbed from her ruined body in Kylerhea; and for her life, twice destroyed, her spirit broken on the wheel. While she cried, the priest held her close, rocking her as if she were that child she could never be again.
When the tears ran dry, the fullness of sorrow was gone. Loneliness filled the space, a wind howling in empty heavens. It was her familiar, a companion gifted by the goddess on a rock above the sea when Bride refused to let her die. It was also her strength, to care nothing for herself, trust nothing but the cold comfort of revenge. She lived only to take off Mara's bloodied head, to shake it in her hands.
‘Skaaha –’ Ruan began.
‘Don't say it.’ She put her fingers to his mouth. ‘You want proof. I know it’ – she pushed her fist into her solar plexus – ‘here. Mara fears discovery. She would lose everything she gained. So she attacks me. Eefay would be next.’
‘She was to be next. At least,’ Ruan corrected himself, ‘Mara invited her to Bracadale, just before she killed Donal.’
‘She's clever,’ Skaaha conceded, ‘and her accusation means we're doubted. No one will believe the truth about her now, not from us, or Ard, or Jiya.’
‘Devious,’ Ruan responded. He stood. ‘The guilty give themselves away,’ he said, ‘by accusing others of what they do themselves. Come’ – he offered his hand – ‘let's find out if a spear can stop a chariot.’
Outside, Eefay had followed the same thought. Her chariot, inherited from Kerrigen, was hitched up. Beside it, four charioteers argued possibilities.
‘The spear had to be thrown,’ Eefay told Ruan and Skaaha, ‘from alongside, or nearly that, to get between the spokes of the wheel and not bounce off.’ She showed how the spoke would carry the spear with the turning wheel till it snagged below the frame. ‘The wheel would stop. That would snap the spear, and the spoke.’
‘And this had two new spokes when it came here,’ her charioteer added.
‘If you meant to slow it down,’ Hiko said, ‘that would do it.’
‘But would it throw the driver out?’ Ruan asked.
‘The jolt would,’ Eefay's charioteer answered, ‘especially running fast and light with just one on board. You'd get lift on the other wheel then some bounce back. It would topple.’ None of them was willing to risk injury, or the horses, with a demonstration.
‘It could come down on either side,’ Hiko explained, ‘or flip right over.’
‘If we couldn't jump clear,’ the third man added, ‘we'd get dragged with it.’
‘And our heads kicked in by the horses,’ the last one said.
‘That's what happened,’ Skaaha said, remembering her mother's injuries. ‘Both.’
‘Would hitting a rock do the same?’ Ruan asked.
An explosion of derision from the charioteers told the answer.
‘Chariots are built to go fast over rough ground,’ Hiko said, ‘balanced for it. No.’ He shook his head. ‘Other things could stop a wheel – a crash, a deep trench hole, broken axle or sheared linchpin, but not a rock of a size you wouldn't see and avoid.’
Skaaha's fists clenched, nails biting into her palms. She turned on Ruan. ‘Did none of you ask these questions at the time?’
‘We saw what we looked for,’ he said. ‘There were no witnesses.’
‘There was one.’ She spun the broken wheel on the upturned chariot. Tluck-tluck-tluck-tluck.
‘It'd spin a while,’ Eefay's charioteer offered, ‘going over at speed.’
‘That answer Jiya said you had’ – Skaaha gazed at Eefay – ‘to the spear? It wasn't a riddle. She meant the chariot.’
‘Do nothing rash,’ Ruan warned, ‘or your own anger will defeat you.’
‘There will be nothing rash,’ Skaaha vowed, ‘unless Mara can dance druids to her tune.’ The accusation struck home. The council at Low Sun presented the greatest danger of being flushed out too soon.
Tluck – tluck — tluck — tluck. The slowing sound picked up an echo from the glen, the softer clop of arriving horses.
‘Ho,’ shouted the taller of the two riders as they came into view. ‘We leave for a few days and you break up a chariot?’ It was Terra, with Misha alongside.
Shrieking with all the delight of excited children, Skaaha and Eefay rushed to greet the returning warriors.
‘We got as far as Loch Laggan, where we should part,’ Terra explained as she dismounted. ‘For several days, we argued.’
‘But couldn't go,’ Misha chimed in, launching herself into Skaaha's arms. ‘It didn't feel right, leaving you to face this alone.’
‘So here we are,’ Terra grinned. ‘Company, witnesses or co-conspirators, we expect our reward in the next life.’
As they were bundled upstairs for food and ale, the gloomy t
ower of Doon Telve rang again with laughter, garbled questions and noisy replies.
‘And Ruan is training us,’ Eefay told them. ‘Imagine!’
‘He can't tutor.’ Shock fixed on Terra's face.
‘But he can,’ Skaaha grinned. ‘He was raised by warriors, so he knows…’
‘He knows all right,’ Terra agreed, ‘but you shouldn't. Don't you know who he is?’ Although the four of them were alone in the great room, huddled round the hearth for heat, she lowered her voice. ‘He's a warrior priest,’ she hissed.
Misha's chin dropped.
‘Stories for children,’ Eefay scoffed.
‘No,’ Terra said, glancing guiltily towards the empty doorway. ‘Don't speak of it, but we have one with the Iceni, a woman, and I saw Ruan on the hill one night, practising.’ She gazed at Skaaha. ‘How do you not know? The staff gives him away.’
The question rapped on Skaaha's skull. Familiarity had blinded her. You can't learn what he knows, Jiya had told her, terrified. Warrior priests were legendary. It was said, in all of Alba, there were just thirteen of them, their purpose to preserve the faith even if the entire druid fellowship was wiped out, their duty to survive. Between them, they contained all druid knowledge. Their martial skills were ancient, drawn from the four corners of the earth, and in a lifetime were passed only to one other, their inheritor. Skaaha covered her gaping mouth with her hands. Legend also said Danu's lover was a warrior priest.
‘There will be an old one somewhere,’ Terra whispered, ‘teaching him.’
Suli.
Skaaha might have called Ruan on it, as proof she was a pawn in a priest's game. But the game was hers now too, and since she hoped to win, he was her best ally. He didn't offer Terra or Misha training, and they, fearing bad magic, didn't seek it. A new pattern developed, packing the short days. Dips in the river after morning routines were brief. While Skaaha and Eefay worked with Ruan, Terra and Misha honed chariot skills. The rest period after dinner was turned over to learning the disciplines. Traditional battle skills filled the afternoons, the four girls pitting themselves against each other. The charioteers made willing commentators or, when the lack of a weapons tutor told, the students took turns to watch and correct each other, sharpening vital critical ability as they did.
Led by druids and charioteers, evening stories taught morals, heroism, faith and tactics. From board games with practised opponents they learned to think as fast as they moved, to plan ahead, to outwit, to win and to lose. Skaaha seldom slept alone, sharing the friendship of her thighs with those she favoured, or simply for companionship. Skills developed there too, from navigating desires and responses of others, or the tricky diplomacy of emotions, to the simple act of turning in bed in tune with another sleeping body.
By the time the first frost whitened the naked branches of the trees, Skaaha had transferred the tactics of the stave to a spear. Leaps, rolls and aerial twists were utilized to improve her combat skills with shield and sword. She could move like the shadow of her attacker to defend herself, or shift in opposition to attack with the speed of the wildest wind. There was only one opponent at Glenelg she could not defeat – Ruan, and he was leaving.
Outside the great door of Doon Telve, she clung to him, feeling the lithe strength of his warm body inside the thick winter cloak, face pressed against the side of his neck, breathing in the scent of herbs and perfumed oils.
‘I need you,’ she groaned. The school was illusion, novice fighting novice. ‘I'm not ready for the battlefield, not yet.’
‘If I don't go,’ his voice thick with emotion, ‘I can't speak for you.’
‘Then go,’ she said, stepping back abruptly to let him mount.
He caught her again, dropped a light kiss on her mouth then leapt into the saddle. ‘If I'm not back when the snow comes,’ he urged, ‘go south with Terra as soon as it thaws. Don't wait for me.’
The instruction froze her. ‘You'll be back.’
‘I'll be with you,’ he said, and kicked the horse away.
She ran to the end of the path, watching till he vanished round the foot of the hill. ‘Live the day well, Ruan,’ she whispered. Closing her eyes, she listened while the echo of hooves faded from the glen and her ears filled with the background roar of river water. She missed the sea, the open space of it, the bright, wide sky above.
‘Are you crying?’ Terra came down the path towards her.
‘No, thinking of home.’ She nodded towards the slopes. ‘These hills are too close. I feel safer when I can see what's coming.’
‘You'll know soon enough.’ Terra linked her arm in Skaaha's and they walked back to the broch. ‘Don't you trust him?’
‘My life is in his hands. Do I have a choice?’
‘You chose not to answer the question.’ Terra grinned.
Skaaha laughed. ‘Now you sound like him.’ The voice of another red-haired friend spoke in her head. Believe what you like. It won't change anything. They were Freya's words, from another life. ‘He's druid,’ she said. ‘If the elders order it, he'll take me to them in chains.’
35
‘You teach what is forbidden?’ Suli asked. They walked in the grove, wrapped up against the cold. The sky was iron-grey.
‘Forbidden for most,’ Ruan corrected.
‘With few exceptions,’ she amended. ‘Tell me your reasons.’
‘She asked,’ he said, ‘thinking my childhood and practice equipped me.’
‘This is good.’ The high priest glanced up at him. ‘What else?’
He shrugged. ‘It's from Danu we know these things. I return what we owe.’ His task was to prepare her. ‘If the islands are not secure, the faith is in danger.’
‘Excuses.’ Suli's eyes were opaque. ‘Mara is the reason.’
Abashed, he nodded. ‘Skaaha means to challenge her. She needs time, several suns of training, maturity. If these charges force her hand, she'll die.’
‘You can't prevent that. Discipline is exercised, not gifted.’ She moved on. ‘The elders will rule on Mara's accusations. Skaaha is your concern. Teach her as you will, but she must not be led.’ Her staff tapped the way ahead. ‘Guided, but not led.’
‘I made a mistake,’ he confessed.
‘You disappoint me. Just the one?’ She chuckled. ‘I expected several by this time.’ The staff slipped, her footing missed. As she stumbled, Ruan caught her. Inside the thick robes, she was frail as a bird. ‘Your faith failed,’ she guessed.
‘My courage.’ He believed Mara would act whatever the ruling. ‘I told her to go south, if the thaw came before I returned.’
The old woman sighed. ‘Now you must stay with us till it does.’
‘That's hardly fair,’ he protested.
Her staff cracked off his shin. She had lost none of her speed. ‘You talk like a child,’ she snapped. ‘That's what comes of living with them.’ Anger made her walk faster. ‘Don't confuse legend with life, or what's in your heart with law.’
He, too, was angry with his carelessness. Like knowledge, what was spoken could not be taken back. ‘I came to address the council,’ he said. The next words, hard to speak, would be harder to carry out. ‘But I'll stay till the thaw.’
She slowed her pace. ‘See it as a test, for both of you,’ she advised. ‘It's not you she must believe in, it's herself.’
Screaming – screams and smoke, the flash of blades, burning thatch, and blood – blood that bloomed on opening wounds, the sharp thrust of a spear. Skaaha gasped upright, hands clutching her gut, expecting to see blood ooze through her fingers. There was no blood, the only fire the flicker of night-lamps, the sounds of sleep. Stumbling to Eefay's chamber, she shook her sister awake.
‘We must move to Doon Trodden,’ she urged. ‘Mara will attack whatever the druids decide.’
They moved come morning. Door- and watch-keepers were left at Doon Telve to raise the alarm if strangers approached from the coast. Sitting on a mound above the valley floor, tucked against the hillside, the
second broch was easier to defend. A few strides from the door, a mountain stream supplied fresh water. Food, drink and fuel were rapidly re-stocked, a beacon fire built on the hilltop.
Along the valley, the higher farm broch was also alerted and prepared. There was always the chance of being caught outdoors, or the less likely possibility of falling back. The beacon there would carry a distress message to the warriors and tribes of Alba. At Doon Trodden, on the wall-top walkway, defences were improved: quivers of javelin mounted; supplies of stones stacked in three weights – dropping, throwing and sling.
‘You think of everything,’ Eefay said, when she caught Skaaha discussing with the charioteers how they might push off the roof in the event of fire arrows.
‘Not everything,’ Skaaha said, taking her sister aside. ‘Our friends will quickly become the enemy if the druids want us brought to court.’
‘And we'll be locked in with them.’
‘Not for long. They'll open the door. We can't ask or expect them to go against the law.’
‘Then we'll surrender,’ Eefay said. ‘Two of us could hold the broch, but I won't fight my own people.’
Skaaha agreed. ‘And as we surrender, we kill Mara.’
‘How?’
‘That's the “not everything” I haven't thought of yet,’ Skaaha confessed.
The question preoccupied her as the longest night arrived, and kept her half awake throughout it. The men had vanished to their bonfire on the hill. It would be a good night to attack, when solstice fires rendered beacons useless. But none came. When the door opened at dawn to welcome the reborn sun, it opened on an altered landscape. Heavy snow fell in the glen, quickly masking everything in white. It arrived too soon for Ruan to have returned.
‘Let it be a sign from Bride,’ Skaaha muttered, as they ploughed down to the practice field. There was a stinging thud against her ear, a snowball thrown by a giggling Misha. The morning routine was forgotten as a fast and furious snow battle ensued. Sodden, chuckling and shivering with cold, they ran in to breakfast, returning in dry clothes to build an array of snowy enemies to attack during the training session. It was a fine day, happy and carefree, but it solved no problems. When night came, Skaaha slept alone and fitfully, waking before first light. Today, today surely, Ruan would be back with word.
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