Creeping downstairs, she armed herself with dagger and spear before going out. A wilderness of white waited, the river a black scar winding through it. Ankle-deep in snow, Skaaha crunched downhill and across the field. There was a spot midway between the brochs where deer came down to drink in the early morning. Keeping downwind, she crouched among scrub, spear resting shoulder-ready. A stone among stones, she waited, watching her cold breath smoke the air. Every sound was magnified, the creak and drip, the squeak and scurry, snuffling horses, and the soft steps of approaching roe, three of them, coming to the watering hole in the grey pre-dawn light.
However fast she was, they would be faster, leaping away as the spear left her hand. Does, in kid till Beltane, were not hunted, but these were bucks, breathing steamily in the chill, their darkened coats winter-grey. Lips parted to breathe silent, she let them test, settle, two heads dip. They wheeled back as she threw. The spear sang ahead of them into space where no deer was to find one filling it, thumping down, thrashing to rise. But she was on it, weight on the shaft, twisting in as blood came, through the scream, the thud of flailing limbs. Dropping down on to warm body, she slit its throat, watched dark eyes shine, shine and die into silence.
It was a silence that raised hackles on her neck. She was not alone in the field. Turning, she saw a bear, reared up in the far corner, a ripple of fur, and her too distant from either broch. The pointlessness of running or tree-climbing sucked out her breath. Then she saw that it was no bear but a warrior in his winter garb, stalking her. Rapidly, she slid the dagger into its sheath, twisted her spear free, still crouched, watching the man approach. Even through snow, that was a stride she knew.
‘Fion,’ she breathed, and stood. ‘Fion!’ she yelled, and ran.
‘Ho, the hunter!’ he hollered back, red moustache puffing outwards.
Half-way to him, she stopped abruptly. ‘Throw your axe, Fion,’ she shouted.
‘It would kill you!’ he protested.
‘Throw it true,’ she called, ‘and I'll fuck with you.’
Fion threw the axe. Whup-whup-whup it flew. He grimaced, eyes shut, looked again. There was empty space where she had been.
She brushed against his back, slid the axe she'd caught into its holster, flung her arms round him from behind.
‘Skaaha.’ He let his held breath out, moved to clasp his hands over hers.
‘Do not,’ she warned, face between his shoulderblades, cheek against bearskin. Her hands clasped the dagger, point pressed into his centre below his ribs.
‘You make a new way to fuck.’ There was laughter in his voice.
‘Tell me why you came.’ If he moved, a slight tightening of her grip, it was to the grave. ‘Speak.’
‘Suli sent me,’ he said, tense now. ‘To recuperate, which I'd fine like to do.’ He breathed too deep, wincing as the blade pricked his skin. ‘Jiya's at the broch. I saw deer run and doubled back. Is this reason to attack me?’
‘You threw the axe.’
‘You told me to!’ A pause. ‘Persuasively.’ Another pause. ‘We brought the council of elders' judgement.’ There was sorrow in his voice. ‘You're banished.’
‘Banished?’ Skaaha dropped her hands, stepped round in front of him.
‘You and Eefay, exiled from the island,’ he said. ‘Ach, Jiya promised she would tell you. That's why she went on.’
Ruan had failed her. He should have come to say so, not hid behind others. ‘Can I never go home?’
‘Not for two suns, then they'll consider it again.’
‘Two suns?’ Relief coursed through her body. She had been gifted time.
Fion put his hands on her shoulders. ‘When I go back, we'll argue for sooner. This place is making you strange.’
‘Not strange.’ She grinned. ‘Happy.’ She threw her arms out. ‘Blessed Bride, I love you,’ she shouted to the skies. ‘Oh, how I love you!’
‘So now we fuck?’ Fion asked, lifting her off her feet in a joyful bear-hug.
No flicker of feeling crossed Mara's face. She gazed steadily across the low table at the old druid's pale eyes. ‘Banished,’ she repeated.
‘A severe punishment,’ Suli said. ‘But our security must not be threatened.’
‘No,’ Mara agreed. Her claim had succeeded but was a pyrrhic victory. Kerrigen's daughters still lived and, in accusing them, she'd shown her hand. She waved the new pot-boy, the third in as many moons, to pour mead into both their horns, waiting till he did, until she could be casual. ‘What defence was offered?’
‘None that affected our judgement,’ the old woman said smoothly.
Nothing was tighter than a priest determined not to talk. Suli's placid face conveyed no emotion. The gaze of her blind eyes was disconcerting, as if she saw the thought behind what was spoken. Mara suspected a game was being played, the main player sitting opposite, blandly sipping the sweet drink.
‘Kirt has not returned to us,’ she said. Her druid had been replaced, a common occurrence, but one that might be intended to keep her in the dark.
‘I sent him to Ynys Mon,’ Suli explained. ‘Tosk might shed some light on our concerns over Kerrigen's daughters.’
Panic fluttered in Mara's chest, quickly stilled. Tosk knew nothing, or he'd have spoken at the time. If Suli fished, it was in the dark. She changed tack. ‘And if they return to the island, the punishment will be death?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ Suli agreed, ‘unless there is reason for appeal. Time solves many things.’
Mara nodded. ‘It does indeed,’ she agreed. ‘The wisdom of the goddess is great.’ The meeting was over. She thanked the high priest for the honour of a personal visit, tried to look crestfallen when her offer of continued hospitality was declined, and saw the old woman safely out of Doon Beck.
‘That's good news, isn't it?’ Corchen asked tentatively as they watched the druid tap her way across the gentle slope, heading south to the black mountains.
‘More than they imagine,’ Mara said. There were many ways to flush a rat. ‘But, enough of this. Take a message to Vass,’ she instructed. ‘His chapter is to attend here after Imbolc. They grow lazy. Training together every quarter will solve that, and our loss of Donal.’
‘A fine solution,’ Corchen enthused. ‘The tribe will like it, and the warriors will enjoy the time together.’
Mara snorted, a short bark of derision. ‘I don't intend to rouse lust,’ she snapped, ‘but to defeat our enemies.’ Turning to head indoors, she halted, as if the thought occurred that moment. ‘Before you go’ – she pointed across the stockroom to the cell opposite – ‘have our captive bathed, dressed and brought to me upstairs. When the ransom ship returns, diplomacy is better served if he survives.’
Admiration lit Corchen's face. Mara climbed the steps, grimly pleased with herself. Graciousness sat well on a warrior queen. The respect of others would increase. If Suli had different intentions, the wily druid underestimated her. The game grew longer, but not so long as the old priest might suppose.
Skaaha and Fion trudged to Doon Trodden, the kill slung between them on her spear. Sex in the snow had not materialized, so Fion muttered all the way about the rent in his tunic from Skaaha's blade. Men worked hard to win attention from women. Warriors had the advantage of glamour but were handicapped by impermanence and unsuitability as husbands. Marriage was rare, except with women warriors, and seldom outlasted parturition, which was the reason for it. The friendship of women's thighs was an infrequent joy, shared only at festivals or on tours of duty. Competition from the rest of his chapter meant Fion fussed mightily over his appearance.
‘Right through my shirt too,’ he complained, poking his finger into the cut.
‘I'll have it mended,’ Skaaha snapped as they approached the broch. ‘We'll make you new clothes. Blessed Bride, I've said I'm sorry. Will you stop?’
The others met them at the door, cloaks drawn over their night clothes, coming to find her.
‘Good hunting.’ Terra grinned, flicking her
shift up to welcome the warrior with her friend. ‘A deer and a man.’
‘Only half a man,’ Skaaha muttered, as the deer was carried away for butchering, ‘since he has a hole in his shirt.’
Jiya shrieked towards her. ‘Exiled!’ she cried, throwing her arms round her niece. ‘How can they do this to you? Mara – Mara…’ Her head shook.
‘It's all right,’ Skaaha soothed her. The warrior queen couldn't bring a force across the water now, not to attack them. ‘This is good, not bad.’
‘Is it?’ Eefay sounded petulant. ‘I was to come of age at Beltane.’ A snort made her round on Misha and Terra, both of whom smothered smiles.
‘You don't want a man,’ Misha stammered, mystified.
‘But it's my turn,’ Eefay wailed. ‘In two suns, I'll be too old for Torrin!’
Skaaha sighed. Yesterday, they didn't have two precious days. Now, time was a burden. ‘No, you won't,’ she assured her sister. ‘You'll be just one sun older than I was, and even more beautiful because of it.’
The others assured Eefay this would be the case, the extra maturity adding to her stature. Mollified, she recovered dignity, and sense. She turned to Fion, raising the shift to her navel to assert her authority as she welcomed him.
‘Bride is good to bring you to us, Fion,’ she said. ‘Glenelg needs a tutor.’
Eefay moved them back to Doon Telve. Despite her nightmares, Skaaha didn't argue. Ruan had abandoned her. The open valley was as close to home as she might come for some time. From the top of the broch, she could see the slight shimmer of sea far down the valley. Beyond it, the familiar mound of Ben Aslak sheltered the westward side of Kylerhea. The warriors settled into schooling the novices. Daily, the frozen glen rang with the clash of steel and Fion's good-natured shouts. Skaaha threw herself into training. Let Ruan hide, believing her a lost cause, she would not be beaten. Pitching herself against her exuberant, moon-crazed aunt, she discovered her own weaknesses, Jiya's experience telling even against unfamiliar aerial attacks.
‘Good move,’ Jiya yelled, as she brought her niece down yet again.
‘Good and dead,’ Skaaha groaned, face down in snow, severely winded and with Jiya's blind training spear prodding her back.
‘You try too hard,’ Fion called, coming over. ‘How did you kill the deer?’
‘I threw where I knew it would go,’ Skaaha said, rising to dust off snow.
‘Same here,’ Fion said. ‘Jiya sees what you will do. She fights that. Trust yourself,’ he added. ‘Know where she'll go and be there first. Make her follow you.’
‘You make me.’ Jiya grinned at the red-haired warrior.
‘With these toys?’ He laughed, slapping the blunt sword in his scabbard and waving the other three students over to watch while he tried to do just that. They were well matched, Jiya's speed equalizing Fion's strength. Often it was difficult to tell, in the swift flash of steel or clash of shields, who led or who followed. But if shouts and taunts were anything to go by, they were enjoying themselves.
‘Gods,’ Eefay muttered, attention rapt on the rapid action. ‘They're gods.’
‘We're so lucky,’ Misha breathed, ‘to have come back.’
Skaaha watched in despair. Mara could defeat both these warriors. If she was to stand any chance, so must she. But if she didn't try, and hard, how else could she achieve? Like a leaf in the wind, Ruan's voice answered from the past. It made no sense now, when death could drag her from the sky.
‘He's right, you know,’ Terra was saying. ‘You don't trust yourself.’
‘There is no reason why I should.’ The truth spoke itself before she'd realized it. ‘I failed to protect myself.’
‘But you lived.’ The Icenian swept her long red braids back off her face to glance at Skaaha. ‘My foster-mother said everyone is trustworthy, if trusted with the right thing. She had a rhyme – trust a liar to lie to you, trust a thief to steal…’
‘First blood!’ Jiya yelled. ‘Yield!’
There was no blood, the weapons blind, but Fion accepted the strike as defeat. First blood settled every dispute, even a challenge between champions.
‘Aye-yie-yaa!’ Eefay and Misha cheered.
As Terra raised her fist to compete next, Skaaha tugged her arm.
‘There was no choice but to live,’ she said. ‘Here, or in the otherworld.’
Terra's hand touched the side of Skaaha's neck, fingers pressing warm against the tattoo of the goddess. ‘Then trust Bride.’ She grinned, and ran on to the field.
Skaaha watched her aunt and friend engage, the action fast and dangerous. Neither was tense, despite the demand on muscles, as if they danced – the same confidence she'd learned on the chariot. That was also how Ruan fought, without any discernible thought for himself, as if he could not be harmed. Death was the same as life to warriors of Bride, fearless in faith, the otherworld the same as this. She didn't trust herself because she was afraid, not of dying, but of failing again.
36
‘Why did Jiya defeat you?’ she asked when Fion came to stand with her.
‘She fights to fight,’ he said, ‘not to win.’
‘And you want to?’
‘In battle, I fear nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘But in training?’ He grinned. ‘My shirt didn't want another hole in it.’
‘Then maybe I try too hard.’ Skaaha frowned. ‘For much the same reason.’
Fion gazed at her, suddenly serious, considering this. He, too, had witnessed her broken body, the justice she had delivered at Kylerhea. His silence lengthened against the ringing of steel on steel from the field. Skaaha saw herself reflected in the mirror of his eyes, a shadow against the white snowline behind.
‘Stop thinking, Fion,’ she said. ‘You're scaring me.’
‘I am thinking,’ he said slowly, ‘there is only one thing you do wrong.’
‘And that is?’
‘You don't fuck with me yet.’
‘Blessed Bride,’ she swore. ‘Is that all it takes?’ Her voice rose in anger. ‘And I suppose yours has the magic power of a druid's rod, so all I have to do is couple with it to become the greatest warrior on earth!’
The contest on the field faltered. Four heads turned their way.
Bemused, Fion tugged his long moustache. ‘Maybe,’ he finally got out, unwilling to deny a compliment to his prowess. ‘But I was only thinking how fine it would be if you kept your word.’
Skaaha's outraged expression lifted into a wide grin. Her shoulders crumpled. Shrieks of laughter shook her. Her arms hugged her belly as she howled, staggering in the snow, gulping in great yelps of breath. Chuckles infected the group, fighting forgotten. Even Fion laughed, a rumbling, hearty roar.
‘Oh, dear,’ Skaaha gasped, fighting for control and breath. ‘Oh, dear.’ And then she was away again, this time slapping Fion's chest as she tried to speak but was unable to, tears streaming down her cheeks, warm against cold. ‘Oh, dear.’ She put her hand into the warrior's great fist. ‘Come on, Fion,’ she gulped, and led him away towards the broch, still chuckling.
There was nothing she could teach him about the act of love. The musky odour of his skin raised forgotten memories from the rocks of Kylerhea, the roar of spume, a first kiss that flowered now into fullness. He was a great joy, tender and passionate, joking over awkward bits then seriously intense where it mattered. It was a loving savoured like a great feast, until she thought she might die of pleasure, several times, but didn't, and grew eager to know his, to draw him in, dissolving into orgasmic purity inside her.
‘There's no rush,’ he murmured, still holding back, stroking her skin. ‘I can be your man a long time.’
‘Rush?’ The mid-day meal had come and gone. Lamps hissed, spitting softly in the silence, casting shadows on stone. Her fingertips traced the small indented hollow in his back, below his shoulder, where the javelin had pierced deep enough to threaten his precious life. ‘Aren't you hungry?’
He offered to fetch food if she was, but his mout
h and hands on her flesh put all thought of other nourishment to flight. The haste that haunted her, so out of place in this copulation, finally fled. There was nothing to win, to fight for or against. She clung to him in ecstasy, face buried in the well of his throat, or lay exhausted when he was spent, until her fire, or his, was roused again. Even in sleep, they wakened, limbs tangled, to lovemaking. For three days, they left the chamber only to ease other needs, stumbling back with warm water to bathe, snatch food or skins of ale.
It was Eefay who ended it, drawing back the curtain to announce there was a thaw, that Ruan had returned and she would like to continue tutored training, if they pleased. Dressing hurriedly, they stumbled downstairs, laughing as they tried to hold hands, one behind the other, fingers twined together. The dip in the river was brief, a cursory splash and scrub before they dressed rapidly again, now the cold nipped skin. Skaaha's face ached from the smile that kept forming on it.
‘Warm up first,’ Fion warned as they reached the field. They did the routine together, pacing themselves into it. Beneath the naked oaks, Ruan waited with Eefay.
‘You took your time,’ he said, when Skaaha reached them.
She wanted to be angry at his late return, to castigate him for the despair he left her with, but it was gone. Delight at his presence magnified her maddening joy. Her mouth curved insanely as she tried to speak. ‘We would be half-way south,’ she managed, ‘if I did everything you said.’
He flushed. ‘It's good you didn't go,’ he conceded. ‘Jiya's an excellent opponent and Fion has much to teach.’
She grinned like a fool and knew it. ‘I wasn't going to run,’ she said. ‘Even before they came.’ That pleased him. So did Eefay's decision to revert to traditional skills, where her strengths lay.
Warrior Daughter Page 33
