Warrior Daughter

by Paisley, Janet

  Parting her cloak, he touched it now, checking, hand warm on her skin. ‘You did well to bring her here,’ he said. ‘If truth can be won anywhere, it's in there.’

  ‘I thought she'd refuse, or choose her champion.’ As the drums of the assembled druids began to beat a war-dance, they walked on up the track together. Loose scree crunched underfoot.

  ‘After that boast?’ he said. ‘You left her no choice.’

  She smiled, without humour. ‘Then I talk like a warrior, at least.’

  He ignored the gibe. ‘Fight like one too.’ Blond hair flopped across his brow. ‘Yield if she draws first blood. Suli will stop the contest.’

  Fury punched through Skaaha's resolve. ‘If Mara had mercy to give,’ she snapped, ‘Kylerhea would still stand!’

  ‘Rage gives her the victory,’ he warned. ‘There's no dishonour in defeat, only in duplicity or cowardice.’

  She calmed herself. ‘Death is not defeat if Mara is exposed. The islands will be rid of this blight of jealousy, the people protected. Eefay will live. Our parents, and all those dead for Mara's failings, will be avenged.’

  Ruan stopped walking. ‘So you come to the land of heroes to sacrifice yourself?’ They had reached the point of no return.

  ‘I came to fight, with every weapon I have. Kerrigen was robbed of that.’ They stood beside the pinnacle of rock that marked commitment, the last point before entering the arena where wisdom or fearfulness allowed a challenger to turn and flee.

  ‘No change of heart then?’ His words blew away in the wind.

  She stretched her lips into a wide grin, and shrugged. ‘Eefay wants to come of age at Beltane.’ She couldn't touch him now, could not look back at her sister or her friends, at Fion or Jiya or Hiko, at any of the people who made life joyous.

  ‘You go on alone,’ he said. ‘Suli will take the seat of justice when Mara comes.’ His eyes were bluer than the early sky, and intense. ‘Expect more trickery.’

  ‘Blessings on you, Ruan,’ she said.

  He held her gaze. ‘Live the day well.’

  Before her towered a narrow gateway of rock through which only she and Mara, and the blind high priest, could pass. Two guards would be stationed to ensure no one entered or left until the contest was decided. Nobody outside could see or hear what happened within. It was why she'd chosen it. Skaaha squared her shoulders and, to the beat of druid drums, marched on through into the sacred ground.

  Inside, a natural, circular plateau rose before her like a cauldron, flat-topped and brilliantly green, completely free of stones or scree that might trip or injure a fighter. Ruan had done his work. A wide grassy trough circled the raised ring of earth, into which the blood of heroes ran. High pillars of rock enclosed it, some pressing closer than others. There were no gaps where those outside might scramble to see in. Above the eastern ridge, the sky brightened with the light of the growing sun. It would be some time before it spilled over the edge.

  Skaaha walked the rising path, paced out the arena, testing. Champions fought duels here, without onlookers to influence the outcome, so that true justice was done – the one judge, a blindfolded priest. Once engaged, no one could intrude; the contest ended by yielding at first blood, or death. She gambled her life that Mara, deluded by privacy and boasting to bait her, might reveal her crimes. Laying down her weapons, she cartwheeled round the plateau then tumbled back and forth, counting handsprings. Satisfied, she crossed to the far side, re-armed and sat, waiting while the drumbeats, fainter from beyond the looming cliffs, raised the lust for combat in her heart.

  Outside, the horns of Bracadale announced the arrival of the warriors' queen. Flanked by Corchen and Gila, weapons shimmering, Mara rode in on her chariot at the head of her chapter, red cloak billowing, hair spiked white. A gold torc glowed round her throat. The tribe of Danu, trailed by others from the west, followed behind.

  ‘When she goes in,’ Misha whispered to Eefay, still standing erect in her chariot, watching the queen's approach, ‘Skaaha said to get you to a safe place.’

  ‘Did she?’ Eefay made no move to go. ‘I must've missed that, like I missed the bit where we decided it was the right time to roll the dice.’

  Mounted alongside Fion, Jiya rocked in her saddle. ‘I see blood,’ she muttered, ‘the blood of eagles falling from the sky. I see Skaaha fall –’

  ‘Have a drink,’ Fion cut in, thrusting a skin of ale into her hands.

  As the horns fell silent, Vass dismounted, going to greet his one-time student. He was about to risk his own life, but something must be done. When Mara emerged victorious from this contest, war would engulf the islands. His men held her responsible for the loss of Kylerhea. Riven with grief for the deaths of Ard and Erith, he refused to inflame that belief, but he had seen the glint of victory in Mara's eyes when smoke was spotted in the south that day. Skaaha's claim to combat had pre-empted him, but if she failed, he would rescind his oath and take his men under Eefay's command. There was only one act of magnanimity that might preserve the peace.

  ‘Rise above this,’ he urged, walking with Mara to the gateway which he and Corchen would guard. Ahead, needing no blindfold, Suli waited. ‘Draw first blood. Have your victory then send her back, as their blacksmith, to rebuild Kylerhea.’

  ‘You ask for mercy?’

  ‘For all of us. It will confound your enemies’ – Bride would surely forgive his next words – ‘and confirm your greatness. Let the past sleep.’

  Mara paused at the pinnacle of no return. Her eyes were chips of ice. ‘Concern yourself with the warrior in your ranks who dishonours his oath,’ she said. ‘I have my answer to Kerrigen's brat, and if you remember, she called me out.’

  Forgetting himself, he caught her arm. ‘Are you so lost, you no longer know the truth?’ The point of a sword pressed in his back: Corchen's. He let go.

  ‘When I see you again,’ Mara said, ‘I expect that hand to take off Fion's head.’ She stalked on through the gateway, scattering scree behind her. The war horns of all the warrior chapters brayed again, fierce and deafening, announcing the duel between champions, of their queen and her challenger.

  Inside the arena, the old priest tapped her way along a stony track that led to the ledge on which she'd sit. Mara strode up the grassy path on to the circle of green, cape flaring. Her opponent crouched, cloaked, on the far side of the ring. Either she communed with Bride, or regretted her mistake. Those who fought here were not forgotten, their stories told down the ages. Her own name would live on in triumph, Skaaha's in the ignominy of failure. Out of sight, beyond the perimeter, the drums and horns ceased, their echo clattering to silence round the cliffs. Suli stood on her ledge.

  ‘In the place of heroes, we honour the rite of combat,’ she intoned, ‘the blessings of Bride afforded equally to all. May right prevail.’ She sat.

  Mara tossed aside her cloak. Still her opponent crouched. ‘Do you mean to rise before I strike you down?’ she taunted.

  The girl shed her cloak and stood, shield on her arm. It was a fine piece, Ard's work, no doubt. Turning her spear upside down, Skaaha thrust it into the ground at her side. ‘I have something of yours,’ she said, lowering the shield. Her voice was steadier than it ought to be, her skin pale against the rock behind. A blue spiral tattooed around her left breast matched the pattern on Mara's cheek.

  ‘My mark?’ Mara scoffed, planting her own spear. ‘You won't wear it long.’

  ‘Long enough to remember you made me,’ Skaaha said. ‘But I meant this.’ She drew two rods from behind the shield, held them high. ‘Your weapon,’ she said, and tossed them into the centre of the circle. ‘And this is mine.’ She held up a tattered strip of blue cloth. They were not druid rods that landed on the grass, but the splintered remains of a broken spear. The cleaned head shone, the spiral running down the rib clearly visible.

  It was a long time since Mara had seen that spear, since she had wrapped the parts hastily in Kerrigen's torn cloak to hide among the rocks before the othe
rs came. That same sense of dread rose now, of imminent discovery. She only meant to win the race, had sped back after crossing the finishing line, not to help the queen, but to help herself. That night, when she went to retrieve the pieces of shattered spear from their hiding place for burning, they were gone. So was Jiya, who'd been skulking in her madness.

  ‘You murder for that,’ the girl called. ‘The druids said to return it.’

  Mara glanced back towards the gateway. If they had the truth…

  ‘There's no way out,’ her opponent jeered. ‘Only the bog waits now.’

  It was lies. Mara reached for her sword. It must be lies. She'd be in chains, the contest stopped. They wouldn't sacrifice their goddess. Her blade swished from its scabbard. ‘You talk riddles.’

  ‘Jiya saw you,’ Skaaha crowed. ‘Kerrigen's blood is on this.’ She waved the strip of cloth. ‘Your broken spear wrapped in it. Her chariot gave up its secret.’

  ‘Then you die first,’ Mara snarled. Shield raised, she rushed forwards. Skaaha stuck the rag in her belt, yanked her sword free. Mara sliced. The girl's shield met it, clanging, slid the blade aside. Her eyes met Mara's, eyebrow raised, a brief, chilling smile. Mara froze as the girl spun away to the far side of the circle. She glanced towards the cliff face where the high priest sat, impassive, on the seat of justice, staff resting across her knees. The blind old woman's hearing was acute. Fear flooded the warrior queen like a chill in the blood. Had she damned herself by accepting guilt? Turning, she faced her tormentor.

  Skaaha held the blue rag high. ‘The victory is Kerrigen's,’ she boasted.

  ‘Not for long,’ Mara corrected, ice-cool now, circling.

  The rag was pushed back in Skaaha's belt. She advanced, swung her sword.

  Mara fended. ‘I smell fear,’ she hissed, side-stepping to slash backhand.

  The girl brought her shield down. ‘The stink of your treachery,’ she grunted.

  Mara spun behind her. ‘Or the stench of Bartok on you.’ The girl turned fast. Their weapons sparked together. ‘Was he any good?’ She ducked as Skaaha's sword swept past her head, and thrust again. ‘Or did you squeal’ – again, the girl's shield was there – ‘like your mother did?’ She feigned a low slash then swept upwards. Skaaha somersaulted backwards. The ball of her foot, aimed to smack under Mara's jaw, missed. Satisfied, the queen watched her enraged opponent land. Now she knew her weakness. ‘Nice move,’ she said, voice devoid of feeling, ‘for a novice.’

  Skaaha raised her blade, touched it to her shoulder. Blood welled in the cut, depriving her opponent of first wounding. ‘To the death.’

  Mara leered. ‘That, I promise you.’ Changing tack, she moved fast. Her onslaught crashed repeatedly against the girl's shield while Skaaha's sword sparked uselessly on hers. Even in battle rage, Mara tested. The novice could defend but her attack was poorer. Each time she slashed the girl met it. Blow for blow, she was there, faster than Mara expected. ‘Kerrigen died in error,’ she breathed, ‘fortuitously.’ The stench of sweat rose between them. ‘The rest was your fault.’ She stepped back, breathing steadily. ‘Now, I'll take your head myself.’ Leaping forward, she chopped and chopped and chopped, forcing Skaaha to the edge of the arena. A tumble into the trough would finish it. Their shields clashed, swords locked, bodies close.

  ‘The old one won't live to tell,’ she spat in Skaaha's face. ‘Another death on your conscience.’ The girl wavered, muscles trembling with effort against the weight of the queen. She was strong, a strength that could outmatch Mara's, but her weakness was she cared. ‘Ard must haunt you,’ Mara taunted. ‘Stuck like a pig while you hid.’ She disengaged, stepped back, thrust at the girl's face.

  Skaaha's shield came up. She sliced, furiously, for Mara's throat. Expecting it, the queen already swung to meet the mistimed blow, sword erect, grip firm. Steel rang. Skaaha's blade spun away into the dip, clattering on rock. Fluttering flapped above them. Their shields clashed. Rau… rau… Over the rims, their eyes met. The girl's blazed. Such desperation. Mara sneered. ‘It's finished.’

  38

  ‘It's you who's haunted,’ her opponent hissed. ‘Kerrigen comes to feed on your bones.’ Wings flapped. Yip… yip… yipp. Power surged through the girl. She pushed in, close. The bottom of Mara's shield yanked up. The top rattled under her chin, splitting skin, and the girl was gone, tumbling to the far side of the ring. Thrown back, staggering, Mara looked up. A sea eagle settled on the rocky rim. Rau… rau… rau… More of the birds soared overhead.

  Mara's heart thundered. Trickery, it had to be more trickery. Blood trickled down her throat from the cut. First blood, drawn by a novice. Another eagle settled, flapping, strutting, and another. Shadows filled the sky. Shaken, she turned towards the girl, who abandoned her shield, propping it against the rising rock-face behind her, where the dip was narrow, and ran to yank her spear from the ground. Quartering smoothly, she faced the queen, weapon balanced in her hands.

  Mara stepped sideways, positioning herself away from the trough. The novice made a second error by not rushing her. Breathing deep and steady, the warrior queen wiped the blood away with the back of her sword hand. Coolness returned. Omens could be read many ways. Kerrigen would watch her daughter die. The spear was a poor match for the sword of a master warrior, and she had a trick or two of her own to come.

  Outside the shuttered rocks, the waiting crowd watched, awestruck, as eagles soared and circled. A dark cloud had descended on their lives when Kerrigen died. Now they had a sign, a powerful sign. Great magic was at work when the spirit of the dead came to witness for the living. It wasn't a corpse that brought the eagles, not yet. Although they could see nothing of the battle, they heard it rage, the clash and clatter of iron on steel. From her chariot, Eefay scanned the crowd, not the skies.

  ‘Where's the archer?’ she asked Terra. ‘Mara's archer's gone.’ Shouldering their own bows, they both leapt down, searching through the warriors. The woman they looked for wasn't there. With everyone's attention on the birds, they skirted the crowd, running in opposite directions round the foot of the rocky enclosure.

  On the far side of the crags, an eagle flew too close. Gila ducked. Her foot slipped, sending scree spinning down. The birds made her nervous. They had arrived when she was half-way up the steep cliff. Now she neared the top. Her fingers searched the next handhold. On the ridge, a hooked beak turned, a bright eye blinked. The bird spread its wings, big as broch doors. Rau… rau… it barked. Then it lifted off, scattering stones down on to the archer's face. Gila pressed into the rock, held on.

  Skaaha stood, feet spaced for strength, firmly planted on the ground. She wasn't alone, her mother here in spirit, seeking justice. Stillness swept through her, spear balanced between her hands. Mara was fast, but not as quick as Jiya in her madness. She was strong, but without the power of Fion. The high priest had sent good teachers. The queen's combat tactics were ingrained, swiftly instinctive, but no match for a warrior priest. Mara would not silence Suli, who could still best Ruan.

  Everything in Skaaha's training distilled into this moment. There was nothing more to win. If the otherworld received her, she gained a new life. Mara's was over for eternity, her fate secured – execution by druids, the perpetual torment of the undead. Deviousness will come, Donal had said. She chose the place of heroes knowing Mara could not resist its pull. Justice was done. Kerrigen's legacy rested on Eefay's shoulders. The islands could find peace again. Fire surged in Skaaha's blood. Her limbs felt loose, body confident of physical prowess. Now the battle began.

  ‘Hyaaa-aaaaa!’ she yelled, and ran at Mara, spear gripped firmly, aimed for the queen's centre. Mara's shield came round, braced to bat it away. Skaaha read her intentions – a sidestep to shatter the spear with her sword, meaning a second sword stroke to rake her opponent's unprotected flesh. On the last stride, she swung the spear into the two-handed grasp position across her body, parried Mara's sword, cracked her ear, thumped the queen's shins, spun behind and whacked the warrior's
backside as she turned, too slow, to face her. Again, she smacked the flat of the sweeping sword, landed a crack on Mara's shoulder, and spun away.

  High on the ridge, Gila peered over from behind a boulder. Far below, on a circle of green, Mara turned and turned, trying to fend off rapid smacks and thumps from a spear wielded like a stave in her challenger's hands. Frowning, the archer watched the dancing girl deliver humiliation to her queen. It was as if Mara fought a shadow, there then gone. Beyond them, on a ledge, the blind priest sat, a poor witness. Gila fitted an arrow to her bow and drew a line to her target, waiting for a moment of stillness. Beside her head, a stink drew her attention. On top of the boulder, the thigh bone of a calf mouldered, roped to the rock. Yip – yip – yipp. Wings flashed, a shadow dropped from above, hooked talons raked her head. Gila rolled over, fired the arrow. The sea eagle stuttered, fell and hit the slope, bouncing down.

  Skirting the back of the formation, Terra turned towards the rattle of stone. One of the great birds tumbled down the incline. High above it, a figure moved.

  ‘Bitch,’ the Icenian muttered, searching for an accessible vantage point. When her eye found a flattened outcrop, she raced towards it, scrambling upwards in the uncertain hope of reaching it before Mara's archer could take her next shot. Up on the peak, the distant figure of Gila slotted another arrow to her bowstring.

  Mara was tiring. This renewed girl had fiendish, unfamiliar skills. A flying roundhouse kick thumped her spine, the point of the spear stabbed behind her knee. She crumpled, shifting her shield as she fell to cover her exposed abdomen from the dancing Skaaha. The smell of earth filled her nostrils. Now she needed Gila, but no help came. Rolling, she swung her blade as her opponent leapt above. It barely nicked Skaaha's calf, but enough to cause a hesitation in the raining blows. Rapidly on her feet, Mara balanced low. Shield raised to block the spear from stabbing her face and shoulders, she spun sunwise fast, kicking out, and spun again, lashing up towards Skaaha's gut with her foot. The spear shaft cracked down on to her shin.