“Who are you?”
“To you, I have been Hagatha. Others call me different. If you recall my words, I said you are named after me. ’Tis because you are born of rare blood––Selkie blood. I am goddess of the lakes and rivers. The Selkies are my people, my children.” She stroked Annys’s head once more. “Sleep deeply. Before the dawn he comes…”
“Who comes?”
There was no reply.
Annys wanted to open her eyes and discover whether the gold and silver sparkles still filled the air, see if the fire danced to form the face of a beautiful woman. But she could not move. Intense heat filled her, almost reaching bone deep. The tranquility of the sensation was such a blessed relief that she was loath to let go of that very special feeling.
As she drifted deeper into sleep’s embrace, she could hear the cat purring louder, then a melodic humming filled the large chamber, a fith-fath––a Charm of Making––similar to ones she had oft heard Hagatha use. Annys struggled to hold onto the questions and thoughts, only she slipped deeper into that soothing darkness.
****
Slowly, the heat’s caress faded, drawing a shiver from her body. She was unsure how long she had slumbered. Seeking even a meager source of warmth, she reached out for Meone to cuddle, to share their body heat as they did most nights. Surprisingly, the cat’s fur was cool to the touch.
Opening her eyes, she saw the peat fire had burnt down to ash and embers. “Oh, I’m sorry, Meone. ’Twas heedless of me to sleep so long.”
Not banked, the fire would soon die out and she would have to work to get another blaze going. Reluctantly, she put the cat away from her and went to the pile of twigs. Snapping them, she fed the smallest pieces of wood to the embers and waited until she had coaxed the flames to come consume them, then added larger hunks of a limb. Carefully, she added a peat to that and soon the amber glow and heady scent spread through the cottage. She added a few more twigs to keep the blaze burning bright so the turf block would not smother the growing fire.
As she sat watching until it was burning strong enough to add two more peats, the odd dream threaded through her thoughts. Strange, that her mind had somehow blended Hagatha with the Auld Celtic Goddess, Annis. Her rule had been powerful throughout these Northlands, but those days had long passed. With the new Christian church banishing the old beliefs, people rarely paid honor to Annis any longer, her memory faded. She was a goddess of water––lochs, rivers and even small wells were her domain. The priests railed that she was an evil deity who would grant a wish––the price was a small child, which she would eat. But then, it seemed this church did not hold too favorable opinion on women, as a whole. Sitting there protecting the new blaze, she breathed in the scent of the earthy peat, and without thought, began humming that same melody she had heard in the dream.
Her head jerked up when she heard the whinny of a horse. Mayhap she was still asleep and this was naught more than a dream within a dream? There should be no souls out on a night of such a horrible snowstorm. She listened without breathing, waiting for some sign it was real and not her mind playing tricks. The sound came again.
Meone ran to the door, put his nose to the frame and began mewing loudly.
“You truly wish to go outside in this?”
There was a small kitty hole cut in the side door, where Meone could come and go out through the woodshed into the barn so he could hunt mice and such, thus it was unlike him to beg to go outside. The black feline stood on his hind paws and stretched his leg high, as if he was trying to reach the crossbar.
“Insistent you are. You will no’ like it out there.”
Meone howled piteously and began to frantically claw at the door.
As she reached the entrance, the deep-throated whinny came once more. People avoided the grove. ’Twas rare when someone ventured this far into the forest, even in the best of weather. Generally, women came looking for Hagatha to make a tansy or a philter to draw the love of a man, or mayhap rid them of an unwanted babe when they had been none too wise. Still, most genuinely feared Hagatha. Witch, they called her, and in verity, there was more than a grain of truth to that. Unless the need was pressing, few ever ventured near for dread of provoking the old woman’s wrath. Since the passing of her friend, Annys had kept a solitary existence these long summer months. None knew that her dear companion no longer walked this earth.
Who would risk coming out on a night as this?
Annys hesitated with her hand on the door, thinking to keep it barred and remain safely inside. Mayhap the intruder would simply go away. The wind moaned and whistled through the old pines, causing her to shiver. Only a fool or an idiot would be out on a night such as this. Or someone in trouble. She felt guilty thinking to stay protected when somebody could be lost or ill. Without doubt, they would need shelter to survive this night.
Decision made, she reached for her woolen mantle from the hook by the door, and swung it about her shoulders. Annys hoped she would not regret this choice, but she could never live within her heart knowing she had left someone out in a storm this ferocious. She lifted the heavy wooden bar across the door and set it aside. When she pulled the door open, the winds rushed in, whipping high the flames in the fireplace. She glanced to the writhing light, recalling the face from the dream.
The deep-throated neigh of the horse drew her attention back outside. Snow swirled so thickly she could not see, but then the driving flakes parted and there stood a magnificent destrier. Annys blinked as she saw it was without a rider. “Poor beastie.” She could shelter it in the small barn. The old byre had room enough for it to stay with the cow. Their shared body heat would see them have an easier time this night.
As she started out, Meone fell in step behind her. “Stay here. Despite your black color, it would be too easy to lose you in a snowdrift.” Obeying, the feline circled back to the hearth.
Annys closed the door and ventured into the storm. The snow was deep, nearly reaching her knees, the winds piling drifts high around the outside of the small house. Walking was hard.
As she approached, the grey animal turned its head to the side so he could watch her. No ordinary horse, it was a knight’s destrier. A beautiful creature, the thick mane and tail were nearly white. As her steps drew closer, it nodded its head up and down, the tresses undulating to the point it seemed born of this shuddersome storm.
“Where have you fetched yourself from on this bad night? Mayhap you are a goblin steed of the Unseelie Court?” Annys had never ridden a horse, never had to care for one. The animal was daunting; thus, she was just a bit scared of the massive creature. “A pact, eh? You will no’ harm me, and in return, I will give you some oats and a place to be safe from the snow.”
The horse nickered again, the guttural murmurs in his throat bespoke urgency. She reached out and started to take hold of the reins hanging around its shoulders. Then, her eyes were attracted by something on the ground: an arm tangled in the stirrups!
“Our lady have mercy!” A man! Unable to tell if he was still alive or not, she leaned closer to judge his state.
Even in the strange, shadowy half-light created by the snow, she could clearly tell he was a knight and one of some worth. His horse was of the finest blood, a belonging that warriors valued above all others, and he was clad in a heavy mail hauberk that came just to the tops of his legs. A small gasp escaped her as she spotted that an arrow protruded through the slit where front and back were joined at his hip. A second shaft of wood stuck out from his left shoulder. Looking back at the wake where the horse had dragged him, she saw no blood trail. Fortunate for him. Wolves would have closed in on the scent and he and the horse would never have stood a chance.
Her trembling fingertips brushed his cheek. He was very cold, but the flesh was still soft. Cupping her hand over his neck, she waited to feel his blood saying he lived. At first, she felt nothing. Just as she feared that he was past helping, the faint throb moved under her hand.
He still survived! But no
t for much longer, unless he was warmed and treated.
Annys glanced back at the cottage. The task of getting him inside was daunting. Used to doing all the chores necessary to survive, she was a strong woman. Only, he was a tall man, plainly a warrior, which meant he was heavy with muscle and carried the extra weight of mail on his frame. Her stomach rolled, anxious she might not be able to drag him inside, or worse, in the struggles ran the risk of injuring him further. Glancing back to the horse’s head, she pondered if the animal would permit her to lead him into the house. The door was small, but if the beast kept its head low, he would just fit. Would the animal accept her commands and not panic inside? If spooked, he might trample his master.
Indecision crippling her, thoughts swung wildly as what was best to do. “Oh, Annys, stop being a dimwit and do something,” she chided aloud. The horse once more bobbed his head up and down as if agreeing. She eyed the beautiful animal. “A sharp one, are you?”
The creature stuck his head out and he made a deep-throated sound, his soft muzzle moved as though he were trying to talk. The beast had brought the man here. She would have to trust the animal to help her just a bit more.
“I need to get him inside and to the hearth, horse. Will you allow me to lead you inside the house? I do no’ think I can move him. He needs to be beside the fire, or he will die.”
Once more, the animal’s head went up and down as though he understood her. She prayed so. The only chance to save this man was to get him inside where she could shelter and treat him. Then, she spotted another problem––the horse could squeeze inside with care, but it was not wide enough to also drag the warrior without running peril that the hooves might come down on him. There was nothing else to do, but get the horse close to the door as possible, and then drag the man the remaining distance. It was only from the door to the fire, surely it would not be too far for her to manage.
The horse allowed her to take hold of the bridle, and with soft steps, he permitted her to walk him as close to the doorway as she could get. She gave a soothing pet to his forehead, earned for following her lead. If this man lived, it was because of his devoted beast.
She gently pulled his stiff arm through the stirrup. In reaction, the warrior cried out and tried to rise up. His feet slipped, but she caught him before he hit the icy ground again. Her previous concern of her being unable to move his weight was proven. He was so solid that his heaviness nearly pushed them both down to the snow-covered earth.
“Can you understand me?” Annys held him before her, cradled in her arms. Her grip on his belt kept her from losing control of his body. “You needs must help me get you inside. I do no’ think I can drag you that far. Can you walk?”
He rotated partially in her embrace, looking up into her face. A weak smile spread on his lips. “My snow angel,” he said, in magical wonder.
“Och, snow angel, indeed,” she scoffed. Poor man must be losing his sense of mind. “I have to get you to the fireside so I can tend your wounds. ’Tis not far, but I do no’ think I can pull you on my own. Can you stand and lean on me?”
A feeble laugh came from the freezing man. “For you…I would dance…through…the gates…of Hell.”
His whimsical words brought a smile to her, though she failed to take the gallant sentiment to heart. Men were oft too free with talk. “Och, a fine expression. But such words are spent without the cost of coin. Let us see if you can make good on them.”
Annys took several breaths to measure how best to get him on his feet and walking. One shaft protruded from his left shoulder. The other jutted out from his right hip. She could not get him to lean on her from that side without driving the shaft deeper or breaking it off. That left no choice; she would have to disturb the shoulder wound.
“The least painful way I cipher to move you is if I keep hold of your belt, you put your arm around my neck and lean on me. ’Tis only a few steps to inside by the fire. Then, you will be warm again.”
“Warm? I forgot…how that…feels.” His halting speech patterns came from exhaustion, not from feeling the cold. He pulled his legs in to get upon his feet. His movements were slow and lacked any strength or coordination.
That his teeth did not chatter alarmed her. When people were cold they could not stop the shivers from wracking their muscles. When the body gave up the fight, the uncontrollable shudders ceased. He was past that point, so she had to get him dry and warm quickly. His life slipped away from her breath by breath.
It took a couple of tries, but he got his feet under him and the arm around her neck. He grimaced in pain from the shiftings of the wounds. The man must be half-made of grit and fortitude, for he pushed his body past the point where others would simply have given up. She almost cried, hearing how each step cost him.
“A few more steps and you can rest on the pallet before the fire.” She tried to sound strong, but inside she quaked with fear. Over the years, she had learnt many healing needs from Hagatha, but she rarely had the chance to use such things.
“My horse…” he gritted out between his teeth, as he tried to sit down on the bedding.
“Oh, aye, once I get you settled and warm, I will see to him.”
“Nay, now. I am alive…because of Spirit.”
“You need––”
“Right this breath, all I require… is to hear he is…sheltered and safe. He needs water.”
Men who were used to giving orders little understood when the control was taken from their hands. A spark of stubbornness rose within her, but she pushed it aside. She understood. The horse had saved his life. He owed the animal. It bespoke of his character that even in this weakened state, he still fretted over his charger.
“If you sicken and die you will have no need of that fine fancy steed.” When he said nothing more, she sighed. “Very well, I shall put your Spirit in the shed with the cow. They can have each other for warmth.”
“He needs water…” he insisted.
“I heard you, my lord.” Putting her hands on her hips, she eyed him. “Are there any other orders you wish to give me before I go out into the storm again?”
His face slackened, but the hurting was still carved there, his color grey. “I regret…you…having to go into the storm. I owe that horse. He will not suffer…or die because he saved me.”
Annys eased him to lie back on the pallet and nodded. “Rest, Sir Knight. I will see your beastie settled. I have some water here I will share with him. Later, I will need to fetch in some snow and melt it, but that will have to wait until I care for you. Those arrows must be taken out soon, or else you will sicken with fouled blood.”
He gave a brief nod, and then his mind seemed to slip away.
The horse was waiting patiently at the door, and once more, accepted her leading him around. She had heard horses that belonged to knights oft would take commands only from their masters. “But you are a special beastie, are you not?” The horse again nodded. “Come meet the silly cow. Her name is Agnes. I found her wandering about in the woods last winter.”
The byre was almost as large as the house, so plenty room for the horse. The shed was more than a shelter for animals, for Hagatha used the rafters to hang herbs and worts for drying. Setting down the pail of water, she put some oats into the trough. Hay was in the corner. The cow would just have to share. The horse stood peacefully while Annys removed the saddle and then bridle, and hung them over the gated entrance to the peat shed.
“I will come on the morrow and care for you again. But now, I needs must try and save your master.” She paused at the door, judging if the two animals were going to tolerate each other. Both seemed content with the presence of another, so she pulled up the hood on her mantle and pushed open the door.
The icy pellets lashed at her face and she struggled to make it back to the cottage.
****
A humming floated through Rhys’s mind; the soothing melody wrapped around him and cocooned him with a warm sense of security. Lulled by the feeling, he wa
nted to cling to that serene state, but he was drawn to discover the source of the tune. He slowly opened his eyes to see a woman sitting by hearthside, a long-haired black cat curled up and sleeping beside her legs. Her pale brown hair was in a single braid that hung over her left shoulder and down to her waist.
An aura of innocence and beauty surrounded her, the vision so perfect that it hurt Rhys to breathe.
Intent upon her task, she crumbled dried herbs, flaking them into a mortar and then grinding them with the wooden pestle. The scene was so eerily similar to the dream he had before he passed out in the snow that a shiver crawled over his skin. In that fantasy, he had not reached out to the woman, had failed to grasp the secret wish held in his heart. Fate had given him another chance. No fool, he would not make the same mistake. With no hesitation, he lifted his left hand to her.
The perfect tranquility was shattered as mind-numbing pain wracked his body.
The excruciating throbbing summoned images of the attack to fill his head. Getting lost in the blinding snow and unable to locate shelter. Quarrels flying at them from every direction, coming out of the blanket of falling snow. Were his men alive? Had anyone besides him escaped? The only thing he knew at this point: Spirit had saved his life.
Sensing he was awake, the woman’s head jerked in his direction. She put aside the wooden bowl, and came to him. “I let you rest and warm while I prepared a poultice of woad. The arrows have to come out or your blood will taint. You were in luck’s embrace, saving you from losing a lot of blood.”
“I left them in. They plug the wound.” Talking was an effort. He stifled a groan as he tried to shift to ease the ache in his side.
“The snow and cold also helped. Your blood was thick from freezing. You bleed less. Only, you are warming and the arrows need to come out. The woad will staunch the blood once I pull the arrows out.”
The Selkie’s Daughter Page 2
