by Sarah Rayne
But when Amairgen tentatively suggested that they might travel by night quite safely, Flynn said at once, “No, it is more important that we rest tonight and conserve our strength.” And put his hand on Amairgen’s, to thank him for his suggestion.
Amairgen said, “Even so, Flynn, the Druids will continue to search for you. They will be angry at being made fools of, and they will certainly be angry at having their Sacred Ritual ruined.”
Flynn glanced to where the light of the Beltane Fire still glowed, and Amairgen, sensing the movement, said, “Are we sufficiently far from the Plain to be safe for a time?”
Flynn hesitated, for he did not really think they were far enough to be safe, but Portan said, “Oh yes, we will be safe here.” And pointed to the thick undergrowth surrounding them. “We should surely hear anyone coming through the forest, you see.” And then, to Amairgen, “We are entirely safe,” she said, and Amairgen nodded, satisfied, and leaned back as if to sleep.
For Flynn, sleep was very nearly impossible. He could not close his mind to what might be ahead of them, and he could not shut out the images of Joanna, lost and frightened, alone somewhere. They were entirely at the mercy of this alien land, and although he had not looked at their food supplies, he knew they must be dwindling. What would happen when their stores ran out? Could they hunt the forest creatures? An involuntary smile touched Flynn’s lips, for he had a fleeting image of himself riding out at the head of the Fiana, spearing the wild creatures, stringing them over a spit, directing his men on hunts for the famous white boar of Tara … I could do it, thought Flynn, lying wakeful in the dark forest. I could certainly do it. But I could not do it alone. And he glanced to Amairgen and Portan, and his throat was harsh with unshed tears for Amairgen. And Portan, although she would do anything and go anywhere — although she was quite tremendously courageous — had not the strength they needed. Mentally she was stronger than anyone Flynn had ever known — I believe she is stronger than I am, he thought — but physically she was the frailest. He could not depend on her in a hunt or a fight. But the spirit of the great Finn was more awake in him than it had ever been, and despite it all, he knew a sense of hope and a confidence. They would survive and they would find Joanna. He turned over and tried to calm his mind for sleep.
Close by, Amairgen was as much awake as Flynn, and more concerned for their plight than he had allowed his companions to see. He thought their chances of surviving were slim, but then he thought that their chances of surviving this far had been slim anyway, and yet here they were. He tried to take heart from this, but he found that his heart was heavy within him; he knew he would hinder them on their journey, id the black depression hovered again. But like Flynn, he tried to compose his mind for rest, because if they were to embark on a journey in the morning, they had to be properly rested. And so he tried to shut out the doubts, and he fell to listening to the night rustlings of the forest, able by now to identify the different levels of sound, fascinated by the vividness and the clarity of his perceptions.
And then he heard a different sound.
Human sounds.
People coming stealthily through the forest towards them.
*
The three travellers were at once wide awake; Flynn and Portan both reached for Amairgen’s hands. Between them flashed the thought that if they should have to run, if the people coming through the forest should prove to be hostile, at least they could pull Amairgen between them and guide him.
I do not need guiding, nor do I need my hands held. I may have lost my sight, but my wits are still there, and my other senses are becoming more acute than you can imagine.
Flynn and Portan both heard his thoughts; Flynn because of the Samhailt (and how incredibly potent that was becoming, he thought!); Portan because she possessed that something that was not quite the Samhailt, and also because she was coming to understand Amairgen and to know his thoughts and feelings. Now, as they crouched together in the clearing, she felt Amairgen’s courage and strength again, as she had felt it before going out on to the Plain of the Fál to rescue Flynn.
Flynn was a little ahead of them. He said softly, “Do not move. Let us wait and see who this is.”
“Enemies?” said Portan, shivering.
“No,” said Flynn, his head tilted to one side, listening. “No, I do not think they have the approach of enemies.”
“Nor,” said Amairgen quietly, “do they have the scent of enemies.”
The footsteps were nearer now, and Flynn thought there were four or five sets of people — perhaps even six. Despite his words to the others, and despite Amairgen’s agreement, he felt a trickle of fear.
Through the trees, came Conaire of the Eagles. He stopped when he saw the three travellers, and held up his hand as if to halt others who followed him. Just behind Conaire was Sean the Storyteller, and behind him were several people that Flynn recognised as belonging to the Ancient Houses of the Bloodline. CuChulainn of the Chariot Horses, tall and strongly muscled and with flashing eyes. Oscar of the Deer, quiet and slender and gentle, with large velvety eyes and a thoughtful, rather scholarly air. And the twins, Midir and Etain of the White Swans; Etain so like her brother and nearly always being dressed like him that it was frequently difficult to tell them apart.
Flynn stood up and waited, because they certainly could not run from this group; they would be caught and captured with ease. CuChulainn’s great strength would fell them at a blow, and Oscar’s fleetfooted speed would outpace them.
No need to run, came Amairgen’s thought. They mean us no harm.
“Indeed we do not,” said Conaire, stepping forward. “We mean you no harm at all.” He looked at them very intently. “And if you are Eochaid Bres’s enemies, then you are our friends.” He stayed where he was, but his eyes went from one to another of them, and Flynn, understanding, waited and met Conaire’s golden stare calmly.
At length, Amairgen said, “You see? We are harmless.”
“Yes,” said Conaire, “so you are.” And the three travellers felt the golden eyes withdraw from their minds.
“Will you tell us why you thought we might be Eochaid Bres’s enemies?” Flynn said and Amairgen and Portan both knew he had deliberately not referred to Eochaid as the King. Amairgen, a little removed from them all, felt the shadowy figure of Finn hover over them, and remembered that for all his skill and tactics in battle, Finn had also been known as a great diplomat and a mediator.
Conaire seemed to feel it as well, for he was watching Flynn with a rather unexpected expression. When he said, “May we sit down? We have been walking for many miles …” the three friends caught the note of deference in his voice.
Flynn said, “Please do sit … all of you.” And took up a stance against a tree, arms folded, looking at them all.
Conaire said, “Flynn — Bricriu the Fox sold you to the Druids.”
“Yes.”
“To be imprisoned inside the Wicker Man and given to the Sacred Fire is the traditional fate for traitors,” said Oscar softly.
“The Fox believed you a traitor,” said Conaire. “An enemy of Eochaid’s. Are you?”
Flynn said, “How did you know I was inside the Wicker Man?”
“We didn’t, not to begin with. But we saw you escape.”
“Ah,” Flynn grinned ruefully. “And I thought we had been so stealthy.”
Conaire said, “Oh you were. But some of us have the eyesight of our Bloodline.”
“Oh yes, of course,” said Flynn, and remembered about eagles, and looked at Conaire with renewed interest.
Conaire said, “If you are a traitor to Eochaid Bres, then it is quite probable that you are a friend to the True King.” The True King … For a moment something shivered in the quiet dark forest. Of course, thought Amairgen. Cormac of the Wolves. And so they are a rebellion, they are renegades from Eochaid’s Court. Well, I suppose it is all right … And waited to see how Flynn would handle this, and felt a great surge of confidence that Flynn would han
dle it with consummate ease.
Oscar of the Deer began, “Flynn, you know the Ancient Tongue.”
“A very little.”
“Better than any of us,” said Oscar.
“We know enough to reply to the ceremony,” explained Conaire. “But none of us would know how to break the Druids’ spell. Are you a spy, Flynn?”
“No,” said Flynn. “Well, not the sort you mean.”
“Oh. That’s a pity. We had thought … but you have no allegiance to Eochaid Bres? You have not taken the Oath?”
“No,” said Flynn with perfect truth. “And indeed, my friends and I know little of your — politics.”
There was a puzzled silence, and Flynn realised that the word was strange to them. He realised, with surprise, that it was quite strange to him as well. A Lethe word, of course. Aloud, he said, “I mean your — your struggles for power. Your wars and quarrels. The — structure of your governing.” Amairgen leaned forward. “My friends and I would always support true justice,” he said. “And Eochaid Bres is a usurper, I think?”
“He is,” said Conaire grimly. He looked at Flynn. “And after tonight — after we saw for ourselves how he and his — his jackal Bricriu were hand in glove with the Druids —”
CuChulainn broke in. “Excuse me, Conaire, but that’s not very complimentary to the jackals. I have a cousin —”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Conaire coldly.
“An unfortunate marriage,” said CuChulainn. “Of course, we don’t admit to the connection. And we never have anything to do with that side of the family.”
“Well we all have relations we don’t like admitting to,” said one of the twins kindly.
“But,” said the other, “you can hardly compare Bricriu’s emblem with the jackals.”
“Yes you can,” said the first one. “We don’t want the jackals on our side — saving your presence, CuChulainn.”
Oscar said that every family had its black sheep.
“Well we don’t want those either,” said someone else. “Useless in a fight, sheep — black, white or piebald.”
Flynn felt that the conversation was getting out of hand.
Conaire said rather crossly, “The jackals don’t owe allegiance to anyone. They’re for themselves, we all know that. Don’t any of you remember what happened in the Battle for the Trees?” He turned back to Flynn. “People forget,” he said.
“Well, yes.”
“The thing is,” said Conaire, “the thing is, that Cormac would never have sanctioned human sacrifice on the Beltane Fire.”
“Or anywhere else for that matter,” said Oscar.
“He enjoyed a fight, of course,” said CuChulainn.
“Oh yes, I didn’t mean to imply —”
“But they were fair fights,” said one of the twins — Flynn thought it was Midir.
“And so,” said Conaire, “when we realised that Eochaid Bres had permitted human sacrifice —”
“Appeared to permit it, that is,” put in Oscar. “We shouldn’t judge. He may have known nothing about it.”
“He doesn’t know very much about anything,” said Etain scornfully. “And Bricriu is a wily old Fox.”
“When we realised what had happened,” said Conaire, raising his voice, “we were all extremely angry.”
“We were fighting mad,” said CuChulainn, his eyes flashing.
“We saw that the Pretender couldn’t be tolerated any longer,” said Conaire. “And so we got together — that is, those of us that belong to the Ancient Bloodline — and we decided that he must be got rid of.”
Flynn said, “Yes, I see. Can it be done?”
“Eochaid Bres got rid of the Wolfking,” said Etain. “No, that’s not quite right,” said Oscar. “Eochaid Bres’s supporters got rid of him.”
“It amounts to the same thing,” said Etain.
“So,” said Flynn, surveying them, “you six form a — what? A splinter group?”
“A rebellion,” said Conaire, and grinned.
“A small band of warriors,” said Midir.
“Not so very small,” put in his sister firmly.
“You see, we can all call up our Blood Creatures if we have to,” explained Oscar.
“And a very formidable army that would give us,” said CuChulainn in his rich strong voice. “More than sufficient to crush the usurper and his —”
“Jackals,” said Etain.
“Of course, I’m not really part of all this,” said Sean the Storyteller, who had not spoken until now. He leaned forward anxiously. “I’m only here to report what happens. That’s my job. I’m the Court’s official ollam. I shall be quite impartial about everything, you know. If there’s a battle, I shan’t say that one side was better than the other. I shall only say what happens.
“You can’t have a battle without a proper record,” he added to Flynn in an aside, and Flynn nodded.
“We have a duty to our descendants,” explained Sean seriously. “So I can’t be for one side or the other. I shan’t do any fighting either. You do know that?” he said, turning to Conaire. “I did make it clear?”
“You’ve been making it clear ever since we left Tara,” groaned Conaire.
“We’ll station you safely out of the way,” said Oscar.
“Only you’ll have to make sure you don’t get in the way,” said the warlike CuChulainn firmly.
“Well, so long as you know,” said Sean.
“So you see,” said Conaire, “we thought we should search you all out, because we thought that if you were spying on Eochaid Bres, you must be for the Wolfking. We even thought,” said Conaire, with a rather wistful note in his voice, “that he might have sent you.”
“Oh no,” said Flynn. “No, he didn’t send me.”
“Ah.” A ripple of something that Flynn guessed to be disappointment stirred in the clearing.
And the CuChulainn said, rather ominously, “Are we to understand that you are not for the Wolfking?” and at once Amairgen cut in.
“My friends,” he said, “none of us know very much about the — the rebellion when Eochaid Bres was put on the throne. Although we are of Ireland, we live many days’ journey from its centre. But as Flynn says, we would ever be on the side of true justice.”
“A diplomat’s answer,” murmured Oscar.
“But quite fair,” said Midir.
“We thought you would join us,” said Conaire, and now he was looking at Flynn, and Flynn knew that it was not Flynn O’Connor that Conaire and the others wanted, but the mighty and powerful Finn of the Fiana. And he felt a sudden surge of excitement at the idea of riding out to a battle, of liberating the exiled Wolfking. He thought that it was the shadow of Finn again, his other self, but even so, it was there and he had to give it momentary attention. He thought, as well, that before they threw in their lot with these people, they must be sure that they were doing what was right. And then he thought that above all, beyond everything, he must be sure that it would help them to find Joanna.
Conaire was watching Flynn as though trying to fathom him. “We hoped you would come with us to Scáthach,” he said. “To free the Wolfking and then to ride to Gallan to seek Cait Fian’s aid.”
“Cait Fian will be with us at once,” said Etain.
“Yes, of course, you’ve always had a soft spot for Cait Fian,” said Midir, grinning.
“Who hasn’t?” said Etain, and winked at Portan.
Conaire said to Flynn, “Will you come? We need all the help we can get.” And again Flynn had the impression that Conaire was not seeing only Flynn O’Connor, but someone who had once ridden at the head of victorious armies, and someone who had never been defeated, and who had been the finest and the most dazzling warrior in all Ireland’s history.
He said slowly, “I believe we will come,” and at once felt an approval and a confidence from Amairgen. Better by far to be with these people who know the roads, and who know how to hunt and provide food, than to struggle by ourselves
.
Flynn thought: at least we shall be going somewhere. At least we shall be meeting people who may have seen Joanna.
“Yes. We will be glad to join you,” he said and Conaire smiled and took Flynn’s hand and then Amairgen’s.
“I knew you were not the Fox’s supporters,” he said.
“And if you are” said CuChulainn sternly, “you will be dealt with as all traitors are dealt with.”
“Don’t be silly,” said Oscar. “Flynn’s been inside the Wicker Man once already on the Fox’s account. He won’t risk going there again on somebody else’s.”
“No!” said Flynn.
“In any case,” said Conaire, “why wouldn’t they be with us?”
“Flynn spent a night with Mab,” remarked Midir uncertainly.
“Who hasn’t spent a night with Mab?” said Etain, and grinned at Flynn who looked startled. “Oh, it was all over the Bright Palace the next morning,” she said.
“It always is,” said Sean gloomily.
“Nothing you would need to feel ashamed about,” said Etain with another of her rather saucy, rather attractive winks at Flynn.
“My sister has no idea of the behaviour expected of ladies,” Midir said. He looked at Flynn, as though he, too, was weighing him up. “But she’s very useful in battle,” as if anxious to establish Etain’s credentials.
“I’m extremely useful,” said Etain, who was wearing breeches and a leather jerkin, and had pale shaggy cap-like hair, exactly the same length as her brother’s.
Flynn came to sit on the forest floor, at the centre of the little group, and saw at once how they all turned to him.
“Tell me your plans,” he said. “Is it to Scáthach you go?”
“Yes,” said CuChulainn firmly. “To liberate the Wolfking!” And looked round rather truculently, as if daring anyone to disagree with this.
“But that,” said Midir, “is always supposing the Wolfking hasn’t already liberated himself.”
“None of us have ever really believed that Scáthach would hold him for long,” said Etain. “You don’t put a wolf in a mousetrap like Scáthach.”
