With a frustrated sigh, she rolled onto her back and looked up at the dark thatch roof looming above her. Taking a deep breath, Shiovra closed her eyes and forced herself to clear her mind. Dawn was surely near and, if the battle would be upon them as Odhrán had proclaimed, she would need all the sleep she could get. Releasing the breath, she took another, her body slowly beginning to relax.
Thunder cracked loudly, giving the priestess a start, and she found herself jolting up in her bed.
The storm had grown in sudden intensity, unleashing tremendous vengeance upon the village. Gusts of wind slammed against the cottage, battering the wicker-work door relentlessly. Lightning briefly illuminated to small cottage through the cracks in the door, sending eerie shadows to stretch across the floor and to the bed where the priestess sat, blanket clutched to her chest. Rain pounded on the thatch roof as if it meant to pummel the cottage down.
Shiovra shivered as a sudden wave of fear gripped at her heart. Taking calming breaths once again, she pushed back the blankets and swung her feet to the floor. Slightly hesitant, she walked slowly, cautiously, towards the door. As she reached for it a gust of wind blew the door open, sending a rush of rain onto the woman.
Outside, the village was dark, illuminated briefly by bright flashes of clawing lightning. The rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath her feet. The wild energies flowing through the air were both exhilarating and downright frightful.
And then she felt it, something out of place and dangerous.
The words fell from her mouth in a soft plea before she even realized them, “Guardian of the north, by the power of earth, I call upon thee…”
Thunder rumbled in response, the ground almost humming beneath her feet. The wind carried eerie sounds, strange moans drifting through the air. She had heard such cries before and would forever remember them. Cries that were filled with loss and immense grief. Cries that could paralyze even the most hardened of warriors: the cries of the bean sidhe.
As lightning flashed, movement in the corner of her eye caught Shiovra’s attention. She spun quickly, ready to face whoever or whatever stood beside her in her cottage.
Standing just to her right was the luminous, transparent form of a woman with hollow eyes. Her hair and garments were long and pale, her face grief stricken.
“They are looking for you,” she said with an echoing voice that was laden with sadness. “They come.”
Letting the door fall shut, she searched the cottage frantically for something, anything, which could be used as a weapon. Her search ended in vain when she found only bowls and cups. Cursing under her breath, she crept into the darkness near the door. Her best option was to remain hidden long enough that she may slip out unnoticed and seek help. Slowing her breathing, she listened for the slightest sounds above the din of the storm, anything that could tell her where the enemy may be.
At first she heard nothing by thunder, rain, and wind.
Then she heard it, the sound of footsteps trudging over the soaked earth. Footsteps that drew dangerously closer with ever shuddering breath she took.
Never before had Shiovra felt so cornered.
The door clattered open and wind rushed violently into the cottage.
Crouched in the shadows by a support post, Shiovra saw a figure standing in the doorway, silhouetted in the relentless flashes of lightning. They stood unmoving, blocking her only means of escape.
Clenching her hands tightly, she moved very slowly, straightening. As it harm none, do as thou will, Shiovra chanted in her head. The rede prevented her from harming others, but also deemed that she was not to allow harm unto her. Taking another calming breath, the priestess focused on the energy surrounding her, gathering into herself.
It was then that the figure in the doorway moved to face her, cloak whirling out from the sudden movement.
That was the last the priestess saw before she felt a prick on her neck and fell unconscious to the ground.
41
4. CRIMSON DAWN
She was lost in a haze of memories, happy and painful mingling together in an indiscernible blur. She could not fight against them, could not block them out of her unconscious mind. Her body felt horribly heavy, but at the same time as if it floated in the air. She struggled to regain control of her body; to wake from the memories she had no desire to relive.
Shiovra slowly woke from her latent state, opening her eyes to dim light. She found herself lying within a small room, her head throbbing. As her eyes adjusted, she realized that it was not a room at all; the walls and low roof not of clay daub and thatch, but packed earth. In the dim flickering light of a torch that had been propped up, she saw a lone stone wall before.
Sitting slowly, she waited for the throbbing in her head to subside before attempting to raise her sore body.
Yet, as she began to move, firm hands came to rest on her shoulders from behind, holding her gently back.
Startled, Shiovra reflexively tried to jerk away.
A hand quickly moved to cover her mouth, muffling her startled cry.
“Shhh…” a voice breathed softly into her ear. “Be quiet or we will be found.”
Shiovra frowned. The man’s voice was unfamiliar, and his hushed warning only troubled her more. Found by whom, enemies or allies? The thought of possibly being in enemy hands did not sit well with her. Shiovra tried to protest, tried to pull away, but the hand on her mouth only tightened.
“We will be safe here if you keep silent,” instructed the whispered voice, tone strict.
Shiovra shifted, twisting her body as much as the man would permit her, trying to get a glimpse of who commanded her. In the flickering light, she met the eyes of Odhrán.
“I warned that you were being hunted,” he continued in a low voice. “Heed my word next time.”
Reluctantly she nodded and he removed his hand from her mouth, releasing her shoulder. Free from the Milidh man’s hold, she rubbed her arms and inspected everything around her more closely. Behind them stretched an expanse of slightly familiar darkness. Shiovra could not be sure, but it seemed as if she was in the same tunnel Réalta had opened for their escape from Milidh attack ten years ago. Her thoughts were quickly dismissed as the sound of muffled voices rose from the other side of the stone wall.
What was being spoken could not be understood, but the scraping that followed spoke quite clearly: whoever was on the other side was trying to get through.
Odhrán shifted closer to her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his body protectively. Reaching out his other hand, he touched the stone slab.
Shiovra sat stiffly against him, her eyes narrowing on the hand that touched the stone. She could not be certain in the wavering light, but the stone appeared to ripple beneath his fingers, though the shift in power around them was undeniable; the Milidh man held sway over earth as Daire did over air.
The scraping continued to persist.
Cursing under his breath, Odhrán pressed the palm of his hand hard against the stone. The ground beneath them trembled lightly, a rumble filling the air.
Silence followed, the noise on the other side ceasing.
Odhrán did not move, keeping very still.
Shiovra waited, listening for even the slightest sound and hearing only their steady breathing. “Are they gone?” she ventured in a voice scarcely above a whisper.
The man did not respond, only kept his hold on her while his hand remained on the stone wall. Odhrán’s attention was focused on what possibly lay beyond that very stone.
When Shiovra began to feel the danger had passed, voices could be heard once more. She flinched when Odhrán reflexively tightened his grip.
Then, oddly enough, there was a soft tapping on the stone.
Shiovra frowned. It wasn’t the same as the determined scraping, more like a questioning knock.
Releasing her, Odhrán moved to the stone, pressing his ear against it.
The Priestess waited silently.
Shifting, Odhrán brought both of his hands up on the stone. Muttering under his breath, he pushed the stone aside to reveal a souterrain.
Daire, who had been crouched on the other side, fell back in surprise. But that moment of surprise quickly turned to anger when he noticed Odhrán. “Is this where you have been?” he demanded, grabbing Odhrán roughly by the front of his tunic and pulling him to his feet. “Hiding here while the rest of the village was being attacked?”
“I did what was necessary,” replied the Milidh man in an even tone as he knocked Daire’s hand away.
“What was necessary?!” Daire continued. “If you were sent here to protect Shiovra, as you claim, then you should have been out there with the rest of us!”
Shiovra rose to her feet and looked over Odhrán’s shoulder as he blocked her path from the tunnel. She quickly took in Daire’s disheveled hair and smudged face.
“I was not the one who left her in an unguarded cottage outside away from the warriors,” said Odhrán, voice firm, but calm. “You know full well she would be hunted and yet you took no precautions for her safety.” He crossed his arms. “When I got to her cottage, there was already a huntsman inside. I disposed of him and brought the High Priestess to safety.”
From where Shiovra stood in the tunnel, she could see unbridled anger cross her cousin’s face.
“You probably brought them here to begin with!” growled Daire angrily, reaching for Odhrán again, only to have the man dodge.
“Are you insinuating that I had a hand in this attack?” Odhrán’s tone had become hard and cold. “I was sent to this village to protect the High Priestess and help the people of Tara gain some belief that not all of those born to the Milidh clan seek war, not to plan attacks against the village.”
“By your own words you admitted to being sent here to gain our trust!” countered Daire. “How do expect us to believe you had nothing to do with the attack?!”
Shiovra decided it was time to interject before the whole situation escalated out of control. Pushing roughly past Odhrán, she stepped between the men with her hands raised. “There has been enough fighting this night!” she declared. “By earth, Daire, Odhrán is like you!” Shiovra rubbed her face wearily. “The people of this village are in danger because of me, not him.”
“Shiovra…” Daire began, but was cut off by the silencing glare she shot his way.
“The village needs more warriors at its disposal,” continued the priestess. “Without more swords and spears, Tara will remain vulnerable and her people in danger.”
“And what do you suggest? The High Chieftain’s took many of our able men last winter to strengthen their own defenses,” stated Daire bitterly. “We have all the men who are able to fight already doing so.”
Shiovra looked away and sighed. “We shall seek aid from Dún Fiáin,” she said softly.
Daire opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out and so he closed his mouth and stared at her in complete disbelief.
“Are you sure about that?” asked Mahon’s voice suddenly.
Looking up, Shiovra found her brother sitting beside the ladder, looking down at them. His face was pale and there was dried blood splattered on his tunic. Her hands clenched the fold of her shift tightly. While she had been unconscious and hidden away, her kin had been fighting for their lives.
“Do you want to take the risk of asking an enemy clan for aid?” Mahon continued to question.
Shiovra closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “What other choice do we have?” she argued, meeting his gaze firmly. “If the clan of Dún Fiáin truly seeks alliance with us, if their intentions are untainted, then they can aid in defending this village. We have to take the risk.”
“Then I’ll go…” began Mahon, only to be cut off.
“Nay,” interrupted Shiovra. “It must be me. If I am to wed the chieftain’s son, then I should be the one to ask for support.”
“Do you expect us to let you do something so dangerous?” interjected Daire, grabbing her by the arm.
“I am the High Priestess of this village. I must do my part to protect it,” countered Shiovra, wrenching her arm free, “even if it means sacrificing myself.”
Mahon was quiet a moment, rubbing his temple. “I shall trust your judgment,” he said after a long while. “But, please, rest for now. You can start your journey at midday.”
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
On the second day of their journey, Shiovra woke to find she lay on her stomach, the soft grass beneath her damp from morning dew. A small fire burned beside her and she was wrapped up in a thick cloak which she recognized as Odhrán’s while her own lay beneath her head. Slight colors had begun to hint the cloud filled sky and a gentle, moist breeze drifted over her cheek. Rolling onto her back, Shiovra sat up and stretched. She was not used to sleeping on the ground, and her body ached.
As the wind drifted past her, a chill raced through her body, followed by the feeling of being watched.
Shiovra looked across the campfire to see Daire sitting on a fallen tree, poking at the fire with a stick while speaking to Odhrán in hushed tones. Sitting the stick down, he took a sip from a steaming earthen bowl he held in his other hand. Odhrán, running a finger along the edge of his cup, suddenly glanced over at Shiovra and offered it to her.
The priestess frowned, shaking her head. “Can you not sense him?” she breathed, wondering how they could both sit and talk with such ease while someone was watching them.
Both men nodded.
“He has been coming closer to us in the past few moments,” Odhrán said calmly.
“Most likely a huntsman of Caher Dearg,” she told them, rubbing her face warily. They were dangerously close to Méav’s domain. Méav, who not only turned her back on her kin, but fooled Ailill and garnered his fury. “We should not linger here…”
“Do you think Méav will try something?” asked Daire.
“I would not like to find out,” Shiovra told him.
Odhrán listened is silence, bringing his bowl to his lips and taking a drink.
The priestess sighed. “We should hasten to Dún Fiáin.”
“Hmm?” came Daire’s muffled reply.
Shiovra looked at her cousin as he watched her with a handful of dried meat hanging from his mouth like a starving child. Shaking her head, she told him “Hurry and finish your meal. We have tarried here long enough.” Rising to her feet, Shiovra fastened her cloak about her shoulders, then handed Odhrán his own. “I thank you for your kindness,” she said softly and was granted with a small nod.
There was a tug of apprehension pulling at her. Méav’s huntsmen were a foul lot, known for their cruelty and lack of fear of death. And most often they did not travel alone. In truth, the priestess feared them more than even the Milidh. And so she anxiously watched the area surrounding them while Daire cleaned up the camp.
The huntsman had stopped trying to conceal his presence, shifting back and forth between the trees.
“Let us head out,” Daire ordered.
“Aye, let us,” Shiovra agreed, her eyes narrowed on the form of the huntsman who stood not too far away.
They made their way along in silence for some time. Shiovra continued to keep a wary eye on their surroundings and a quick glance at Odhrán told her that the man did the same. Though Daire did not seem to grasp the possible danger, Odhrán appeared to know full well what awaited them in the woods. The huntsman continued to lurk behind them. And though Shiovra saw no others, she knew that they couldn’t be far behind.
“Think we should rest?” Daire asked after a good while, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Not yet,” Shiovra said quietly. “It is not safe.” Her hand clenched on the hilt of the dagger she carried.
“If we do not stop and rest now, we will not have the chance till close to nightfall,” insisted Daire, “and even then we’ll be too close to Caher Dearg.”
“That may be, but the huntsman continues to follow,” Odhrán told him bluntl
y.
Groaning, Daire fell silent.
As they crossed a small stream, the borders of Caher Dearg became visible off to the west. In the distance, looming at the crest of a barren mound stood the circular stone fort surrounded by a heavy forest that gave off a dark, cold feeling. Home to Méav, Caher Dearg was a dreaded place.
Once the High Priestess of Tara, wife of a chieftain, and mother to Tríonna, Réalta, and Gráinne, Méav had turned her back on clan and village. She took Ailill as a lover, promising him power beyond his beliefs, and once she had taken control of his village and warriors, she cast him aside.
The path they were taking them would lead them straight through the woods surrounding Méav’s domain. The dense and dark forest was deadly and the journey through them would have to be made with great haste.
Shiovra knew what the huntsmen were capable of. There would be no escaping them. Already too man had begun to surround them.
A moment of pause was brought to Shiovra’s step. Creeping across the ground, rolling its way to them was a thick, heavy fog. It carried with it a cold so bitter that the priestess found herself momentarily frozen. It was in that moment of hesitation that a filthy hand reached out to cup around her mouth while another snaked around her body, dragging her roughly away.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
Daire had begun to find the quite of the woods unnerving. He did not like the idea of passing so closely to Caher Dearg, but it would bring them to Dún Fiáin decently sooner than if they had taken the pains to avoid Méav’s reach. Yet, the deeper they walked into the dark trees, the more he began to question the rationality behind his decision.
“We will still be lingering around the edges of Méav’s domain when night falls,” began Daire. “Would you be able to place some sort of protection circle around our campsite, Shiovra?”
Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) Page 10
