The Lyre Dancers

by Mandy Haggith

  Praise for The Walrus Mutterer and The Amber Seeker

  Longlisted for the Highland Book Prize 2018

  ‘Marries great storytelling and convincing research … always interesting, sometimes enthralling.’ Allan Massie, Scotsman

  ‘Haggith’s woman’s-eye view of the Iron Age feels fresh and distinctive.’ Alastair Mabbott, Sunday Herald

  ‘A gripping, haunting and, at times, visceral novel… Lyrical and poetic prose, the author has created a convincing and entirely believable world… One of the best books I have read so far this year.’ Penny Ingham, Editor’s Choice, Historical Novels Review

  ‘Compelling … The story is visceral and visual, crafted with a lyrical prose.’ Dundee Courier

  ‘We see what the world was like … for the Iron Age peoples, particularly the women … Rian is a compelling heroine … she has insights and wisdom that we moderns may well envy.’ Margaret Elphinstone

  ‘Utterly compelling … beautifully crafted … paints an exquisite pen picture.’ Undiscovered Scotland

  ‘The language and imagery are rich, poetic, visceral, and often moving … as strange and beautiful as anything science-fiction or fantasy has to offer.’ Scots Whay Hae

  ‘An immersive evocation of ancient folklore and ritual, this novel’s characterisation and fast pace make it a real page-turner which will keep you hooked.’ Scottish Field

  ‘The Walrus Mutterer transported me to an extraordinary Iron Age world that resonated long after the final page – vivid, memorable, and utterly compelling.’ Helen Sedgwick

  For Bill

  CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  RIAN

  SOYEA

  RIAN

  SOYEA

  RIAN

  SOYEA

  RONA

  RIAN

  SOYEA

  RIAN

  SOYEA

  RONA

  RIAN

  SOYEA

  RIAN

  SOYEA

  RIAN

  RONA

  SOYEA

  RIAN

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ALSO BY MANDY HAGGITH

  COPYRIGHT

  RIAN

  THE WINGED ISLE

  Rian couldn’t sleep. She sat up in bed, tugging tangles out of her hair. It was still her best feature, the colour of amber, as Pytheas used to be so fond of pointing out. She was no longer the wraith she was when she ran away from him. Her fingers were toughened by years of scrubbing and pounding, milking and churning, grinding and peeling. Who could imagine food and herbs could make a woman’s hands so rough? They were always worst at this time of year, chapped and stinging after the winter. She had yarrow butter to soften them, but never remembered to use it, always leaving it until a cut became sore. One of those nail-edge rips that refuse to heal caught on her hair with a twinge. She sucked it, worrying.

  Eventually she shook Manigan awake.

  ‘There’s something wrong about that woman.’ She spoke in a whisper, even though the cliff-top house walls were thick stone. Sound moved in strange ways around these buildings: you could hear voices from places you couldn’t see.

  She lit a lamp. They had been given a splendid room. The bed was solid, with curtains on three sides, including the one she was on next to the wall. The cloth was well woven and the warm colours shone in the flicker from the wick: a deep red and mellow brown with light green patches. It made her think of rowan trees. The coverlet was a patchwork of furs that had been so warm she’d had to throw it off in the night. Despite the comfort, she had hardly slept.

  Manigan grunted and groped for her hand. His thick braid of hair was shot with a touch of silver, but she still found him the most beguiling person she had ever set eyes on. Still lithe, his smile still wonky. His beard was short-cropped and it suited him. After a night’s sleep he was looking comfortably tousled again, a bit scruffy, and his sea-weathered skin was more relaxed than the day before at the party. She always thought he looked like a naughty child when he was freshly scrubbed. It wasn’t his natural state.

  When he stirred again, she said, ‘There’s something not right. She gives me the creeps.’

  ‘Who?’ His voice was woolly with sleep.

  ‘Cuilc. She’s too happy. I don’t believe in her.’

  He opened his eyes and gave her one of his baleful stares. ‘Of course she’s happy. It’s only the bride’s mother that gets sad at handfastings. She just got herself a daughter-in-law to do her laundry for her and cut the hay.’

  Rian snorted. ‘Can you imagine?’

  They both chuckled at the picture of Rona attempting to wield a scythe or thump a laundry tub.

  ‘She’ll have to grow up now. She’ll be fine. They’re good people,’ Manigan said.

  It was true, she knew this. The handfasting had shown the community in a good light: plenty of funny stories and more food than you’d expect for spring. The boy Eadha adored Rona and she bore a mad passion for him. The only wrong note was his mother.

  She pulled her hand out of Manigan’s grasp. ‘What if she’s my mother?’

  ‘Ach, be quiet. What on earth would make you think that? She’s not old enough.’

  ‘How old was I when I had Soyea?’

  Manigan sighed. ‘Did you drink too much last night?’

  She sulked for a while at that. ‘Did you hear Uill Tabar is dead?’

  It had been the sort of gathering where you heard news about people you hadn’t seen for years. The old mystic had died, seemingly, on a boat headed for the Long Island. He’d been helping with a tack and the boom had slipped out of the hands of the boy at the bow and caught Uill on the head. He had never come round.

  Manigan pushed himself into a sitting position and took her hand again. ‘I see where this is going. Yes, I did. Poor old fellow. I’ll miss him.’

  ‘He never told me who my parents were.’

  ‘No. You never did get it out of him, the old teaser.’

  She tried to clench her fist but Manigan had tight hold.

  ‘It really bothers you, doesn’t it?’ he said.

  ‘I can’t bear not knowing. Sometimes it feels like I’m being eaten up by it, the sense that it’s just out of reach. Danuta once told me everything would change when I found out who I came from. I have to ask her. Will you take me to Assynt?’

  ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘I have to go. I spoke to Ishbel, you know, the priestess, and she thinks Danuta’s still alive. Hasn’t heard otherwise, anyway.’

  ‘Of course, if that’s what you want to do, I’ll take you.’ He wrapped his other hand around the one he was already holding. ‘But is it safe? Bael has a bad reputation. Worse than his father. And Ussa still goes there. It’s one of her haunts.’

  Rian shuddered at the mention of the slaver, her nemesis. ‘I have to risk facing them. If Danuta dies I’ll never know. Nobody else knows who I am.’

  ‘Ach, Rian. I’ve told you a thousand times and I’ll tell you again, you’re whoever you let yourself be and to me you’re the Queen of the Sea.’ He thrust his head down into her belly, rocked her under him, and wrestled with his big arms until she cuddled him back.

  Their leaving was sore next morning, and Rian would have willingly stayed for days or weeks rather than part with her youngest daughter. But Manigan said they should abandon Rona to her new life, and the wind was easterly and ideal for the journey north to Assynt.

  Soyea and Manigan were already installed on Bradan by the time Rian made her way to the cleft in the cliff where the boat had been hauled up. She followed Eadha, who led his mother, his new wife and his mother-in-law down the path. His head was high and he stood, legs a little apart, hand on one hip, as Rian gave Rona a final hug
. Then he wrapped his other arm around Rona’s shoulder, as if to show possession. Cuilc was hovering, so Rian briefly hugged her too, and was surprised, even so early, to smell strong drink on her breath.

  Trying to keep from crying, Rian turned away to clamber onto the boat. She knew she should be happy, but Rona was so young to say goodbye to. Once aboard she faced the young couple. Her daughter was alight with excitement, gazing up into the flawless beauty of her husband’s face.

  Cuilc stood a few steps aside, watching, and when Rian waved to her a delighted smile broke onto her wrinkled face and she raised a hand, mouthing, ‘Come again soon.’

  Rian nodded.

  Rona was waving goodbye with both hands, then laughing turned to say something to Eadha. He stood as before, his pose struck and held, arm raised as if bearing a torch, the other clasped around Rona’s shoulder.

  Bradan’s sail lifted and they drew away from the shore, heading south down the loch. Rian stayed at the stern, watching until the three figures turned away and strolled back towards the cliff-top tower.

  ACHMELVICH

  It took three days of heavy sailing to get up to the Summer Isles. The tides were all wrong up the east coast of the Winged Isle and the sea around Rubha Reidh was so dangerous they had to turn back on the second day and retreat to the nearest loch, then try again the following morning. The weather was foul, the sea lumpy and they were all soaked and exhausted when they got to the big harbour on Tanera. But it was Badger and Kino’s home, so they got a warm welcome.

  Rian found her stomach churning at the prospect of what lay ahead. She had to force herself to eat. She hadn’t felt so sick since she’d been pregnant with Soyea and Cleat, and the sensation made her think of her missing son. It was almost unbearable.

  She couldn’t go directly to Clachtoll, obviously, but Badger had a sister in Achmelvich. They sent word through fishermen from Tanera and heard back that she and Soyea were welcome to visit on the quiet. As far as anyone knew, the old crone was still there at the broch, although no one had seen her for ages.

  The weather deteriorated and a storm kept them all indoors for two days. Tempers were poor and stores were low. When the wind died down to a level safe to sail, it was northerly, which was no use at all. Eventually, they woke to a strong breeze gusting from the south west and it was a relief to everyone to set off.

  The wind gathered up the skirts of Bradan and hustled her north. As they came around Rubha Coigach, the sea was jabbly and uncomfortable. Rian felt sicker than ever.

  Manigan pointed out the islands of Cleat and Soyea. Rian watched as her daughter scanned the islands she and her twin were named after. She felt the familiar pang of longing for her little boy, the hole in her heart that could never be filled as long as he was gone.

  ‘They always make me think of seals,’ Manigan said. ‘Cleat is a round head, bobbing in the sea, and Soyea is lounging on a rock.’

  Soyea’s eyes were wide taking everything in: the birds circling the islands, seals peering at them from the safety of the water.

  Reaching the shelter of the islands, the sea’s motion eased. They rounded the west side of Soyea and sailed past a rocky promontory into a sheltered bay. They had agreed that Bradan would sail on north from Achmelvich to avoid drawing attention to their arrival, so only Rian and Soyea jumped ashore onto the white sands, after a fierce kiss and ‘good luck,’ from Manigan.

  Badger’s sister lived with her husband Thormid’s family in a crannog on the lochan behind the machair. Rian led the way and halted at the lochside. There were three huts on islands in the water. A causeway had been built out to the newest one, but Rian felt shy about making the crossing without invitation. She felt Soyea at her shoulder.

  ‘There’s smoke,’ her daughter whispered.

  ‘Hello!’ Rian called.

  ‘Aye, aye.’ An old woman pulled the door open.

  ‘Hello Eilidh,’ Rian said. The sight of the kind face, familiar from childhood, made her voice crack.

  ‘It’ll be Rian, is it?’ She waved them over. ‘Come along in. Welcome.’

  The old woman sat them down on stools and stared into Rian’s face. ‘I remember you fine. You being sold as a slave was a crying shame. I don’t know how Danuta lived with herself afterwards. It nearly sent her mad, you know.’

  ‘How is she?’ Rian wanted to rush out and run to Clachtoll, but at the same time she wasn’t sure that she dared to go at all.

  ‘I’ve not seen her or heard anything for a while,’ Eilidh said.

  Soyea was looking around, wide-eyed with delight at the crannog. ‘This is like a fairy’s house.’

  The old woman chuckled. ‘No, now. Thormid’s handy enough, but there’s no magic in it.’ Taking a step to the door, she beckoned Rian to join her. She waved her hand towards the furthest of the other two island huts. ‘The old crannog is a bit ramshackle, but you’re welcome to it.’

  Rian looked out at the little round water-house. Its thatch had seen better days, but it was a kind offer. ‘Thank you.’

  Eilidh bustled her back to the stool. ‘And now you’d better fill me in on what you’ve been doing with yourself all these years and how you come to be with the Walrus Mutterer.’

  Rian sat back down. ‘Well there’s not much to tell. I met Manigan that first year. He helped me escape from Ussa and took me down deep south to a place where I could be safe.’

  Eilidh seemed to be waiting for more.

  ‘And I’ve had children. Three.’ She pointed to Soyea. ‘This is my eldest and there’s another girl, Rona, whose handfasting we’ve just been to. And a boy, who’s…’ Rian petered out, then mustered, ‘…lost.’ She never knew what to say about Cleat.

  Eilidh tilted her head, sympathetically, and Rian guessed that she was assuming he was dead. It was often easier to let people think this than have to explain his absence.

  SMELL OF THE SEA FLOWERS

  The old crannog was barely fit for pigs: dark, musty and cold, its heather thatch disintegrating. But it was surrounded by water on all sides and there was safety in that. Rian was sure Soyea must be appalled by it, but she didn’t know how to make it bearable. At least it was a bright day, and the midday sun streamed in through the doorway.

  Soyea set her bag down on one of the benches, then plonked herself beside it. She looked big and ungainly in the cramped space, gazing around at the wonky roof beams. ‘It’s like something from a story, a hut of a water sprite.’

  Rian was surprised. ‘It’s damp,’ she said.

  ‘What did you call it?’

  ‘A crannog.’

  ‘I can smell the sea.’

  ‘Yes, it’s all around us.’ Rian pointed out of the door ‘Down there, just beyond those woods, there’s a sea loch, and then it’s sea all the way round to the beach.’ She swept her arm around to the back of the hut. ‘We’re on a peninsula.’

  ‘Can we go and see?’

  They set off to explore. Rian led the way around the edge of the lochan, then through some stunted birch trees. The ground rose slightly and suddenly they were out in the open, on the edge of a rocky shoreline, overlooking the mouth of a loch. Two gulls flapped away from them. Shags stood lined up on a rocky promontory. A curious head bobbed up in the shallows. Rian pointed it out to Soyea. ‘Look, a seal.’ Soyea nodded and rolled her eyes, as if to say she wasn’t stupid, she could recognise a seal. Then she yawned.

  ‘Do you want to have a nap?’ Rian said. ‘We’ve been travelling a lot, we’re tired, and the day’s been long.’

  Soyea nodded, and they made their way back to the crannog. They spread bedding on the benches and set out their few belongings to try to give the hut a homely feel. Rian found herself yawning too, and when she lay down she found sleep came easily.

  She woke refreshed. It was early evening and the scent of bluebells drifted out of the woods and mingled with the seaweed tang. It was the fragrance of her childhood. Somehow Ictis had never smelt as good as this. Different trees, a different
sea.

  Soyea lay, mouth slightly open, on the other bed. She would sleep for hours more, if left, and then not sleep at night. But Rian wanted this chance to be alone. She had always meant this return to be the three of them: her, Soyea and Cleat. But her son had never come back from wherever Pytheas had taken him and his hole in her life still ached like an old wound. She got up, her movements cat-quiet. The door creaked when she opened it, but didn’t disturb her daughter. She took herself off across the narrow causeway, through the meadows to the beach.

  They spent the evening with Eilidh and her family, in a blur of news about local people. Rian struggled to put faces to the names from her memory. She worried that it all must mean nothing to Soyea, but she seemed interested. Eilidh was good at making guests feel comfortable. Still, Rian felt on edge, nervous about what lay ahead, and as soon as she found herself yawning she excused herself. Eilidh seemed to understand.

  The next morning, Rian woke early and intended to take herself off to the beach again, but as she was opening the door, Soyea spoke.

  ‘Mother?’ She was sitting up.

  ‘I was just going out for a little walk.’

  ‘Wait. Can I come?’ Soyea stretched, yawning, then swung her legs out of bed.

  Rian waited while Soyea got up, drank some water and found something warm to wear. The morning was bright but chilly and Rian was itching to get out. This wasn’t her home territory exactly, but it was close enough and everything was familiar yet fresh. The anticipation of what she might find when we went to the broch was tantalising, but she was frightened too, she had to admit, and this bit of distance felt safe. She needed a day to get used to being back in Assynt before she faced her past.

  She led Soyea down the burn that drained the lochan into the sea. They slithered on weedy rocks and squelched through the gunge where seawrack lay rotting. Rian crinkled her nose, but Soyea took great lung-fulls of it.

  ‘Don’t get it on your clothes, you’ll stink for days,’ Rian said.