An Immortal Descent

by Kari Edgren

  A cork squealed free, followed by the sloshing of a water skin. The girl swallowed thirstily, the simple noise accentuating the dryness in my mouth. Finished, she re-corked the skin and cleared her throat. Silence ensued, and I had just resumed counting from the beginning when the most serene notes slipped past the tightly woven canvas. I went still as they brushed over my skin and wound through my senses. The remaining anger seeped away. Every muscle relaxed, and even the pain seemed somewhat diminished.

  I inhaled deeply with little regard to the cinnamon. What is that? It sounded unearthly to the point of angelic. Each note flowed through me, soothed the body while reassuring the soul. I listened harder, afraid to lose even the smallest piece.

  Time slipped by unnoticed. An hour or a day could have passed when a low rumble joined with the song. “Ah, there he be,” the girl said, the serenity dissolving with her sad voice.

  My eyes flew open, and the shock would have set me off my feet if I weren’t already there. Such amazing beauty—from Cailleach’s descendant. The comfort and serenity had come from her. A puff of frosty air blossomed against the canvas right in front of me. I watched it dissipate when another appeared in its place. Only then did I realize that I was shivering with cold.

  “It’s a pity Mrs. Murphy didn’t get to him first,” the girl grumbled. “That black-hearted charlatan, she’d have dragged him straightway to the magistrate.”

  I felt the same though lacked the ability to share my thoughts.

  The rumbling grew louder. Turning my head to the side, I picked out the sound of wheels and a pair of horses. “Whoa, there,” Calhoun bellowed, bringing the caravan to a stop. Shifting and scraping came from what must have been the driver’s box, and two loud thuds hit the ground. “This way, Bertie. I’ve a need for a strong pair o’ arms.”

  Boots thumped down the dock to stop next to me. I tensed, forgetting to breathe while I waited for the inevitable. “That one first,” Calhoun said. “I’ll hold the boat steady for you.”

  A man grunted, and the boat dipped from his weight. His hands moved beneath me, pulled me effortlessly into his arms. He stood, swaying from the motion before stepping back on the dock.

  “Gentle now, Bertie,” Calhoun breathed. “I won’t have her damaged.”

  The man adjusted my weight in his arms. “Who you got here, Calhoun?”

  “Never you mind, me lad. Just get her inside, and there be another piece o’ silver for you.”

  It was absolutely Bertie’s business. Pulling a breath through my nose, I screamed as loud as I could past the binding. It sounded pathetic, but would convey the proper message. I screamed some more and twisted like mad for greater effect.

  Bertie tightened his grip. “You found a feisty one, Calhoun.”

  The more I twisted, the tighter his arms became. He continued to walk, making no further inquiries to my identity or indicating anything other than indifference to my plight. I finally fell still, panting through my nose from the exertion. A door creaked open. The filtered sunlight disappeared as I was tossed onto something soft.

  “Good man, Bertie. Now fetch me trunk o’ bottles and tins.”

  Heavy footsteps trailed away. I stared straight ahead at the dark canvas and waited.

  “Miss Kilbrid,” Calhoun said. “Me lass will be joining you shortly to untie the sack and bindings. She’s got the Cailleach’s blood, so don’t be trying anything funny, or you’ll both be in a sorry state. Do you hear?”

  I grunted a response.

  “That’s a good lass,” he said, then lowered his voice, and I had to strain to hear the next words. “Get in there and make her comfortable. If’n she tries anything, put a bit o’ ice in her skin, but nothing more. We’ll be to the village in two shakes of a lamb’s tail, and I want her ready.”

  The caravan wobbled as the girl jumped in beside me. With nimble fingers, she untied the sack at my feet and slid it the length of my body. I wiggled from side to side to help the task along until the sack came off over my head. The freedom was intense despite the gloom, and if not for the gag, I would have sucked in a relieved breath of air.

  She went to work next on the bindings at my knees and feet. When I twisted my back and bound wrists toward her, she shook her head. “These first,” she murmured, picking at the knots with extra care not to touch me. All the same, just being so near chilled me through. From the look on her face, she felt equal distress from the close contact.

  Good. Fair was fair, and she deserved every bit of discomfort.

  The knots were taking forever. She stopped once when Bertie reappeared to slide a black trunk and leather saddlebags inside. He paused to give me a curious look. Gagged, and with a mass of wild curls falling around me, I must have appeared the very image of madness. To be sure, I was as sane as any prisoner intent on vengeance. The truth must have gleamed in my eyes, for he stepped back in a hurry and shut the door.

  The gloom deepened, and I squeaked out an impatient protest for her to hurry.

  “It’s your own fault, carrying on like that.” She blew out an irritated breath. “I’ll have to cut them loose.”

  She stood and moved a curtain aside, revealing the square outline of a small window. With a soft click, the window panel slid open, and gray light filtered inside. While the girl rummaged through a narrow cabinet, I wrenched my neck around to take in the details of what appeared to be a gypsy caravan.

  Dark red paint covered the rounded ceiling and walls. Opposite the window, two rows of goldenrod-colored shelves ran along the wall, with spindly wooden guardrails to secure the dozens of glass jars filled with all manner of herbs and liquids. Several large barrels sat below the shelves, girded in place by ropes. A thin bench lined the wall directly behind the driver’s box, which had a small slatted opening to allow for easier communication. On the floor, coarse burlap scratched my cheek, and from the scent of mildewed hay, I was lying atop a sleeping pallet.

  A whistle pierced the air. The caravan lurched forward, sending the girl tumbling against one of the barrels. She cursed and dropped beside me, metal glinting from one hand. I cried out, and tried to roll out of reach from the long blade.

  “I’ll not hurt you,” she hissed and clasped the binding at my knees. “Hold still, or we’ll both be screaming.”

  I froze, and in a heartbeat my knees and ankles were free. No longer restricted, the blood flowed freely, and I clenched my teeth against the prickling pain.

  The girl moved to my wrists. Soft material grazed the skin from the gloves she’d pulled on while searching for the knife. Even so, I shuddered from cold when her fingers grazed my bare skin. Once the last binding fell away, I scrambled to sit and fumbled clumsy fingers against the gag.

  “Let me do that,” she said, raising the blade to eye level.

  I flinched back.

  The girl released an irritated breath. “What do you think I’d be doing? Come here, so I can get that gag from your mouth.”

  It took every bit of will to overcome the raw instinct. With a pounding heart, I leaned forward where the blade slid along the back of my head. There was a quick tug, and I shivered just as the tension released from the corners of my mouth. Spitting, I yanked the cloth away. The girl hustled back to the bench, I assumed to get the maximum amount of distance between us.

  Fine by me.

  I pulled in several deep breaths. My tongue and throat were dirt dry, and it didn’t take long before a coughing fit set in.

  Something thumped on the pallet next to me. Glancing down, I saw a leather water skin.

  “Take a swig,” the girl said, “afore we start.”

  I drank greedily, droplets falling from my chin. The burning eased after a moment, but I kept drinking till my stomach swelled. Satisfied, I tossed the skin aside and used a sleeve to dry the excess water.

  I looked up at the g
irl, anger sparking in my eyes. “Where is Lynch taking my friends?”

  “Don’t know for certain. To hell if’n he can manage it, but me guess be the Colonies to sell his cargo.”

  I bit my lower lip. Justine had seen her share of villains over the past three hundred years and was more than capable of dealing with the likes of Lynch. Her voice trick alone could subdue the crew...unless the captain had received advance warning to stuff wool in his ears. Even then, Lord Stroud and Mr. Roth were far from helpless babes, and the three of them could surely manage an escape.

  Worry continued to pluck at my ribs for their safety, but in truth there was little I could do other than hope for the best. Nora needed me more, and I would push on with our original quest to Wexford—just as soon as I got free of the charlatan.

  In need of answers, I narrowed my gaze on the girl. “Why did you trick me?”

  “Calhoun told me to.”

  “That’s a poor excuse if ever I’ve heard one.” Quiet loathing laced my voice.

  “Don’t be getting snotty with me, Eanin. Tried to warn you, I did, and got a face full of bruises to show for it. Even told you to go away when Calhoun had me hide in the hull crying to lure you out. But you weren’t to listen.” She crossed her arms in a huff. “If’n you need someone to blame, best be looking to yourself first.”

  I studied her face, the swollen eye and bruised cheeks. She had a point, though just barely, and only if she spoke the truth. For all I knew, she’d gotten those bruises for making poor work of Calhoun’s boots earlier.

  “Why did you attack me then?” I asked.

  “Do you think I wanted to touch your bare skin?” She shuddered from the memory. “I did it to save your life, or have you forgotten the feel o’ the captain’s sword poking at your breastbone.” Peeling off the gloves, she tossed them in my lap. “Put these on now, we haven’t much time.”

  I snatched up the black velvet gloves and dangled them at arm’s length. “Time for what?”

  “For me to be telling you what to do once we reach Dunmore. The sight o’ Calhoun’s caravan will rile folks to murder, so you’ll have one chance to save all our necks, Eanin.”

  The lack of detail was really getting under my skin. “How am I to save anyone’s neck?” I asked heatedly. “And why do you keep calling me Eanin?”

  She gave me an odd look. “‘Twas the name Deri told us in Bristol. Means little bird in Gaelic. She and the other lady said you’d be a lovely prize for Calhoun supposing he could get his hands on you.” The girl snorted. “Turned out to be easier than he thought.”

  I just stared at her while she spoke, speechless as the past events came together. Deri and the girl were both Cailleach’s descendants, so of course they’d be in league together. It explained why Calhoun had been waiting at the gate to the city, and why he’d offered hasty passage to our party yesterday when no other ships would sail.

  The gloves slipped from my hand as a burst of excitement jumped inside me. While I possessed a vague idea of Deri’s destination, this girl might well know the exact location of the oak grove and Carmen’s grave.

  A caravan wheel struck a rock. Jarred to one side, the glass jars clinked on the shelves above. I braced a hand on the pallet for balance, and the girl did the same on the bench.

  “Where exactly is Deri going?” I asked once we were resettled.

  The girl shrugged. “To the devil for all I care.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “What makes you say so?”

  “You have the same blood. It stands to reason you’d be in her confidence. Perhaps even a friend.” In truth, I didn’t think the wretch capable of such a relationship.

  The girl spat on the floor. “Deri’s no friend o’ mine. We met by chance two months ago on the voyage from Ireland. She stayed with me and Calhoun a few days in Bristol before going to London, and it was then I saw her blood be tainted with evil.”

  I raised a brow at this. “Of course it is. One could hardly expect otherwise when her mother is a witch and her father descended from Cailleach.”

  “You’ve got it wrong,” the girl said, shaking her head in protest. “It’s not what she got from Cailleach that’s bad.”

  Oh, for heaven’s sake! The girl was delusional if she thought the goddess of death and disease any better than a witch. “Six of one, half dozen of another,” I said with clear disdain. “There’s no difference between the two.”

  The girl stared at me for a moment, then slowly shook her head. “You know nothing about good and evil, Eanin.”

  “Don’t call me that,” I snapped. “I’m not a little bird.”

  Her mouth pulled to a smirk. “What should I call you so?”

  “My name is Selah.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Selah. I be Ailish O’ Bearra.” She darted a look at my bare hands. “No offense, but I’ll not be shaking with you.”

  I snorted a laugh. Then quickly covered my mouth in surprise. Mortal enemies didn’t sit around laughing over jests. They avoided each other’s company, and any measure of trust or familiarity was entirely off-limits. I’d unwittingly made that mistake on the Sea Witch, only to find myself stuffed in a spice sack.

  “Whoa, there,” Calhoun yelled from the driver’s box.

  The horses slowed to a trot. Ailish stiffened, her face filled with panic. “Put on those gloves, you. Time’s running out.”

  Responding to the fear in her voice, I hurriedly pulled them on, the black velvet reaching to my elbows. “What am I supposed to do?”

  The horses were walking now, and the caravan seemed to have dropped to a snail’s pace. Glancing out the window, I caught sight of the upper windows and roofs of the two-storied structures that lined the road.

  “The village be bustling,” Ailish said, her eyes fixed on a much different sight. “And the folks don’t seem pleased to see us.”

  Something hard hit the back of the caravan, a large stone by the sounds of it. I jumped as Ailish shot to her feet to slide the window panel into place. Then she crossed herself, mumbling the holy trilogy in turn.

  I did the same for good measure.

  She gave me a worried smile. “By God’s grace, we’ll survive the day unharmed.”

  “It’s because of Mrs. Murphy, isn’t it?” I said, recalling the woman’s name from earlier.

  Ailish pressed her lips to an angry line. “That it be. Last we visited Dunmore, Calhoun nearly killed her with a poisonous remedy. At the time, I didn’t know the whole reason for our hasty departure, only that Bertie stowed the caravan in his barn and smuggled us to Wexford, where we met up with Captain Lynch. We’ve been hiding in Bristol ever since.”

  Good gracious! Did Calhoun have a death wish? “Why did he come back?”

  Ailish gave me a piercing look. “He got wind o’ a miracle in Bristol, something that would allow him to return to Ireland without having to peep over his shoulder at every noise.”

  A slow chill crept up my spine. “You can’t be serious.”

  “He’d been plotting for two months how to get the caravan back without being arrested. Thanks to Deri, he knows you can heal every ailment in the village to clear his name.”

  I gaped at her. “Well, he’s sadly mistaken if he thinks I’ll expose my identity to save his sorry backside.” I could just imagine it now—the charlatan and his alleged witch, swinging side-by-side in the sleepy village of Dunmore. Or did they still burn witches in Ireland? Whichever, Calhoun could die for all I cared, but he wouldn’t take me down with him.

  “Don’t think you have much choice,” Ailish said. “And it won’t be just for today. Calhoun already be counting his gold from taking you around Ireland and then to the Continent.”

  So that’s his plan. Hot blood suffused my neck and cheeks desp
ite the close proximity to Ailish. “I’ll not be used by that man.”

  Another stone hit the caravan. Ailish put a finger to her mouth as an angry murmur passed through the walls.

  “What’s happening?” I whispered.

  The murmur grew louder, broke into distinct voices. They spoke in Gaelic, and it took a moment for my mind to catch up.

  “Set it afire!” a man cried above the din.

  Several cheers sounded, and I nearly choked on my tongue.

  “No, no,” another yelled. “I’ll not have it burned.”

  A relieved breath rushed from me.

  “What do you have in mind so?” a woman asked.

  “Something that don’t involve choking on noxious fumes,” the man answered. “Push it to the bottom o’ the sea, and we’ll see how the fishies take to his cures.” More cheering burst from the crowd.

  Merciful saints! I looked to Ailish, my thoughts filled with conflicting images of flames and water. “We have to get out of here!”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “But they’re going to kill us!”

  “We’ve to wait.”

  The girl was completely daft. “Wait for what?” I hissed.

  Ailish nodded toward the velvet curtain over the window panel. “For Calhoun to convince someone to reach through there. If’n that happens, our troubles be done today.”

  Chapter Nine

  Saint Brigid’s Miracle

  I stared transfixed at the dim square of light around the panel. “What do you mean?” I whispered.

  “Nothing too difficult once Calhoun puts that silken tongue o’ his to work. Just do what I say and don’t panic no matter what you hear out there.”

  I nodded as an ominous fog spread through me. How long did Ailish expect us to wait? Until flames lapped at the sides of the caravan? Or water rushed up through the floorboards? Having narrowly escaped both kinds of death in Pennsylvania, I had no intention of stretching my luck again so soon.