She sobbed and wailed as her friend held her. Orlagh pounded her fist into the splattering mud. “He left, Eolande. He left me. I gave up everything for him, for his love, and he left me.”
Orlagh clung to Eolande. She didn’t think she had so many tears left. Eolande hummed and hugged her, patting her hair. The raven must have followed, for the bird cawed several times before swooping off.
After her tears began to dry, Eolande held her at arms-length and stared into her eyes. “He left you, Orlagh. That may very well mean he didn’t want you after all. Are you certain you want to leave everything you are, everything you have, and chase after a dream? Are you certain this is what you want?”
Orlagh nodded eagerly. “Of course, this is what I want! But he’s gone, so I can’t have him.”
“Shh, if this is what you wish, I’ve sent Tawnith to go find them. Orlagh, You can’t turn back from this. You know that, right?”
Orlagh nodded, not daring to speak. Could the raven find her beloved? What if Temuirr had run away from her on purpose? Doubt gnawed at her innards.
Eolande drew her away from the forlorn empty guest roundhouse. They walked the path out of the village and to the north, the direction in which Tawnith had flown. Orlagh let a tiny twinge of hope bloom within her heart as they left the gathered roundhouses and stepped into the forest.
“Eolande, what about you? You’ll get in trouble for helping me, will you not?”
Eolande gave her a solemn look. “I’ll not suffer for this, never fear.”
“Then let’s follow Tawnith!”
Though spring had arrived, the darkest part of the woods still hadn’t blossomed with new growth. The heavy canopy of trees kept the sunlight from filtering into the lower parts. Old moldy leaves squished under their feet and spindly bare branches caught on their cloaks. Orlagh kept looking back toward the village, but they had long since left the path, and she perceived nothing behind her but more forest.
The sounds around them became sinister to Orlagh’s ears. Every twig snap and every bird chirp either became her grandfather coming after them or brigands bent upon stealing from them, or worse. The mood of the woods grew menacing.
She didn’t know what part of the day it was any longer. Would the sun set soon? Would they be stuck in the woods all night, among the owls and wolves and Ostmen? How would two girls alone ever survive such a fate? Did Tawnith know where he led them or did he leading them on a merry chase to their deaths? They’d not walked far, but she grew so weak and tired. She should have waited until she’d recovered more to embark on such a journey, but things happened so quickly.
“Eolande, I need something to eat. Can we stop for a moment?”
Her friend nodded, and Orlagh pulled her bag down from her shoulders. She laid her spear, which normally rode in a sheath on her back, down in front of her. Her shoulders ached from carrying the bag, and she rolled them several times.
Orlagh pulled out the bread and broke the large loaf in half, one for each of them. Eolande shared some fruit and cheese. They had a veritable feast under the canopy of spring-sodden trees. Orlagh was relieved not to be walking for the moment. In addition to her shoulders, her lower back and feet ached, and her legs trembled with every step. She got tired so easily. They’d barely walked a few hours.
“Do you know how long until sunset, Eolande?”
The girl glanced up, and Orlagh followed her gaze. Dim light filtering through a sparse covering of spring leaves and branches. The sky behind was covered with gray clouds.
“I’d say about two hours to sundown.”
“Two hours? Will we find Temuirr before nightfall?”
Her friend shrugged. “I cannot say. Tawnith isn’t as good at judging time as we are.”
The raven was both a blessing and a curse. The bird had hopped down and took dainty tidbits of bread from Eolande’s hand as they spoke. Orlagh resisted the urge to talk to him, to ask him directly. She’d never heard Eolande talk to him, though. She always stared at him with intense concentration, and he flew off to do her bidding. There must be some sort of mind-bond between them.
Orlagh wiped a few stray crumbs from her léine. “We should find a safe place to camp before the sun sets tonight.”
Eolande glanced up. “Camp?”
“A place to sleep. Something defensible, so we aren’t attacked in the night.”
The girl blinked several times. “Attacked? No one will attack us, Orlagh. We’re protected.”
Orlagh frowned. “Protected? By whom?”
Eolande just smiled and fed a chunk of apple to Tawnith. The raven took the morsel from her fingers and glared at Orlagh with a baleful stare.
Did the raven protect them somehow? Or something else? The tone of Eolande’s words kept Orlagh from asking further questions. Still, she needed to sleep.
They gathered their things to resume the trail. Orlagh scrutinized her friend. She’d always known Eolande was something different. Not the changeling everyone called her, but not a normal young girl, either. Her mind followed paths others never knew existed. She paid no attention to what others thought, and at the same time, found intense fascination in mundane occurrences, like the morning when they welcomed the sun at the stone circle. The sun rose every day, with or without their intervention. Why run out of breath to go and greet the sun on a random day?
The ambient light dimmed so low they could barely see, and Eolande called a halt to their progress. Orlagh cast about and found a natural hollow under an upturned tree. It was sheltered by the raised roots and relatively soft and smooth underneath. They made their camp and waited for sleep to take them.
An owl kept Orlagh from slumber. Every time she dozed off, the owl would hoot, seemingly right in her ear. She wanted to jump up and chase the creature away, but she daren’t do so for several reasons. First, the old gods held owls as sacred, and to do so might insult them. Second, she had no idea where the creature perched. The annoying creature might be anywhere, including far above her. Third, she was warm and comfortable in her hollow, and if she rose, she’d be cold and angry. The frustration at being unable to find the owl would only increase her discomfort. She tried once again to fall asleep.
The fifth time the owl hooted, she simmered in the darkness. A faint snore next to her meant Eolande didn’t have similar problems. She searched around for a small rock, chunk of dirt, branch, anything she could throw toward the owl. She no longer cared if the cruel thing was sacred.
She found a pebble. A pitiful weapon, but she waited until the next hoot so she might aim her missile properly.
After what seemed like hours, the hoot came. The sound echoed through the woods, bouncing off the trees and coming at her from all sides. The hoot sounded like a dozen owls, not just the one. Orlagh held her breath. She didn’t fear owls, but as a child, she’d been told the owls were handmaidens to the Cailleach-oiche, the hag goddess who brought night and winter to the land. The owl’s call was an omen someone would die.
She dropped the pebble with a frustrated sob. She’d never find a target in the oppressive darkness.
Perhaps she would die out here, alone in the wilderness with her odd friend and her pet raven. She would sleep, and they’d be picked apart by ravenous owls in the bowels of the night.
After that idea, of course, she couldn’t get a wink of sleep. She lay in the hollow, shivering under her blanket and listening to the owls in the night. Once or twice a wolf sang to the shrouded moon. After each howl, the owls would flutter and scatter for a while, but they’d always return. At least she rested her aching legs, if not her aching heart and mind.
The first brightening of dawn revealed the stark, angry branches of the trees overhead. She found a small creek and splashed freezing water on her face. That would serve to wake her for now. Hopefully, they would find Temuirr in short order, and they would rest in safety and comfort.
Once again on their way, both girls followed Tawnith as the raven flew from branch to branch above them.<
br />
When they came across a large creek, Orlagh stared at the torrent with dismay. The water had become too swollen with rains and melt to wade across. Might they find a ford nearby? Even if one existed, it had likely been washed away by the floods.
Eolande whistled and scanned the forest. When Orlagh turned to look as well, she froze.
Just behind them stood the largest, fiercest gray wolf she’d ever seen in her life.
“Eolande! Stay still.” With slow, deliberate movements, Orlagh reached for her spear. Her weapon wasn’t as long as the men’s spear, but the tip was sharp and would defend them, at least. Inch by inch she pulled it out of the sheath on her back. She had trained well with the spear, but wasn’t certain she’d be up to the challenge of killing a full-grown wolf on her own. Eolande had no talent for the spear, but perhaps the girl might distract the beast while she went in for a killing thrust.
* * *
Maelan stood, stunned. Orlagh, asking for emancipation? For him abusing his power? All he did was what every good grandparent did—arrange for his ward’s best future in any way he could. He had set up a good, strong marriage contract for her. What else should he do?
He should have said something when she came in to petition the chief. The glare of hatred and betrayal in her eyes when she glanced at him had stopped any protest. Did she truly believe he had done this out of some sort of malice? Well, perhaps malice at that wastrel bard, but not toward her, the granddaughter of his heart.
His heart grew tight and painful. Maelan glared as Orlagh left with Eolande, and wanted to jump up and run after them, but that was impossible. She’d asked to be free of him and had been granted her freedom. He had no right to call her to task now. She’d become a free woman.
He was not given to weeping, but he fought back the impossible surge of tears which threatened to burst forth. Rather than requesting leave, he slipped out the door. If the chief noticed, he said nothing. Maelan concentrated on his steps. One two, one two, one two. When he reached his roundhouse, he shoved the door open and slammed it shut. He didn’t recall walking to his bed, but he did remember how hard he sat. His rump recalled the impact for some time later, but he was now free to let loose the shameful tears of his loss.
Maelan was unused to crying. A warrior of the Gael did not cry often. Grief is permitted when a loved one dies, but anything less is considered the will of God. Still, his heart broke with pain and loss.
A timid knock on his door made him sniff mightily to clear his stuffed nose. When the door opened to reveal Eógan, Maelan managed a weak smile.
His friend leaned casually against the door. “Ah, I thought I’d find you here. Why are you mulling about? You should have followed her at once. A woman always wants to be followed when she huffs off in anger. Haven’t you yet learned this, my friend?”
Maelan stared at Eógan. “Are you quite mad? Did you not hear what the chief said? She is no longer under my protection or my will. She is her own woman now. I have no right to go after her.”
The younger man rolled his eyes. “Since when did right ever have anything to do with a woman’s heart?”
Maelan growled. “This is my granddaughter, not a wanton lover.”
“The principle is the same, no matter who the woman is, Maelan. Go after her, or regret your decision forever. Do you really want her wandering around on her own, with no money, no resources, and no protection?”
Maelan crossed his arms and scowled. “That is exactly what she requested and exactly what the chief granted her.”
Eógan didn’t answer at first. Instead, he rummaged through the items hanging on pegs near Maelan’s door until he found a large shoulder bag. Then he pulled out several drawers and stuffed items of clothing in them with little care for their previously precise folding.
“Hey! Stop that!”
Still, Eógan gave no response. He dunked a waterskin in the water bucket until the leather glugged full. Then he put the pack on his shoulder, slung the waterskin over the pack, grabbed Maelan’s spear from the corner, and stood near the door. “Well? Are you coming or not?”
Another knock on the door forbore him from answering Eógan. His chief entered.
Chief Diarmait glanced at Eógan and his accessories and then glared at Maelan, still sitting on the bed. He raised his eyebrows. “Planning a trip, Warchief Maelan?”
Maelan grumbled under his breath. He didn’t want to say yes, but he was unable to say no. He desperately wanted to give in to Eógan’s admonishing and chase after Orlagh. At the same time, his pride and the law screamed against such a response.
“What’s that? I can’t hear you, Maelan.”
Maelan stood and looked him in the eyes. “No, my chief. Not at this time.”
Eógan made a noise, and a quick glance showed he hadn’t put down any of Maelan’s things. This argument was not yet done. However, his chief must have sought him here for some reason.
Clearing his throat, the chief nodded. “Excellent. Now is not the time to go haring off on some personal quest, Maelan. We’ve gotten more reports of missing livestock, and I need you to organize a force to investigate it. I don’t mean tomorrow or next moon. I mean now. I expect your first report this evening.”
With that, the chief left the roundhouse, and Maelan sat on the bed again.
Eógan laughed. “Well, isn’t that a fine thing. He has no regard for your personal needs at all, has he? The cheek of the man. A true leader takes into account what his men need before making arbitrary orders that affect their lives.”
“Shut your mouth, Eógan.”
“Why should I? He’s treating you like a slave or a body servant, not Warchief of the Ui Briain. I don’t know how you tolerate his arrogance, truly I don’t. Better, more honorable chiefs are around to pledge to.”
Maelan stood again and grabbed the spear from a still smirking Eógan. “I said, shut your mouth, or I’ll shut it for you! Now, put my belongings back where you found them, exactly how you found them, and get out of my roundhouse. I have duties to fulfill, and I don’t need you tailing behind me like a hurt puppy dog.”
“Oh, a hurt puppy dog, am I? Are you certain that’s not your own role just now? Dejected and rejected from your granddaughter’s life? Boo hoo. The lonely old man with no one to love.”
Rage bubbled up in Maelan’s blood, and he swung his fist toward Eógan’s mocking face. However, Eógan moved far too fast and ducked under his fist, popping up behind him and shoving him in the back. Maelan stumbled and roared with rage as he rushed the younger man. Once again, Eógan moved more quickly, and Maelan only managed to rush the door, which still hung open from Diarmait’s exit. He stumbled out into the courtyard, where several young warriors watched with bemused expressions.
One of them tittered. Maelan stood up and glanced behind him, catching Eógan in a comical pose. He stood on one foot, balanced precariously, trying to right himself with exaggerated movements. It was strikingly similar to the pose Maelan had just been in.
When Eógan realized Maelan noticed him, his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in mock surprise. He put his foot down and walked backward with deliberate steps and great care until he was back in the roundhouse. The onlookers erupted in laughter at his jape, and even Maelan had to roll his eyes.
Despite all the trouble, Eógan could be, he was also excellent at bringing balance to Maelan’s anger and serious demeanor. Maelan valued that in his friend, though he’d never come out and say such a thing. Eógan realized his value to the friendship full well; Maelan had no need to remind him.
Once they were back in the privacy of the roundhouse, Maelan glared at his friend. “Was that all absolutely necessary?”
Eógan still wore an irrepressible grin. “I do believe so. You were getting much too serious and needed some lightening. Now, are you going to listen to the chief or are you going to find Orlagh?”
His duty tugged at him with unrelenting guilt. His chief’s word was law in the túath. He couldn’t di
sobey, not while retaining his honor. However, delegation was still within honor code, and that was a viable option.
Maelan clapped his hand on Eógan’s shoulder. “Give me an hour to find someone else to head this investigation. I’ll be back for my things. Will you be ready by then?”
Eógan blinked several times and tilted his head. “Oh? What makes you think I’m going along with you?”
“Hmm. Let me think. My bag on your shoulder, my waterskin on your back, and my spear in your hand? Did I forget anything? Oh, and your unending loyalty to me and your sense of adventure and glory.”
Eógan threw his head back and guffawed, the sound echoing in the small room. “You know me well, my friend. You know me well. I’ll be waiting for you at the gates in an hour’s time. Don’t be late or I may go without you.”
Maelan grunted and walked outside. He gave thanks the previous group of onlookers had moved on. Most of the people passing by hadn’t witnessed his earlier missteps. He stalked toward the fighting yard to talk to one of the warrior women, Sláine. He hated to disturb her, as she’d only recently given birth, but the child had been born over a moon ago. Surely she was itching to work again after being so long sequestered with her child. After Liadan, Sláine was the best tracker he’d ever taught. If anyone could find what happened to the missing cattle and sheep, it would be her.
Luckily for him, the woman was indeed glad to get away from her baby for a task. Once delegated, he made his way out of the hillfort.
When Maelan arrived at the gate, Eógan was not waiting alone. His lover, Utromma, also waited. She was obviously prepared for an extended hunt, with a supply pack as well as several weapons. Eógan was similarly equipped. Maelan grimaced at his own single pack and spear but shrugged. With a lighter load to carry, he wouldn’t fatigue as quickly as the younger hunters. At least, he would tire at a similar rate.
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 10
