Yana scowled at her. “Here, I’ve some burdock leaves. Do be more careful next time, Orlagh.”
Orlagh allowed the older woman to administer to the burn as she surveyed the forest.
“He won’t be back for at least an hour. The cooking preparation is fine for now. Shall we practice tonight’s songs until they return? Finnegan, if you’ll accompany us?”
Finnegan put his carving down and grumbled about impulsive harridans before he pulled out his small tin whistle from a well-worn leather pouch. He lifted the instrument to his lips and raised one eyebrow at Yana.
Yana twisted her mouth, evidently considering which song, to begin with. She glanced at Orlagh and nodded. “Dierdre of the Sorrows.”
Orlagh groaned. Dierdre was her least favorite song. Unfortunately, her alto voice worked perfectly with the music, so Yana had convinced her to sing the dirge. Well, actually, Temuirr had convinced her. He only needed to make one request.
Yana shook her head. “I don’t know why you hate this one so, Orlagh.”
Orlagh smiled. “The song is so depressing. Her only crime was to be beautiful, and everything she loved was ripped from her. She had no chance!”
“People seldom do. Haven’t you yet learned life is not a happy tale? The legends do more than entertain, Orlagh. You know that. They instruct about life, choices, evil, love, all the things people have to deal with every day. The final word is often not a sweet one.”
Would her final word be sweet? Would she live forever in love with Temuirr? The old Fae’s words came back to haunt her. She had chosen her fate.
With a heavy heart yet full of hope and determination, Orlagh sang.
After about seven hundred glances toward the treeline and four songs, Tam and Cam burst into the clearing with enormous armfuls of wood. Temuirr joined them with a smaller armful and his axe.
Orlagh’s singing faltered, and Yana rapped her on the hand. “Pay attention, Orlagh! You must be able to continue with the song when the audience does something strange. Someone cries out, or laughs, or falls over drunk–a performer must be immune to all such distractions. Now, start again!”
She sang again, this time paying particular attention to the sweetness of her voice and the timbre, in hopes of attracting Temuirr’s attention. Orlagh sang to him, even though his back was turned, placing the wood on the pile. She poured out her heart into the notes, the words, the melody. Yana rapped her hand again and spoke softly. “Stop showing off, Orlagh.”
Orlagh blinked several times. “Showing off?”
Yana frowned. “Yes, showing off. Trying too hard. You’re painfully obvious, and he’ll easily notice your efforts. You’ve a lovely voice, Orlagh. You have no need to push so hard for him. He knows.”
Her face burned, and Orlagh dropped her gaze. Her feet were bare and muddy. She felt like an errant ragamuffin, or worse, a desperate girl with a hopeless crush. What was she but a stray picked up from her village, living off the generosity of her betters?
Yana lifted her chin. “Stop with the mournful pouting. Pouting is a child’s attitude. You don’t want me to call you a child, so stop acting like one. Now, what would a proud woman do in this situation?”
Orlagh let out a deep sigh. “Perform to her best and enjoy the accolades of her talent.”
Beaming, Yana nodded. “Precisely. Now, let’s start with the same song once again.”
Only about ten of the locals attended the performance that night. Farmers and their wives, as well as a few children, came to the pub. The audience may have been small, but they were appreciative. Bards seldom came to this far outpost on the west edge of civilization, so the tavern-keeper said. The villagers asked them to stay three more nights, at least until May Day.
After some discussion, Temuirr agreed to stay. As they ate their strawberries and cream that evening, Orlagh dared to feed him one. He accepted her offering with a smile, despite the small dribble of cream on his chin. She wiped the cream and sucked her finger. He caught her hand and kissed it, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Orlagh, I found something for you today while I was in the woods. I was thinking ten thousand thoughts of you, and the next thing I found was this.”
Suddenly she found it difficult to breathe, but she forced her throat to open as he fumbled with a small pouch on his belt. He pulled out a small object and put it on the palm of his hand. It was a ring.
As she looked more closely, she realized it wasn’t a metal ring, but a set of miniscule vines braided into a ring. On the top was a tiny purple flower, delicate and exquisite. She took in a breath and covered her mouth with her hands.
He carefully lifted the ring and took her left hand, fitting the miniature creation on her finger. “Hmm. A nice fit if I do say so myself. Will you accept such a gift from me, Orlagh? I’m sorry I don’t have a proper ring or a proper bride’s gift, but will this one suffice until I can find something better?”
She couldn’t speak, so instead, careful of her precious new ring, she flung her arms around his neck in joyful enthusiasm.
“I gather that’s a yes?”
“Yes! Yes, please, definitely a yes!” She extracted herself and looked down to ensure she’d not damaged the ring. “But I’m terrified I’ll hurt this beautiful ring.”
“The ring is only meant to last for the night, Orlagh. I meant it as a symbol, not a permanent gift. The beauty is on loan from the land, and to the land, it will soon return.”
She gulped and looked up at him. The fire flickered in his eyes, dancing and gyrating in an almost demonic way. When he smiled, all evil images brushed away, and she dared to kiss him. He held her in his kiss which lasted an eternity.
When they finally parted, he poured mead into her mug and his. He raised his and said, “To my bride-to-be, Orlagh!”
Everyone around the firepit cheered and wished them a good life and good love. She barely listened. All she cared about was Temuirr.
“Now, my dear, when shall we marry?”
Eolande hopped up. “May Day’s only a few days away! Beltaine is the perfect day for a wedding!” Tawnith leapt from her shoulder and circled, cawing several times before settling on a log.
Orlagh glanced at Temuirr, and he nodded. “Evidently the raven approves. May Day it is, then. Yana, can you do the preparations?”
“With everyone’s help, of course. Shall we invite the sweet villagers as well?”
“Certainly! The more, the merrier. Perhaps they’ll gift us a barrel of this fine mead. Some of the best I’ve had.” He took a long swig of his mug.
Orlagh cuddled into his arm and stared at the fire. She ached to go to his tent this night, but he insisted they wait. “Three days, mo chuisle. I’ll not have your grandfather burst in on us again and take you from me. We’ll wait until we’re properly wed.”
* * *
The wagon tracks and the dirt path disappeared onto flat, featureless stone. Maelan cursed with unusual creativity and vehemence. He wasn’t the expert tracker Liadan had been, but he should have been able to find a band of roving bards and two girls. Utromma suggested they doubled back to Ceann-Coradh, but he’d gotten no word. He’d left instructions for a warrior to find him in such a case.
He’d found traces of them, of course. Most towns and villages had seen the bards. Some even claimed they’d stopped for an evening or two to entertain. However, invariably, they’d seen the group “last moon” or “some time ago,” never recently enough to do Maelan any good.
Their wagons should have been simple to follow, but they traveled in the Boireann, where most of the paths were solid rock. Those few with some dirt were filled with gravel. Maelan found tracking impossible where no trail existed.
At least Orlagh was actually with the bards. At first, he had serious doubts that he was even looking for her in the right place, but reports of a young blond woman and her white-haired friend dispelled his concerns. The two girls were absolutely traveling with the bards and not bothering to hide the fact. His gr
anddaughter was evidently unconcerned about either her reputation or her discovery.
She must realize Maelan would seek her out, mustn’t she? How could she not? But then again, Maelan remembered his own youth. Thinking about someone other than yourself became difficult for most young folk. To consider someone else’s actions required a leap of compassion most didn’t attain until they grew much older. He glanced at Eógan. Sometimes very much older.
Utromma tapped him on the shoulder, pulling him out of his reverie. “I found two plumes of smoke, one over beyond that copse of trees and another to the west. We’ll check both for mention of your granddaughter.”
He nodded. The warrior woman had been a great help on this trip so far and did a creditable job of keeping Eógan out of trouble. The latter was a task Maelan didn’t realize was actually possible until he witnessed the phenomena. He was grateful for her presence and her calming influence on Eógan.
They moved through the low, scrubby brush in this part of the Boireann. Maelan had been here before and had been fascinated both by the varied flora and ancient Faerie stones which dotted the landscape. For now, however, he had no time to stop to examine either.
A blur on his left made him halt. Eógan bumped into him, and they both tottered for a moment.
“Warn a man next time! I almost fell on my face!”
“A fall would do your face good. Maybe it would knock the sour off. Now shush. Something moved over there.”
All three stopped as Maelan pointed to a large limestone outcropping. Small, barely green bushes surrounded the rock, and a few straggly trees pushed proudly from the top, but Maelan swore he’d seen something move there a moment before. They all pulled out their spears.
Utromma crouched low and moved to the right to circle around the outcropping. Eógan glanced at her and moved to the left. Maelan stayed in the center and inched forward, slowly and silently, giving the others a chance to flank the outcropping. Another movement flashed in the bushes, rustling the leaves. The creature was definitely too big to be a bird, and there was no wind at the moment, as odd as that was for Hibernia.
Utromma raised her fist, indicating she was in place. A few moments later, Eógan did the same. As one, they moved in from three directions. Maelan called up his magic and disappeared. He placed his feet carefully, avoiding a particularly wide crack in the stone.
The bush rustled again, louder this time. A palpable snap and heavy breathing made Maelan halt. Either a person or a large beast hid there. He gripped his spear across his body and crouched low. One more step and he could poke into the bush with his spear tip and flush whatever was inside. Perhaps they’d just found a wild pig.
Maelan extended his spear to where he believed the mysterious creature lay hidden. There was nothing behind the bush. He poked in a few other places, baffled. Then Utromma gasped, and he looked up at the top of the outcropping.
There, outlined by the setting sun, stood the enormous gray wolf. The huge creature raised his head and howled, sending shivers through Maelan. The wolf was only about three spear-lengths away, and could instantly jump on any of them before they had a chance of escape.
Dropping his magic shield, he glanced at Eógan and then Utromma, nodding at each. Slowly, carefully, with his eyes now stuck to the wolf, they backed away the same way they’d approached. Step by step, he reached back with his toes to ensure he stepped on solid rock rather than cracks. The wolf didn’t move, but stared at him. His eyes glittered orange in the sunset.
Maelan didn’t breathe easy again until they were well away from the place.
Utromma shook her head. “How on God’s sweet name did that wolf get to the top of the rock so quickly? I swear I was watching the whole area and he just appeared.”
He’d almost convinced himself the wolf was either a ghost or a demon trick, for the beast didn’t act like any wolf he’d ever seen. “There was intelligence behind those eyes and cunning appraisal.”
Eógan snorted. “That’s all we need. A demon wolf with human intelligence bent on harassing us.”
Utromma shrugged. “The best thing we can do now is be where the wolf is not.”
As the darkness rose, Eógan glanced over his shoulder every few moments. “What if yon monster follows us?”
Maelan glanced back as well. “There isn’t a lot we can do to prevent such a thing. There’s precious little shelter on these rocks. Night is falling, and we’ve nowhere to set up a proper defense. If the wolf wished to kill us, it could have, I have no doubt. Yet it did not. He must have some other purpose or mission.”
Eógan stopped and crossed his arms, almost hitting himself in the face with his spear. “Mission? A wolf with a mission? Maelan, have you gone quite mad?”
“Not mad, no. Just realistic. Maybe the wolf had just eaten, so wasn’t hungry. I don’t know. Regardless, we’ll go as far away as we can before we make camp, and keep constant watch in the night.”
Eógan muttered something about not sleeping a wink with that thing out there, but Maelan ignored his comments. Another notion had struck him. Orlagh and Eolande were out there somewhere. A thousand possible disasters flitted through his imagination, each more dire than the last. He imagined his granddaughter at the bottom of a ditch with a broken leg or drowned in a raging river. He pushed down his panic and banished the thought.
Even with the protection of the bards, such as it was, they’d be vulnerable to the beast. Especially if the wolf had a mate somewhere out there. The idea sent a shiver of fear down his spine. He must find his granddaughter, and soon. She wasn’t safe out here.
Safety. Such an odd concept, safety. There was no true safety, not in this life. Not even in the next, from the tales. Babies died mysteriously in the arms of their loving mothers, while the best-trained and best-armed warriors could die from an arrow or illness in a moment. Safety was an illusion.
Yet he had an overwhelming need to protect his granddaughter. That compulsion was stronger than his need to protect Liadan had been. Perhaps his need was because Liadan was a trained warrior and able to defend herself, perhaps because Orlagh was younger and quite headstrong, or because she was his granddaughter, and therefore under his charge. She was all he had left.
But she wasn’t under his charge, not anymore. Technically, she was emancipated, a woman in her own right, and not subject to his command or his protection. However, the law didn’t matter; his heart mattered more. His heart commanded him to find Orlagh and protect her from the wolf, the bard, and the cruel, wide world.
They could find little fuel for a fire on this part of the Boireann, but the moon was bright, and they could see for a long distance in the silver light. Eógan volunteered for the first watch, and when Maelan woke to relieve him, he refused to sleep.
Eógan picked at a flower stem, plucked from a crack in the stone. “All I’ll do is toss and turn and worry. It’s best if I just keep you company, aye?”
“If you must. I don’t want to hear you complain about being tired tomorrow.”
Eógan grunted. “Since when has a sleepless night slowed me down, Maelan?”
“Yes, but that’s usually after a night of passion, not a night of fear. Terror does different things to the body.”
“Hmm, yes, well, the night of lust does energize me, but it also drains me, quite literally!”
A low chuckle came from the other tent, and Maelan realized Utromma must be awake as well. Were none of them to get any rest?
Eógan tossed his mangled flower over his shoulder into the darkness. “We never did reach that village. Perhaps we’ll get there tomorrow. Do you think your Orlagh might be there?”
Shrugging, Maelan shook his head. “I have no idea, Eógan. We must get lucky at some point. I feel like we’re chasing shadows, always missing them, never crossing their path until days later. If only they followed some discernible pattern.”
Utromma emerged from her tent, rubbing her eyes. “Perhaps they are.”
“I apologize if we woke you,
Utromma.”
She smiled, her white teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “A girl does like her beauty sleep. But no matter. I slept a good three hours. That is sufficient.”
Eógan asked, “What do you mean by them following a pattern? They appear to be crisscrossing across the county, north, east, west, south, random directions.”
She found her mug and filled it from her waterskin, taking a sip. She swished out her mouth and spit the liquid out. “Stop looking at the pattern like a warrior. Start looking at it as a bard.”
Maelan threw his hands up. “What does that even mean? Utromma, you’re not making sense.”
She chuckled again and said, “There appears to be no logical reason for his movements. Therefore his path must be something else. Perhaps the leader is searching for something. He may be trying to trace a long-lost story, or find a person. He may wish to buy a particular instrument and is looking for a master craftsman who travels. We cannot know at this point. All we can do is follow them and hope to find them.”
Maelan growled. He had hoped for a different answer. Hearing a sound, he looked out into the night, tense.
Eógan patted his stomach. “If you thought you heard a wolf howling, that was just me. That bit of dried meat was hours ago. Where are the supplies? I’ll quiet my wolf with a bit more, if I may.”
The next morning dawned clear and cool. Mists shrouded everything around them. Maelan sighed and packed his gear before heading west.
Utromma grabbed his arm. “The first village was this way.”
“Was it? Pissmires and spiders, I’m turned around in this mist.” He gestured to indicate Utromma should lead the way. They wouldn’t be able to move fast or far with such limited visibility, and they might miss the village entirely. However, if they could reach the second village by sunset, he’d consider it a victory. He shouldered his pack with a grunt, grimaced at Eógan, and they followed the woman.
* * *
The next three days were painfully slow, at least for Orlagh. They seemed to last for a fortnight. She resented the everyday things which took her time, such as cooking and cleaning and chopping firewood. However, she delighted in making colorful garlands from wildflowers and baking breads for the feast. Every time she looked at Temuirr, she caught him smiling back, which made her glow with warmth and anticipation of their wedding night.
Misfortune of Song: Druid's Brooch Series: #5 Page 14
