Chosen by Fire

by Harriet Locksley

  Stroud, the steward, let her in through the heavy oak door of Feodail Hall, his bushy grey eyebrows raised at the sight of her. Her teeth chattered as she entered, her boots muddying the floor rushes. Ignoring his questions about where she’d been, she raced across the hall and disappeared behind hangings of fur and screens of painted linen.

  After changing into dry things and squeezing her damp hair with a cloth, she began to warm up again and collapsed onto her bed, breathing in the calming fragrance of the rosemary and lavender strewn amongst the rushes. That reminded her. Opening up her bag, she was surprised that most of the herb bundles that she’d collected that day were still intact, although sopping. She shook them before pegging them onto the twine which stretched between a linen screen painted with blue birds at the foot of Morwena’s bed and one covered in red cats in front of hers.

  The hall was lit by the crackling hearth fire in its centre and the branches of beeswax candles which stood in brass stands along the oak table at the far side of the room, though shadows still lurked up in the soot-stained rafters. Kaetha sat cross-legged by the fire, absently rearranging her family of stone wildcats. They’d been her favourite toys when she was little and Morwena insisted they were kept there. As a child, Kaetha would refuse to go to sleep unless the wildcats were all together and all warm by the fire.

  She smiled at the memory, though it didn’t stop her thoughts from returning to Raghnall’s words that day. They echoed through her mind and she kept on seeing Archie’s face before he turned from her. He was afraid of me. The Fuathan had stared, as if there was something strange about her. What if there was?

  “I won’t ask you where you’ve been,” said Gwyn. Kaetha hadn’t noticed her entering the hall. “I don’t want you to be tempted to lie.” Gwyn was looking at the wax-coated wooden tablet she used for listing larder stocks. Kaetha rolled her eyes. Organising the food was Beathag’s job and she knew the servant fought hard to maintain a degree of control in her role.

  The firelight picked out the growing streaks of grey in her guardian’s wiry, brown hair which was scraped back and pinned severely to her head. Kaetha knew her to be only seven years older than Morwena, though the lines on her brow made the gap in age appear greater.

  “You know you shouldn’t be out when it’s getting dark.” Gwyn pouted and squinted in concentration as she scratched another word into the tablet. “I’m disappointed.”

  Kaetha couldn’t be bothered to think up any defence. “I’m sorry,” she said, staring into the fire, hearing how she didn’t sound convincingly apologetic.

  “And your boots,” Gwyn added. “I’ll not have you getting them into such a filthy state, lass.”

  “I’ll clean them.” A heavy silence followed.

  Gwyn narrowed her eyes at her. “Is everything alright?”

  “Aye. Fine.” Kaetha picked at her fraying cuff.

  Gwyn took a seat near her, drumming her fingers on her lap, making the petals of the crownstar flower tattoo on her wrist twitch uneasily. Unconsciously, she tugged her sleeve down to cover it. “I was worried until Stroud said you’d returned. I thought you might have got into some sort of trouble.”

  “I was just out walking. You really shouldn’t worry so much.”

  Gwyn straightened up, her lips pursed as though she’d eaten a sour gooseberry. “Has anyone upset you?”

  “No.”

  As they sat in silence, Kaetha wondered if she should tell Gwyn about the Fuathan, about her suspicions, about all that Raghnall had said, but, as she took in the stern cast of her features, she kept her mouth shut, wishing that Morwena were here instead for her to talk to. If she opened up to Gwyn about these things, she would probably just get angry.

  A frown turned the corners of Gwyn’s mouth and she twisted her gold ring, the sole piece of jewellery she wore. “You don’t feel able to share your thoughts with me.”

  “My thoughts aren’t important,” Kaetha replied, getting up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To prepare some herbs.”

  It was quiet in the pantry, except for the grinding of pestle against mortar. As Kaetha worked, she stared through the open shutters at a scattering of stars. The door behind her creaked.

  “It’s late. You should go to bed,” said Gwyn.

  “Soon.” She felt Gwyn’s closeness as she peered over her shoulder.

  “I hope you’ve left some of that on the plant. I told Beathag to cook the side of salmon tomorrow.”

  “There’s plenty,” said Kaetha.

  “What’s this for?”

  “Archie’s Ma mentioned the other day that the baby’s suffering from colic and hiccoughs. I thought I’d make up some dill water for them.”

  “That’s kind,” she paused. “Archie’s a good friend, isn’t he?”

  Kaetha continued to crush the herb, releasing its oils which glinted in the candlelight. “Dill’s an anti-witch plant, they say.”

  Gwyn hesitated. “Some people say.”

  “Some hang bunches of it on their doors.”

  “Dalrathans and their odd superstitions.” Gwyn tutted.

  “Don’t forget that I’m one of them.” With her finger, Kaetha pushed a blob of mushed dill from the side of the pestle back into the mortar. “Some hang ferns or rowan twigs on theirs,” she continued. “They think the plants will protect them. They feel they need protecting.”

  “I think you’ve worked that enough,” Gwyn said. “But wait to boil it in the morning when Beathag puts the porridge on.” Gwyn handed Kaetha a small rushlight and blew out the candle on the table. A sliver of light from the hall grew as Gwyn opened the pantry door.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Of course,” said Gwyn, a note of surprise in her voice.

  She couldn’t say why but, concealed by semi-darkness, Kaetha found it easier to talk. “Is there a chance that— my father or mother— might have had magic?”

  Gwyn closed the door again. “Hush, lass,” she said in a whisper. “Servants’ ears are everywhere.”

  “I think it’s important. I wish I could know about them.”

  Gwyn studied her face before replying. “Your mother and father worked the land. They were from the town of Bris. They died from fever and a traveller brought you here, hoping to find a home for you. All he knew about your parents was that they were good, respectable people.”

  “You’ve told me all that before.”

  “Really, Kaetha, you’ve no reason to concern yourself with your past. You’re safe and loved and well looked after now, aren’t you?”

  “Aye.”

  “And that’s all that matters. Now,” she said, her tone signalling an end to the conversation, “time for bed.”

  Kaetha dreamt that a stranger lurked in the shadows of the hall and she woke in the darkness with that feeling still clinging to her. She sat up, shivering in a draught of chill air, the back of her neck tingling. She pulled her kirtle and gown over her smock, yet the cold sensation grew stronger, creeping down her spine just as it had by the river. She took a cloak from Morwena’s bed and wrapped it around her but that didn’t stop the strange shiver either.

  A current of air swirled, playing at the ends of her hair. She knew now that she was sensing a Fiadhain, a creature of magic, although she couldn’t see it.

  “Who’s there?” she said.

  “Don’t be afraid,” a voice whispered.

  “I’m not,” she said, motionless as she gripped the cloak. Should I call out to Gwyn or Stroud or Beathag? She kept quiet. She could see little in the darkness but patches of the linen screens which caught the glow from the hearth, gold illuminating the wings of birds between slices of shadow. “What do you want, Fiadhain?” She wondered if anyone else would hear them.

  “I have a message from your mother.”

  She almost forgot to breathe. “Impossible.” She had no mother.

  “Something has happened,” the Fiadhain hesitated. “This will be hard for
you to hear.”

  Did this Fiadhain speak the truth? Was he really passing on a message from her mother? If so, the message surely would have been sent long ago. So why was he speaking so urgently? Could her mother still be alive? Kaetha took a deep breath, shapeless thoughts pushing in from the edges of her imagination. She got out of bed and opened the wooden shutters of a small window, letting in a shaft of moonlight, but the figure she had been sure was standing but a few feet from her was nowhere to be seen.

  “Show yourself,” she said and then she was buffeted by a blast of wind as something like feathers or tendrils of mist cut through the air, sweeping upwards and outwards as if drawing a curtain, trailing smoke-like waves of bluish grey. In moments, a figure like that of a man emerged from the haze. The robes he was draped in looked as fine as dove wings, his skin was cloud white and his ashy, flyaway hair flowed past his shoulders. His pale eyes fixed her with a wide stare like that of a bird of prey. There was also something birdlike about the delicate, angled bone structure of his face. Kaetha held his gaze. So this is an Annisith? A creature of air, she thought, thinking back to more of Morwena’s Edonian tales. In the stories, Annisiths usually helped the hero or heroine in some way but sometimes they were not to be trusted, reading people’s thoughts and betraying them or conjuring storms which destroyed buildings or sank ships.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I wish I could break this news more gently but there really isn’t time. I must get back to her. Kaetha, your mother is dying.”

  “What?” she breathed.

  “She thought – perhaps – that you might have already suspected,” he continued. “But, you see, in the end, she didn’t want to die without you knowing the truth.”

  Her throat felt constricted, her chest tight. How could it be that her mother had been alive all these years and she only knew of it now, when it was too late? “The truth of who she is?”

  The Annisith nodded. “It’s Morwena. She’s your mother.”

  She ought to have felt shocked. But she didn’t. Hearing this unearthed truth was like recognising a familiar face. She’s my mother. Her heart swelled with a warm glow but it was instantly shot through with pain and she gripped the edge of the bed to stop her hands from trembling. “She—” Kaetha took in a gasp of air. “She’s my—” Her mind swam with questions. “She’s dying?”

  “She wanted me to tell you that she loves you. ‘Hold onto hope,’ she said. I’m sorry, I know you have questions but I haven’t the time to explain more. If I go back to her now, I may be able to make her more comfortable, help her towards a peaceful passing.”

  Her thoughts and feelings were like tangled threads but there was no time to waste on unravelling them now.

  “Then you must go.” She nodded. “Tell her— Tell her I love her too,” she said, her voice cracking. She was surprised by the warmth of the Annisith’s palm as he placed a pale hand on hers. Then, as she locked eyes with him, a jolt crashed through her so that she nearly fell off the bed. She thought she heard a distant voice call out her name – but perhaps it was only the sound of the wind. The Annisith staggered backwards, looking confused. Soft as a summer breeze, a word drifted into her mind and she spoke it aloud.

  “Gaoth.” As her lips formed the word, she heard the call of an owl, faint as a memory, and she thought of moonlight hinting at the shapes of many trees – a small, stone chapel – the gurgling of a stream – a figure lying still on the ground, cloaked in shadow.

  “You know my name?” Shock registered on the Annisith’s face, an expression which made her feel like she had trespassed somewhere she did not belong.

  “I don’t know how.”

  Then, as quickly as he had appeared, he faded out of sight again, drawing a gasp of air with him, making her shiver. Hearth fire and moonlight still reached out to her, touching her skin, yet her inner world was plunged into darkness. She felt as though her insides were caving in, leaving behind an aching emptiness. Is it true? She asked herself, though she didn’t want to listen to the quiet certainty within her which threatened to answer her question.

  Pushing fur hangings aside, she passed through into Gwyn’s sleeping area. “Wake up,” she said. She could make out the edges of the bed, the curve of Gwyn’s shoulder. She shook her. “Wake up.”

  “What is it?” said Gwyn, her voice groggy.

  “An Annisith was here.”

  “You’ve been dreaming—”

  “It’s Morwena.” Kaetha’s voice was strained but she wouldn’t let herself cry. “She’s dying.”

  Gwyn was silent for several moments. “You’ve had a bad dream. That’s all.” However, the chill edge to her voice carried her doubts.

  “No, Gwyn. You must believe me. An Annisith was here. He said Morwena is my mother. Is she?”

  “She can’t be dying.” Gwyn’s voice was muffled by her hand which was pressed up against her mouth.

  “But is it true? Is she my mother? If he was right about that then perhaps—”

  Gwyn got up and grasped Kaetha by the arms. “What else did the Annisith say? Where is she? What happened?”

  “I don’t know what happened. But I think she’s by the chapel in the woods, east of Ciadrath. Please, answer me! Is she my mother?”

  Gwyn broke away from her and started pacing, taking in deep, measured breaths.

  “Gwyn?” Frustrated at her silence, Kaetha raised her voice. “You’re still trying to keep the truth from me, aren’t you? You’ve lied all this time.” She shook her head as if she could shake away this fact.

  “Kaetha—” Gwyn reached out towards her.

  Stepping back, she held up her hands, blocking herself from Gwyn. “What matters now is getting to her. I need to find her before it’s too late.” She crossed through the hall, paying no attention to the hushed mutterings of the servants.

  “Kaetha!” called Gwyn.

  She grabbed a torch from its sconce and lit it in the hearth. Beathag woke up, her eyes round with alarm. “What you doin’ lass?” she asked. Though Kaetha didn’t say a word as she slipped on her boots, heaved the door open and left the hall, her eyes adjusting to the cold darkness outside.

  She’d already got to the stables, planted her torch in the ground and mounted her chestnut mare, Lossie, by the time Gwyn had caught up with her.

  “I don’t think you should go,” said Gwyn. Kaetha refused to let her guardian’s fretful tone affect her. “We don’t know what’s happened,” Gwyn continued. “You could be putting yourself in danger. I shall go but you must stay here where I know you’ll be safe. Please don’t—”

  “Do what you will. I’m going all the same.” She kicked Lossie who whinnied in surprise and started off from the stables. Leaning down to the side, she grabbed her fiery torch, holding it forth as she rode away from Feodail Hall.

  THREE

  Horsemen

  The pounding tread of hooves behind her subsided as Kaetha raced far ahead of Gwyn. She took a shortcut through open fields of rustling grass, silver in the moonlight, guiding Lossie to jump over a stream and skirt a hill. She made for a path, a whisper of grey in the dark, and followed it into the deeper darkness of the woods.

  Holding out her torch, she pushed the shadows back as far as she could. However, the turns of the path seemed oddly unfamiliar, as if night had shuffled them out of sequence. In time, she heard the trickling of a stream and an owl’s cry cut through the air. The chapel must be nearby.

  She started at the murmur of hooves ahead. They grew louder, moving fast. She pulled back the reins and Lossie halted just as a figure on a horse appeared from around a bend. Lossie whickered, backing away.

  Noticing Kaetha and Lossie just in time, the rider thundered to a halt. Kaetha held out the torch. There was alarm in the man’s deep-set eyes and anxious lines furrowed his brow. “The woods are not safe, lass,” he said. “You must go back. Swiftly as you can.”

  “I can’t,” she said, squinting up at him. She knew she ought t
o be cautious of this stranger but there was a chance that he could help. “I’m looking for someone. A woman. I think she’s near the chapel. Have you seen her?”

  “You’re not—? You’re not looking for Morwena Trylenn?”

  Shock thrilled through her and Lossie shifted about nervously as she tightened her grip on the reins.

  “I tried to help her,” he said.

  Kaetha saw the long knife at his belt and wondered if the man was lying. He might have caused Morwena harm. However, the grief etched into his features suggested otherwise.

  “There was nothing I could do, I’m so sorry,” he said.

  “You mean she’s—”

  He nodded. “But we must get away from here. Now.”

  “You just left her?”

  “I had to. They were coming back – armed horsemen. They won’t hesitate to capture anyone they find in this wood tonight. We must go. Now.”

  It took a fraction of a moment for her to decide to trust him. She nodded, turned Lossie and threaded her way back through the woods, followed by the stranger. She heard movement far off amongst the trees and thrust her torch to the ground, snuffing it out, not wanting to draw attention to them.

  As they followed the foot of the hill and crossed the stream, Kaetha scanned the area for any sign of Gwyn, willing for her to be safe. She drew Lossie to a halt. Gwyn might be in the woods even now, having taken another path.

  “What are you doing?” said the man.

  “I think I should go back.”

  “Into the woods? That’s madness!”

  She didn’t see them coming. Lossie snorted and jolted her. Then she heard the horses. Horsemen were closing in from across the field. Sharing a look of alarm with the man beside her, she kicked Lossie’s sides and bolted forwards.