Kaetha surprised Kahina with a hug. “Thank you. I’m glad to have heard your voice.”
“We will meet again,” Kahina whispered. “Farewell.”
The path sloped steadily and, several times, Kaetha was close to stumbling. Eventually, their guides stopped. Mairi gripped Kaetha’s arm at the sound of heavy scraping but Kaetha recognised it from when the tunnel entrance in the forest had been opened.
“This is where you leave us,” said Deorsa when they had passed through an archway of rock. “The path descends into the eastern foothills. I wish you luck on your travels,” he added, though his voice was stern.
Kaetha turned, thinking that perhaps she should have told them about seeing Meraud but, just as she was about to speak, rock clanked and crumbled. She had a last glimpse of their torches before the light was blocked by a wall of stone.
“There you go,” said Mairi. “You can change back now.”
There was a sudden movement in the air and Kaetha gasped as something brushed against her arm. Looking up, she saw Tam, his eyes glinting cat-like in the moonlight.
“So, you’ve been making friends,” he said.
“Was that meant to be a joke?” Kaetha asked. “Where’ve you been?”
Mairi coughed. “When Donnan and Naru found us, I hid him. He became a mouse and I carried him in my pocket.”
“You carried him? I thought you didn’t want me, let alone yourself, to have anything to do with him.”
“I had to make a decision.” She gave Tam a sidelong glance. “Perhaps I’ll live to regret it.”
They found a sheltered place to rest until dawn broke, then trudged on through the foothills. It had passed midday when they first saw signs of people. Sheep grazed around them and no sooner had Kaetha spotted a shepherd, leaning on his crook, than Tam shifted his form into that of a mouse again. She scooped him up just as the shepherd spotted them. He looked like he’d just drank a tankard of vinegar, his lined face set in a grimace with eyes that spoke of distrust.
“I rent this field. You can bloody well get your trespassing carcasses off of it,” he spat, brandishing his crook.
Kaetha felt something brushing over her hair before she realised that Donnan was lifting up her hood. Only then did she remember the cut on her face.
“And you’ll do well to stay clear of the croft over that hill yonder,” the shepherd called after them. “Witches live there in one of those foreign-looking turf cottages, you can’t mistake it. Creatures with dark hearts they are, dark souls and dark ways. You’d be wise to be wary! They’ll cut out your innards to tell their futures, aye, and boil your eyeballs to . . .” his voice faded in the wind.
“What a load of shite,” said Kaetha. “I say we look for the turf cottage and ask the nice women how close we are to Creagairde.”
“You’re so ready to trust anyone who’s tainted with suspicion,” said Mairi.
“Your point?”
“Perhaps being a wee bit more wary of people would be wise.”
“What? You don’t believe that stupid little man, do you?”
“Of course I don’t believe all that about innards and what-not. But who knows what possible truths such bizarre rumours stemmed from.”
Kaetha let out an exasperated sigh. “You don’t understand. People like—”
“Look,” said Donnan, walking between them. “I really don’t want to listen to you two going on like this. Let’s just keep walking.”
They’d passed stone cottages and more flocks, trudging on until, when they crested a hill, the sun cast long shadows before them.
“Ah, I don’t believe it,” muttered Mairi.
What looked like a grassy mound nestled against the slope of the hill. Land before it was sectioned off into livestock pens and crop yielding plots. Kaetha thought she might have overlooked the dwelling itself had she not noticed a door and a window set into its turf walls. One woman emptied a bucket, pigs gathering to fight over the prizes. A second woman was pulling up root vegetables. The latter looked up, her straw hat shading her face.
“And they’ve seen us,” said Mairi.
“They don’t look like the sort to boil eyeballs,” said Donnan as he caught up with Kaetha, Mairi trailing after them.
“Good evening,” said the woman in the straw hat.
“Hello,” said Kaetha. “Could you tell us how far we are from Creagairde?”
“Not far. The outskirts are just beyond the next hill,” she said, nodding in the direction they were heading and wiping her soil-coated hands on her apron, heedless of the dirt smeared on her face. She had piercing blue eyes and hair so fair she could be a Hildervalder, only her accent was Dalrathan.
“Thank you,” said Donnan.
“No need for thanks. D’ya have somewhere to stay there? It’ll be dark soon enough.”
“No. Not yet,” said Kaetha. “We’re looking to take a riverboat south.”
“No one will be setting off now. You’ll have to wait for morning.” With a sweeping look, she studied their faces, her gaze lingering on Kaetha’s cut. “Stay with us if you like. The town gates will be closing soon.”
“That’s very generous of you,” said Mairi, “but perhaps—”
“We’d love to. Thank you,” said Kaetha, following the woman towards the cottage.
“Margaret,” the woman called. “We have guests.”
“I see we do, Asrid.” Margaret smoothed out her wiry, windswept hair, only to have the wind sweep it up messily again.
“They’re travelling south and I told them they could stay the night.”
Margaret looked from Kaetha to Asrid and there was meaning in the brief look the women shared.
“You’re welcome at our hearth,” said Margaret. “Poor wee things. You must be ready for some supper. And you lot can quieten down,” she said, leaning over the pigsty fence. “You’ve had yours.” Asrid rested a hand on the small of her back as they led them into the turf cottage.
Inside, Kaetha was first struck by how warm it was, even though the hearth had burned low. Herbs hung from the ceiling, brushing against Kaetha’s head, reminding her of Nannie’s cottage. Inside, it looked almost like a normal dwelling with its stone base and timber beams, only the walls curved up into a rounded ceiling.
The warm evening light falling through small, horn-plated windows faded to misty blue as they sat together eating mutton, vegetables and dense oat bread.
“Sorry about the bread,” said Margaret. “We used to trade for better loaves in Creagairde.”
“Why don’t you anymore?” asked Mairi.
“Gilroy Baker, a friend of ours, was arrested,” said Asrid. “We won’t buy from anyone else and certainly not those gobshites whose false accusations got him into gaol. He’s their rival in business but, more than that, they hate him. He’s a good, kind, honest man and they hate him.” Margaret patted Asrid’s hand comfortingly.
“Why?” asked Kaetha.
Asrid pushed a piece of mutton around her plate with her knife. “He’s different from them. It started with them mocking him for refusing to visit the vile whorehouses down by the loch. Then they said that he would spend too much time with a male friend of his. Eventually, they said he wasn’t a proper man at all. But you know what? They’re jealous of him. Gilroy’s a better baker than any of them will ever be, he sells more than they do and they can’t stand to see him succeed.”
“They’re malicious,” added Margaret. “They said he bewitched his customers to make his business thrive. Then they started rumours that he would curse anyone who offended him, bring illnesses upon them.”
“Lies,” said Asrid, shaking her head. “They cut him too,” she said, staring intently at Kaetha. You’ll have to be careful as you go through the town. There are a lot of people who could make life difficult for you if they see that mark you bear.”
Kaetha’s hand went to her cheek. “I’ll keep my hood up.”
“Keep your knife sharp, too,” said Asrid.
&n
bsp; “If I were you, I wouldn’t go through Creagairde at all,” said Margaret. She smoothed her hair down over her temple and Kaetha noticed that the skin there had a yellowness to it, a fading bruise.
Asrid squeezed Margaret’s hand before getting up. “It’s getting late. I expect you all want your rest,” she said.
Donnan stood, taking a pile of dirty dishes from Asrid. “Why wouldn’t you go through the town?”
A thumping at the door sounded like a battering ram. “Open up!” came a man’s voice.
Margaret gasped.
Asrid put an arm around her. “Stay calm,” she said.
“Unlock this door!” called a second voice.
“Who is it?” asked Donnan.
“Neacel McDonn and his constable by the sounds of it,” said Asrid.
“McDonn?” Questioned Kaetha.
“Thane of Spreidale.”
“This can’t be happening,” said Margaret, burying her face into Asrid’s shoulder.
“What does he want?” asked Kaetha.
“We can’t be sure,” said Asrid, calmly, more to Margaret than anyone else. But—”
“First they tried to mark my face with a blade,” said Margaret, her voice quavering. “Asrid found me in time and we got away. We hoped things would die down if we kept ourselves to ourselves for a while. But they’ve come for us. They’ve come for us, Asrid.” She gripped the table but this did not stop her hands trembling.
There was a crash as someone threw their weight against the door. Pots clattered and herbs swung from the ceiling.
“They don’t know about you,” Asrid said to Kaetha as she swept across the room, hiding their herbs and bottles of home remedies in a wooden chest. “You have to get out, take the back door and hide.”
“What about you?” Kaetha asked.
“No point in us hiding. It would look guilty and they’d find us anyway. Now go. Go while you have the chance.” She snatched the dishes from Donnan’s hands and pushed him back. “Go!”
They rushed to the back door and Mairi fumbled for the handle.
“I’m sorry,” Kaetha breathed, glancing back, her throat closing up. Asrid nodded, then walked over to the front door. Kaetha got a last glimpse of Margaret, chewing her bottom lip, eyes wide and glistening as she took out her spindle and distaff, like a play actor taking up a prop.
Crouching behind the wood pile behind the cottage, they listened to the stomp of boots and the deep, angry voice of a man followed by calm responses. Then a woman’s shriek made Kaetha shiver. It was followed by a clatter and a yelp of pain. Kaetha gripped Donnan’s hand, her heart pounding. The front door slammed like a slap in the face and hollow, muffled sobs sounded through the damp night air.
“Tie these to the horses,” said the man Kaetha assumed was McDonn. “They can run along behind us.”
Damp earth pressed against Kaetha’s forehead as she leant against the outer wall of the cottage. She pushed out the deep breath she had been holding in and let her shoulders sag. They waited there, barely moving, despite the rain that broke from the clouds, soaking them.
“Come on.” Tam’s stony face glowed faintly in the hearth light shining through the window. There was a sombre look in his eyes. “You’ll do them no good out here in the rain.”
“But should we?” said Donnan. “It’s their cottage.”
“What choice do you have?”
Kaetha followed the others back inside. No one said a word. Tam built up the dwindling fire. Kaetha slipped out of her wet outer clothes and laid them out to dry, wrapping herself in a blanket.
As she lay down, anger began to thaw the numb feeling of shock, burning and crackling within her. Why hadn’t she done something to help them? What was the point of having magic if she didn’t use it? But they’d have caught you, a sensible voice in her mind told her, then you’d never have had a chance of saving Pa.
“There was nothing we could have done,” said Mairi, lying beside her.
Sleep eventually took her away from what had just happened. She dreamed she was in a strange house of many rooms. The caw of a raven echoed coldly and then she saw it pecking at something. Then her heart lifted as she saw Kintail. He trotted along a corridor with his tail in the air. Somehow knowing that he was to take her to her mother, she felt comforted and followed him. She would be there in one of the rooms. But, before she could see her, dawn closed the door on her sleeping mind, bringing the cold reality of the waking world.
They left the turf house, stepping into a morning which shrouded earth and sky with pale grey like the ashes in the hearth. Onwards they walked, their faces grim.
“Do you think we should go through Creagairde?” asked Mairi. “After what happened?”
“It still leads to the quickest way south,” said Kaetha, pulling up her hood.
They reached a wooden palisade curved around the top of the hill and passed through an open gate which was guarded by a watchman. Tam remained hidden in mouse form in Kaetha’s bag. As they walked down a street lined with grey, stone houses, the town sloped ahead of them towards the loch, a stretch of silver above the crooked roofs and chimneys.
The clattering of carts and the sea of voices was jarring to Kaetha after days spent in the quiet, open spaces of Neul Carraig. The faces of the townsfolk were hard and cold, like the stone the town was built from and, though Kaetha kept her head down, she couldn’t help noticing eyes everywhere casting distrustful, furtive glances at them. It was clearly a place that didn’t like strangers.
The closer they got to the loch, the busier the street grew. People jostled ahead of them, a mass of jeering voices growing and surrounding them. Caught up in a sudden flow of people, Kaetha lost sight of her companions. Then Mairi reached towards her but stumbled as she was knocked by a woman yelling, “Hang them! Hang them!”, a chant that was picked up by others. Kaetha pushed her way towards Mairi.
“Where’s Donnan?” she asked.
He appeared at her side.
“We need to stay together,” said Mairi. “What is this madness?”
“I don’t kn— Ow! Watch it!” Kaetha shoved the young man who made the mistake of jabbing his elbow into her side.
They were carried along to a square which opened out before the largest building on the lochside, its wide doors fronted by imposing pillars. A scaffold stood proud before it and two women were marched up onto it. Not Margaret of Asrid, thought Kaetha, though guilt was tied to her feeling of relief as she took in the sick pallor and darting gaze of one woman and the expressionless resignation of the other. Kaetha froze. After the women, a crying child was dragged up the scaffold and then a man who tried, unsuccessfully, to by heard above the clamouring crowd. Each face bore a cut. Each was positioned beside a swinging noose.
With ear shattering cries, some in the crowd emerged around the scaffold with knives, sticks, stones, even cooking pans, lashing out at the guards and the executioner. Cries of ‘Let them go!’ and ‘Not guilty!’ fought against the thumping chant of ‘Hang them! Hang them! Hang them!’. Screams pierced through the shouts as the guards and executioners fought back. Boots of guards on the scaffold collided with faces of those attacking from the ground. Fists and blades were swung and those who had made it up to the gallows were flung back down into the jaws of the audience hungry for a hanging.
Kaetha looked across to the docks at the lochside, spotting figures on riverboats loading goods who cast nervous glances at what was going on in the square.
“First we punish the thief!” roared a man. Another wielded a heavy axe so that it made an arc around him. It was only then that Kaetha caught a view of the hunched figure on the platform beside the gallows, his hands locked in place in the pillory. Then the blade sliced down and, with a gush of blood, one hand was gone.
“Gilroy! Gilroy!” a young lass’s voice scraped through the rumble of voices, broken and desperate. She was thrown off the scaffold. “He’s innocent!” she screamed, getting to her feet again. The man called Gilro
y was forced onto a stool, his head framed with the noose. “No!” the child shrieked.
With every step Kaetha took further away from the child, the heavier guilt sat upon her shoulders. She might have the power to attack those executioners, burn the ropes, to cause a diversion but she found herself walking away.
Kaetha was barely aware of the arrangements being made, the money changing hands. She stepped onto the boat with Mairi and Donnan and stared at the wide river ahead, as grey as the clouds above it. A bang sounded. Wood creaked. A fevered cheer burst from the crowd. However, it was the child’s cries that cut through Kaetha like a knife.
A familiar, gruff voice boomed over the crowd.
“People of Creagairde, the next trial will be held tonight. So come at dusk to see more witches hang!” This received a thunderous cheer.
Kaetha dug her nails into her palms as the river swept them away. Soon the voices from the town grew distant so that they might have been the sounds of children playing in the square.
TWENTY SIX
Against the Flow
Kaetha helped a woman lift her crate of hens off the boat and onto the docks at Nuckelavee. The woman might have been about to thank her when her eyes rested on Kaetha’s face. She snatched the crate and left without a word.
“I’m just going into the town,” said Mairi. “I’ll be back soon.”
“What do you want in the town?” said Donnan.
“If I’m successful, I’ll tell you.”
“Well, don’t be long,” he said. “A southbound boat might come by any time.” He sat beside Kaetha. “What’s on her mind, d’ya reckon?”
“Half the time, I haven’t a clue,” said Kaetha, staring into the water.
“And, what’s on your mind?” ventured Donnan.
She let Tam out of her pack and he went from mouse to cat and sat beside her. She pulled at the fraying ends of her cuffs. “All the magic I’ve seen and felt – all this power – and what good is it? There’s always someone more powerful, someone who’ll use their power to hurt or control others.” Tam’s tail twitched. “Indulf Macomrag, Murdo, the villagers of Doocot, Meraud, Thane McDonn and his bloodthirsty mob. They think they can do what they want with human life,” she clenched her hands into fists. “And they do.”
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