The Shining One (The Swordswoman Book 2)

by Malcolm Archibald

  Ranald gave a little bow and was shouting orders to his men even before Melcorka could speak to Bradan. 'Come on lads! We have a nest of mermaids to clean up before night fall and its coming on dusk now!'

  'So we are looking for Hector MacRae at Broch nan-inch.' Melcorka looked around the island, where all was bustle as Nicolson loaded his cargo of black cattle and tried to recruit oarsmen to replace his lost crew. A small file of men watched from the shelter of a rock; each one carried a short spear and a bow; apart from that there were mainly women and children, huddled deep in their cloaks and watching the visitors through narrow, suspicious eyes.

  'I can't see anything like a broch in this township so it must be deeper inside the island.' Melcorka looked up at the sky. 'Ranald was right; night is coming on.'

  Bradan waved to the nearest gathering of women. 'Could you direct us to Broch nan-inch?' They turned away, with only one gesturing vaguely inland.

  'They're not the friendliest of people.' Melcorka said.

  'They are not,' Bradan agreed. The women hurried away to join a larger group some of whom carried children or small bundles. They stared at Melcorka and Bradan, muttering amongst themselves.

  'They cannot be local women. The people of the Hebrides are the most hospitable within the four seas.' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. 'Come on Melcorka; the people will be friendlier elsewhere.'

  They spent the night sheltered in a hollow between two large rocks, with a nearly burn supplying sweet water to drink and a couple of fine trout. Alva demolished her share of the fish with a ravenous appetite and snuggled to sleep between the two of them. She woke only once, calling out in some remembered horror, and Melcorka cuddled her close under her cloak. High above, bright stars smiled on them, careless of human problems.

  'Inland we go,' Melcorka said as they faced the dawn wind. 'You get washed and ready, Alva; we don't know what this next day may bring.'

  A track wound across what was little more than moorland, sweetened with small beds of raised ground made fertile with seaweed and planted with whatever crops would grow in the persistent wind. Cottages cowered behind stacks of peat, with women looking outward through tiny windows as Melcorka and Bradan strode past.

  'They are watching us,' Melcorka said.

  'They are scared,' Bradan tapped his staff on the ground. 'And not of you and me and a small child.'

  Blue smoke hugged the farmsteads and spread to smear the surrounding low hills, merging with slow-drifting mist under a sky of leaden grey.

  Bradan looked around him. 'There is no joy in this island.'

  'I feel it too,' Melcorka said. 'Perhaps Hector MacRae will know more.'

  A woman outside a cottage looked up briefly and pulled her shawl across her face. 'May God bless the work,' Bradan called cheerfully. The woman scurried inside and shut the door. They heard something being dragged across the floor. 'She's barricading the door against us,' Bradan said.

  'That is not normal,' Melcorka said. In Alba hospitality was expected. Travellers were welcomed without question and food and accommodation provided with a smile.

  'There is something very wrong here,' Bradan banged his staff on the ground. 'Something very wrong indeed.'

  'Maybe the mermaids have stolen all the men,' Alva said.

  'I hope not,' Bradan ruffled her hair.

  'Don't do that,' Alva pulled away from him. 'It is my hair and I like it the way it is.'

  Melcorka laughed. 'You have spirit, little Alva; that is a good thing to have, but Bradan is being friendly and it is never good to meet friendship with a sharp tongue.'

  'Father had no friends,' Alva said.

  'Why was that, little one?' Melcorka asked.

  'I don't know. Nobody liked him.'

  'Did he have any enemies?' Melcorka asked.

  Alva shook her head. 'He killed all his enemies,' she said.

  Melcorka glanced at Bradan, who shook his head warningly and they relapsed into silence. They walked on, with people who would be expected to greet them with cheerful greetings watching suspiciously or stepping back inside their homes. Some men lifted crude spears and stood in front of their families as if prepared to defend them. Black-and-white collie dogs and the long-legged deerhounds alike growled at them from closed doorways.

  'There is only fear and suspicion here,' Melcorka said.

  'Even the dogs are unfriendly,' Bradan transferred his staff to his left hand, preparing to fend off any canine attack.

  'Father would kill them,' Alva said, and Bradan hugged her close.

  'I can see a broch ahead' Bradan said at last. 'Perhaps there we can get some answers.'

  'I have never seen a broch before,' Melcorka said. 'It looks like a very formidable structure.'

  Standing seventy feet tall of un-mortared close-fitting stones, the broch glowered at them across the leaden waters of a loch. Situated on an island, it was circular, with concave walls unbroken by a single window and topped by battlements behind which stood half a dozen warriors.

  As was the custom, Bradan and Melcorka walked sunwise around the loch to show their friendship, and then approached the causeway that led to the single narrow, yet very tall entrance. The door to the brooch was of solid wood, studded with iron and despite the daylight, was fast shut.

  'That is not very friendly,' Melcorka said.

  'Nor is that,' Bradan pointed to the two trees that stood opposite the door; five paces apart, they were fire-blackened and twisted, with ominous metal shackles attached to each.

  'That looks unpleasant,' Melcorka agreed. 'These shackles are not there for decoration.'

  'I am thinking that it will be better to bid farewell to this island of Ulvust than to greet it hello,' Bradan said and looked toward the broch.

  'Maybe so,' Melcorka agreed, 'yet I am not inclined to leave for no reason except that it feels wrong.' She surveyed the broch. 'That place would be hard to take without an army. The battlements overtop the walls so the defenders could fire down at any attacker, and there is only a single door for entrance.'

  'And there is the loch as a moat,' Bradan added. 'I would not like to be the man who has to capture it from Hector MacRae.'

  'And I would not like to be Hector MacRae who has to hide himself behind such a structure.' Melcorka said. 'Of what is he afraid in his own Ulvust?'

  Bradan looked around the island. Heavy clouds pressed down, grey-bellied and threatening. 'This is not a place to seek the temple of Abaris. There is neither wisdom nor goodness on this scrap of land. Best we leave now, Melcorka; there is badness here.'

  'Yes; let's go,' Alva augmented her opinion by tugging at Melcorka's sleeve. 'I don't like it here.'

  'I have not come here to leave before I properly arrive,' Melcorka said. 'I said I shall accompany you to find this dead druid, and I shall do exactly that.' She raised her voice to a shout. 'Halloa there; is this Broch nan-inch? Is this the home of Hector MacRae?'

  'This is Broch nan-inch.' A tall man had been silently watching them from behind the battlements. 'Who are you to ask for Hector?'

  'I am Melcorka the Swordswoman and this is Bradan the Wanderer with young Alva. We seek the knowledge and wisdom of Hector.'

  'Why?' The guard leaned over the battlement.

  'Are you Hector MacRae?' Melcorka asked.

  'I am not.' The guard replied.

  'Then either fetch him or open up for us. It is not you we wish to talk to.' Melcorka lowered her voice. 'This is not a hospitable place.'

  'It is a place of fools or very scared men,' Bradan said.

  'We should go,' Alva continued to pull at Melcorka's sleeve, but it is the way of adults to ignore the wishes of children.

  'Begone with you!' The guard roared. 'There is nothing for you here!'

  'This is not the Alba I know,' Bradan said softly. 'Fellow!' He shouted, 'is all honour and decency missing from this place? I have travelled Alba from Caithness to Dunedin and Alcluith to Dunnottar and found only hospitality. Shall I tell the world that
Broch nan-inch lacks friendship?'

  'Tell them what you like, as long as you leave us in peace,' the guard shouted. He raised his spear, 'now go, lest I spit you clean through and through.'

  Melcorka pushed Alva behind her. 'That would not be a wise thing to do,' she warned.

  'Wait!' That was another voice. A broad shouldered man joined the guard, wearing the seven coloured tartan of a king. 'I am Hector. Who are you who seek admission to my home?'

  'It is a poor home that keeps a locked door between itself and guests,' Bradan said, 'and it is a home whose name for unfriendliness will soon be known the length and breadth of Alba.'

  Hector looked coldly down at Bradan. 'Let these people in,' he said at length. 'Guide them along the causeway.'

  The door gave a great creak as it swung open, and two men emerged. One was slight and wiry, with a smile disfiguring a lean face, and the other was bulky and carried a short throwing spear. They took a crooked way across the loch, obviously following a causeway that twisted this way and that just beneath the surface of the water.

  'Come with us and welcome,' the wiry man said. 'I am Conall the steward and this is Conn the watchman.' His smile did not falter; neither did it reach his eyes, while a shaft of weak sunlight reflected from an ornate brooch at his breast.

  Ankle-deep in cold water, the causeway was three feet wide and led by a double zig-zag to the narrow, if very deep entrance. Conall led them in, with Melcorka at his heels. She nodded to the spearman who stood in the guard's chamber beside the door and stepped in. Bradan followed a pace behind, carrying Alva to keep her dry. There was a narrow passageway that led past a wide double wall, inside which were set stone chambers and flights of stone steps that led to upper levels.

  'This is the first time I have been inside a broch,' Melcorka said cheerfully.

  'It is like a big chimney,' Alva gave the solemn opinion of a five year old.

  Within the double wall the interior courtyard was open to the sky, with windows looking down from the chambers set within the walls. All the accommodation was set within the double walls, on top of which the guards glowered down, spears ready to throw.

  Hector was a large man, but was overshadowed by the great bearded man at his back. Both waited within the central courtyard, and while Hector was empty-handed, his companion carried a two handed axe with as much ease as he would a kitchen knife.

  'Well met, travellers,' Hector eyed them both up and down, like cattle at an auction. 'Bradan: your name is known.'

  Bradan gave a small nod. 'As is yours, Hector MacRae.' He placed Alva carefully on the ground. 'The little one is Alva; she is the sole survivor of a shipwreck and we are seeking her kin.'

  Ignoring the child, Hector indicated the large man. 'This is my bodyguard, Tuath of the Axe.'

  'Tuath would be a handy man to have in a battle,' Bradan said as Melcorka and the bodyguard exchanged stares.

  'And you,' Hector frowned as he looked at Melcorka, 'you are a woman.'

  'I already know that,' Melcorka studied Hector. Within the royal tartan he had a deep chest and flint-hard blue eyes set in a face that would have been handsome except for a pair of protruding front teeth.

  'And some woman you are,' Hector did not hide his admiration.

  'Just a woman,' Melcorka allowed her eyes to drift around the interior of the broch. With the exterior door being so narrow, any invaders could only enter one at a time, and then they would be exposed in this central courtyard with the guards throwing down spears and firing arrows. 'You have a strong defensive position here.'

  'Impregnable,' Hector's eyes did not stray from their scrutiny of Melcorka's body.

  'So am I,' Melcorka warned him off. 'And you are not a hospitable man.'

  'For you,' Hector gave a mocking little bow, 'I will be extremely hospitable. Come this way.'

  The space between the double walls of the broch was filled with chambers, all connected with short stone corridors and the various levels linked by stone stairways in a head spinning circular array. Hector led them to a large chamber that occupied most of the top storey of the broch, with three small windows overlooking the courtyard. The room was narrow, curved and crowded when the massive Tuath and Conall the steward also joined them.

  'Do you live in here?' Melcorka looked around; the stone walls were less than comfortable. 'I had heard that brochs were only used when somebody attacked.'

  Hector politely pulled out a seat for Melcorka. 'You heard correctly, Melcorka.'

  'Then you don't live here all the time.'

  'We do at present, and I have patrols out all around Ulvust.'

  'We saw one of them,' Bradan remembered the men who had watched Prancer being unloaded.

  'There must be a reason for that,' Melcorka said.

  'Caterans,' Hector said the word as if it was a curse. 'They are everywhere. There is not a ship that sails without at least sighting their black sails and maybe one in four are attacked. They pillage isolated cottages and small clachans and steal the men.'

  'They steal the men?' Bradan repeated.

  'That's what they do.' Hector said as Tuath snarled through his beard and tapped the shaft of his axe.

  'Why?' Melcorka asked. 'Why steal the men? I would have thought that they would prefer women.'

  Hector shook his head. 'I do not know. I have ordered all the men never to go alone anywhere and always to carry a weapon. I have ordered patrols of the island and told all my own vessels to either stay ashore or sail well-armed, but still they are taken. This island is under siege.'

  'We met three Cateran vessels on our voyage from the mainland yesterday,' Bradan said.

  Hector grunted. 'Three out of maybe a hundred. They are everywhere. Even a few months ago there were only a few Cateran ships full of broken men: the clanless, the unwanted, those dispossessed by war or family disputes, but now?' He sighed. 'They are swarming everywhere with scores, hundreds of the foolish joining them: Norse who cannot accept their defeat in the late war, youths who had a surfeit of adventure fighting the Northmen and can't go back to the land; the unruly and the vicious; I don't know who leads them but he is known as the Osprey and he is dangerous.'

  'The Osprey?' Melcorka salted the name away for future reference. 'I was told that Hector MacRae knew everything about the Isles,' she said, 'and it seems that you do.' She smiled to him, aware of his attraction to her, flattering him as a means of gathering information.

  'Where is this Osprey fellow based?' Bradan asked.

  'Everywhere that central authority is weak; any island that lost its chief during the Norse war; islands such as Pabay, Raasay and South Rona… He moves around a lot.' Hector gave Melcorka a smile that may even have been genuine.

  'Is there any single place he is associated with? Any central base?' Melcorka met and held his smile. She no longer disliked Hector quite so much; he was a scared man doing his best for his people.

  'Yes,' Hector seemed hesitant. He glanced at Tuath, who stood a few feet away saying nothing as he held his axe like an old friend or a lover. 'We have heard the name Inch Iolaire: Eagle Island, maybe named after himself, with him being an osprey.'

  Melcorka screwed up her face. 'I've never heard of that island,' she said. 'Have you, Bradan?'

  'I am not familiar with the name,' Bradan said. 'It may be a nick-name.'

  'We do not know where it is either,' Hector said. 'I have sent ships out looking and they either don't return, or come back with tales of an island surrounded by whirlpools and tidal surges, shielded by the mist and populated by the devil's children. They say that Llyr, God of the Sea turned his back on Inch Iolaire as soon as he saw it and only the Osprey knows the way through the protecting currents.'

  'It is a place to avoid,' Bradan said, 'if it exists at all. The Osprey would not be the first man to spread rumours and lies to inflate his reputation.'

  'That may be so,' Conall said softly. 'Yet it does not explain the missing ships. The seas are no longer safe.'

  'Conall
is correct,' Hector said. 'You had better stay with me.' He looked at Melcorka with a smile as charming as any striking viper. 'You are safe in my broch on my island.' Leaning across the table, he patted Melcorka's hand. 'I will look after you.'

  'I will look after myself,' Melcorka told him.

  'I know you carry a long sword,' Hector's smile had not faltered, 'but can you use it?'

  'I can use it,' Melcorka said.

  'My bodyguard may wish to test you,' Hector said.

  'Then I will kill him,' Melcorka glanced at Tuath and smiled, 'although that would be a waste of a very handsome man.'

  Tuath grinned his appreciation of the compliment. 'You may not find the killing quite so easy as you think,' he said, 'and I certainly would not wish to spoil your pretty face.'

  'Then we are both in agreement,' Melcorka said, 'and no need for a quarrel between us.' She appreciated Tuath's friendly nod.

  'That would be best,' Tuath said. 'There is no need for a killing between people with no quarrel.'

  'That is for me to decide,' Hector glanced at Braden and then at Melcorka.

  Was that some sort of threat? Melcorka wondered. She shifted slightly, loosening her muscles in case she would have to fight her way clear of the broch. She glanced over at Tuath and saw he was also shifting, looking at her and no doubt wondering the same thing.

  She smiled and held out her hand to Tuath. 'I hope sometime to fight alongside you Tuath. If you are Hector's champion you must be a good man indeed!'

  Tuath barely acknowledged Hector before he took her hand. 'I have heard only good of you Melcorka.' His grip was firm, and Melcorka saw him wink at Alva before he took his hand back and resumed his stance. She noticed Conall's quick frown: good. Unsettle the steward. He was a poisonous little man.

  Hector frowned and stood up. 'Bring food for my guests! Food and wine!' He smiled to Melcorka. 'If Tuath has accepted you, Melcorka, then you must have some good in you.' He patted her shoulder, winked and clapped his hands loudly.

  Melcorka was surprised at the speed with which the table filled with platters of various kinds of food. There was a dish known as brochan, which was oatmeal mixed with boiling water and butter; there was fresh oaten bread with goat's cheese; there were eggs and milk and various types of fish from herring to salmon, and there was a bowl of mussels. There was also a huge platter of nicely cut meat that Melcorka could not identify.