“Kidnapped by squirrels,” I murmured, trying to keep up my spirits. “If I get him safely home again, I’ll make up a song about that. Rhian would probably enjoy it, even if nobody else did. Only I imagine she’d prefer clurichauns.”
The light began to fade. The clouds thickened, threatening heavier rain. Even if we found him right now, we could not reach home before dark. It would be another night in the open, without food or fire. I had carried Caisin’s blanket over my shoulder all the way from the bridge. Once or twice I’d been tempted to abandon it, for even a small burden grows heavy when a person is weary to the bone. Now I was glad I’d kept it. Its warmth might be the difference between life and death for a little boy on a cold night.
Bear’s eager gait had become more of a resigned plod. I was full of a longing to be back home and by the fireside, warm and dry, with a full belly, and I despised myself for it. Such thoughts were not only selfish, they were weak. Bear had not given up. I would match him. But as the rain increased, persistent enough to soak us even through the protection of the trees, and as the sky turned to a bleak stone gray, it was harder and harder to stay strong. Believe in yourself, I muttered, digging deep for some of Uncle Bran’s wisdom. Trust yourself, and know you are never quite alone.
True enough; I did have Bear. And now my companion had halted in front of me, his head up, his body tense with anticipation. What had he seen?
Around us, the curtains of rain hid everything. Water poured off the thinning foliage of the oaks and pooled around the drifts of fallen gold beneath. The air was filled with a wet, earthy smell. The birds were quiet.
“What is it, Bear?” He had not moved. He stood intent, staring ahead into the obscurity.
Then I heard it. Barking; barking getting rapidly closer.
“Badger?” I whispered, unable to believe that at last we had found one of our own.
Bear barked a joyous greeting, running forward until the rain concealed him from me. A few moments later, the two of them came rushing out of the veil, chasing and jumping and playing together like young pups, until Badger ran up to me, planted his muddy forepaws on my chest and licked my face. It was a first.
“Badger, my lovely boy! Where have you been?” I blinked back tears, hugging him and at the same time doing my best to check whether he was hurt. “Good boy, Badger, fine brave boy. You, too, Bear.” Oh, how I longed to turn around and head for home with the two of them, to get my boys to safe shelter and let someone else continue the quest. I suppressed the feeling quickly; it shamed me.
My elation at Badger’s arrival soon drained away. Surely all this rain would erase any trace of Finbar’s trail. Here we were, miles and miles into an immense tract of forest—I could not remember it being part of Sevenwaters at all—and perhaps there was now no way to find either Finbar or the path home. Rhian’s voice sounded in my mind: You don’t have to do everything yourself. But that was exactly what I had chosen to do, and now here I was, with only the dogs, and I must keep on looking for my brother until…I would not think of that.
“Bear, come. Badger, come.”
We walked on until it was almost dark. My legs were shaking; they could barely carry my body forward. The rain eased, then stopped, and a chill wind came up in its place, sending probing fingers under my wet clothing. Beneath the oaks, vapors rose and twisted, clothing the knotty roots in shrouds of white. Here and there misshapen fungi sprouted alone or in clumps, like tiny wizened men in fantastic hats. Once or twice I thought I saw a taller figure, a person clad in gray or green or brown, but when I peered closer there was nothing but the oak trunks and the gathering dusk.
“A fire would be good,” I muttered. “But even if I could kindle one, where would I get dry wood?” We would have to stop and find a place to shelter before it grew too dark. The oaks stretched off into the distance. Each way I turned, the vista was the same. “A tumbledown cottage,” I murmured. “A fallen tree. Some rocks. A hollow. Anything that might keep out this wind.” I wondered if Finbar had been out in the rain like me, and whether he, too, was cold to the marrow. “Where is he, Badger? Where is Finbar?”
The two dogs looked at me as if I was a little touched in the head.
“All right,” I said. “We’re not walking any farther. Let’s find somewhere to sleep.” Oh gods, Finbar out for another night, all by himself, without even Badger to keep him warm. How could he survive this? I’m sorry, Mother. Oh, Father, I’m so sorry.
Just when it seemed we would walk on forever, there was a fallen tree, and a hollow within it large enough to accommodate the three of us. Water was no longer hard to find. Bear and Badger lapped from puddles on the ground; with a certain difficulty, I did the same. A little later, as I was squatting to relieve myself, Bear hurtled off into the darkening woods with Badger close behind. Finbar, I thought, knowing in my heart how unlikely it was. I tried not to think of the possibility that the dogs would not come back.
It was a lonely wait. I laid the blanket in the hollow, ready for the three of us to lie on. Oddly, it was not sodden like my clothing, but felt dry and warm. The cloak Caisin had given me was drying, too, though everything I wore underneath it was wet. Magic. I would not think too hard about that. It seemed to me that if the fey woman were to appear now and offer me Otherworld food, I would devour it with scarcely a second thought. My belly felt hollow, my head dizzy. Given the choice between being condemned to live in the Otherworld or dying of cold and hunger, I was fairly sure I would choose the former. Besides, those old tales might be wrong. They might be inventions designed solely to stop children from sampling every berry they came across.
I wondered if any of those fungi we had seen earlier were edible. They were not like the ones that grew near Harrowfield. Those, Aunt Liadan had taught me to recognize. This is beneficial for the shaking sickness, and this for irritations of the skin. This one can be eaten in a stew with no harmful effects, but raw, it will give you a powerful bellyache. A bite of this red spotted one will kill you. If I found the right plants, I could probably pick a few, using my feet. Or I might crouch down to graze like a sheep. Finbar would find that amusing. “Where are you, little brother?” I whispered. “Be safe. Be warm. We’re getting closer.” I prayed that this was true.
A rustling in the leaves beyond the fallen tree and here were the dogs, tails wagging, eyes bright. Bear was in the lead. He came up with something in his mouth and dropped it at my feet. A rabbit. It was limp, bloody and not long dead. Though the light was almost gone, I could see that Bear was immensely proud of himself. Badger danced about behind him, celebrating the catch.
“Good boy, Bear.” I stroked him behind the ears, in the way he loved. “Well done. Eat now.”
He stood waiting. Looked down at the little corpse. Looked up at me.
I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said, thinking that by tomorrow I might not be so fussy. “Bear, eat. Badger, eat.” I edged farther into the hollow and turned my face away from them. I listened as they devoured the meat.
When they were done, the two of them squeezed in with me. It was only when they were settled, one on either side, that I realized Bear had brought a bone. It was one of the larger ones, a haunch, with a good amount of flesh still clinging to it. He did not gnaw it, but placed it on my chest with some care. The golden eyes gazed into mine. I saw his thoughts as clear as day. Eat. You must eat, dear one.
I had done my best not to weep. I had tried not to feel sorry for myself. It came to me that it is not trials and travails that bring us down, but unexpected moments of kindness.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
But I could; Bear helped me. He was insistent, holding one end of the bone in his teeth while I gnawed the other, then, when I realized I was indeed hungry enough to eat raw meat, watching me intently as I held his offering between my wrists and stripped it of flesh. I was beyond caring about blood on my clothing, or about what anyone might think of me. If I were to have the strength to go on in the morning, I needed food i
n my belly. Bear was my provider. Not to accept his gift was to throw his love back in his face. So I ate, every scrap of meat, and then I chewed on the bone until my companion, with a sigh, put his head down on his paws as if satisfied. On my other side, Badger was already asleep. Beyond our little shelter the rain had stopped, the breeze had died down, and the moon was peering between clouds. Its light transformed the wet forest into a fey realm of glittering light and deepest shadow.
“Good night, little brother,” I murmured. “Be warm. Be safe.” I pulled the cloak across the three of us as best I could, then lay down with my face against Bear’s shoulder and my back warmed by Badger’s sleeping form. And despite everything, very soon I, too, was asleep.
DRUID’S JOURNEY: EAST
H e reaches the coast at dawn. The air is cold as a knife, slicing to the bone. He descends by a cliff path; finds the woman on a ledge outside her cave, swathed in a blanket, warming water over a little fire. Huddled though she is, she looks tall, straight, young enough to be the other’s daughter. Down on the pebbly shore below a lean gray dog runs to and fro, playing at chase; the gulls tease him, hovering just within snapping range, then rising at the last moment. By the time the druid reaches the ledge, the dog has sprinted up the path to give him close inspection.
“Get in, Slip,” the woman says, and the creature settles by her, its bright eyes never leaving the visitor.
“My respects to you, wise woman.”
“And to you, druid.” She speaks without glancing up; her gaze is on the curling flames, the wisps of bark she is feeding into the fire’s heart. “You are just in time for breakfast. We can offer you a share of a fish.”
“Thank you. I have bread enough for all.” He settles cross-legged, getting out the loaf, a small knife, his flask of mead.
No more talk, then, until the fish is sizzling over the fire, the bread lies ready on the platters and the two of them have a cup of mead apiece in their hands.
“My sister sent you,” she says.
If he is surprised that this woman of middle years is sister to the crone of the north, he shows no sign of it. “She suggested the wisdom I seek might be found with you, yes.”
The woman reaches to turn the fish, using a pair of sharpened sticks. Her cooking pan is black with use, her platters chipped and cracked. The dog makes an anticipatory sound.
“Some of that wisdom. Not all. You have a long journey ahead of you, druid, and time runs short.”
He waits, holding his silence. The sun creeps up, turning the expanse of water before them into a glittering carpet of light. He gazes out over the sea toward an island veiled from the eyes of humankind. The old woman had spoken of selkies.
“Your kin,” says the woman, as if she knew his thoughts. She passes him a platter of fish and bread. “They come in here from time to time.”
He nods, not finding any words.
The three of them eat their meal, the dog quickly, the others more slowly as the sun moves higher. It is still very early in the morning. The shore is empty of seals.
“You’ll be wanting this,” the woman says, indicating the remains of the loaf.
“Keep it for supper. The mead, too.”
“If you say so.” She packs the things away in the cave, tidily. “Let us go down.”
They walk on the shore awhile. The woman throws sticks for the dog to chase; the creature is in bliss. Gulls swoop and dive, fishing offshore.
“If you’d come at dusk, you might have seen them,” she says.
The dog runs up, panting, its tail scything to and fro. The woman throws the stick again.
“I might,” says the druid. Beneath the simple words, a well of sorrow. “But time grows short.”
“Then I will give you my share of the rhyme, and let you move on,” says the woman. “It is this: Overcome the fear of flame, Bid the wildest beast be tame. What it means, I cannot tell you. Within the whole, it lies just before the part my sister gave you.”
“Danu preserve us,” murmurs the druid. “Can this not be achieved without endangering the innocent?”
“When the stakes are high,” says the wise woman, “the risks are also high. For you, I think, especially so.”
“My own risk is of my choosing.”
“Others, too, make their own choices. Even the innocent.”
“You think?”
“I know, druid.” She pats the dog, praising its return of the stick, then turns her steps back toward the cave. “Best be on your way, then, and seek out my sister in the south. It is a long, weary way, but for your kind, perhaps not so far. You will find her in a cottage by a deep well. Elms grow all around.”
“I thank you. For the words, and for your wisdom.”
“It was little enough. I was beginning to wonder if it would simply be forgotten, for in all this time nobody has asked me for it. I wish you well. This has been a dark season; keep your light shining, druid.”
“I will. Farewell.”
CHAPTER 10
I woke late. Beyond the fallen tree in whose hollow I had slept, it was full day. A watery sunlight touched the forest but failed to warm it. The blanket on which I had lain was dry, and so was the cloak that covered me, but all my clothing was heavy with damp and the garments chafed against my skin. I smelled as a person smells who has been living wild for two days and nights and has not had the opportunity to wash or change her clothing, not to speak of lying on her belly to drink and eating raw meat. If this went on much longer I would become a crazy wild woman, the sort of figure who’d more likely have stones hurled at her than be offered food, shelter and clean garments. Maeve Claw-Hands indeed.
The dogs were out in the open, eating what could only be a fresh kill. The flesh steamed in the morning chill; the sound of crunching bone was loud in the silent woodland. The smell made me queasy.
It was hard to move. My joints were stiff; my back ached; I was desperate for warm water and Rhian’s capable hands. I struggled out of the hollow log and made myself bend and stretch, willing strength into my reluctant body. I went into the bushes to relieve myself. When I returned, Bear was ready with my breakfast. He held it in his jaws, an unidentifiable joint of raw meat with fur attached. I wished I’d trained him to gather nuts and crack them open with his teeth, or dig up edible roots.
The look in his eyes made it impossible to refuse his offering. I forced down a few mouthfuls, then passed the bone back to him.
“Enough, Bear. Thank you.” My belly was protesting; it was a struggle to hold the food down. I went off in search of water and found a pool that was not quite so muddy as the others. I drank deeply. I vowed to myself that once I got safely home, I would eat every meal offered me with appreciation. “Not that there’s anything wrong with the food you provide, Bear,” I told him. “It’s just that I’m not a dog. If I were, this might all be easier.”
He lay down, head on paws, almost as if I had rebuked him. Badger was munching busily, impervious.
“Right, boys,” I said with a brightness that was entirely artificial. “Today we find this oak, and we find Finbar, and we go home. The sooner we move on, the better.”
My feet hurt. I had not dared take off my shoes for fear I would not be able to get them on again by myself. The leather was sodden, and I could feel a fine crop of blisters developing. Let today be the day we get safely home. Oh, please, said a voice in my mind, a weak, self-pitying voice. A stronger voice silenced it quickly. Why waste your strength in pleas and prayers? Out here, nobody’s listening. If you want to get home, make it happen.
So, put on the cloak. The hardest part was getting it around my shoulders; that took time. Once there, the garment revealed its fey qualities, for the clasp fastened without the need for fiddly finger work, joining together and hooking up with startling ease. I had wondered about it last night, when I removed the cloak, but had been too weary and despondent to think clearly. Now I realized that even in this, Caisin Silverhair had prepared very specifically for a meeting with me
. “What was she playing at, boys?” I asked. “What did she want from me? She can’t have meant us to be out here for so long. If she knew where Finbar was, why didn’t she see him safely home?”
Next, fold the blanket. I could not use my feet without removing my shoes, so I did the job with teeth and forearms, untidily. Before taking the bundle under my arm, I had a drink from Caisin’s flask; just one sip. The cordial ran through my veins like fire, rendering me suddenly, startlingly awake. “If she lied about it,” I muttered, “I’ll…” What would I do, set the dogs on her? Tell my father? Put her under a geis? She was of the Tuatha De; I was an ordinary woman with not a streak of magic in me. Besides, if she had lied and the potion was of Otherworld origin, I was already doomed. Or would be, if I had stepped over the border of that uncanny realm. But that could not be; I had not yet found Finbar, and this was not like last time, when Clodagh had followed our brother all the way to the heart of Mac Dara’s world to bring him safely home. Hadn’t Caisin said I could do it without crossing the borders of Father’s land? Stop it, Maeve, you’re thinking too much. The sooner you get moving, the sooner you find him. The sooner you find him, the sooner everyone goes home again. And the other voice said, A happy ending, hmm? It’s not quite so simple, is it?
Cloak on, blanket over arm, flask in pouch. I offered the little straw manikin for Bear and Badger to smell. “Finbar, boys. Find Finbar.” It was hard work to keep the note of hope in my voice.
Dusk was falling on that third day when we came to a clearing in the forest. Since morning the dogs had followed a scent. How could Finbar have traveled so far? My whole body ached with weariness. Doubt had been rising in me for some time. By now we must surely be beyond the borders of Sevenwaters land. My father’s holdings were wide, but not so wide as this. In the south was Illann’s territory of Dun na Ri. Somewhere close to Illann’s borders was a place that had belonged to my mother’s family, but the house had burned down and nobody lived there now. The sun told me we had been traveling roughly westward, and I knew nothing of whose land lay in that direction. Shouldn’t we have reached the margin of the Sevenwaters forest and a guard post? Shouldn’t we have come upon the road down which Cruinn’s men had been traveling when Mac Dara took them? Perhaps my sense of direction was less accurate than I thought. Today’s long walk had given me no landmarks, no hills or valleys, no watercourses beyond a small stream or two, no signs of human habitation. Only the oaks, hundreds and hundreds of oaks, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Stretching out forever.
Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters Page 25
