Child of a Mad God--A Tale of the Coven

by R. A. Salvatore

  How could they pick her? What would Gavina bring to the Coven beyond Aoleyn?

  Aoleyn had more power pierced to her body now than most, if not all, collections of crystals in the tribe! And she had found a truer method to use the song of Usgar!

  How she wanted to show that to Mairen at that awful moment—and it was an awful moment, more so than Aoleyn would have ever believed! She had not realized how badly she wanted her place in the Coven until now, when it was likely forever denied!

  She wanted to argue, to lash out with fist and magic, to deny Mairen by defeating Mairen then and there, but she found that she could not do any of that, do anything, other than sit there, dumbfounded, her expression blank, her jaw hanging open.

  The two witches left, taking Aoleyn’s crystals with them, and the lantern, leaving Aoleyn sitting in the dark.

  She couldn’t move, her mind reeling this way and that as she tried to decipher everything Mairen had just told her. Had she failed Tay Aillig’s test, if that’s what it was?

  And if it wasn’t that, what might the War Leader think of all this? He had announced his intentions to take Aoleyn as his wife and she knew it wasn’t because he was particularly attracted to her. He wanted the power she had given to Brayth in the battle with the sidhe and the fossa.

  But what now?

  The young woman sucked in her breath, her eyes going wide, and mouthed, “Bahdlahn!” and truly, she was terrified then for her uamhas friend. She reminded herself that Tay Aillig meant to kill the fossa, and to use that feat to gain full control of Usgar, to become the Usgar-triath.

  She heard again his last words to her dear friend up on th’Way.

  In the Coven, had she been selected, she might have found a way to help Bahdlahn, to get Mairen to intervene and somehow protect him, but now, with this demotion …

  Mairen’s tone and demeanor had made it quite clear to Aoleyn that she would garner no favors from that one anytime soon. When Mairen had told her to learn the more mundane way of life for an Usgar woman, she was really telling Aoleyn that her life would now be that, mundane, and so of little interest to the Usgar-righinn.

  “Bahdlahn,” she whispered again, and she fought to sort her thoughts and find some solution. Perhaps she should go to him and use her gemstones to carry him away to freedom. But she was certain that would get Innevah killed.

  Then again, hadn’t Innevah murdered Caia? Hadn’t Innevah secretly put the snake in Caia’s bed? Perhaps she deserved …

  Aoleyn dismissed that out of hand, refusing to go to that dark, dark place.

  She didn’t know what to do, or where to go, or how to plan.

  And so, overwhelmed, she sat there in the dark, rocking back and forth, the rest of the night.

  33

  DEAMHAIN

  Talmadge picked his way carefully along the narrow, muddy trail, looking for markers to keep him on the right line instead of falling into the bog. Behind him, the candlelight of Clach Boglach twinkled in the distance. The small village was built on a marsh of backwater that breathed up and down with the tides of Loch Beag, and sang all summer with the hum of insects and the trilling of frogs, including some that were nearly the size of a man, and could swallow a child whole. More than one person had been saved from that grim fate only because someone had noticed wriggling feet sticking out of a giant frog’s mouth.

  The entire town was built on stilts and a person on foot could only get there safely at low tide, and only along the narrow, muddy, hard-to-find trails that Talmadge now walked. The folk there were the most unusual of all around the lake. They rarely went out upon the open waters, for food was all around them—lizards and frogs and giant newts and fish by the school—and their boats were flat-bottomed to float high on the swampy bog. They wrapped their heads for only one hump, like with the next town in line, Fasach Crann, but the Boglach tribe bent those humps left or right, and often so steeply that a quick glance might make someone think a tribesman had two heads!

  In all his years of coming to Loch Beag, Talmadge had only ventured to Clach Boglach twice before, both by canoe, and he would have skipped the place entirely this journey except that he had met up with one of the sentries of the town who had invited him in for a leg-of-frog roast, a delicacy that Talmadge had always wanted to enjoy.

  Now, leaving, he was glad that he had taken the side road. The adventures, the newness of an old familiar lake, had him considering his life as a journey once more, a journey moving forward and widening, and not shrinking out of fear and remorse. He still thought of Khotai with every step, but it was okay.

  He was honoring her by returning here, he had come to understand, for she would not have wanted him to shrink his journey out of grief.

  He hadn’t traded much at Clach Boglach, for they didn’t have any of the pearls he preferred, and so he still had quite a bit of barter in his pack with one more stop ahead, his favorite place of all, Fasach Crann. The village wasn’t far away as the crow flew, but Talmadge was no bird, and he’d have a long walk to go around the long inlet that bordered the swamp east of Clach Boglach. In other months, he might try to ford there, but the villagers had warned him that this was the last mating season for the giant frogs before they settled under the waters for their winter nap, and the rampage was in particular frenzy right now with the cold winds blowing so early.

  The frogs, and the inlet where they congregated to mate, needed to be avoided.

  Talmadge heard their songs even after he came out of the marsh, the trilling and croaking chasing him up into the foothills of Fireach Speuer. From this higher ground, he looked back to the candlelight of Clach Boglach, and then to the west, to the candles in the windows of Fasach Crann, so tantalizingly close!

  “Midmorn,” he estimated optimistically. His pace would have to be swift, but it would be mostly downhill.

  He found a fat oak soon after, and climbed into its lower branches, not wanting to camp on the ground. Soon enough, though, the wind had driven him from the tree, its bite cold and wet, so that it got right into his bones.

  With no choice, Talmadge collected some fallen branches, cleared a little area, dug a hole, deeper than he would normally to shield it from both the wind and a predator’s eyes, and struck up a small campfire. He heated rocks and set them under his bedroll.

  At every town along the way, he had been warned that winter would come early, and these folk knew the land and knew the winds. As he lay there, he considered that perhaps he should just turn back, and be quick off the plateau. Even though they were barely into the ninth month, snow was not unheard of this time of year, and if that happened, the passes on the northern end of the lake would be closed to him.

  “They’ll let me stay,” he told himself, thinking of Fasach Crann, and thinking that wintering in the lake town might not be the worst thing that could happen to him.

  As he lay there, the warm fire and stones seeming to melt him into his covers, the idea became even more alluring. He had heard so many tales of the games the folk played on the frozen Loch Beag.

  “Khotai, my love,” he said to the night wind, “a winter here will add a new road to the journey of my life.”

  * * *

  “Usgar-laoch,” the woman said, inhaling so profoundly in her shock that Tay Aillig figured she might just faint.

  “Gavina,” he greeted. “I am told that you will soon enter the Coven.”

  She smiled widely, showing her crooked teeth. The blanket hanging behind her as a divider in her small tent shifted then, and Tay Aillig narrowed his eyes, thinking it might be her husband, a man he knew to be more closely allied with Ahn’Namay than with his desires. He would have to take care here.

  The blanket rippled and a breeze blew from around it, revealing the back flap of the tent somewhat askew.

  “Where is your man?” Tay Aillig asked.

  “Out gathering food and wood,” Gavina answered, and she suddenly seemed a bit nervous. Indeed, Tay Aillig got the feeling that the mousy witch was af
raid of him, perhaps assuming that he would take liberties with her.

  He laughed out loud at the thought.

  “He should be proud of you,” he said.

  Gavina nodded, appearing more wary now than she was before.

  “Tell me, witch,” he gently coaxed.

  Poor Gavina, clearly uncomfortable, shifted from foot to foot and shook her head.

  “He is angry because he can’no more hunt,” Tay Aillig reasoned, “and no battles lay before him. It is too late for your ascent to matter.”

  She didn’t reply, other than to look up at him, but the surprise in her eyes told him that his assessment was right on the mark.

  “But it will matter, to you and to him,” the Usgar-laoch assured the witch. “As long as you’re not the least of the witches.”

  Gavina looked at him with puzzlement. “The newest,” she said.

  “That is not the same. It is your game to prove yourself worthy of a place nearer to Usgar-righinn Mairen. What might your man think when he, not Ahn’Namay, is whispered to step in line behind Raibert?”

  Gavina’s eyes widened, hopefully, it seemed.

  “He will be pleased with you then, yes?” Tay Aillig remarked.

  “How might—”

  “I know how,” he answered. “Because I know a secret, one that even Mairen has not discovered.” He glanced around, even though they were in a tent, as if making sure that no one could hear.

  “When you are near Craos’a’diad, does the song of Usgar ring louder?”

  “Of course,” she answered, for that was no secret.

  “There is another place.”

  “The crystal caves,” she said, for again, all the women knew that.

  “Still another, one that is not known to Mairen or any others.”

  Gavina stared at him intently, but seemed less than convinced. “How would a man know?” she asked.

  “Aoleyn knows. It, this place, is her secret,” he lied. “Did it not surprise you that she, half your age, is so much more powerful than you with Usgar’s gifts?”

  Gavina bristled.

  “Everyone knows that,” Tay Aillig said. “You know that. Aoleyn would soon be a witch were it not for her hot spirit. There is no question of her affinity to the crystals, merely her judgment in using them.”

  “Her power is undeniable,” Gavina admitted.

  “Because she found the place, and she would go there before every lesson so that the song was ringing in her ears when Mairen, and you, worked beside her with the magic of Usgar.”

  The woman’s eyes went very wide once more, and she gnashed her teeth, looking very much like someone who had just been cheated out of a wager.

  “Do you know the four stones in the west where the blueberries grow thick?” Tay Aillig asked.

  Gavina nodded.

  “Farther west from there, just to the first ledge where the sunrise can be seen, there is a high cliff of sheer stone, where you look down upon the tops of tall pines,” he told her, and again she nodded, for surely she had seen this place.

  “Perhaps this cliff is the back wall of the crystal caves,” he said. “But there, in that spot, you will find that the magic is as strong as Craos’a’diad. I give you this because I once admired your man, and watched his steps on his last raid, which was my first raid. It would please me for you to please him.”

  “I should go then and return full of power.”

  “Better,” Tay Aillig said. “I give you this secret as your own. Take it and give it to Mairen. Take her to that place and let her see your power there. Bring a stone of floating, perhaps, and walk down the cliffside. Amaze her. Share the secret with her alone, and she will thank you, and she will elevate you.”

  Gavina swallowed hard, obviously overwhelmed. “Why do you give me this?” she demanded.

  “Your man—”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “There is more.”

  “Connebragh,” he admitted.

  “The second witch?”

  “Yes, Connebragh. I hate her. It would please me to see Mairen find a new favorite among her dancing witches. It would please me for that new favorite to be you.”

  * * *

  “Why do you keep rubbing your face and looking about with nervous eyes?” Egard asked Aghmor.

  “Aghmor has been on many raids,” Ralid interjected, though the defense of his friend sounded weak to all three of the hunting Usgar, for Aghmor’s reputation was not one of grand heroism and battle lust. All three here were more than a little surprised that Tay Aillig had chosen Aghmor to come along!

  “The raid is not blessed,” Aghmor replied.

  “Tay Aillig brought us blessed weapons,” Egard reminded.

  “’Tis not the same. The witches are not here with us.”

  “They never are when we venture so far from home,” Ralid replied.

  “This is different,” Aghmor said quietly.

  “Aye,” Egard agreed, his voice full of strength. “Are we men or are we boys? This is Tay Aillig’s test for us, to prove ourselves worthy of his circle when Usgar is his. This hunt shows him to trust in us alone, when he destroys the fossa! This is the first step on our own path of glory. We need no women to protect us! Our journey alone is in service to Usgar, and so it is a journey blessed.”

  “We are too low on Fireach Speuer for so much talking,” Ralid said. “Let us hunt.”

  The other two nodded at that, and Aghmor let it drop and tried to keep his concerns from his expression as the three crept along in the dark night—a dark night that was soon interrupted by the candles and campfires of the nearby lakemen villages, particularly Fasach Crann, but there was another light. A single, small fire, to the southwest of that village, in the foothills of the mountain.

  Aghmor swallowed hard in noting those flames, such a clear reminder of a hunting party he had raided beside Tay Aillig in pursuit of two uamhas, mere children, who had run off. The image of that poor, ugly girl, gutted and strapped down for the carrion birds, flashed in his thoughts.

  “We are blessed,” Egard insisted, pointing out the singular fire.

  * * *

  Though he had never been inland in this particular area, Talmadge was no stranger to life in the wilds, and knew the universal sounds—or lack thereof—that signaled danger.

  When the foothills grew quiet around him, the hairs on his neck tingled and he sensed that he was not alone.

  He quickly propped his cloak with his bedroll and some sticks, and set his sword belt beside it, showing only the scabbard of his short sword and hiding the empty, longer sheath underneath.

  Long sword in hand, he crept from the fire and hid in some sage behind the large oak, sinking down silently, keeping his breathing controlled, forcing a measure of calm. Still, he felt the blood pounding in his ears. Every now and then came the sound of a possible footfall, the crackle of a fallen leaf, but he couldn’t discern the direction in the windy night.

  He was too far from the lake for it to be a giant lizard, he thought, and hoped, for he never wanted to face one of the clo’dearche again!

  Perhaps a lynx—he was too far down the mountain for the cloud leopards—or possibly a panther. In any case, a great cat would likely avoid him and his sword. He took some comfort in his belief that he could probably fend off some wolves or a pack of coyotes.

  He hoped it wasn’t a bear. Anything but a bear!

  He burrowed a bit deeper into the sage, reminding himself to trust his years of hunting experience, his knowledge of how to disappear from sight. He could sneak up on a skittish deer back in the Wilderlands; surely he could hide from whatever approached!

  Slowly, careful not to rustle the brush, Talmadge withdrew his crystalline lens from his small rucksack. He called upon the magic and peered into it, to scout up the mountainside and see if he could identify what had brought the animals about him into such a silent crouch.

  The night was too dark. Every tree looked to him like a monster.

&nb
sp; The needle-covered branches of the trees rustled in the wind. The sage brush quivered around him. Suddenly the silence seemed even more ominous.

  He shrugged off his rucksack, placing it softly on the ground beside his hip. He pocketed the lens—if he had to run and abandon the sack, at least he would save his most useful tool. He could feel, could hear, the blood pumping in his body, his heartbeat thumping felt like a drum in his chest. Surely it was loud enough to be heard by whatever was hunting him.

  He squinted and peered, scanning the areas where the foliage met the sky, looking for silhouettes. He watched every shadow, and felt the breeze keenly, to align his senses with the rustle and movement of the trees and grasses.

  His instincts told him to flee, but he knew better. Whatever was coming, it would surely see him if he tried to run; besides, he didn’t have anywhere he could go. Worse, he still did not know the direction of the predator’s approach. Or what it was, for that matter; but given the myths and legends surrounding this mountain, he was not sure he even wanted to know.

  Cat, wolf, bear, whatever the predator might be, if it saw him before he saw it, he would likely die.

  He tried to keep his breathing steady, tried to calm his heart, but every shadow flitting through the trees made it pound in his chest until he felt like it might explode.

  His sense of the time disappeared; everything was either moving too fast, too slowly, even not at all.

  “Come on,” Talmadge whispered under his breath. “Don’t be a bear.”

  And he saw something, the glint of a crystalline spear tip, and he wished it was a bear.

  The Usgar had come.

  * * *

  Ralid held up one finger and smiled wickedly when they came in sight of the small camp.

  Aghmor shook his head, though. How could it be that someone was out here alone? Why would anyone be alone among the foothills of Fireach Speuer?

  Across from Ralid, Egard motioned for the two to hold, flashed his open hand a few times, indicating a delay count, then melted off into the night.