Minerva let out a long breath and leaned against her horse. The mare whickered and twisted her head to nudge Minerva. When Minerva could trust her legs again, she mounted. “We ride north,” she said.
Chapter Eight
The earth itself marked Brenna as its own.
It gave her the ravenmark and called her to its service.
— Second Book of the Wisdomkeepers, Year of Creation 5037 (approximate)
There was a comforting continuity to the farm life Donal and Aileen had carved for themselves, Connor thought. Slavers may threaten, but goats still need milking, pigs need slopping, and fences need mending. Connor watched the quiet bustle around him in the predawn light as he packed the horses and waited for Mairead. It soothed him to think that the Mac Raes still woke before dawn to repeat their routines.
Aileen joined him. She held out a warm, wrapped package. “Some pasties for your journey. The lady is up and dressing.”
Connor took the pasties. “I don’t know how I can thank you for your many kindnesses.” He opened his purse and pulled out several coins. “These are for the owner of the horses if he comes for them. What can I give you and Donal?”
Aileen smiled. “Well, it wouldn’t be hospitality if we expected payment, would it?” She put the coins in her apron pocket and pushed his hand away when he offered more. “Put it away, lad. We’re blessed to help ye. We still owe ye for what ye did for us.”
“It was my fault she ran away. It was my responsibility to bring her back.”
“Well, we’re grateful.”
He thought he should send some message to Aine. “Tell Aine I’m glad she’s happy. I wish her the best. She deserves it.”
Aileen put a hand on his arm. “I will.”
Memories tugged at his composure. “We were so young. She deserved—deserves—better than I could have given her.”
“Still singing that song, are ye? We’d have had ye for a son and been glad of it.” Aileen lowered her voice. “Ye might want to reconsider your views of marriage, Connor. ’Tis a good journey. ’Tis good to have a friend to journey with. My Donal, I wouldn’t trade the great ogre for anything.”
“You know I’m too wild for marriage.”
“Ye just haven’t found the right woman.”
Mairead came out of the house dressed in breeches, tunic, and cloak, her hair braided and drawn over one shoulder. She gave Aileen a warm embrace. “Dear lady, thank you so much for your great hospitality. I hope we meet again one day.”
Aileen laughed and returned the embrace. “Ach, o’ course we will—in the great golden city if nowhere else.”
Donal joined them just as Mairead met her horse for the first time. He chuckled. “You’re a bit pale, lass.”
Mairead stared at the palomino with wide eyes. “She’s so big.”
“Have ye never ridden a horse afore?”
Mairead shook her head. “I lived in the city. We walked everywhere. I’ve ridden in a wagon a few times, but I’ve never ridden a horse.”
He patted the horse’s withers. “’Tis easy. This is a gentle lass. She’ll be easy to ride.”
The mare whickered and nosed Mairead’s hand. Mairead patted her nose, and the horse begged for more.
Connor grabbed a handful of grass and handed it to Mairead. “Here. Hold it out to her.”
Mairead took the grass. “How do I—”
“Just hold it under her nose.”
Mairead’s hand moved slowly toward the mare’s nose. The palomino sniffed and nibbled up the grass with her lips. Mairead startled, but she didn’t step back. The horse chewed the grass while Mairead patted her nose, neck, and withers.
Donal put an arm around Mairead and squeezed her shoulders. “Lass, ye remind me of my own daughters. Take care o’ the mare, and she’ll take care o’ you.”
Mairead turned and stretched up to kiss Donal’s cheek. “Thank you for everything.”
Donal patted her back and then turned to Connor. He clasped Connor’s arm. “And ye—take care o’ the lady.” His voice dropped. “I’ve put a special skin in your pack. Use it wisely, lad—’tis some of my best.”
Connor grinned. “I will.”
Mairead stared at the saddle, her forehead drawn into lines.
“Left foot in the stirrup, lift up, swing over,” Connor said.
She didn’t move. He stepped toward her to help, but she pushed him away. “I can do it.” She put her hands on the saddle and left foot in the stirrup, but only managed to hop halfway up to the saddle. She tried again, managing to straighten her leg before she stumbled back to the ground.
Connor steadied her with one hand on her back. He laughed. “Careful.”
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“I’m not—I swear. I’ve been doing this so long I forgot how hard it was at first.”
“You’re lying.”
“A little.” Behind him, Donal chuckled. “Let me help—just this once,” Connor said.
She sighed. “All right.” She put her hands on the saddle again and her foot in the stirrup, and he held her waist as she lifted up and swung her leg over.
“There. Not so bad, is it?”
“Not so bad,” she said, but her eyes were wide, and her voice quivered.
Aileen stepped closer to Donal and let him put one arm around her. “Safe journey. Alshada’s blessings on ye both,” she said.
Connor mounted the sorrel and turned toward the hills in the northeast. Mairead fell in next to him. He glanced at her. “You were able to braid your hair today.”
“My hand is much better.” Her hands gripped the reins and her legs were tense around the horse’s back, but the palomino walked with demure patience next to Connor’s sorrel. She sighed. “That felt like going home.”
“Don’t get used to it. I don’t know many people as hospitable or safe as Donal and Aileen between here and Sveklant.”
Fog dampened the colors of the burgeoning dawn, and Connor was grateful for Mairead’s silence as they rode. The between times of dawn and twilight were sacred to the Brae Sidh. Though he avoided the village and his magic, there was a draw in those moments that he couldn’t deny.
When the sun began to peek over the distant horizon, Connor turned back. He frowned. “Saya, do you see the farm?”
She turned, blinked, and frowned. “Where is it?”
He wheeled his horse around. The fog had lifted from ground level, and Connor saw the ragged line of village rooftops, but nothing more. “I see the village, but the farm—” He stopped. “What the—”
From the location of Aileen and Donal’s house, two enormous white birds lifted into the air. Syrafi. They were Syrafi. Gods. If the Syrafi are protecting this woman, she must be who they said she is. A chill ran down his spine. Unless they were here to send me a message. But what message would they have needed to give me? And what happened to Donal and Aileen? The Syrafi don’t murder people—do they? He shook his head and blinked, but the birds were still there.
Mairead gasped. “Oh, they’re beautiful.”
The two beasts hovered in mid-air. As the sun banished the purple of the night sky, they flapped their massive wings and raced into the darkness in the distance. In the span of a breath, they were out of sight.
“What are they?” Mairead’s voice was reverent in the misty dawn. “Are they Syr—”
“I don’t know.” I can’t be involved in this. The last thing I need in my life is more magic. Connor whirled his sorrel around before she could say more.
Connor kept an easy pace as Mairead learned how to control her horse. The palomino had a gentle spirit and fell in next to the stallion on her own most of the time. Mairead grew more comfortable as the day wore on, and by evening, she had even spurred her horse into an easy canter a few times at Connor’s urging.
As sunset approached, he directed her to an open field and dismounted near a patch of scrubby grass. “It’s clear tonight. It’ll be cold, but we won’t be rained on. I’ll build a fire
.”
She dismounted. “Can I help?”
“No. It’ll just take a few minutes.” He knelt to start making the fire pit.
“Is there something else I can do? I don’t like just standing around.”
“Can you cook?”
“Not really.”
“Hunt or fish? Gather roots or plants for eating?”
“No.”
“Then just sit and be quiet and let me work.”
She sighed. “I suppose I can say my evening prayers.”
“Fine. Go over there, will you? I’d prefer silence.”
“Of course.” She walked some distance away and knelt.
This is going to be a long trip if she insists on that every morning and evening, Connor thought.
She rejoined him just as the fire started to crackle. “You prayed for some time,” he said.
“You didn’t seem to want my help.”
He unpacked some of the salted meat and bread Aileen had given them. “This might be the last fresh bread you see for a while, saya.”
She took the bread he offered. “You know, you don’t have to call me ‘saya.’ I never took the oaths. You can call me Mairead.”
“If you wish.”
“Have I done something to offend you?”
He shook his head. “No. Why?”
“You seem upset. Bothered by me.”
“I’m just doing my job. I’m here to escort you, not entertain you.” She opened her mouth to say something, but he gestured toward the food. “Eat. We should get to sleep early. We need to keep riding while the weather is good.” They ate in silence.
When night fell, Connor spread out his blanket, took off his boots and jerkin, and lay down. “You can spread your blanket on the other side of the fire. If you get cold, I’ll build it back up.”
She pulled her blanket out of her pack and lay down on her side facing him. “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask.”
“What were those creatures we saw this morning?”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t know.”
“The legends of the Syrafi say—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Good night.”
She sighed. “Good night.” She rolled away from him.
The morning and the next day and night passed with few words between them. It wasn’t for lack of trying on her part. She initiated multiple conversations that he cut off with terse replies and contrived distractions. If I start talking to her, she’ll start asking about the Mac Raes and what we saw at the farm. She doesn’t need to know my past, and I don’t have any answers for her about the Syrafi. But as she continued to offer her help with camp chores, his resolve weakened. There was an easy grace and kindness about her manner that chipped at the demeanor he’d affected since Donal and Aileen’s house.
In typical fashion, autumn gave them two cold, misty mornings followed by dry, warm afternoons that made Connor think of the harvest festivals within the tribes. The equinox was only two weeks away. He’d miss the hunt. This girl had better be the real Taurin heir.
He caught the scent of deer nearby and motioned Mairead to a stop. The herd emerged from the trees, and Connor picked up his bow and nocked an arrow. He aimed at the smallest deer and fired. The youngling staggered a few steps and fell as the others scattered.
Connor dismounted, and Mairead followed him. “Why did you shoot it?” she asked, her voice shaking.
“For your supper.”
“We have food.”
“The salt pork will keep. We eat fresh when we can. Deer are plentiful.” He pulled the deer aside and started to butcher it.
“Where did you learn this?”
“All boys learn this in the real world. You’re not in the kirok anymore.” He started to skin the animal.
“You said you’re a tribesman.”
“I am.”
“I met a tribesman once when I was a little girl.”
He grunted. “Did you? Where?”
“In a village where my father and I lived. A few tribesmen came through one day. I ran away from my teacher and went to ask one of them about the marks on his face.”
“If he had marks on his face, he was a chieftain.”
“I know. He told me. He said his name was Hrogarth.”
Connor chuckled.
“What’s funny?”
“Just that you met our king, if tribesmen have a king, and you didn’t even know it. Hrogarth is the chief of the nine tribes and the hound tribe.”
“Well, he was just a nice man to me.” She knelt next to him. “Why don’t you wear the braids?”
“I did until this job. The Sidh queen said they might offend you.”
“Do you have tattoos?”
“Several.”
“Where?”
He stopped cutting and pointed to his right arm. “I have thirteen circles on my arm for the thirteen hunts I’ve been on. Each one combines the animal symbol of the tribe I hunted with and a knotwork design that goes all the way around the arm.”
“What do they do when you run out of room on your arm?”
“Go to the other side. Some of the old men have the tattoos of the hunt even down their legs.” He pointed to his left shoulder blade. “I have a wolf’s head on my shoulder. I was initiated into the wolf tribe when I was fourteen. I have knotwork on my chest—one endless knot that’s a symbol for the web of life.” He pointed at his right shoulder with the bloody knife. “I have one here that says I’m old enough to marry but haven’t taken a wife. If I ever were to marry, I would have the knotwork finished.” He grasped the deer’s windpipe and pulled organs and viscera free of the carcass. He left them at one side for wolves and ravens, drained the body, and hung it from a limb.
“Doesn’t it hurt? Being tattooed, I mean?” Mairead asked.
“It’s not as bad as you would think.”
“Do the tribal women get the tattoos also?”
“Yes. It’s not for no reason. All of the tattoos mean something.”
She shuddered. “I don’t think I could do that—be tattooed like that.”
“You could if you were a tribal woman. It would just be a way of life.”
“Perhaps. How do you do that so quickly?”
He peeled the skin away from the deer’s back. “Practice. I’ve butchered hundreds of deer and elk. It’s not hard once you know how. A sharp knife helps.” He started to slice meat free of the body. “You seem to have put some of your grief behind you the last few days.”
She sat on the mossy bank near the road. “I am trying. I knew I would have to leave the sayada someday, so I had already prepared myself for that. I just didn’t think it would happen so brutally.” She paused. “Do you ever wonder what you might have had if Kiern had not been attacked?”
A large steak came off in his hand, and he set it on a cloth. “Not really. I miss my father, but I didn’t have any other reason to stay.”
“You never wanted to marry?”
His knife faltered. Memories of Aine filled his head. I did the right thing—she needed someone faithful. Tame. “No. I’m not interested in marrying.”
“What about children?”
“That’s too much responsibility.”
“How did you know Donal and Aileen?”
“They let me work on their farm when I left Taura.”
“Is that all?”
What did Aileen tell her? “No, but the rest is a story for another time.”
“Those creatures—what were they?”
He turned to her, his hands sticky with blood and the scent of the animal hovering around him. “I don’t suppose you’ll let this go, will you?”
“Why would I? Aren’t you curious?”
“Don’t you have prayers or something holy to do?”
“Connor.”
He lowered his knife at the regal insistence in her voice.
“What was that place?”
His conscience nagged at him. “It
was a farm once. I don’t know what it was when we were there, but I think you’re right. The creatures we saw fly away were probably Syrafi.”
Her eyes softened. “Why didn’t you want to talk about it?”
Because you don’t need to know about all of that. “Because it worries me. The whole village has changed. Donal—or the creature I thought was Donal—said slavers came and took the young and strong and left the old ones alone. What happened to the real Donal and Aileen?”
She sat quiet for a moment. “Their family meant a lot to you.”
“Donal and Aileen took me in and gave me work. When I was there, they were real people. They were good to me.”
“Why did you leave?”
Ravens gathered in the trees around them, drawn by the scent of the dead animal. Connor went back to work, pressing back the memories of other scents, other bodies. His chest tightened. “One of their daughters thought she loved me. I hurt her.”
You will be my first—my raven. The Morrag’s voice whispered in his head.
“Aileen told me that you’re the reason they still had Aine.”
A spate of Brae Sidh curses ran through his head. “Yes, but what she didn’t say was that their daughter wouldn’t have been in trouble if it weren’t for me.” He waved his hand; a smattering of blood flew onto the road, and a raven dove down to investigate. “Enough. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It’s in the past. Aine is fine. He said she’s married and has children and a home and all of the things I couldn’t give her. I don’t know why the Syrafi were there, but I’ll assume they told us the truth about Aine and that Donal and Aileen are all right. In any case, they helped us, so for that I am grateful.”
She was silent for a long time. “Aileen called you Connor Reid. I thought your surname was SilverAir.”
He held back a curse. “It is. I made up a human surname when I worked for the Mac Raes. It was just the first thing that came to mind.” He went back to the deer.
The sounds of the horses and the croaking ravens hovered for a moment. “Do you have any other tattoos?”
“Just one.”
“What is it?”
“It’s a raven feather—right here.” He pointed at the inside of his left thigh with the hilt of his knife.
Ravenmarked (The Taurin Chronicles) Page 10
