THE FAERIE HILLS (A Muirteach MacPhee Mystery Book 2)

by Susan McDuffie

  “It is that changeling,” cursed Fergus, looking around. “Nathrach that he is. They will have been watching us the whole time.”

  The shot had come from farther up the hill, and as we looked we saw a figure briefly silhouetted against the sky, which then dropped out of sight, disappearing behind the hill. Fergus had already left the cave and was running after him.

  “You stay with Mariota and let her tend to your wound,” he yelled back at me when I attempted to go with him. “He will be getting away from us, the black-hearted one that he is.”

  I sat against the rocks, holding my hand, which now throbbed abominably, while Mariota examined the wound. Meanwhile, I looked around the cave. Some light from the entrance made it possible to see. The cavern, of a small size, seemed to be quite empty. But the sight of a recently burned firepit and a pile of bracken in one corner made me think that someone had stayed there, and not so long ago.

  “You are lucky, Muirteach,” Mariota said soberly. “Another inch, and it might have struck and broken the bone, or torn the muscle. But this is not such a sore injury.”

  It felt bad enough to me, but I was loath to let on.

  “I wish I had my satchel,” Mariota muttered. “Perhaps there is some yarrow outside that would help it to heal. I thought I saw some by the well. Hold this against it, Muirteach, to stop the bleeding. I will go and find some yarrow.”

  “Mariota, be careful—there is no need,” I remonstrated but, headstrong woman that she was, she had already vanished outside.

  I tried to reassure myself that the shooter—Lulach it must have been—was far away by now, chased by Fergus, but I followed her outside and scanned the hills as Mariota uncovered a few poor stalks of the herb from beneath the melting snow. I felt a great relief when we were back inside the cave after what seemed a very long time.

  “Here,” she said, holding the dried winter leaves. “I knew there would be some yarrow someplace nearby. It survived the snow. I think it will make a poultice.”

  I wanted to chastise her for her foolhardiness, but she was already busy and I held my tongue.

  For all that Mariota claimed to have no healing skill, she washed my injury with water from Columba’s well. By the time she had put the poultice on my hand and bandaged it, the wound was feeling somewhat better.

  I examined the arrow. It was fletched with hawk feathers, and the point was of worked flint, like the point we had found in Niall’s back and the one that Gillean had from the sithichean.

  * * * * *

  Fergus appeared then, panting.

  “Were you catching him?”

  He cursed. “The black-hearted snake was getting away from me. But I am thinking, just, if we burn his boat, he will not be traveling so very far.”

  And so we rushed back to the little beach at the end of the loch. But the blue boat was already gone. We could just see it disappearing into the narrow passage that led to the greater expanse of water beyond.

  We quickly boarded our own boat and pushed off, manning the oars. My anger was such that I barely noticed my injured hand. The boat was ahead, and it seemed unlikely we would catch Lulach now. We put up the sail, but the wind was against us and he had too much of a head start. We watched as he escaped us, but we followed after, out of Loch Tarbert and around to the north while the short day faded from the sky and he was lost in the darkness of the sea.

  * * * * *

  “He will not get away from us again.” The determination and fury in my voice surprised even me.

  “Aye,” said Fergus. “Let him get ahead a bit and think we have given up the chase. We can sail well enough at night. There will be a moon tonight, and it is clear weather. I know this coast and can find their cove well enough.”

  We ate oatmeal mixed with water while we sailed. The moon was near full, and we had not long to wait until it rose. We traveled with the black bulk of Jura to our right and eventually the moon appeared, shining over the island and the waves of the sound. It was not too hard to find the cove where Gormal and her son lived. We saw a darker bulk, Lulach’s boat, against the lighter gray of the sand in the moonlight.

  “He must have assumed that we returned to Islay.”

  “Indeed, unless he is waiting to shoot at us from above the cliffs,” I whispered back to Fergus. My hand still throbbed where the arrow had hit it, and my bad leg ached with the cold and the cramped day in the boat.

  We planned to beach the boat up the shore a bit, and then wait a few hours until the moon was setting. Then, at the night’s darkest, we would surprise Gormal and Lulach. Hopefully they would be asleep. And so we sailed quietly some way past the cove and then beached the boat and made our way back along the narrow beaches, waiting for the moon to set in the west and the sky to darken.

  “He will have arrows. And perhaps a dagger for closer fighting. We must get close enough so that he can not shoot. For I am thinking he is better with the bow than with close fighting.”

  “Aye, but he is none so bad at close fighting. Look at Liam. And Niall. And the saints only know what other weapons he might have stored in that cave.”

  Mariota refused to wait at the boat and I looked at her face, a white blur in the moonlight. She had a dagger and she assured me she could use it. But her face appeared pinched and nervous, and I thought I heard her murmuring a prayer as we silently made our way towards the cove. The night grew cold. We reached our position and stopped, waiting. I watched the stars swirl until the moon finally set. We silently rubbed dirt on our faces to make them less visible and started the climb up the narrow path.

  I could smell peat smoke from the fire as we neared the top of the path but heard no sound. Perhaps they slept and our ruse had worked. Then I myself muttered a prayer, although I am not usually a praying man.

  We reached the summit of the track and stood outside the door. In the instant before Fergus pushed it open, I heard labored breathing on the other side and realized they were ready for us.

  As the door opened a rock hurtled down from within. Fergus blocked it with his shield while I cut with my long dagger, trying to wound the attacker. But I slashed at the air only, and in the dark of the cave it was difficult to see. I heard a thump and then some crashes as Fergus wrestled in the dark with someone.

  The glow of the peats cast a dim light in the cave. I could see Fergus struggling with Lulach, but for a moment could not see his mother. Then the woman came at us swinging a torch, swearing and cursing. I dodged the torch as she swung it at my face, then slashed at her, thinking I had cut her, but perhaps I only slashed the air again.

  She threw the brand at me but Mariota, behind me, caught it up and thrust it at the old woman’s face, and she shied away from the flame. In that instant, I was able to grab her by the wrists. My arms are strong and, although the arrow wound pained me, I was able to hold her there while Mariota tied her wrists together with some rope we had brought with us.

  Fergus had gotten the better of Lulach and as I glanced, I saw that Lulach was bound as well. I sighed, relieved things had gone our way.

  “And now,” I said, “we talk.”

  Lulach said nothing and his mother stared obstinately ahead.

  “You were killing that young boy, were you not? On Colonsay? Why? And why shoot at us over on the other side of the island?”

  Lulach did not reply, so I tried my question again, speaking more loudly, and slowly, as though to an idiot.

  “He’ll not speak with you.” His mother spat out the words. “He speaks but little.”

  “Does he have the power of speech?” asked Mariota.

  The old woman shrugged and answered a little more calmly. “When he wishes, he can speak.”

  I turned towards her. “Why did you run from us, that last time we were here?”

  She shrugged again. “And whyever not, if this is the way you treat us?” After a pause she added, “I did not want you to learn who I was. And then, after I told you, I was afraid.”

  “You are from C
olonsay, are you not?”

  She nodded.

  “And why did you come here?”

  “I could not stay there, after what they did to him.”

  She nodded towards her son, who sat, stolid, on the floor. “They would have killed him, to drive the faerie out of him. How could I stay there? I had to care for him and keep him safe until my own son was brought back to me. And I could not care for him there. My own parents would have tried to drive the changeling away again, thinking to bring my own son home. But I knew their efforts would fail.”

  “And so you came here. Why not farther away?”

  She shrugged yet again. “This seemed far away enough. We were safe here for many years. We would have been safe here still, were it not for you.”

  “Were it not for the dead child on Carnan Eoin. Were it not for him, you would have been still left in peace.”

  Suddenly Lulach spoke, his voice slow and deliberate. “I did not kill him.”

  We all turned, surprised. After speaking, Lulach still sat as though no words had left his lips.

  “Well, who did?”

  “It was the shining one that did it,” Lulach replied in that same flat voice.

  I saw Fergus cross himself, at mention of the faerie.

  “He hid him in the stones.”

  “And where were you, to be watching all of this? And who is the shining one?” I questioned, growing frustrated and fearful of the sithichean all at the same time.

  “I saw it,” Lulach repeated. “He shot him, then hid him in the stones.”

  “And where were you?”

  But Lulach did not speak again.

  “He did go to Colonsay in his boat.” Gormal finally broke the silence. “Often he would go there to the old house and the cairn. I never went back.” She shuddered. “Never.”

  “I am thinking there was gold on that island, hidden in the Carnan Eoin. The boy was finding a wee bracelet and another man found some things.”

  Gormal shook her head again and looked sadly at Lulach. “This one cares nothing for such things. For all he is of the faerie. He has his treasures, but gold is not among them.”

  “What treasure?” asked Mariota, curious.

  “I will show you. But you must untie me.”

  I looked at Fergus, who scowled.

  “She’ll be tricking us again,” he muttered.

  Gormal glared back at him. “I would not. But look, in the chest. There is a box.”

  Fergus rummaged in the chest and pulled out a box of wood, with painted designs on it.

  “There, that is his treasure.”

  Lulach became agitated as he saw Fergus holding the box and began to kick and struggle against the ropes holding his arms.

  “You’d best put it down,” observed Gormal with a sigh. “He is aye particular about it. He does not like anyone else to handle it.”

  “What is in it?” asked Mariota again.

  “Take it and open it in front of him, so he can see.”

  Mariota took the box from Fergus and carried it carefully over to where Lulach sat on the floor.

  “Here, look. We shall not harm your treasure. We just mean to look inside. Here, I will place it here and just open the top.”

  Lulach sat silent, avoiding her eyes, but he stopped struggling.

  “All right?” questioned Mariota again before she opened the box.

  The box was brimful of limpet shells. Lulach smiled when he saw them.

  “See,” Gormal said Then she repeated, “that is his treasure. He has no gold. Poor amadan. He lines them up and counts them for hours. He always has done so, even as a young child. Here, he will show you.”

  I nodded to Fergus, who loosened Lulach’s bonds. He immediately poured the shells out, and started lining them up in rows of thirteen with thirteen rows to make a square, then started again with more shells. After he had used all the shells, he destroyed the squares and then started arranging them again, in spirals this time. The light from the fire glinted on the white shells, while he sat absorbed in the task.

  “He will sit and do that for hours,” explained Gormal. “It’s as I said. He’s of the faerie.”

  * * * * *

  “They did not kill Niall,” Mariota said. “Why not let them go?”

  “Lulach says he did not kill Niall,” I corrected.

  “He is a poor amadan,” retorted Mariota. “Look at him.” We watched Lulach a moment. He sat peaceably enough, arranging and rearranging his limpet shells, totally absorbed in his task. “Do you really think he was killing Niall? An idiot like that?”

  Fergus snorted. “He may not have killed Niall, but he was shooting at us right enough yesterday. As Muirteach can attest.”

  “Are you knowing why he would shoot at us?” I asked the witch.

  Gormal shrugged. “A cornered badger bites.”

  “Will you come with us to Colonsay and help us?”

  “And why should I be doing that? I know nothing of murdered boys or of faerie gold.”

  “You would say anything to save your son.”

  “I tell you, he isn’t my son, for all that I’ve had care of him all these years.”

  “Well, your son or no, I’m thinking you might still know more than you’ve told us. Or he might,” said Fergus, nodding towards Lulach, who continued to arrange the shells in patterns.

  “He knows no more than what he’s told you already. You must not take him to Colonsay. He will be afeared.”

  “He goes there on his own already, does he not?”

  “No one sees him—he is afeared of the people there, because of what was done to him. Look,” she said, struggling with her ropes. “Oh, untie me, so I can show you.”

  I nodded to Fergus, who complied, grumbling.

  Gormal rubbed her wrists, then went over to her son. “Here, sweeting, just turn around.”

  Lulach obediently turned, and Gormal raised the back of his shirt, revealing a mass of old white scars and welts over his back.

  “The poor thing!” exclaimed Mariota, and I thought I saw tears in her blue eyes.

  For myself, I felt sick. I thought of the dead boy at Riasg Buidhe, and realized with a sharp and horrid clarity that he had not died of his fever.

  “Yes,” said Gormal, “that is what they did to him all those years ago when they put him to the fire. He nearly died, but I did not let death take him. I’ve sworn he will never go back there to that again.”

  The sun had risen while we talked and Mariota yawned. My eyes felt gritty as well, and my hand throbbed where the arrow had struck it the day before.

  “You sleep,” I told her, as I re-tied our prisoners. “I will keep watch.”

  * * * * *

  We slept in shifts and then discussed what to do. Fergus was all for taking the two of them to Colonsay, and I agreed with him. The changeling might not know of the gold, but evidently he had seen Niall’s murder. And whoever the “shining one” was, I did not think it was a faerie. Perhaps Lulach could identify him, if we could get him to speak again.

  And so after a time we decided to do just that, and Gormal grudgingly agreed to the plan. However the day was already almost gone, and it seemed better to stay one more night on Jura rather than attempt the crossing so late in the day. Fergus moved our boat down to the cove below, and we ate a meager dinner of oatmeal—hot at least, this time—and prepared to stay another night.

  I dozed off, then awoke suddenly. All was quiet. Too quiet, I thought. The door creaked and I called out for Fergus.

  By the light of the fire we could see Lulach’s place was empty. As was Gormal’s. I saw a shadow cross the threshold towards the outside. “They’re escaping!”

  I threw myself out the door and nearly grabbed him, but a blow to my head from behind left me stumbling and Lulach far down the track to the beach. Still stunned, I turned back to see Fergus with a hastily lit torch, while Mariota struggled down the path to the beach after Gormal, who had brushed past me when I fell.


  “Muirteach, be fast,” Mariota called back to me. “He is making for the boat.”

  I sped down the track followed by Fergus, but Lulach already had gained the beach. I heard the noise of the waves as he shoved the boat into the water.

  “You will not find him!” Gormal shrieked as she followed, running out through the cold waves to the boat and clambering aboard. “He has escaped you again. He can come and go like the silver ones, for he is of the faerie.”

  And so indeed it seemed, and perhaps Gormal herself was of the faerie, for they both had moved as silently and quickly as quicksilver.

  We readied our own craft and pushed it into the water after them. Fergus pulled at the oars while Mariota and I struggled to raise the sail in the darkness. “We can gain on them easily,” I reassured her. “We have a big sail, and the wind is blowing our way.”

  And so it seemed for a time. The sail was up, and both Fergus and I worked the oars. Despite the cold of the night, I felt sweat trickle down my face, and my breath came hard as we rowed after them while the wind pushed us closer to our quarry. Their boat, a black blur on the waves, grew larger in the distance, and I fancied I could make out the two figures aboard. And then I saw a spark flicker in the darkness ahead.

  A tongue of flame, small at first, caught on the lowered sail of their boat.

  “You will never catch him. I will never let you have him,” came another cry from the boat, carrying across the water as we drew near. Slowly the fire grew, the little yellow and orange flames licking hungrily at the sail and gathering in strength, taking hold of wood and linen and rope.

  “Dia,” swore Fergus as he rowed even harder, “the witch is burning the boat. She must have had a flint and steel out there.”

  “Muirteach, we must get closer, we must save them,” cried Mariota, frantic. But we were not fast enough.

  The boat burst into orange flame against the dark sky. We watched in horror as the fire burned out, listening to the crack as the mast fell down and the roar of the burning wood on top of the dark waters, and our nostrils filled with the stench of the blaze.

  Chapter 19

  We found Gormal clinging to a plank as the sky began to lighten. Of Lulach there was no sign. We dragged the woman, frozen and shivering, into our boat, and abandoned our search. Mariota wrapped Gormal in her own mantle, and chafed her hands to warm them while we sailed back to the little cove.