The Prophecy (Kingdom of Uisneach Book 1)

by Heidi Hanley

  “Well, dried meat and bread do have a way of making you grateful for something heartier,” Sigel agreed, as he divided the meat pie in half, and then thirds. Briana wrapped the other half and put it away, in case they needed it tomorrow.

  Talking subsided, allowing their bellies the luxury of feeling full for the first time in days.

  Twilight changed to dusk and then to darkness. All vestiges of fog and mist dissipated, leaving only the brilliantly studded night sky.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered reverently, seeing the vertical sword of the Milky Way stabbing from heaven to earth.

  “Aye,” Silas agreed.

  “No, I mean really beautiful. In my time, there are so many competing lights, you don’t get to see it like this.”

  Stars danced overhead as the bard quietly sang of a beloved king in language that almost made Briana believe she could fall in love with such a man.

  She must have drifted off, because Sigel was gently nudging her awake, encouraging her to go to her tent. “I’ll post guard first, then Silas will take the morning half. You, little one, are going to have a full night’s rest.”

  “Oh, no, I’ll do my share,” she protested, with a yawn, but Sigel was insistent.

  “Not tonight, Briana. You need some rest. We’ll do well enough without you.”

  She glanced over at Silas, who nodded his agreement and said quietly in the old language, “Oiche, mhaith a mhuirnin.” She didn’t know what it meant but oh, it sounded sooo nice.

  *

  She awoke to full daylight. Trying not to disturb anyone, Briana lifted the flap of her tent, which faced the brook. Silas knelt by the stream washing his face. Shirtless. His back was strong and carved with sinewy muscle, the broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist. Sitting back, he turned slightly but didn’t seem aware of her. She should turn away and allow him privacy, but simply couldn’t take her eyes off him. Blonde hair lay softly across the upper part of his chest, tapering down to his belly. On the left side of his chest she noticed a small inked drawing of a tree with crossed arrows across its trunk. His kilt slid down a little on his hips when he moved. She held her breath. Her belly was doing some wild gymnastics and she felt her heart drumming out a loud tattoo. She raised a hand to her chest to stop the flutter, catching his attention. He stared back at her with a look so devastatingly honest that it was all she could do to not go to him. Time held them in an embrace of understanding, both exciting and painful.

  Oh my Maker, this cannot happen. I’m promised to another, she thought. Somehow the message, translated through her eyes, perhaps, reached him. He stood and walked away, permitting them both the dignity of recovery.

  After her breathing and heart rate returned to normal, she recalled the black medallion with a gold tree hanging from a leather cord around his neck. Her hand automatically went to her own mysterious pendant. Something they shared, but why?

  Thoughts continued to race around inside her head. What should I do? How do I act as though nothing happened?

  When she left the tent, luckily, there was no sign of Silas. Sigel bustled around, putting things in packs and readying them to go. “Good morning, Briana. Sleep well?”

  “Yes,” she responded, woodenly. She tried to appear nonchalant, but the marshall was too observant for her.

  “Briana, you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  He didn’t look convinced, but let it drop until Silas wandered back to the campsite, looking equally apprehensive. “Something wrong, Bard?”

  Silas shook his head wordlessly, not looking at him.

  Sigel glanced back and forth between the two. “Is there something I should know?”

  Silas and Briana spoke at once: “No!” Sigel stared thoughtfully at them and muttered, “Let’s go. We should be at Cailleach’s by late afternoon.”

  Briana shouldered her pack and sheathed her blade while Silas arranged his quiver and bow, as well as a guitar-like instrument attached to a shoulder strap and a small skin-covered drum at his waist.

  The man hauls a lot of stuff around, she thought.

  He motioned her ahead of him and she started forward, with Sigel in the lead.

  She whispered, “Silas, I…” She really didn’t know what to say, and stopped.

  He smiled kindly. “It’s all right, a mhuirnin. No harm done.”

  She walked a few feet and then asked, “What does that mean, a mhuirnin?” Her tongue stumbled over the pronunciation.

  Sigel answered her question with an impatient growl. “It means ‘sweetheart.’ Now, come on you two, can we please just get going?”

  She stumbled over the nearest rock and would’ve fallen if Silas hadn’t caught her arm. He righted her and said with a wink, “Just a wee endearment, Briana. Come on, let’s go meet a witch.”

  A wee endearment? She mulled that over for the next few miles. Was he telling her she had misunderstood his attention? After a while, the uncomfortable silence was replaced by Silas’ soft humming.

  They asked her some questions about where she came from, and she discovered that talking about airplanes and television and the internet was a good way to get her mind off the bard. While Sigel had lots of inquiries about technology, Silas was more interested in pop culture and of course, music.

  They spent most of the morning following a ribbon of trail along a ridgeline with spectacular vistas. She stopped the men once to gaze out toward the northwest, where the mountains seemed to roll purposely down toward what she imagined was the ocean. Pointing in the direction of her gaze, Silas said, “Cedarmara, where I was born and raised, is that way. A few day’s walk.”

  “I bet it’s beautiful,” she said, admiring the panorama. “I hope we get to go there someday.”

  “Oh, we will,” Sigel said. “When we release the king and the two of you are married, the king will want to visit all of the island to reestablish relationships with his people, and introduce them to his bride. Of course, all of that while we are decimating the Gray Military and killing Lord Shamwa.”

  “Sounds like a lovely honeymoon,” Briana muttered.

  Sigel pointed to the opposite side of the ridge from Cedarmara. “See that valley?” She nodded, though in truth it was still quite far off. “Cailleach’s cabins are down there. It will be late, but I think we can make it today.”

  They walked on. Briana asked Silas about his boyhood in Cedarmara.

  Nostalgia softened his eyes. “Well, Cedarmara is a beautiful harbor. Me father fished there for a livin’. He and mum worked hard and loved well, each other and me. I was an only child and they spoiled me terrible. Me father loved to tell stories at night at the hearth, and I took easily to it meself, soon replacin’ him as the storyteller of the family. Before long, I was tellin’ stories to the whole village. Sometimes it got me in trouble.”

  “Trouble? How?”

  “Oh, once I made up a story about me friend stealin’ a lamb from his neighbor. It was quite the adventure and had everyone laughin’, but it was completely untrue.”

  “Couldn’t the boy see the humor?”

  “Not with his backside burnin’ from the beatin’ he took when his da thought he really had stolen it. I felt terrible about it, but the apology to his da didn’t remove the pain from his bum, aye.”

  She grimaced, imagining how this might have played out.

  His knack for music and storytelling, even as a child, became a local legend and soon attracted the attention of King Barclay. He was commissioned and brought to Ard Darach, where he perfected his craft and was eventually appointed Royal Bard to the House of Taranian.

  “I was happy enough, though I missed Cedarmara. Worse yet, was the terrible storm that blew through one winter and took me parents’ lives. They were out fishin’ when the weather turned fierce and capsized their wee boat.”

  “I’m so sorry, Silas.” Her heart ached for his loss, knowing full well the depth of that particular grief.

  He nodded. “Aye, well, I s
till had me other family. King Barclay and Queen Eleanor were kind and generous surrogates. I grieved, but in time was happy again.”

  “Were you and Brath friends?”

  “Aye, we were – are. He’s not dead, just asleep,” he reminded himself. “We were – are – not as close as he and Sigel here, but we got along well. He treated me like an annoyin’ wee brother, which I suppose I am.” He laughed and recalled a few stories about the king. She listened, enjoying the sound of his voice, wishing the day would go one forever.

  “One more question,” she asked, catching sight of the scar over his eye.

  “Aye?”

  “How did you get the scar on your eyebrow?”

  “Here we go,” Sigel muttered.

  “Well, lass, it was like this. I suffered the wound in a fight to protect a lass’s virtue.”

  “Oh, my,” Briana said, intrigued.

  “A bonny lass, but much too young to understand the consequences of her flirtin’, she attracted the attention of the wrong man. When he demanded more than she meant to give, there was a tussle and I felt honor bound to step in and give her time to get away from the situation. In the process, the man’s knife connected with me head.”

  “You were lucky he didn’t take out an eye.”

  “Aye, I was, indeed. I like the mark, though. Gives me a rather gallant look, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, certainly,” she said with a smile.

  The late afternoon sun began to cast shadows in the forest, accompanied by the usual symphony of noises, but suddenly Briana heard a different sound, like an animal whimpering. She asked the men to stop a moment as she tried to determine the direction of the cries. It seemed to be coming from below them. She followed a trail of crushed ferns that led down a bank to an old birch stump. The whimpering grew louder. She pulled back some overgrown shrubs and was astonished to see a very large dog, its gray fur matted and grungy. “An Irish wolfhound,” she murmured, and started to bend down toward it. Sigel grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

  “Careful, Briana, he’s wounded. He might bite.” As if to prove it so, the dog growled. They stood staring at the canine for a few seconds. He was wet, probably from trying to cross the brook beyond, and bloody, with an injured right front paw. He was in bad shape. Sigel looked at Silas and made a motion with his head.

  “Come on, lass,” said Silas. “Let’s go on back up. Sigel will put him out of his misery.” He tried to turn her away, but she jerked away from him.

  “You’ll do no such thing! He needs help, not a slit throat! Sigel, I’m really good with animals. Let me try and tend to him.”

  Looking skeptical, he moved back a little, staying near enough to intervene if the dog reacted badly. Briana got down on all fours, inching forward. “It’s okay, boy, I’ll help you. You’re a handsome fellow, for sure.”

  He stopped whining and gazed pitifully at her. She kept talking, and reaching out gently, ran her hands over his head, neck and the rest of his body, seeking any other injured parts. When he seemed at ease with her, she took his big paw in her hand. Beyond a soft whimper, he did nothing as she examined it. There was no telling what had happened to cause the swelling and laceration on the paw, but it wasn’t actively bleeding. She thought it must have happened some time ago. Briana sat back on her heels, thinking.

  “Can you find me two sticks and some cloth or string we can use to make a splint?

  “You’re not thinking of keeping the animal? That’s a bad idea. He might bark and give our location away, and he’ll need food.”

  Briana paused a moment, looking at the dog, before turning back to Sigel. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew this was a special dog. She was certain he was wise enough to stay quiet when needed; in fact, she suspected he would prove to be an important companion. She felt such a connection to him, deeper than anything she’d ever experienced with another dog. More than friendship. Briana channeled her most queenly expression. “He’s going to stay with me.” Praying he wouldn’t argue, she turned back to the injured canine and continued her ministrations.

  Her tactic worked. Neither man said another word. Silas went to get the supplies she’d asked for and Sigel stood beside her, “just in case.”

  Cloth, sturdy branches and twine in hand, she fashioned the supportive device around the foot as best she could. He cried out once and pulled his lips back over his teeth, but she paused in her ministrations, calming him with her voice, and then went on until the dog’s foot was firmly bound. He whined pitifully when she helped him stand. The hound took a few tentative steps, then looked at Briana with woeful, wondering eyes.

  Silas looked at her with new appreciation, but Sigel was the first to speak. “You’ve a rare gift, lass.”

  She shrugged, hesitant to accept the compliment, not finding it necessary for them to thank or praise her for doing what seemed the only humane thing to do.

  “Well, anyway, come on, we need to find someplace to rest for the night. This has put us behind and I don’t want to arrive at Cailleach’s after dark,” Sigel said.

  The sun had sunk below tree line and the wildwood was hauntingly dark when Sigel finally indicated a good spot protected by a rock overhang where they could make a small fire and spend the night.

  Once the dog was settled, Briana made a fire and boiled some water. She’d found some wild herbs along the trail for a nice tea and set that to brewing. The dog seemed to rest comfortably now that he was dry and his hurt paw splinted.

  Last night’s leftovers eased the gnawing in their stomachs. “Do you really mean to keep the lad?” Silas asked, breaking off a bit of food and handing it to the dog.

  “Yes, if he’ll stay. The question is, what to name him?” She stared at the hound. “Cedarmara has such a nice ring, but is way too big a name, even for this big guy.”

  Silas toyed with the word and the letters and said, “What about Dara? I knew a monk once by the name of Dara. He had hair the color of this great beast and was about as hairy.”

  They all laughed, and the name stuck. “Dara,” Briana said, as she caressed the tangled coat along his sides and neck. He looked up at her with trusting amber eyes. “I’ll take care of you, Dara.”

  “More likely, he’ll take care of you, once he’s well. He’s one big beast,” Sigel said, before adding a log to the fire and lying down on the ground. “Silas, first watch? Wake me in a few hours.” Within minutes he was snoring lightly, as was Dara, leaving Silas and Briana to a peaceful observation of the night sky above. They sat together talking in low tones, trying not to disturb Sigel.

  “I don’t think I thanked you for saving my life,” Briana said.

  “Oh, I’m not so sure I saved your life. Had I given you another minute, you’d have probably had him yourself.”

  “I don’t know about that. I don’t think the bite would have stopped him for long.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Regardless, I had to try and save you, or face the consequences if somethin’ happened to you.”

  “Consequences? What consequences?”

  “Well,” he replied, “We need you to save the king. And once we do, he’s going to want to have his bride all in one piece. He’ll have our heads otherwise.”

  “So you believe the prophecy depends on me marrying the king?”

  “Oh, aye, that’s the way I understand it.”

  She searched his face. He returned her stare directly. Neither of them said anything, but looking into his blue eyes, Briana found marriage to the king less and less appealing every minute.

  Silas chuckled and made an undecipherable noise.

  Stars flickered overhead. They sat in silence until Briana yawned. “Guess I better get some sleep, too. Will you have Sigel wake me when it’s my turn to watch?”

  “Sleep, a mhuirnin, we’ll see you safe till mornin’.”

  She didn’t argue, but curled on her side and covered up with a light blanket that provided more comfort than warmth. The sounds of the night and S
ilas’ soft humming were a lullaby to her tired body, and she drifted into peaceful slumber.

  Chapter Ten

  Cailleach

  “Fresh,” Silas said, looking up from a crouched position over a rounded, moist pile of deer droppings.

  Sigel nodded. “We ought to bring something to help feed the extra mouths we’re bringing. Briana and I could wait here a while if you want to track it.”

  “You’re going to kill a deer?” Briana asked.

  “You want to eat?” Silas asked, wryly.

  “Of course, but…”

  “But nothing, a mhuirnin. This is where that lovely meat pie came from, and there’s only one way to get it.”

  She put a hand to her hip. “I know that, Silas. We hunt in Maine, too. I wanted to watch and see how it’s done.”

  Silas and Sigel exchanged a surprised look. “I thought you’d hate the idea.”

  “I think the death scene in the apple orchard forced me to get over any squeamishness I might’ve had regarding killing something. Don’t you?”

  “Well,” Silas said, “I suppose you’re right, and you probably should learn how to hunt, at least how it’s done here. But you and the beastie will have to be very quiet, aye?”

  She stared at Dara and tried to communicate something to him. Satisfied that he understood, she turned to Silas and nodded.

  Slowly and soundlessly, they searched for deer tracks and other signs of disturbance. The tracks led over a knoll and down through a thicket. Instead of going through the dense brush, Silas led them sideways to the edge. Though the recent misty day had left the woodland floor wet and made stealth easy for both parties, soft blowing gave away the deer’s location, just beyond the thicket. The small buck stood about thirty yards out, his four-pronged antlers turned away from them. Bringing his bow around in front and nocking an arrow, Silas looked at his partners, assuring their silence. All three knelt down and Briana put a hand on Dara.

  Briana watched Silas study the shot, lift his bow and draw back. He closed his eyes and silently mouthed words before opening his eyes again. Then he held his breath and released the arrow.