“Can you guide us out of the trees so we may see our way clear?”
“Perhaps.”
“We have some food,” Niamh said, speaking for the first time and smiling at the man. “We’d be pleased if you’d break your fast with us.”
The man nodded and Niamh hastened to rekindle the fire and heat their stew. While she did so, Olaf and the man, who was called Arwel, sat talking together. Arwel was a charcoal maker who lived alone in the woods for much of his time. He only transported his charcoal to the nearest settlements a few times a year. He looked at Olaf’s useless arm curiously.
“What happened to you?”
“An axe blow from a raider,” Olaf said, telling the story that he had decided was near enough to the truth. “I didn’t run fast enough.”
“You escaped though, which was more than my sister did. She used to live on the river bank, until she was taken captive and her man killed. God damn those murderers to hell. They can get up here because their boats are shallow enough. May the sea serpents take the lot of them.”
After they had eaten, Arwel led them out of the forest and left them at its edge. The day was dark and cloudy and, without his help, they would have walked in circles again. In a surprisingly short time the trees thinned out. From the top of a small rise, they were able to look down past the meadows to where the river flowed.
“Thank you, friend. It would have taken us days to find the way without your help,” Olaf said.
“You’re a magician. You know every tree and blade of grass in this wood,” Niamh said.
Arwel laughed, a hollow rusty sound. “I’ve lived among these trees all my life. No magic to it. Wish there was. The only magician I’ve heard tell of makes a fine living and has everything he wants. No hard life in the woods for him.”
Olaf and Niamh exchanged glances and Niamh asked, “You’ve met a magician? Who?”
“Don’t know his name. Only heard some of the stories they tell about him. You’ll likely find out more if you’re going down the river. He lives somewhere that way yonder or so they say.” Arwel waved his hand in the direction he meant.
“What are these stories?” Olaf asked.
“Too long to tell you now. Got to get back to my fire. He cures people and makes the crops grow. Something like that.”
“Perhaps he might be able to cure my arm if I asked him,” Olaf said.
“Maybe, if you want to take the chance. Myself, I’d say he’d do more harm than good and you’d be best to stay away, but you’re not me. Good luck to you if you want to try.”
“I’d try anything to get some use back in my arm. Where could we find this man?”
“There’s a village on that hill you can see over there. They’re fisher folk mostly.” Arwel pointed. “The river bends beneath the village making a bay where they keep their boats. The man comes there sometimes, peddling his cures. They’ll know when he’s due to come back again. Ask them and say I sent you.”
“Thanks for all your help. I will.” Olaf held out his good hand and Arwel grasped it firmly. They said goodbye and watched as Arwel turned and vanished into his woods leaving them alone again.
“How lucky you spoke of magic to Arwel,” Olaf said when he had gone.
“And even better luck he’d met the man we are searching for,” Niamh replied.
“It may not be the same man,” Olaf cautioned her.
“How many magicians are found in the same place?” Niamh challenged. “Anyway I know it’s him. I just know it.”
“Well, we’ll soon find out if you’re right.”
They hurried down the hill, taking care to skirt the water meadows as they did so and not venture into the woods. The way was boggy and the journey was tiring. It took longer than they expected, but they got there at last. As had become their custom, they did not go into the village immediately but lay hidden while they watched the people for a while.
“What do you think?” Niamh asked.
“They seem peaceful enough. Let’s go.”
Olaf pulled her to her feet and rummaged in his pack to find his pipes. They straightened their clothes, stood on the path and took deep breaths. Then Niamh started to sing, while Olaf wove his melody around her voice.
23
“He hasn’t been here for some time,” one of the women told them. The meal and the singing were over and they sat around the fire telling stories. “None of us has been sick and needed him.”
“But he hasn’t gone far away?” Olaf asked.
“No. My sister’s son, who lives on the other side of the river, broke his foot badly, so they summoned him and he came. That was only a few weeks ago.”
“You summoned him?” Niamh asked. “How do you do that?”
“Did you see the oak tree at the top of the hill when you came into the village?”
“We did. Odd that it grows all alone, with no other trees around it.”
“It’s always been like that, even when my grandma was little. Everyone can see it for miles. If we need the magician, we hang out a piece of material from the top of its branches. When he sees it, he comes to find out what’s happened.”
“How does he come?”
“Sometimes by boat, often along the forest path. It depends on where he is when he spots it, I suppose.”
“Does it take a long time for him to come?”
“A day or two usually. Once it was five days before he came. He said then that he’d been far to the north, when he heard we wanted him. The people he was treating needed him too, so he couldn’t come at once. It’s always such a relief when he strides into the village with a pack on his back and his dog beside him. Then we know that the person who’s ill has a chance of living.”
“He’s that good then?”
“He doesn’t cure everybody, no one can do that, but many are alive today because of him. My man had a fever and we thought he was gone, but the magician gave him a brew of some herbs and he recovered. There he is.” The woman, who was called Adlais, pointed. “Seems healthy enough now, doesn’t he?”
“Do you think he could cure my arm?” Olaf pulled his arm forwards to show her. She screwed up her nose when she saw it.
“That’s a proper mess isn’t it? Must have hurt you a lot.”
“I’m lucky to be alive.”
“Don’t know if he can help you, but you can ask. I’ll get Ifor to put up the signal for you tomorrow.”
“We’ll go to him,” Niamh said. “We don’t want to cause any trouble.”
“No trouble,” Adlais replied. “There’re others here who need some more of his remedies. None of them are important, but they’d be glad enough of an excuse to call him. Anyway, you’d never find him. We don’t know where he goes. Some men followed him once to find out, but they walked into an evil-smelling cloud which made them cough and their eyes streamed with water. When they recovered, the mist was gone but so was he.” She grinned. “Besides, we’d like you to stay for a while. We enjoy your songs and your tales. They’re different and we’re sick of our own. Stay until the magician comes. He won’t be long.”
The next day, as Adlais promised, a large linen sheet was hoisted into the branches of the oak tree. It flapped vigorously in the wind and Niamh realised it would be visible for miles. Her thoughts, as she stood there, were a kind of delicious expectation of what was to come, half fearful, half excited. Questions tumbled over each other in her mind. Was their long search over at last? Would the magician really respond to the signal? Was he the same man who had taught Renny? Would he prove to be her father? If he was, would she like him? Would he be pleased to meet her or not?
That day passed and the next, without bringing any answers. Niamh went to sleep on the second night, feeling very disappointed and a little fearful as well. Had some mischance befallen the magician so that he could not come? Would he come at all?
He came with the dawn, his ship slipping out of the mist and gliding onto the beach. One of the young lads, who was herding the ca
ttle back to their grazing, set up a shout that roused the sleepers.
“Here he is,” Adlais called. “Come and meet him.”
Niamh felt herself trembling as she got up from her sleeping place and went out of the hut and down to the river bank. The man was ashore, a tall man but slightly stooped. He had white hair and a white beard and wore dull coloured robes. His face was deeply lined. He walked vigorously but he held a long staff in one hand and occasionally leaned upon it. His other hand rested lightly on the head of a huge grey dog that stood beside him. The dog’s muzzle was white too and it walked stiffly. As Adlais greeted him and the magician said,
“You signalled. What need do you have of me?”
“We have visitors who have travelled far for your assistance.” She beckoned Olaf and Niamh forward.
“I am Abban,” Olaf said, giving the name he had used since he left the island. Normally it provoked no reaction but the magician gave him a sharp glance. “And this is my wife, Niamh.”
The magician peered closely at her. Niamh smiled hesitantly at him. “You may call me McLir.” Niamh could not repress the little gasp that escaped her. So it was him; the man she had come to find. “Niamh — not a name you hear often in this land. I’ve only known one other, a long time ago in a place far away from here. She was a child then, a fair-haired girl running free in the sunshine.” The magician’s voice was deep. He spoke in the common tongue, but Niamh’s heart lifted as she recognised the underlying lilt of her own people. Slowly she reached up and slipped the covering from her head. Her hair glowed in the morning light.
“Niamh of the golden hair,” the magician murmured and his eyes seemed to look inward for several moments. Then he shook himself and turned back to Olaf.
“How can I aid you?”
Olaf pulled back his sleeve and showed his mangled arm. McLir’s hands passed over it slowly, pressing deeply into the flesh.
“A bad break and not well tended.”
“The person who tended me did her best, but she knew little about such injuries at that time,” Olaf said smiling at Niamh. “I owe my life to her. Everyone thought I was going to die and, without her help, I certainly would have done so. Can you give me back some use of it?”
“Perhaps.”
“Come inside,” Adlais said, “no need to stand here while you talk and there are others who want to speak with you, now that you have come.”
Later on, when McLir had looked closely at Olaf’s arm he said, “The break was set awry and the bones are twisted. The lumps are the muscles which have been bent and hardened into their new positions. The injuries you suffered later tore the muscle fibres apart and made the original injury worse. These are battle injuries or I am no judge of such things.”
Olaf looked round quickly but there was no one near them. “They are,” he confirmed.
“And both wounds have been received in the last two years?”
Olaf nodded.
“What does a so-called musician have to do with battles?”
“I have not been a musician all my life.”
“That much is evident. Also I think your mother didn’t call you Abban at your birth; the name does not fit.”
Olaf grinned. “Also true. I was not born to be an abbot. Abban is a convenience but does my real name matter to you?”
“Not to me, but perhaps to these people here, depending on why you’ve come among them.”
“I came seeking you. I was told that, out of all the world, you might be able to heal my arm.”
“Who told you that of me?”
“Her name is Renny.”
“Renny!” The man’s face suddenly changed. His eyes blazed and his lips curved into a delighted smile. “You have seen her recently? Tell me about her.”
“She is well. She’s married. She has a young son called Finnr and another baby who must be born by now. She’s a healer and a teacher among her own people and mine. Her fame has spread far and wide. She says that she owes her knowledge of these things to you.”
“I never thought to have tidings of her again. This is news beyond hope you tell me. When did you meet her last?”
“In the early summer. My last injury would not heal. Niamh believed she would be able to help me. She did stop the bleeding and the wound has healed, but she said that she feared to do more in case she made things worse. She told me that, if anyone could heal me, you would be able to. We’ve been searching for you ever since.”
“So they know on the island which way I went?” McLir’s voice sounded uneasy.
“Only Renny and Edan, her husband, know, for they watched you leave. Renny told Niamh when we wanted to find you. She has never told anyone else.”
“And how did you find me?”
“We went from place to place. Your trail was difficult to find, a story here, a rumour there. It was only when we met a woman whose sight you restored, that we had any certain knowledge of you.”
“Ah, Kendra! I remember her. She responded well to the treatment. Can she still see?”
“Very well and she never stops praising you.”
“I’m glad. It was a simple matter in the end and good to know that she is well. Not everyone is as lucky.”
“Can you do anything about my arm?”
“I’m not certain. There are things I could do, but whether they would give you back any strength or movement I cannot be sure.”
“What are those things?”
“Your arm must be broken again and the bones set so that they lie straight. With luck the muscles can be unravelled at the same time when the bones are properly aligned. Time has passed, though, and it’s possible that they’re stuck together and will not part. Whatever I do will cause you intense pain and may not make your arm any better.”
“Have you ever done this before?”
“From time to time, I have broken bones before and reset them so that movement was restored. I must tell you, though, that never before have I seen so complex an injury. It’s for that reason I can’t be sure of the consequences.”
“Will you try?”
“If you ask me to.”
“Would breaking his arm again make it worse?” Niamh asked.
“I don’t believe so. At worst it would stay as it is now, but this isn’t a thing to be decided in haste. I must remain here to meet with the others who need my help. I usually spend the night when I come and I won’t leave before morning. Think of what I’ve said and talk about it together. Make your decision and tell me. I’ll act upon it if you wish me to.”
Neither Olaf nor Niamh thought of anything else that night, although they took their parts in the usual singing and storytelling that followed the evening meal. Their minds were not on what was happening around them and both of them made mistakes, missing notes or leaving out part of a story. They were glad when they could excuse themselves and go to bed. Niamh felt that she did not close her eyes at all. She must have done, for she woke to Olaf’s touch in the early light.
“Come outside. I must talk to you.”
They walked along the riverbank. “Have you decided?” Niamh asked.
“Tell me what you think first.”
“I think you should go ahead,” she said as firmly as she could, although her voice was shaking.
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re a very brave man. You’ve suffered so much pain and this’ll make you suffer again, perhaps even worse than you did before. I couldn’t do it myself but you could, I know it. You can face any danger and, if you don’t do this, you’ll always regret the fact that you didn’t try. Isn’t that so?”
Olaf smiled. “You know me too well. Do you think you could nurse me again as you did before. I won’t sicken you with my weakness?”
“Never!”
“And if my arm remains useless, you’ll not grieve?”
“I’ll grieve, but we’ll both know that it was meant to be. We came all this way to find McLir in the hope he could heal you. I say, let him try.�
�
“So be it, then.”
24
When it came to the breaking of Olaf’s arm, Niamh found she could not look. They were no longer in the village. When Olaf had told McLir of his decision, the magician nodded and said,
“I’ll do as you ask. You’re young and strong and, if the gods favour us, we may have some success.”
“When?”
“Soon, but not here. There’s a woman who’s skilled in caring for the sick. She has helped me before and this will not be a simple or easy thing to do. We’ll go to her, so that she can oversee your care if I am called away.”
So, later on that morning, Olaf and Niamh boarded McLir’s boat and set off downstream. The current was swift and there was no need to raise the sail. They had only to fend off the occasional large rocks that appeared from time to time in the water. It was barely noon when McLir turned the prow towards the bank where a small stream entered the main river.
“We must walk from here,” he said.
Olaf jumped down from the high prow and lashed the boat to a tree. “Shouldn’t we hide it?” he asked.
McLir smiled. “The people know whose ship this is and no one would dare to touch it. They’re afraid I would turn them into toads if they steal it or take anything from it.”
“And would you?” Niamh asked, her eyes wide.
McLir laughed at the awe in her voice. “I don’t have such powers and I’m not sure I would use them if I did. Come now.” McLir shouldered his pack and led the way along a faint trail that led into the hills. The path quickly became steep and Niamh had little breath left for speech as they struggled upwards. They crossed a flat summit and then plunged down into a valley on the other side of the hill. They walked for some time, until they entered dense woodland. This brought back memories of being lost, but McLir did not hesitate and went forward with confidence. Niamh looked around her and she could see no signs which would guide him on his way. Then he stopped and pointed. A spiral of smoke rose in the sky.
“We’re almost there,” McLir said, hurrying forward. They followed closely and came to the edge of the woods. A small group of huts appeared before them, with fields in which crops were growing and animals grazed. They were seen, for a whoop went up. Two children came running, a boy of about ten summers and a little girl who could barely walk. McLir stopped and opened his arms to them and they plunged in.
Niamh of the Golden Hair (Manannan Trilogy Book 2) Page 15
