Nobody else in Wave Skimmer spoke. They avoided Melcorka's eyes as the voice came again, ethereal, drifting around her mind without the luxury of words. 'I am going on to the island,' she decided.
'Steer us closer, Oengus,' Bearnas ordered quietly.
The ship eased even closer to the island, until Melcorka saw a tiny ledge a few feet above sea level, ascending the cliff in a steep diagonal. She followed it upward with her eyes until it vanished, and then she plotted a route upwards to the dizzying heights above.
'Stop here, Oengus, please.' Melcorka poised on the gunwale, swaying on her bare feet as Wave Skimmer bounced and rolled to the rhythm of the sea. She glanced backward, but the stranger who had been her mother said nothing. The voice sounded again, tantalising, eerie on that place of splintering waves and roaring wind.
It was a short leap from the boat to the island and Melcorka landed with a solid thump. She balanced easily and looked up. What had seemed like a definite ledge from the boat was only a miniscule crack with barely sufficient space to lodge her toes.
Melcorka looked over her shoulder but Wave Skimmer had backed away so she was twenty yards offshore with Oengus holding the steering oar and all other eyes fixed on her. The seventh wave in the sequence rose, soaking her to the waist and splattering spray high above her head.
The words came into her head, clear as if somebody stood at her shoulder on that precarious ledge. 'You are on your own, Melcorka: decide.'
'Decide what?' the wind took hold of Melcorka's words and flicked them to the scudding clouds above.
She began to climb, searching for finger and toe holds with the unconscious skill she had honed on a hundred expeditions hunting birds' eggs on the cliffs of Dachaigh. Twice she looked back over her shoulder, to see Wave Skimmer further away and the wind whipping spindrift from the surface of the lunging sea. There was nowhere to go except up.
As she climbed, the cliff seemed to rise before her so the distance to the top never diminished; only the clouds seemed closer. The voice had gone, with the only sounds the howl of the wind and the crash and thunder of the waves against the rock.
The ledge stopped. One step there was a finger wide ridge on which to balance and then there was nothing except wind-smoothed granite stretching upward as far as she could see.
'What do I do now?' She asked of nobody, and started when the voice came again.
'Follow your destiny.'
'Well,' Melcorka heard the tartness in her voice, 'my immediate destiny is a long drop into the ocean, it seems.'
She looked up again, blinked as something dripped from an overhang above and saw a faint dark smudge in the face of the cliff fifteen feet above her head. 'That's a cave,' she said, 'but how do I get up there?'
There was no answer; the cliff above was sheer rock except for a sliver of trailing bramble, thorn laden, that the wind swung this way and that.
'Stay here until my muscles fail, or chance that strand?' Melcorka asked herself. She took a deep breath. 'There is no choice.'
She looked up, saw the slender, barbed branch, tensed her muscles and lunged. For a moment she seemed to hang, suspended in the air with that frightening drop sucking at her, and then her right hand clutched around the bramble strand. Thorns ripped into her palm, drawing blood and making her gasp. She hung on, scrabbled with her feet for purchase and shrieked as the wind blew her back and then slammed her against the face of the rock.
The barbs dug into her hand, drawing blood. She took another deep breath and began to climb up the rock face, inch by inch; trusting that the strand would hold her weight as she slowly ascended the cliff, gasping with effort, sweating with fear.
At last she slipped over the lip of the cave entrance, lay there for a moment until she controlled her breathing and then rose, yelped as she cracked her head on a low roof, and looked around her. The cave stretched ahead as far as the light penetrated, with the ceiling above an inch below head height and gradually lowering.
Melcorka glanced behind her. Wave Skimmer lay a mile offshore, half hidden in a welter of spray. 'They've left me alone here,' she said to herself. Suddenly very lonely, she stooped, took a deep breath and stepped on, slowly, until her eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom and she could see where she was going.
The voice sounded again, echoing around the stone cave so the words were distorted. She heard her name called, heard it again and walked on. 'Who is that?' Her words bounced around the cave.
The ceiling was even lower, forcing her to walk round shouldered, and the walls were green-streaked with constant streams of damp. Within five minutes she was crouching, and then she dropped to her hands and knees, still moving forward, hoping for guidance from that mysterious voice.
She had heard the sound from the second she entered the cave but had paid it no heed. Now it increased from a background murmur to a full blooded roar. Melcorka eased around a dog leg bend and came to a sudden halt. The waterfall descended suddenly before her, a solid wall of water that poured through the roof and thundered down through a hole in the cave floor. There was no way round; she had to either return or try and penetrate the fall.
'So this is my destiny,' Melcorka sat cross legged before the surging water, trying to stare through to see what lay on the other side. 'To sit here and watch water.' She leaned against the rock wall. 'Somehow I don't think this is the end.'
She took a deep breath.
'There is a light source here, something behind the water, or I could not see anything. That means the waterfall has an exit; there is something on the other side.' She stood up. 'I can try, or I can wait for a miracle. Better to try and fail than to fail through fear of the unknown.'
The piping call was new, sharp and distinct. Melcorka saw the brief blur of black and white as the bird flitted past her and straight into the water.
'That's an oystercatcher,' Melcorka said, 'the black and white bird of the shore!' She remembered her mother telling her to follow where the oystercatcher led.
'Oh well, here goes my destiny.' Melcorka leaned into the waterfall and leaned forward, hoping to find something she could hold onto. As she stretched, her feet slipped and she fell forward, clutched uselessly at the water for a hand-hold and yelled as she toppled. But only for a few yards, for then she landed heavily on solid rock. The waterfall was behind her and the cave extended massively in front, broadening into a wide and airy cavern.
Controlling the nerves that made her hands shake and legs tremble, Melcorka took a deep breath and walked on, stumbling on the uneven ground until she reached the furthest end, where the cavern opened up to the outside world.
'I have crossed the island,' she realised, 'and I am looking over the other side.'
A single column of rock split the entrance, rising from the cave floor to the roof. On either side was a bridge of rock, extending to twin sea-stacks that stood above the dizzying drop to the ocean below.
The voice returned. 'Destiny, Melcorka; you must choose your future.'
It was impossible to see the top of both sea-stacks simultaneously; Melcorka had to step from side to side to view one and then the other. She could see an object at the furthest end of each stack, shaded by mist that seemed to cling to the cliff.
'I can't see clearly' she said. 'What have I to choose?'
The mist dissipated, shredding even as Melcorka looked so that one minute the stacks were shrouded and the next they were clear. On the flat summit of the left stack sat a harp, golden stringed on a silken cushion, with a flagon of wine and a basket of ripe apples at the side. Wind teased the strings of the harp so it tantalised her with a soft melody, enticing her to step forward and taste the fruit. Melcorka smiled and reached out, to see the rock-bridge widen to become a highway, beautifully paved in golden blocks, and with a handrail of polished oak.
She looked at the right hand rock stack. This one was narrower, with no basket of fruit on top; no silk cushion, only a rusted sword thrust into a block of granite, while the bridge was as narrow
as the length of her foot, rough-hewn and running with damp.
'So there is my choice. A harp playing some of the most delightful music I have ever heard in my life, or a battered old sword.'
Melcorka looked again. She had no experience of swords, but that one was very much the worse for wear, with a rusted blade and a hilt that was worn and in need of repair.
'My destiny awaits,' Melcorka adopted a semi-mocking tone. She looked again at the stack on which stood the harp. She saw a man there, naked as a new-born baby, handsome as sin and built like a god, with smooth flowing muscles and a smile that would melt a heart of flint. He beckoned to her, waving her into the paradise of music and luxury over which he presided and Melcorka gasped in sudden salacity. The god-man sat on the silk cushions and strummed the golden strings of the harp so music wrapped around Melcorka like liquid passion, enveloping her in thoughts and feelings so strange yet so delightful that she opened her mouth and eyes in astonishment.
The sharp piping of the oystercatcher penetrated her mind and she struggled through the golden mist. The second stack remained as it was, stark, bleak, cold, with the battered sword thrust into that block of rough-hewn granite.
Melcorka took a deep breath; which was her destiny. What should she choose? She looked past the sea-stacks to where the sea met the sky in the hard line of a horizon unbroken by land or sail.
The oystercatcher fluttered around the cavern and landed at her feet.
'Well, black and white bird,' Melcorka said, 'I thought you were going to guide me?'
The oystercatcher gave its high pitched piping call and did not move. The music from the harp grew louder, enticing her to look once more at that platform. The god-man lay on the shimmering couch, sipping from a golden goblet while his left hand idly strummed the harp. He looked at her, smiled and motioned her close.
For a moment Melcorka allowed her eyes to wander over his body, lingering where they wished, and then she stepped back.
'No,' she said. 'I was not brought up in idleness and dissipation.' She stepped away and headed for the right-hand stack, where the sword remained in place, unadorned, uninviting: ugly.
Melcorka took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and marched along the foot-wide bridge to the platform. As she moved, a rising wind plucked at her, flaring her leine so it ballooned around her waist and tossing her hair into a mad black frenzy around her face.
Melcorka straightened her leine, flicked the hair from her face, stubbornly held it in place with her left hand and strode on. She had made her decision; there was no going back. As she stumbled, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, with pieces of rock breaking from the edges of the bridge to fall, end over end, down to the sea. Melcorka watched one fist sized boulder slide away and unconsciously counted the seconds until it vanished. She did not see the splash.
'This bridge is disappearing,' Melcorka said to herself. She lengthened her stride and nearly ran to the sea-stack.
The sword remained where it was, uncompromising, static in its granite bed, with the sharkskin grip on the hilt part unravelled and flapping in the gusting wind.
'Here I am,' Melcorka shouted, 'what happens now?'
There was no answer.
'So where is my destiny?' Melcorka looked around. 'Is this it?'
Nothing appeared to have changed. The rock stack still thrust upward from the sea, connected to the island by that slender bridge of crumbling rock. The wind still blew … Melcorka suddenly realised that something had changed. She looked to the second stack where the god-man had sat on silken cushions and strummed his harp. A mist coiled round and round the stack, rising from the sea like a grey snake that opened its mouth to envelope the column of rock. As Melcorka watched, it covered the god-man, who aged before Melcorka's eyes.
The young man thickened around the waist; his hair thinned and greyed. His shoulders stooped, his belly bulged and then he was middle-aged with pouchy eyes and suddenly he was old, while the gold flaked from the harp and the silk faded to a lifeless grey.
'So what now?' Melcorka asked as the other stack disappeared behind the screen of mist.
'It's your destiny if you grasp it,' the voice was clear in her head.
'If I grasp it?'
Melcorka took hold of the hilt of the sword. There was nothing else to grasp. Immediately she did, the granite in which it was imbedded began to move. Melcorka stepped back as the rock split, with the top section opening up and the lower section remaining fast to the stack. The sword was merely a lever; reality lay inside the rock it had opened.
Melcorka stepped closer; the granite was hollow and within sat her destiny. It lay on a bed of chain mail, five foot in length with a blade of burnished steel, a hilt of ornate bronze and a grip of polished sharkskin. She lifted it, marvelling at the balance. Her hand fitted around the grip as if she was born for it.
'I am Melcorka,' she said her name softly, and then repeated it, louder, 'I am Melcorka of the Cenel Berneas.' She lifted the sword high, testing it for weight as the blade sang a song that seemed terribly familiar yet thrilled her with a new sensation. The surge of power that ran up her arm infused her entire body so she smiled, and then laughed with this new feeling.
'I name you Defender' Melcorka said as she swung and thrust as if she had done so all her life.
She looked back into the granite box, lifted the mail shirt and immediately slipped it on; it was as light as a second skin. She twisted left and right, surprised at her ease of movement. There was also a helmet of plain steel that fitted close to her head and a long-bladed knife that she secreted under her left arm.
'Now I look like a warrior,' Melcorka said to herself. 'All I lack is the skill.' She looked around, 'but how am I to get off this island.'
She saw the grapnel land a few steps from her feet. The hooks scrabbled on the surface and then held. A hand appeared and Oengus' head bobbed over the edge. 'Here you are then, Melcorka.' A grin spread across his grizzled face, 'Bearnas said you would choose the sword.'
'You knew about all this?' Melcorka indicated the twin stacks with their contrasting contents.
'All Cenel Bearnas has been through it,' Oengus looked her up and down. 'You look good in chain.'
'What would have happened if I had chosen the harp?'
'Oh, you'd be dead by now,' Oengus said cheerfully. 'Are you coming down or do you prefer to remain here and play with your sword?'
Chapter Three
Melcorka stood in the bows of Wave Skimmer and stared wonderingly ahead. The mainland of Alba was far larger than she had expected. After a lifetime bounded by the confines of an island that she could walk round in a single day, witnessing the never-ending shore of the mainland with its headland after headland, cove after cove, interspersed with semi-circles of sandy beaches was awe-inspiring. Behind the coast, slow green hills rose, ridge after ridge to the serrated peaks of purple-blue mountains.
'Alba,' Bearnas said quietly. 'Now we will sail as close as possible to the capital and give our message to the king.'
Melcorka touched the hilt of her sword. 'I chose the sword,' she said, 'but I cannot use it and I still do not know what is happening.'
Bearnas smiled. 'You do know; you were born with the way of the sword. Let Defender guide you.'
'I named it that! How do you know its name?'
'Defender is only one name that she has been called. She was named long before your great-great-grandmother was born and she will exist long after you have taken the warrior's path.'
Melcorka laughed. 'I am no warrior.'
'What do you think you are, if not a warrior?' Bearnas raised her eyebrows. 'It is in you.'
'But what do I do? How do I fight?'
'That is a simple question to answer,' Bearnas put her hands on Melcorka's shoulders. 'Look at me, girl!'
'Yes, Mother,' Melcorka fixed her gaze on her mother's eyes. They were steady and bright, wise with years.
'You must never draw blade unless in righteousness; you must defend th
e weak and the good; you must never kill or wound for sport or fun. Do you understand?'
'Yes, mother. I understand.'
'Good,' Bearnas said. 'You must never take pleasure in killing, or kill for revenge or cruelty. You have been granted a gift, and you must use it responsibly or the power will drain and turn against you. Do you understand?'
'I understand,' Melcorka said.
'Good.' Although Bearnas did not smile there was a world of compassion in her face. 'You had a choice between a life of sloth and luxury or a life of duty and devotion. You chose the latter. Your name will be known, Melcorka; sennachies will tell tales of your endeavours and bards will sing of your deeds: or you will die in a ditch and the wind will play tunes through your bones. That is the way of the warrior.'
'It is a hard choice I have made.'
'It was your choice,' Bearnas said. 'If you draw your blade for good, defend the weak and oppose tyranny, Defender will fight for you. She will not fight for injustice, or for the wrong. Remember that Melcorka.'
'I will,' Melcorka said.
'Then this is to help you remember,' Bearnas said and, with all the crew of Wave Skimmer as witnesses, she leaned forward and kissed her daughter on the nose. The resulting cheers did nothing to ease Melcorka's blushes.
'Bearnas! Over there!' The shout came from the masthead. 'Sail ho! Sail on the larboard bow!'
'Keep an eye on it,' Bearnas ordered.
'I will need more than one eye,' the reply came down immediately. 'There is more than one sail. There are two … three … four … there is a whole fleet, Bearnas.'
'I'm coming up.' Although Bearnas would never see fifty again, she scrambled up the rigging like a teenager to join Oengus at the mast head. 'Melcorka,' she called down, 'up you come.'
Oengus slid down the backstay to make room for Melcorka. 'The deck looks tiny from up here,' Melcorka balanced at the masthead without any fear of the height.
'Don't look at the deck,' Bearnas advised, 'until you get used to it, you'll be dizzy and might lose your balance.' She pointed north, 'look over there instead and tell me what you can see.'
The Swordswoman Page 3
