Melcorka tore her gaze from the thumbnail sized deck of Wave Skimmer and looked north. From up here the mainland was more clear, the mountains larger, sharper, starker than she had expected and the coast stretching for ever to the south. Offshore, in a crescent formation, was rank after rank of ships.
'Who are they?' Melcorka asked.
'The enemy,' Bearnas said quietly, 'the men of the North. They are back.'
'Is that who Baetan spoke of?'
'That is who Baetan spoke of,' Bearnas said quietly. 'By rights the king should be first to know; by rights he should make the decision. Yet there is no hiding them from you. They are the enemies of your blood, Melcorka.'
'Have we fought them before?' Melcorka tossed the hair from her eyes. She found it easy to balance on the cross-trees with her legs wrapped around the cool pole of the mast. 'I have heard the sennachie, but I thought that was just a story. I know I have not fought them, but, Mother, you are all geared up like a warrior woman, and all the islanders treat you with respect. And what is this Cenel Bearnas anyway, Mother? Are you the leader here?'
When Bearnas looked at her, Melcorka saw the worry behind her humour. 'So many questions from one woman and she my daughter! By now you will be aware that we are not simple islanders, Melcorka.'
'What are we mother?'
'We are what we are. We are called upon when needed.'
'Are we needed now?' Melcorka looked at the fleet that was creeping noticeably closer. 'Are we going to attack them?'
'You can count, Melcorka. How many are there?'
Melcorka ran her eyes over the fleet. 'Thirty – no there are more behind that headland.'
'That is Cape Wrath – the Cape of Turning,' Bearnas told her. 'The coast alters direction there, rather than south to north it runs east to west.'
'There are more coming from behind the headland of Cape Wrath,' Melcorka said, 'many more.'
'Now count how many ships we have.'
'One,' Melcorka said at once.
'Do you still think we should attack them?'
The wind fluctuated, sending the sail flapping against the single mast. Melcorka shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'No we should not.'
'But you want to?' Bearnas eyes were sharp.
'I want to,' Melcorka agreed.
'Warrior woman,' Bearnas said. She raised her voice. 'Back oars! Oengus, steer for the south. Baetan: beat the time for the oarsmen.'
Baetan thumped the hilt of his sword on the hull, quickening the pace so Wave Skimmer proved true to her name and surged across the water. The crew responded with a will but after half an hour age began to tell and a rasping gasp accompanied each stroke of the oars.
'Keep it going!' Bearnas encouraged as Oengus guided them past a group of skerries, where the sea broke in vicious silver spray against the dark-green rock.
Melcorka watched as the starboard oars nearly skiffed the outer rocks and the back wash rocked the ship, throwing spindrift onto the crew. A clutch of seals watched through round brown eyes.
'Melcorka,' Bearnas spoke above the regular gasps, 'get back aloft and keep watch to the northward. Inform me of everything the Norse do.'
The Norse fleet was more distant, their sails merging with the darkening sky. Melcorka lost count of numbers as the ships changed formation to round a prominent headland.
'We head south,' Bearnas ordered, 'and then east. There is a sheltered bay where even the Norse won't land.'
'We could sail all the way to Alcluid and march from there,' Granny Rowan suggested.
'That would mean passing the territory of the Lord of the Isles,' Bearnas said. 'I am not prepared to do that.'
In these high latitudes night was late in coming, with a slow easing of daylight to a pink flush in the west that faded to a heart-stoppingly beautiful sunset of scarlet and gold that died as the sun slid beneath the horizon. And then darkness was intense, broken only by the slight phosphorescence of waves breaking on unseen skerries and the rising blades of their oars.
'Row soft and easy,' Bearnas ordered, 'sound carries far in the night.'
'Can you hear them?' Melcorka asked.
The sound was distinctive, the deep throated singing of thousands of men growling across the surge and swell of the sea. The song was powerful, an ode to forthcoming slaughter, a battle song to Odin and Thor.
'They are not coming to raid,' Melcorka lifted her sword and felt the thrill of battle run from her hand to her whole body. 'They are coming to conquer. It is in the song they sing.'
'But we are no longer enemies,' Oengus said, 'we share the same king.'
'But not the same blood,' Baetan reminded. He stood in the stern of Wave Skimmer and touched the hilt of his sword. 'Our days of peace have gone.'
'Then God save this land of Alba,' Bearnas said softly, 'for we are ill prepared for war.'
'How did you come to be in the sea?' Melcorka had wanted to ask that question since she had first found Baetan on the beach. Politeness had restrained her curiosity until now.
'The Norse destroyed my village,' Baetan said quietly. 'I was the only survivor.'
'You are a warrior,' Melcorka said bluntly, 'I did not know we had any in Alba.'
'We have them,' Bearnas told her. 'You will meet them by and by.'
The boom of surf on cliff foot alerted them to danger, and the gleam of silver foam showed them where it lay. High above, stars glittered in the dark abyss of the sky.
'Look for the stretch of blackness between the surf,' Bearnas ordered, 'and fear only what you can see.' She moved aft and took control of the steering-oar. 'I remember this coast,' she said, 'obey my orders when I give them.'
Melcorka saw the dark break in between two lines of surf and knew there must be a gap in the cliff wall.
'Up oars; lower the mast,' Bearnas ordered.
Wave Skimmer tossed on the back surge from the cliffs as the crew unfastened the stays that held the mast secure and positioned it back in the bottom of the boat. Melcorka watched, unable to help as she admired this new skill of these middle aged men and women she had thought she knew.
'Oars!' Bearnas said quietly. 'Quarter speed.'
Wave Skimmer barely made headway against the receding tide as Baetan beat the time and the oarsmen grunted with effort. Melcorka watched as the stars suddenly vanished.
'Witchcraft?' she asked.
'Nothing like,' Oengus said. 'Stand tall and raise a hand. Go on!'
Melcorka did so, and touched solid rock. 'We are entering another cave,' she said. 'I did not know there were so many caves in the world.'
'This is no cave, girl,' Bearnas said, 'this is far better; this is a tunnel.'
After five minutes of cautious groping through the tunnel, with the oars on either side scraping on rock, Wave Skimmer re-emerged into the open air, with a circle of star-specked sky above.
'Steer starboard,' Bearnas ordered 'hard against the rock face.'
Wave Skimmer eased toward a granite cliff, smoothed by the constant caress of the sea. 'Up oars,' Bearnas said, 'smart now.' The crew lifted their oars exactly as the ship touched something hard and Bearnas looped a rope over a jutting outcrop of rock. 'I've used this landing stage before' she explained, 'many years ago.' She nodded upward, 'that overhang shields us from view and the narrow opening ensures that there are no rough seas to damage the ship.'
'Mother…' Melcorka began.
'You may call me Bearnas now.' Bearnas said.
'You told me nothing about your earlier life,' Melcorka touched the hilt of the sword that already seemed so natural for her to carry across her back.
'No, no I have not,' Bearnas agreed, 'now get some sleep. You have had a busy day and tomorrow will be no quieter.'
Sleep proved elusive as Melcorka lay on the wooden planks of Wave Skimmer's deck, staring at the familiar stars in this most unfamiliar environment. Her mind raced with a score of questions, from wondering who she was to what was going to happen the following day.
She touched the
sword and experienced an immediate thrill of power, withdrew her hand and the feeling ebbed away. So it was as she already knew; it was the weapon that was powerful, not her. She remained the same island girl she had always been. But why had her mother kept so much from her? And what was her mother's mysterious history?
'You may find out, and you may not.' Granny Rowan sat above her, smiling and obviously guessing her thoughts. 'Your own future should be more important to you than your mother's past. In the meantime take your mother's advice and get some sleep, God knows that you might need it. Only He knows what the morrow will bring.'
'I won't sleep,' Melcorka said.
Granny Rowan's smile broadened as she touched a gnarled finger on Melcorka's eyelids. 'Good night, sweetheart.'
The sun was well risen before Melcorka awoke, to find all the crew busy and a breakfast of freshly caught salmon roasting on hot stones, together with cool water flavoured with rowan berries.
'Decided to join us, sleepy head?' Aunt Rowan passed across a pewter mug. 'Drink, eat and wash Melcorka, and then check your sword.'
They were in an oval basin surrounded by hundred-foot high cliffs, with only the rock tunnel as a passage in and out. Sundry trees clung to precarious cracks and miniscule ledges of the rock, acting as a shield from any eyes above.
'How do we get up there?' Melcorka scanned the cliff face.
'There is a path,' Bearnas fingered the half-cross pendant that hung around her neck. 'And then our journey begins.' She stroked the throat of Bright-Eyes and then launched the eagle into the sky. 'Off you go, my pretty, and live your life. You and I will never meet again.'
'Never again?' Melcorka asked.
Bearnas' gaze followed the eagle as it soared upward into the stark blue of the morning. 'This is my last adventure, Melcorka. My destiny awaits.' She looked around the basin. 'Soon you will walk your own path.'
'Mother, I don't understand,' Melcorka said.
'You will, when the time is right,' Bearnas' smile was gentle. 'Just accept what comes.'
'Time we were moving,' Baetan said, 'The morning is wearing on. I'll take the rearguard.' He tapped his sword meaningfully. 'I have scores to pay with these Norse.'
The path was wider than a finger but not as wide as a hand, treacherous with slithering stones and tangled roots that lay across the surface and so steep that mountain goats would flinch. Bearnas led them at a trot, leaping over obstacles as if she was a twenty year old youth and not a middle aged mother. The others followed, shedding the weight of age as they negotiated the climb.
The cliff led them to a plateau where ice-carried boulders marred a sea of scrubby grass. Bearnas wasted no time in admiring the vista of nearby hills and more distant ragged blue mountains. She increased the pace to a canter, splashing through patches of bog-land without pause, leaping across the burns that churned downward from the heights, easing past the miles. Behind her, the Cenel Bearnas followed in a short column of men and women, with Melcorka at the rear and Baetan ten paces behind her.
The sun was half way to its zenith when Bearnas lifted her right hand in the air. The column halted at once, with Oengus stopping Melcorka with a single finger on her forehead. Bearnas dropped her hand to touch her nose and the Cenel Bearnas lifted their heads to sniff the air.
'Smoke,' Granny Rowan's low voice carried to every ear in the column. 'And burning meat.'
Bearnas pointed to Oengus and Melcorka before sinking down to a crouch until she was nearly invisible amidst the blowing heather. She nodded inland.
Oengus crooked a finger to Melcorka and shifted to the left, away from the column and toward the hills. He kept low and she followed, wondering how this grey haired man could retain his energy for so long.
The column was ten minutes behind them before Melcorka saw a haze of blue smoke drifting in a broadening column ahead. She tapped Oengus on the shoulder.
'I see it,' his voice was hard. 'What you see next you will always remember. Are you feeling strong, Melcorka?'
She nodded.
'Aye, you're your mother's daughter right enough.' His wink was incongruous as he loosened his sword in the scabbard across his back. 'Here,' he passed over a lump of fat. 'Grease your blade with this; it will come out that little touch faster, maybe enough to save your life when half seconds count.'
He waited until she returned the blade to its scabbard, then dipped his hands into a peat hole and smeared the black muck over his face, paying close attention to the cheekbones and forehead. 'These parts reflect the light,' he told her quietly, 'cover them.'
Melcorka followed his lead, watching his critical eye.
'Keep your head below the skyline,' Oengus said, 'don't move quickly and for God's sake keep downwind of any beast.' He nodded and slid away through waist high heather, twisting toward a slight ridge over which the blue smoke hung thick.
They ducked as they came to the crest, keeping their heads beneath the level of the swaying purple plants as they peered through the smoke.
Where once there had been a clachan, a village, now there was only a charnel house. Where there had been fifteen stone built cottages, roofed with heather and circled around a storage barn, now there were fifteen smouldering funeral fires. Where there had been a herd of cattle, now there were scattered corpses except for three whose butchered remains were being roasted on long spits. What had once been a thriving community was now the place where corpses splayed out on blood-smeared ground and three naked young women screamed in terror as they lay bound together by stout ropes under the grinning gaze of a score of men with blonde hair and long swords.
'I knew this place once,' Oengus said quietly, 'in the old days.'
'What's happened?' Melcorka asked.
'As you can see, the Northmen have happened,' Oengus said quietly. 'It looks like a small raiding party found this settlement.' He nodded to the devastation. 'This is normal work for our neighbours over the sea.'
Melcorka fought her nausea at the dead bodies and the blood. 'I've never seen anything so horrible in my life.'
'I know you haven't.' Oengus said. 'And you'll see worse, a lot worse. This is only just beginning.'
One of the Norse warriors grabbed the youngest of the captives by the hair and lifted her to her feet, laughing when she screamed in terror. Three more of the Norsemen began to give advice, their voices and language harsh against the background of slaughter.
'She must be all of ten years old,' Oengus said.
'We must stop them,' Melcorka spoke urgently; 'we can't let them be killed as well.'
'They will be glad when it is their time to die,' Oengus said. 'Norsemen are not gentle to their slaves.'
Melcorka's eyes widened as she realised what fate awaited the three women. 'We have to help them.'
'All two of us?' Oengus tone was slightly mocking. 'A grey-bearded old man and a child with no experience of war pitted against a full Norse raiding party?' He shook his head. 'That would be a short encounter.'
The young girl screamed again, and once again as the largest and most grizzled of the Norse lifted her by her hair and swung her over his shoulder, laughing.
Melcorka shook her head, 'we can't just watch,' she said.
Oengus shrugged. 'What do you suggest,' he said, 'there are twenty of them.'
Although Melcorka merely touched the hilt of her sword for reassurance, the surge of power ran from Defender up her arm and thrilled her entire body. She did not recognise her own laugh. 'Only twenty?'
'Melcorka,' Oengus attempted to restrain her with a hand on her arm.
She shook him off, drew Defender with a shrill shriek of steel and strode forward, feeling a tingle of excitement along with a surge of savage anger. 'Hello Norsemen! I am Melcorka and I order you to leave these women alone.'
'Melcorka!' Oengus shouted after her, but Melcorka was already a dozen paces closer to the Norse.
The Norse warrior threw the young girl aside as if she was a sack of grain and pulled his own sword free of its scabb
ard. 'You are keen to die today,' he said casually. His sword was long and bright with use and he held it with such familiarity that Melcorka knew he was an expert. He was also carrying an old injury, with a weaker left leg, a fact I noticed without thinking.
'One of us will die,' the words sounded overblown even as she said them.
The Norseman snorted and advanced, head held high and sword low. Melcorka felt Defender stir in her grasp, waited until the Norseman was close, turned and ran. His coarse laugh followed her, rising as she stumbled and fell.
He loomed over her as she rolled onto her back and stared upward. Almost casually, he poised his sword above her throat, but the slight hesitation as he picked his spot granted Melcorka sufficient time to kick out at his weak leg and swing Defender as he winced. The blade took the Norseman on his left side between his third and fourth rib, with the blood spurting in a crimson cloud. Melcorka twisted her sword, withdrew, stood up and finished him with a single thrust to his heart.
'One!' she yelled, and brandished Defender. 'Come on you hounds of the north; come and face Melcorka!'
The Norsemen were eager to oblige, with three of them drawing sword and rushing toward her while a fourth released his axe from a log of wood and wandered over to enjoy the slaughter of the innocent.
Melcorka waited until they came close, noticed that the man on the left blocked the sword arm of the man in the middle; he could be temporarily discounted. Accordingly she slashed across the eyes of the much more dangerous man on the right and continued her swing so the tip of Defender caught the nose of the central man and neatly split it in two. He screamed and grabbed at his face, which left only one man to kill. Melcorka saw the hate in the Norseman's eyes when his companions fell at his side; she knew he was too angry to be rational.
'Come on berserker!' she taunted, and stepped aside to give herself room to swing as the Norseman roared some incoherent oath and charged straight at her. Although the man ran at full speed, to Melcorka he seemed to move in slow motion, with his sword swinging from behind his head.
She lifted Defender in an easy block, felt the shock of steel on steel, whirled her sword in a semi circular motion and flicked upward and sideways so the Norseman's sword was ripped from his grasp to whirl into the air. He stared for an instant but recovered and lunged forward, straight onto Melcorka's sword as she spitted him through the throat.
The Swordswoman Page 4
