Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  Gawyr did not talk much after that. It was clear he did not care to exchange any but the most necessary of words while they traveled. Taliesin soon grew weary of his companion’s stony silence. He tried to engage him in conversation from time to time, but Gawyr’s manner remained as cold and stony as the bleak grey sky looming overhead.

  When the clouds had at last ripened from grey to orange, Gawyr found them a place to camp for the night. Weary of the oppressive silence, Taliesin sat down by the fire and took up his harp. Music often succeeded where words failed. Remembering Urien had told him Gawyr came from Eire, he summoned all the songs he knew from that land. Gawyr did not comment, but his hostility seemed to be draining away. The giant sat motionless, the flames of the campfire dancing on the surface of his dark, glazed eyes.

  Such silence Taliesin did not mind, for it no longer held any angry tension. He sang a few lively drinking songs with bawdy lyrics that bent his companion’s usual scowl into a half-smile. Feeling encouraged, he moved on to his favorite song from Eire, a very old romantic ballad in a haunting minor key. Before he had finished two stanzas, however, Gawyr’s face had melted into a slack sheet of grief. By the third, he had gotten up and left their camp without a word.

  Taliesin expected he would be back before long, but regretted not sticking with the drinking songs. Still, he felt hopeful Gawyr would be less of a boor to him the next day. He played for the trees instead. They had their own way of requesting songs.

  Hours passed. Still, Gawyr had not returned. At last, he gave in to his exhaustion and leaned against a tree to sleep.

  ***

  Taliesin woke to the sound of Gawyr mumbling to the horses. He opened his eyes to see the sky turning from black to blue in the east. “Where’ve you been?” he croaked.

  “Nowhere,” Gawyr muttered. “Let’s get going.” Though he was just as direct as always, his voice had lost some of its gruffness. He set off in the direction of the rising sun, leaving Taliesin to scramble together his things and catch up. After traveling awhile, Gawyr glanced down at him and said, “My wife used to sing that song.”

  “She did? Not many know it.”

  Gawyr nodded and strode ahead a few paces, but said nothing more about the song or his wife.

  They journeyed over undulating moorland for the next several hours, forced to tolerate a cold drizzle that slowly soaked them through. By the time dusk fell, there was no longer any quarrel between them, as if their souls had sent invisible ambassadors to one another to negotiate on behalf of their mortal counterparts.

  Gawyr pointed out a cluster of roundhouses encircled by a high slate wall. “That’s Ingvar’s village. I want to take a closer look. See how many men he’s got.”

  Taliesin squinted in the direction of the village. “Then what?”

  “Then we visit a few settlements where folks are a bit friendlier and see if they’d like to fatten their winter stores on whatever Ingvar’s got. I don’t like to boast, but there aren’t many men I can’t convince to follow me into a fight. I’ve wiped out entire villages by myself. Used to be something I did quite a bit.”

  Taliesin did not doubt him, but did not see how a man of his size could take a closer look unnoticed. “Why don’t you let me go instead?” he suggested. “I have a way of getting inside the village without being noticed, but you’ll have to trust me.”

  “How?” Gawyr scowled at him. “And I don’t trust anyone I haven’t known for long.” He paused. “Not even then, really.”

  Taliesin shrugged. “Fair enough. Let’s head back into that forest a bit, and I’ll show you what I mean.” He reached down and stroked the dogs’ heads. Again, they were standing on either side of him, as they always did whenever he was not on his horse. “We both know you’re far too large to get anywhere near that village without being noticed, anyway.”

  “Don’t worry. I can get closer, but if you think you have a better way, let’s hear it.”

  Taliesin got back on his horse and headed for the cover of the trees, leaving Gawyr to follow him. He considered the various animals he might shift into. Perhaps one of the dogs? An owl? They both had their advantages. The owl would mean a swift journey and that he would hear and see everything well, but getting inside the hall would be more difficult. As a healthy-looking dog, he could likely charm his way into the hall where he would be able to get much closer to anyone in the clan he wished. And, I won’t have to wait for nightfall. The dogs are right here.

  Once they reached the cover of the woods, Taliesin announced, “I’m going into the village as one of the dogs. Griffin’s the better choice, I think. All you need to do is watch over my body while I do it.”

  Gawyr’s huge black eyebrows rose up and united into a single hefty shelf. “You’re going to do what?”

  Taliesin had become so accustomed to such things he often forgot that most people found them unbelievable. “I can get inside of animals—feel what they feel, see what they see, hear what they hear—it’s a practice I’ve grown quite good at over the years.”

  Gawyr grimaced. “What do you mean? Like shifting?”

  Taliesin felt impressed he had heard of the practice. “Yes.”

  “You can actually do that?”

  “Yes.”

  Gawyr pursed his lips and squinted down at him.

  Taliesin grew impatient. “Just watch over my body until I come back—I mean, until Griffin comes back—who will really be me.”

  Gawyr sat down on a felled log. “Whatever you say. If nothing else, gives me an excuse to rest my bones a bit. Good luck. Try to steal a chicken or something while you’re at it.”

  Taliesin laughed, but in truth, it was not a bad idea. The thought of a decent meal set his stomach to rumbling. He knew, however, that he would not be able to eat anything for quite some time afterwards. Shifting always made him nauseous. He sat down cross-legged beneath the tree. As usual, the dogs settled in on either side of him. He sat with his hand on Griffin’s head, blocking out everything else around them. After awhile, his sense of smell and hearing became more acute. With a bit more time, he and Griffin were sharing the same mind. When the time was right, Taliesin made the switch, taking over. Once fully inside Griffin, he gave Gawyr a friendly bark.

  “Good Dagda, I can’t believe this,” Gawyr muttered. He leaned over and poked Taliesin’s shoulder but got no reaction. He forced open his eyelids but Taliesin’s eyeballs were like a blind man’s, focused on nothing. Gawyr chuckled and looked back at Griffin. “Well, go on, then. And don’t forget that chicken!”

  Taliesin barked again and trotted off toward the village.

  ***

  Taliesin reached the wall that ran around the village and sniffed his way around to the gate, which stood open. Night had not yet fallen. There were quite a few women still working out in a nearby apple orchard or bringing in wood and water. He found a place to lie down, out of the way, and watched everyone as they came and went. He had only watched a short while before he noticed something quite strange. There are no men here.

  No men in a warlord’s village? It can’t be. He roamed around the village, sniffing in huts, peeking inside every structure, but not even in the stables or the blacksmith’s workshop could a man be found. Perhaps they’ve all gone hunting. Though unlikely, it was a possibility. He found some young women delighted by his company and played with them until night fell. Once everyone was back inside the hillfort, the gates were closed. Taliesin had watched them return. Not one man had passed through them. Perhaps Gawyr’s made a mistake? This can’t be Ingvar’s village.

  He followed the women to the large hall and found a place under a table where he would not be noticed. They bustled about, stoking the cook fires and preparing the evening meal. He looked around at every face, hoping to find Arhianna’s, but did not see her anywhere. He listened to several conversations, but in them no one spoke of their chieftain, husband, son or brother. This is surely the wrong village.

  He got to his feet and meant to l
eave, but as he moved out from beneath the table a woman noticed him. “Well, where did this dog come from?”

  Taliesin looked up at the woman who was speaking and let out a happy bark. Ragna!

  Ragna smiled and reached down to scratch him behind the ears. It felt good. Taliesin sat down obediently and looked up at her.

  “This is a fine hound,” she remarked. “Where did he come from?” She looked around the hall. The women either shook their heads or shrugged their shoulders. “He must have gotten separated from his master. This is a well-bred hunting dog. Keep an ear and eye out for travelers. If no one comes to claim him, I will keep him.” She looked back down at him. “You must be hungry, eh?” she threw a bone to the ground for him. “Thirsty, too?” She ladled some water into a bowl and set it down. He lapped up the water and then sat at Ragna’s heels, listening to the many conversations bubbling up around the hall.

  “Well, now that Ingvar’s dead, we can do as we like, Ragna.”

  Taliesin’s ears pricked up.

  “It’s not that simple, Sigrid. We need warriors to defend us and help us with the heavy labor. Yes, we can hunt, cook, farm—but there is no proper blacksmith among us, nor enough of us who can fight like Scáthach and her clan. It is only a matter of time before the clans in the area realize what has happened. They may come to take the village from us—or worse—make slaves of us.”

  “I would kill myself before I would ever let that happen to me again.”

  “So you must understand why we need to align ourselves with another clan as soon as possible.”

  Another woman threw her hands in the air and yelled, “Why did Scáthach free us and then just leave us here, without any way of defending ourselves?”

  Ragna scowled. “What is wrong with you, Hilde? We have our freedom, thanks to that woman! Do not question her!”

  Taliesin wondered if the woman could possibly be the same Scáthach sung of in Eire, but, if so, she would be hundreds of years old.

  Sigrid shook her head. “Well, what do we do, then? Is there anyone we can trust?”

  “Perhaps. I have some traveling to do, though.” She looked down at Taliesin, who wagged his tail. “Perhaps you would like to come with me, eh?”

  Sigrid smiled and looked down at him as well. “You are right. He is a fine dog. Perhaps you could give him some of Arhianna’s clothes, and he could help you find her?”

  Taliesin’s heart thumped.

  “No, Scáthach made it clear I was not to follow them. We can only hope she comes back after the babe is born—and that the two of them survive.”

  Until the babe is born. Taliesin had heard all he needed to hear. He could not leave the village, as the gates were locked for the night, but he knew Griffin would be in good hands with Ragna. He left the dog’s body and returned to his own, gasping as if he had just awoken from a nightmare.

  “Gods damn ya to Dagda, you scared the living shit outta me!” Gawyr thundered. “I thought you were coming back as the fucking dog!”

  “Couldn’t,” Taliesin managed breathlessly. “Dog’s inside the gates. He’s safe. Ingvar’s dead. Only women there.” He continued to pant, pulling his cloak tighter. His skin felt clammy.

  “Only women? What do you mean? What’s happened to Ingvar?”

  “Killed by some woman named Scáthach, who came with her clan and freed these women—they were slaves of his…”

  “Scáthach!” Gawyr’s eyebrows flew up. “Gods. Are you sure?”

  Taliesin nodded. “I know one of the women in the village—her name’s Ragna. She’s the mother of Arhianna’s dead husband.”

  “And did you see your woman there?”

  Taliesin shook his head. “No, she left with Scáthach.”

  Gawyr’s expression darkened. “You’re sure that was the name you heard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, I’m afraid this is as far as the journey goes, Bard.”

  “What do you mean?” Taliesin’s nausea peaked, and he leaned to the side to empty his stomach.

  Gawyr wrinkled his huge potato of a nose. “You alright?”

  “Yes.” He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, no one can find Scáthach’s fortress unless she wants you to find it. If your woman’s gone there, you’ll just have to wait for her to return.”

  Taliesin did not believe him. He had done what was considered impossible many times. He refused to accept defeat. “No. I’m not giving up now—now that I know where she is, and that she’s still alive.” And carrying my child. The thought made the hairs on his neck and arms stand up. He looked up at Gawyr. “So you can go back to Urien, or go home, but I’m not quitting. Ragna seems to know about this Scáthach woman. I’m going to ask for her help. But not now. Now, I must sleep.”

  Before Gawyr could reply, he had curled into a ball, rested his head on his arm and closed his eyes, letting sleep fold in around him.

  ***

  Taliesin woke to see the sun straight overhead. He squinted against the light and sat up. Gawyr sat nearby. “Gods! It’s midday! Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Gawyr frowned. “You think I didn’t try? I thought you were dead! Your breathing was so shallow it took me a long spell to hear it. So I left you alone—figured you must have needed the sleep.” He furrowed his brow. “Besides, how the hell am I supposed to know what happens to a man after he shifts into a dog?” He must have found that funny, because a chuckle bubbled up in his throat and grew into huge peals of laughter.

  It was the first time Taliesin had seen Gawyr smile fully since leaving Urien’s hall, let alone laugh. He could not help but laugh himself. “Well, I’m fine now—quite rested. So let’s get down to the village. I want to speak to Ragna.”

  Gawyr grinned, his huge yellow teeth hanging like stalactites from the dark cave of his mouth. “She didn’t understand your barking last night, eh?” He chuckled. “Don’t suppose so. Alright, let’s go, then.” He strode off toward the village. Taliesin followed him on horseback. Braith loped along beside him, sniffing at everything along the way. She looked eager to find her own companion.

  They made their way down to the gates of the village and were quickly noticed. The women abandoned their work in the fields and orchards and retreated inside the safety of the village gates, crying words of warning. Taliesin raised his hands in surrender, to show they meant no harm. “Gawyr! Raise your hands. Let them see we’re not armed.”

  By the time they reached the outskirts of the hillfort, several women stood near the gates, spears or bows at the ready. As soon as he was within earshot, Taliesin cried out loudly in the Saxon tongue, “Ho, there! I seek Ragna, your queen. Tell her Taliesin the Bard wishes to speak to her.” He motioned to Gawyr to stop their approach. “We will wait here.”

  Someone pushed her way through the crowd, shouting to be let through. She emerged and Taliesin was pleased to see it was Ragna. He waved. “Ragna! It’s me—Taliesin.”

  Ragna squinted and moved slowly in his direction. “You do not look like Taliesin.”

  He held up his harp to prove it. “It’s me. I’ve changed, that’s all.” He proceeded to sing a verse of a song he had often sung in Hraban’s hall to convince her he spoke the truth. Gawyr came running at the sound of his voice. He and Braith gamboled about, clipping the air with exuberant barking, and then sat down on either side of their master.

  Ragna grinned. She strode over and gripped Taliesin’s chin in her hand, turning his jaw left and right. “You are a man, now!” She took a step back and slapped his chest a few times. “But what a shame your golden hair is gone. It was so beautiful.” She grabbed a handful of his dark curls and frowned. “But you are much more a man. Yes. Much more.” She looked him up and down and gave him a satisfied nod of approval. “It is good.” She reached down and scratched Griffin behind the ears. “Also a shame this hound belongs to you. I was going to keep him.” She shook her head and then glanced up at Gawyr. “And who is this?
He is a big man. Biggest I have ever seen.”

  “He is. This is Gawyr.”

  “Gawyr,” Ragna said, offering up her hand.

  Gawyr kissed it. “My lady.”

  Taliesin felt surprised. He had never seen his rough companion do anything so gently before.

  Ragna smiled, looking up at Gawyr. “I like your big friend.”

  “We’ve come looking for Arhianna,” Taliesin ventured. “Is she here?”

  Ragna’s smile disappeared. “Come. Both of you, come. Let us eat and drink together. I have much to tell you.”

  ***

  That night in the hall, Ragna shared with Taliesin all she knew about Arhianna and the tragic story of what had happened to Jørren. “She carries my son’s child but left with Scáthach—though we are free of Ingvar and his men, she would not stay here. I do not know what to do. I fear she will die, and my grandson will die with her. Then, I will have nothing.”

  Arhianna must believe her child truly is Jorren’s, then. Taliesin realized, his heart sinking. Then, a startling thought occurred to him. Well, perhaps it is. There’s no guarantee the child she carries is mine, is there? His heart nearly stopped. Yet, if that’s so, who is this child in my dreams who calls me Father? He grew anxious. What if the girl is nothing but a cruel Sídhefolk trick, meant to draw me out of Afflon and turn me against Nimue? His mind spun with doubts.

  Gawyr interrupted. “Just to be clear—you said Scáthach helped you? The warrioress?”

  Ragna looked over at him. “Yes, you know of her?”

  “All in these parts know of her, as do the people of Eire. I grew up on stories about her from my mother.”

  “Your mother knew her?”

  “They never met, but my mother is descended from the only man who was ever Scáthach’s equal in battle.”

  “Who?” Ragna asked.

  “Cu Chulainn!” Gawyr and Taliesin replied in unison.

  Taliesin raised his brows. “You have Cu Chulainn’s blood in your veins?”