Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  Gawyr kept moving, his eyes pinned on her as if she were some mythical creature that might disappear if he blinked.

  She attacked first, but he took cover behind a pine tree. A moment later, there was a shocking crack, and then Gawyr emerged holding a weapon of his own—a huge tree limb.

  It was Uathach’s turn to be either stunned or impressed—Taliesin could not tell which. She lunged at Gawyr again with her spear, but he blocked it with his new staff and broke it in two. He dared to smile. “Great Dagda, my prayers have been answered,” he said in a low voice. “Damn shame, a beauty like you, living up here beneath a bridge like a troll—let me take you away from here.”

  Uathach’s face twisted with the fury of a tempest. She let forth a blood-curdling cry, leapt onto Gawyr’s tree limb and knocked it from his hands. She did not land on her feet this time, however.

  Gawyr seized his opportunity and backhanded her with the force of a bear. She sailed some fifteen feet, landing precariously close to the top of the Giant’s Ladder. Gawyr wasted no time and ran for the bridge, his eyes locked on the other side.

  She was on his heels in seconds. Just before he reached the other side, she slipped the broken handle of her spear between his legs.

  CAW! CAW! CAW! was all Taliesin could say as he watched his friend tumble off the bridge into the chasm below.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Into Darkness

  Taliesin screeched in horror as he flew over the chasm in search of his friend. To his immense relief, Gawyr hung suspended in mid-air some thirty feet below, swinging from side to side in the strong wind at the end of his grappling rope.

  Taliesin noticed the plowed earth where the grapple had been dragged, ripping its way through land and tree roots, until, at last, it wedged itself firmly inside a rock crevice.

  Taliesin let out a gleeful “CAW!” and flapped his wings in celebration of his companion’s triumph, but his joy was short-lived. Uathach had discovered the trail of the grapple as well. She clenched a dagger between her teeth and made her way down the cliff with the speed and menacing grace of a spider. Within moments, she was perched over the grapple, stabbing at the rock and earth that held it with her dagger.

  She had no rope tied about her waist. If I must, I can fly at her face and cause her to fall, Taliesin thought.But he hoped it would not come to that.

  Gawyr lost no time waiting for her to reach him. He scaled back up the cliff with long, smooth pulls, using the power of both his arms and legs to reach the top.

  Uathach worked her knife into the rock with a ruthless series of battle cries that cut into the air and echoed eerily back and forth across the chasm like tormented spirits.

  The weight of the grapple, when released, would surely yank Gawyr from the wall. Taliesin had no choice. He flapped his wings to work up as much momentum as he could and dove for Uathach’s face. As expected, she dropped the dagger to shield her eyes. He seized the opportunity to drive the dagger off the edge of the cliff into the chasm below. Furious, Uathach lashed out at him, but he was already soaring back out over the chasm, beyond her reach.

  She scrambled along the cliff edge on her belly, out of Gawyr’s sight, but Taliesin flew right above her, cawing out her location from above.

  When he let out his next cry, she flipped around, stone in hand, eyes clenched in rage, and threw it with such force and accuracy that he felt several of his bones snap. His wings collapsed and fluttered uselessly as he spiraled down into the chasm below.

  ***

  Taliesin felt paralyzed and cold, his limbs, brain and nerves grasping for reality in two places. One moment, he was stunned with pain, sailing down in a tumbling spiral toward the ocean, and the next, he was sitting on the ground below the cliff, looking up at the sky. He was both heavy and weightless, dead and alive, bird and human. At last, his mind made the final transition back to his own body. His heart beat frantically, bringing on a fierce wave of nausea. The vomit ended up spilling down his chest and into his lap, for he could not move. He could do nothing but sit there, praying to the Great Mother, for the next several hours.

  Islwyn had lectured him at length on the dangers of dying inside a host. It could result in any number of outcomes, none of them pleasant—paralysis of the limbs or entire body, inability to speak, or, in extremely traumatic cases, death of the practitioner himself.

  He could do nothing but wait and pray that he would fully recover. He watched twilight turn to dusk, dusk turn to night, and then, darkness folded in around him like Arawn’s cape. Gawyr, I pray you’ve made it inside, and that you make it back out again—I need you, my friend.

  ***

  Taliesin heard an unnerving, familiar voice coming out of the darkness before he felt his body. Before he saw the light of the fire. Before anything.

  Taliesin, strange child of mine. You still have work to do. Much, much work. Wake up.

  He opened his eyes but saw nothing. He tried to get himself up off the ground, but his arms felt strange. Are they broken? He tried to move them and heard a rustle of feathers in his ears. Startled, he whipped his head left and right, heart racing, trying to see his attacker.

  Use your wings and stand up.

  Taliesin, beginning to understand, moved his arms in the way they felt designed to move and soon found himself on his feet. His eyes slowly adjusted to the world around him. He saw a fire in the distance, through the trees, as if he just happened upon someone’s camp.

  “Gawyr?” he called.

  He heard the woman chuckle.

  Confused, he moved toward the firelight, more and more of him becoming visible. I have raven’s wings, he realized with a shock. He reached up and felt his face, relieved to feel cheeks and lips and a jawbone. Raven’s wings and a man’s body. Great Mother, am I to stay this way? Somehow, he knew the answer lay in the firelight ahead. As he stepped into the clearing, he beheld a sight he had seen once before—one he had been just as terrified of then as he was now.

  Cerridwen leaned on her staff and looked up from her cauldron, her face changing from maiden to matron to crone in an endless, eerie succession. “Hello again, my child. Come and see.”

  Taliesin moved toward the cauldron, knowing he had no choice.

  “Watch, and tell me what you see.”

  He peered into the water and jumped back in horror. “Are you stewing a child in there?”

  She pointed back into the cauldron. “I said, watch.”

  He looked in again. The child was still there, but this time, staring up at him. He noticed an umbilical cord still attached to her abdomen. It’s just a vision. She’s not yet born. Taliesin felt his fear mix with excitement. “Is she mine or Jørren’s?”

  Cerridwen peered into the cauldron herself. “Your daughter. My granddaughter.”

  “Where is she?” The cauldron’s strange, acrid steam stung his eyes.

  “Close.”

  “But where? Show me in your cauldron…please!”

  Cerridwen ignored his plea. “When your daughter is born, give her to the sea, where none can hear her cry. There, I can protect her, as I protected you. Also, like you, she must be fostered. Let her grow to womanhood beneath the dragon’s wing, in plain sight of her betrayers. They shall be blinded by her nearness, just as a man cannot see his own chin, safe from the eyes of the hollow hills. You must stay and teach her all you know. When she comes of age, I shall initiate her and teach her my ways.”

  Initiate her? Taliesin recoiled, remembering his terrifying internment beneath the Blackthorne. “No—I’ll never let her out of my sight—her, or her mother.” He backed away. “You’re no better than the Daoine Sídhe!”

  Cerridwen took her staff out of her cauldron. Taliesin folded his wings around himself, fearful she would strike him with it, but she merely touched his wings and then his forehead. “You will bring her to me, or I shall summon her. Either way, her destiny is already written.”

  As if waking from a nightmare, Taliesin bolted upright inside his s
hivering cold body, his mind restored, but stomach churning with dread.

  In desperation, he struggled to his feet and cried out, “Arhianna! Where are you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Within the Fortress of Shadows

  Gawyr lost no time taking advantage of the opportunity the raven had provided. With two surging bursts, he reached the edge of the cliff, grabbed Uathach, and threw her onto the bridge with so much force the planks beneath her split. She grabbed ahold of the ropes on either side and worked her way, hand over hand, back in his direction. Gawyr ran to the fortress with as much strength as he could muster. The entrance was no more than a wide arch, open to the elements, without any doors or gates. It did not need any. Climbing the mountain and crossing the bridge ensured none but the strongest, most courageous of men and women ever entered the fortress. Once through, you became Scáthach’s honored guest, and, if fortune smiled upon you, her pupil.

  His heart swelled with pride as he emerged victorious on the other side of the arch. He found himself in the center of a large courtyard. Dozens of weapons hung from the high walls surrounding him: broadswords, bows, whips, spears, axes, and, most intimidating of all, Scáthach’s signature weapon, one of her own design, the vicious gae-bolg. There were dozens of ledges along the walls, each as wide as a doorway, jutting out from dark rooms. He grew ecstatic. I’m standing where the great Cu Chulainn stood. Me!

  “Well done,” a woman’s voice said.

  Startled, Gawyr whirled around to see a woman standing on one of the second-level ledges, putting her at eye-level with him.

  “You’ve bested my daughter. Not many men can. But you’re not just any man, are you?”

  Gawyr felt both flattered and wary. “I’m a giant, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I was told the giants had all perished or traveled on to lands farther north, but I never believed it. Now, I see I was right. Are there more of you?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps.” His wife’s face came to mind, followed, as any thought of her always was, by a sharp pang of grief. Forgive me, my love.

  “Tell me of your people, Giant. Where do they live?”

  “My people, like yours, were the sons and daughters of the Great Dagda and Bhéara. Our clan lived near Beinn Nibheis. Once, we were many, but now, most of us are gone, it’s true.”

  “Are you certain there are no others?”

  “I’m not certain.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Gawyr, my lady.”

  “Why did you leave your people, Gawyr, son of Dagda?”

  There it was. The question he had tried to avoid ever since that fateful day. Normally, he would have simply have walked away, changed the subject, or refused to answer, but he knew nothing but truth could be spoken within Scáthach’s fortress.

  “I killed someone I should not have.” Shame descended around him like a dark, rain-soaked cloak so heavy he could scarcely remain standing.

  He heard footsteps in the sand behind him. Grateful for the distraction, he turned to see Uathach had entered the courtyard.

  “Hello, daughter. He fought well, did he not?”

  “He did,” she conceded.

  Gawyr noticed there seemed to be no resentment in Uathach’s voice, which surprised him. He looked at her, and she met his gaze with a nod of respect. He felt an impulse to apologize, but decided it would not only be unwanted, but also inappropriate.

  The distraction had not deterred Scáthach from her questions. “Who was this person you killed, and why should you not have killed him? Or was it her?”

  “Him, my lady.” Gawyr had hoped she would be content with his answer, but she seemed intent on hearing his confession as well. Fine. She will have it. “I was chieftain of my people, once. Long ago, when I was much younger.” He pictured himself at that age. So foolish. So arrogant. “I had a wife. The most beautiful giantess you can imagine.” He paused and raised his arms out to his sides. “As you can see, I’m not a handsome man.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh. The women did not disagree or comment, and he did not expect them to. He knew he was shaggy-haired and broad-faced, with teeth that were too wide and too yellow, and a nose that took up more space than any nose had a right to.

  “There was a man who loved me my whole life long—first as a childhood friend, then, later, as my strongest warrior and advisor. He, unlike myself, was blessed with all the eye-pleasing features a young woman could ever long for. And, if that weren’t enough, he had a voice that could melt the iciest of hearts. Good with a spear, good with a harp—every woman in the clan ached for him—and I—no matter what my wife did or said—was convinced that she did too.” He fell silent, not wanting to continue.

  “Go on,” Scáthach commanded.

  Gawyr rubbed his face, suddenly overcome with weariness, but continued. “I was training in a meadow near our village one afternoon and thought I heard my wife’s laughter. I went to find her, following the sound along the footpath to the lake, but a swarm of bees on a rotting tree near the path blocked my way. I had to wade through the rushes along the water’s edge to avoid them. That was when I saw them—the man I admired and trusted more than anyone in the world, and my wife, bathing together.” He clenched his fists and swallowed hard, for the words stuck in his throat like fish bones. “I can still hear her laughter.”

  He paused again, not wanting to go on, but summoned his courage. “In a rage, I swam out to where they were and grabbed him by the neck. Pulled him under the water and strangled him, all the while hearing my wife’s screams echoing down through the water.” He took a deep breath. “It was only after the deed was done and I swam to the surface, dragging his body to the shore, that I noticed my wife was not the one who had been screaming at me from the water. She was standing on the bank.” He looked Scáthach in the eye. “It was her sister who had been in the water. Her sister who was bathing with him.” There. It’s done. He had never told another soul what had happened on that day. Not until now.

  “So you left your clan in shame and never returned.”

  “Yes.”

  Scáthach’s expression gave no indication of her feelings about his story one way or the other. She raised her hands and took a few steps toward him. “Your past is forgotten, Gawyr, son of Bhéara. Stay and train with me, and you shall overcome your shame. There is a great war ahead—one that stretches beyond the world of men—and you have been called upon. Redemption lies in service. Never forget that.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “Your training starts tomorrow. Choose your chambers.” Scáthach turned to leave.

  “Wait, my lady—I have a message for you. The lady Ragna sends her regards. She wishes to know if the lady Arhianna is safe here, with you.”

  “She’s here and she’s safe—at least, for now. And here she shall stay. She’s pledged herself to me, though she’s not yet fit to begin her training.”

  Gawyr let out a sigh of relief. “She’s in good health, then?”

  “She is.”

  Gawyr grew bold. “May I speak to her?”

  Scáthach rose up in stature, her eyes narrowing on him. “Do you dare question my honor, Lord Gawyr? I told you she’s pledged herself to me, and that she’s safe and healthy. That’s all you or Ragna need to know. Ask again, and I’ll see to it you find your way to the bottom of the chasm that almost claimed your life.”

  He nodded. “Forgive me, my lady, but I must deliver this news to a man I’ve pledged to guide and protect. I swore to King Urien I would help this man find Lady Arhianna and then escort him safely back to Rheged. If you’ll permit me time to do this, I shall fulfill my oath and return. My greatest wish is that you’ll still accept me as your pupil and allow me to train with you. But I cannot break my oath.”

  Scáthach studied him awhile, saying nothing. Gawyr’s heart shrank with each passing moment, fearing he had just lost the opportunity of a lifetime.

  “I shall permit you this,” she said, at last. And, shou
ld you survive and return, I imagine you may meet the Lady Arhianna. But not until then. Not until you have pledged yourself to me and the two of you are united in purpose—to fight in my ranks against our enemies—both in this world and the worlds beyond.”

  Gawyr’s chest filled with excitement at the prospect. “Thank you, my lady. I can think of no greater honor.”

  Scáthach shook her head. “But you cannot leave yet. I know of this man you protect. He’s being hunted by the Daoine Sídhe. This is not good. If you hope to get him to Rheged, you’ll need a different sort of weapon than the ones you’re used to. I can give you such a weapon, but you must stay and learn how to wield it. If you’re a fast learner, it will take you perhaps a few days. If not, a few weeks. There are those roaming my lands who seek the bard you protect, but don’t worry about him for now. He’s close, where I can watch over him, just as I’m watching over Arhianna.”

  Gawyr felt anxious, but knew he had no choice. One did not argue with the likes of Scáthach. “As you wish, my lady.”

  “Go, choose your chambers, then. We begin at first light.”

  ***

  After Gawyr had gone, Uathach approached Scáthach. “The maiden is here? I thought we left her behind.” Her eyes darted over the many ledges around them. “Where are you keeping her?”

  Scáthach jumped from the ledge to the sand below. “She’s living in the mating cave. When the time is right, I shall go to her.”