Into the Shadows (Islands in the Mist Book 4)

by J. M. Hofer

  “Harp-mauler!”

  Arvel’s face lit up at hearing the new word he had just learned. “Harp!” he repeated, looking over at Taliesin for approval.

  Gawyr moved into the firelight and motioned toward Taliesin’s new companion. “Who’s this?”

  Taliesin sighed and put a hand on Arvel’s shoulder. “My brother. Or so I’ve recently been told.”

  Gawyr raised his brows. “What the hell?”

  Taliesin realized how strange it must seem and tried to explain. “My mother’s a selkie. Her people live off this coast. I didn’t know she was here…”

  Gawyr raised his hand to stop him. “Wait—there’s another one of you?” He looked back and forth between Taliesin and Arvel, perhaps trying to find the resemblance. “So, what’s he play?” Before Taliesin could reply, Gawyr blurted, “Looks like a bloody drummer if ye ask me.”

  Taliesin ignored the comment. “Did you see Arhianna?”

  Gawyr shook his head. “Scáthach forbid me to see her, but I’ve no doubt she’s there. Scáthach tells no lies. There’s no greater woman or warrior alive. I’ve decided to return after seeing you safely to Rheged. I’ll be training alongside your woman. I’ll take her any message you wish to send.” Gawyr looked around, eyeing the trees and darkness with suspicion. He opened a leather pouch that hung by his side and pulled out what looked like a handful of white sand. He strode around the campsite, leaving a trail of the white behind, until the circle was closed. “Know it may seem silly, with us being on the beach and all, but still. I’m taking no chances.” He sat down inside the circle, across from them. His enormous form blocked out the sea wind and calmed the flames of their campfire. The dogs went over and licked his hands. Gawyr chuckled. “Missed me, eh? Or do you two just like salt?”

  Taliesin examined the pouch hanging at Gawyr’s side. It was embroidered with ancient symbols known to ward off evil. “What else did Scáthach tell you?”

  Gawyr’s expression darkened. “I’m done being pleasant, bard. You’d best tell me everything—and I mean fucking everything—why we’re really here, who’s after you and your lady friend, why the hell you have a selkie brother and mother—all of it. I’ve risked my life more than once to get you here and find your woman. And now I hear we’ve got the bloody Daoine Sídhe after us.”

  Taliesin did not know what to say. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to turn out this way.” Not at all. “I thought the Saxons would be our only worries.”

  Gawyr raised his brows. “Well, you were wrong.”

  “I’ve been wrong more than right for some time now. But it’s not me they’re after—” He had almost said, “it’s my daughter,” but realized as much as he wanted to share the full truth with Gawyr, it was simply not possible.

  Gawyr leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Wrong again. If Scáthach says they want you, then you’d best assume they do. But they’ll not take you as long as I’m alive.” He unsheathed a tremendous iron sword with a grip wrapped in leather and a heavy-looking silver pommel. “Sídhebane is her name. Solid iron. The Sídhefolk can’t bear iron.”

  Taliesin eyed the sword. It was nearly as long as he was tall, and looked as if it might even weigh as much as he did. “She gave that to you?”

  “She did.” He smiled. “And this is for you.” Gawyr handed him a similar weapon, but much smaller—a blade in the same material and style, but in dagger form. “That one’s called Straif.”

  “Fitting.” Taliesin winced at the memory of the blackthorne tree that had held him prisoner for a winter. “But why does she care what happens to me?”

  Gawyr shrugged. “Not sure she does. I told her I’d sworn an oath to Urien to see you safely back to Rheged and that I could not train with her until I fulfilled that oath. She respects Urien, and it seems she fancies the idea of having a giant in her ranks, so she gave me leave to make good on my promise. However, she said if we were to make it to Rheged, I would need this sword and know how to use it.”

  “What else did she say?”

  “To steer clear of forests and rivers. Seems the Sídhe don’t care for the sea. Too much salt. That means you’ll need to leave your horse behind. Too many lochs and fingers of water to cross. We’ll be having to row or swim most of the journey. She said she’d send one of her women down to fetch him.”

  No! Taliesin’s heart sank at the idea of leaving Chrysgod behind. Must I give up everything I love?

  Gawyr motioned toward Arvel, who had returned to playing with the dogs. “Is he the one who visits the mating cave?”

  “The what?”

  “Mating cave. Where the selkie males go to lie with Scáthach’s women.”

  Taliesin looked over at Arvel in surprise. “I don’t know.”

  “He looks like the man she mentioned—black hair to the waist, tall and thin, high cheekbones. He’s got all that. If he’s the one, we’re to ask him to guide us down the coast. Ask him.”

  Taliesin pictured the selkies he had seen on the isle. They had all been much heavier-set and quite a bit shorter than Arvel. There had been no others who looked like him. “I can try. He doesn’t speak our language very well.” He called him over and then pointed toward the grotto. “Do you go to the women? In the cave? Lie down with them?”

  Arvel nodded. “Yes. I like the women. They like me. I go many times.”

  Gawyr chuckled. “Bet you do, lad. Bet you do.” He glanced back over at Taliesin. “I like this one. Does he have a name?”

  “I gave him one—Arvel.”

  Gawyr grimaced. “Arvel? That’s the best you could do?” He shook his head. “No, no, no. It’s so weak! How about…Cathbad? Or Halwyn? Means salt or salty, I think…seems fitting.”

  Taliesin felt offended. “Go ahead and call him both and see which one he likes better, then.”

  Gawyr said the names, the ones he had chosen in a proud, fierce tone, and the other in a sad, pathetic one. Against Gawyr’s best efforts, Arvel chose the name Taliesin had given him.

  Gawyr rolled his eyes. “Fine. Arvel the wet drummer it is. Now that we have that out of the way, start talking. Why’re the damn Sídhe after you? What’d you do?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  Gawyr stared at him, eyebrows raised. “Well? If it’s a long story, you’d best get started.”

  Taliesin shared with him who Arhianna was, how they had grown up together, everything that had happened in Eire and all that had happened since—with the exception of Morrigan. By the time he had finished, the fire was nothing but coals.

  “Gods, Bard. You’ve managed to win yourself some damn fine enemies, haven’t you?”

  “Seems I have.”

  “Where’s this wretched Myrthin, now?”

  “Somewhere outside of Caer Leon. Uthyr refuses to have him at court anymore. Truth be told, I’d rather he was at court. I’d feel better knowing where he was.”

  Gawyr nodded in agreement. “Enemies are best when they’re standing right in front of you—in chains, preferably.”

  Taliesin poked at the fire with his spear, but made no comment.

  “So what are you going to do, now? You can’t run forever.”

  “I’ll have to find a way to defeat the Sídhe. And to do that, I’m going to have to study binding magic.”

  Gawyr let out a disgusted “argh.” He shifted a bit in his seat, staring intently at the coals. “And who’re you going to learn that from?”

  “I don’t know yet. I’ve made a point of avoiding such company.”

  “Seems a wise decision, if you ask me. Nothing good can come of dark magic—nothing at all.”

  “I used to think so. Now, I’ve realized my folly in avoiding the knowledge of such things. My ignorance has cost me everything.”

  ***

  Arvel proved to be both an enthusiastic and knowledgeable guide as they made their way south along the coast. He often grabbed something and brought it to Taliesin, pointing at it with an expectant look. “What do you call th
is?” Taliesin would tell him the word for it, and Arvel never forgot, his vocabulary mounting with every mile they traveled.

  They spent the nights around a campfire on the beach in song, for nothing pleased Arvel more—especially songs with choruses conducive to howling with the dogs. That kept Taliesin singing mostly tavern songs, which Gawyr seemed to prefer as well.

  Arvel was always the one to fall asleep first, his belly full of fish and the dogs nestled in around him.

  “They used to prefer you,” Gawyr observed one night.

  Taliesin glanced over at the hounds and sighed. “Thank you for pointing it out.”

  Gawyr chuckled and changed the subject. “Do you want to talk about her?”

  “Who?”

  “Your woman, you damn fool. Who else?”

  Taliesin shrugged. “What’s there to talk about?”

  “She must be one hell of a lass.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Scáthach chose to train her.”

  Taliesin raised one eyebrow. “She chose to train you, as well.”

  Gawyr chuckled. “Yes, but she’s obligated to train me—any who gain access to the fortress are granted that privilege. Besides, I’m a giant. Not many of us left, and we’re worth twenty of you lot. What I don’t understand is why she would choose to train a pregnant woman.”

  Taliesin saw no reason to keep Arhianna’s ability from Gawyr. He would find out soon enough when he went back to Dun Scáthach. “Because she can wield and control fire. That’s why.”

  Gawyr raised his brows. “I thought you said she was a priestess!”

  “No. Not exactly.” Taliesin’s mind flashed back to the moment he had seen her emerge from the smoke and flames of the bonfire that was supposed to have claimed her life and sent her as a sacrifice to Woden. “She’s a Firebrand. It runs in her blood.”

  Gawyr let out a long breath. “Well, that settles it, then. No wonder Scáthach wants her. Such power alone could win a battle. Imagine they’ll send the babe off to Ragna, then? That poor woman should have her grandchild to comfort her, seeing as how she lost her only son, and the mother clearly doesn’t want it. “

  Oh, gods—Ragna! Taliesin suddenly felt sick. He had been so consumed by his own worries and sorrows that he had forgotten all about her. I’m sorry, Ragna—I’m so sorry. He knew the right thing to do would be to return to her with news of Arhianna and the child, but there was no time. He had to get to Caer Leon. Besides, what would I say? I can’t tell her the truth. Better to say nothing than tell more lies.

  Gawyr had been staring at the fire awhile, brows knit in contemplation. “Or, maybe she plans to keep the child as well, eh? If the Firebrand runs in the bloodline? But you can’t very well have a child in a training barracks.”

  “No, you can’t. They send their babes to the selkies to raise.” Taliesin had not even thought of the possible motive Gawyr had suggested, but it made perfect sense—keep the babe with the selkies until it became clear whether she had the Firebrand or not, then train her into a warrior if she did. He felt more justified than ever that he had done the right thing by sending his daughter south with Ula.

  They sat in silence awhile, staring at the fire. Taliesin began wondering how long it would be before he would see Arhianna again. Will it truly be years, as Scáthach said? The thought weighed heavy on his heart. “How long is this training of Scáthach’s?”

  “Why? Wondering when you can see her again?”

  “Of course.”

  “As long as it takes, I imagine. Cu Chulainn trained with her a year. But he was Cu Chulainn. Not a young woman.”

  Taliesin smiled for the first time in days. “You’d be a fool to underestimate her.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Over Land and Sea

  Ula swam along the coastline, safe from the swifter currents and larger predators of the open water. Her strength was not what it used to be, especially with the awkward weight of the child inside her skin, but she managed. She had made a similar journey with her own child in her belly, though he had not been full-grown like the one she carried now.

  She regretted Taliesin’s anger with her, but she could not change the past. She had made what she felt was the best decision at the time. Now, at least, she had the chance to make it up to him.

  League after salty league, her thoughts drifted through the past as if it were a vast, never-ending kelp forest. She had begun her life as a child like her own—the result of a union between a selkie and a man. Her father had been a fisherman who had come upon her mother sunning herself without her skin. Sunny days were rare in the north, so when they came, no selkie could resist basking in the sun’s heat, however weak it might be. The price her mother had paid for her negligence was not terrible, for she grew fond of the fisherman and he was kind to her, but she had never been truly happy with him. When she had discovered she was with child, she had doubled her efforts to find her skin, vowing no child of hers would be raised among landwalkers. She began following her husband throughout the day, taking note of all the places he regularly fished. Once she knew them all, she explored the coastline along those places, searching every cave and grotto. It did not take her long to find her precious skin, for the fisherman was not a particularly clever man. Though she could speak the words of men, she could not write, so as a farewell, she left all of the things he had ever given her in the bottom of his boat. She returned to her people and Ula was born among them.

  Her mother was one of the only selkies in their clan who had been careless enough to get caught, so Ula grew up being continually cautioned against the dangers of taking her skin off any place other than home. But she, like her mother, had an adventurous spirit. She had explored all of the inlets, bays and coves around their island home long before she reached breeding age. She grew tired of swimming and hunting in the same places. All she knew were fish, birds and rocks. She wanted to see the landwalkers, like her father, and see how they lived. She wanted to see their horses, sheep and cows, and all of the other strange things she had heard tales of. One day, she swam past the waters she knew and kept on swimming.

  That was the start of many adventures her mother would never have approved of, each of them a bit further down the coast—for that was where the landwalkers lived in great numbers. She enjoyed watching them row their boats and fish the sea, but soon, that was not enough, either. She grew more daring and began venturing ashore. She would creep out of the water either at dawn, when all were sleeping, or dusk, when they were tired from the day. In the half-light, it was easy to snatch clothing off the washing lines and move about unnoticed. She could peer into their orange-yellow windows and watch them as they moved about in their taverns and homes. She watched fisherwomen cook eggs they stole from beneath their chickens, or make stews from the food they dug out of the ground or plucked off bushes. She saw milkmaids coax milk from cows and goats with their hands the way pups suckled it from their mothers. She watched men cut down trees and build houses with them wielding sharp, ghastly-looking tools. She watched children play by the water’s edge with tiny boats that looked like the ones their fathers took out every morning.

  Landwalkers were not all she discovered in these new places, however. She came upon other clans of selkies. That was when she realized she would never have to return home at all if she did not wish to. She could winter with other clans and keep on swimming to new places for as long as she liked.

  And now, I’m to swim yet more waters I’ve never swum before, little pup. She thought of all the places she had seen in her life, between her youthful adventures and her many voyages aboard the Ceffyl Dŵr. She doubted any selkie who ever lived had seen so many different faces of the sea.

  ***

  Days at sea turned to nights at sea. Ula sought safe coves sheltered by the wind where she could rest, but never stayed for long. The waters warmed a bit as she moved south into the sea between Brython and Eire, sheltered from the winds and cold that came from the Deep Wate
r.

  The hunting was good there. In addition to a nice variety of fish, there were scallops and crab, her favorite things to eat. She worried about the child in her skin. With each passing day, Ula grew more concerned and slept less. She feared the child would not survive. I cannot feed her. She needs milk. I must hurry.

  ***

  Taliesin watched the sun rise over the cliffs they had camped beneath, illuminating the sea stretching out before him. He looked out over the vast blue water and wondered where Ula and Morrigan might be. Though he felt confident he had done the right thing for his daughter, he could not shake his anxiety. He did not trust Cerridwen any more than he trusted Scáthach. What will she demand of me now, in return for her protection? He had been foolish not to ask. Not that it would have made much difference. He knew the risk of getting his daughter to Caer Leon by sea was less than the risk of traveling through hundreds of miles of forests, riverlands and hill country.

  Gawyr let out a morning growl, startling a trio of gulls that had come to pick through their discarded fishbones and crab shells from the night before. He sat up, rubbed his eyes, and then stretched his massive arms into the sky. He looked like a gnarled tree that had sprung up out of the ground enchanted, with its limbs twisting in the air.

  Arvel showed up within the hour, wet with seawater, with fish for all of them clutched in his hands.

  “Play something that will make eating fish again sound good,” Gawyr suggested as he eyed Arvel’s catch. “I say let’s go inland a bit, today. Catch a few rabbits. Never liked fish. It’s been four days of nothing but fish. I can’t do it anymore. And what I wouldn’t give for some bloody ale.”

  “We’ll be in Alt Clud soon enough. They’ll be ale and venison for you there. I promise.”

  “Don’t speak of it. You’re putting me in a state.”

  Taliesin laughed. “Soon enough.”

  They ate their breakfast of fish in resigned silence.

  ***

  A storm was brewing. Ula could smell it in the air. She stayed near the coast, popping her head up from time to time to survey the coast, looking for safe places she might retreat and wait out the weather, but there were none.