Daughters Of The Storm (43 page)

Fear made Rose speak too sharply. ‘No, Bluebell. No. Two mornings in a row. She's not there. Something's happened. I have to return to Folcenham.'

Bluebell sighed in exasperation.

Ash shook off her blanket and came to put her arm around Rose. ‘I think she should go.'

‘What could possibly have happened to her, Rose? She is in the care of her father, your husband, the king of Netelchester. We are days away from Yldra, days away from ...' Bluebell stopped, ran her hand through her hair. ‘Very well. Go. Be with your child.' She cast a dark glance at Ash, who kept her expression neutral.

Rose was already gathering her things. ‘I hope you're right, Bluebell. I hope the problem is noisy ducks. But if I stay and tomorrow morning she still isn't in the seeing-circle, then I will have made the wrong decision. I'd be another day away from her.' Rose's voice caught on a hook in her throat.
Please, Great Mother,
protect my baby.
She was gripped by a powerful longing for Rowan's body: for her plump arms and sturdy knees, her impossibly elastic cheeks. She let out a little groan. ‘Where is she?'

Bluebell stepped forwards, gathering Rose in her arms. Rose sagged against her sister's sinewy body. ‘She will be well, you will see,' Bluebell said.

Rose straightened, brushing Bluebell's hair out of her mouth. ‘Thank you,' she managed. Then she was running for her horse, running home to Rowan.

The sun was moving towards the centre of the sky when Ash asked to stop and rest. Bluebell glanced around. Wide rocky fields riven by a narrow stream that ran cold and urgent over flat brown stones. A chestnut grove on a hill close by, the green leaves fluttering in the sun. She peered at it carefully, could see no movement, so she reigned Isern in and dismounted.

Bluebell walked, then watered Isern. She fed her dogs while Ash and Unweder ate. Bluebell wasn't hungry, so she took a brush to Isern's mane and tail to look busy, even though her object was to watch her two companions. They talked quietly about the weather, the horses. Bluebell could tell they were dying to speak of other things, but daren't while she was there.

Then Unweder said, ‘You must excuse me a few moments,' climbed to his feet, and headed up the hill to the grove.

Bluebell watched him then turned her attention to Ash, who was rethreading the leather lace on her right shoe.

‘Where's he gone?' she asked.

Ash shrugged.

Bluebell narrowed her eyes, turning her attention back to Unweder. He disappeared into the trees. She patted Isern's flank
and whistled for her dogs, who were madly snuffling in rabbit holes, then went after Unweder.

‘Leave him be, Bluebell,' Ash called behind her.

But Bluebell ignored her.

In the shade, the temperature was a skin-shiver cooler. She couldn't see him, but she heard him humming and followed the noise. What was he up to, sneaking off to hide among the trees? Did he intend to perform some evil magic on them? Her hand went to her hip, fingers grazing the grip of her sword lightly. He came into view, standing very still with his back to her.

She gestured to the dogs to sit, and crept up to him slowly. Listening to his humming, growing more suspicious. She couldn't see where his hands were: no doubt in front of him casting his spell. Just as she was about to grasp his shoulder, he sensed her approach and half-turned with a gasp.

Bluebell stifled a laugh. Not casting a spell. Pissing.

‘Should I have asked permission?' he said, turning his body away with impossible-to-conceal embarrassment.

‘Don't mind me,' she said, ‘I've seen men piss before.'

‘You frightened me,' he said. ‘I've got it on my shoe now.'

‘A bit of piss on your shoe isn't going to slow us down,' she said, folding her arms. ‘I didn't mean to frighten you. I wanted to see what you were doing.'

‘Why?'

‘Because I don't trust you.'

Unweder raised one eyebrow and spread his palms languidly. His good eye met her gaze; his bad eye looked off into the distance. ‘I don't care.'

‘If you fuck with my sister, I'll cut you to pieces.'

‘I intend no harm to Ash. She has a rare talent and I only want to help her.'

‘Why?'

‘Because she needs my help.'

‘That's not what undermagicians do. Undermagicians only care about themselves. They don't make friends, they live as far from each other as possible.'

‘It isn't always true.'

‘Enough people believe it to be true.'

‘Enough people believe women can't be warriors or kings. Does that make it true?'

She didn't answer, choosing instead to stare at him and see if he would squirm.

‘You should ask Ash about the dream,' he said.

‘What dream?'

‘Her dream. Ask her about it. And perhaps ask her why she hasn't told you.'

‘She tells me everything,' Bluebell said, madly trying to remember if Ash had mentioned a dream recently.

Unweder lifted a shoulder. ‘Then I suppose you needn't ask her.' He smoothed down the front of his tunic. ‘We should be moving on. There's an inn off the road about two hours from here. My destination and yours aren't far now.' He moved away, through the trees, while Bluebell watched him with a churning gut. He was slippery. In her world, she knew where things were, and they either stood still or moved slowly. But he slid about like an eel between rocks. And she didn't like it. She called her dogs and went back down the hill.

Later that afternoon, with Unweder far enough ahead of them to be out of earshot, Bluebell pulled her horse up close beside Ash's and said, ‘Unweder said to ask you about the dream.'

Ash's eyebrows shot up. ‘He did?'

‘What dream does he mean?'

‘I haven't spoken to him about any dreams.' Ash was being evasive, and Bluebell could tell.

‘Is there something important you're not telling me?' Bluebell said, trying not to sound threatening but suspecting she would fail. She had never acquired that cloak of nicety that padded conversation.

‘I ...'

Bluebell saw Unweder turn his head, glance over his shoulder at them, then turn away. Was that a smug smile on his face? Bluebell's gut itched.

‘Tell me. If there's something wrong and it's important, you should always tell me.'

‘You don't understand, Bluebell. This is not something you can solve by pulling out your sword.'

‘Then there is something wrong?'

Ash kept her gaze in front of her. ‘No.'

‘What is it?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Why are you so pale?'

Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Because I am afraid.'

‘Of him?' Bluebell gestured towards Unweder. ‘Just say the word, I'll get rid of him.'

‘No, not of Unweder. I'm afraid of myself.'

Bluebell realised she wasn't going to get further with Ash. It wasn't the right time: too much noise and movement. ‘I'm sorry you're afraid, Ash. And I'm even more sorry you feel you can't tell me something so important it makes your skin pale and your eyes haunted.'

‘Don't be angry.'

‘I'm not angry. I'm sad.'

‘Don't be sad,' Ash said, with less conviction. ‘Put it out of your mind.'

Bluebell nodded. ‘Of course. It's your choice whether you trust me with your secrets. So long as you know you
can
trust me.' Her eyes went once again to Unweder and she had the uncanny sense he knew what they were talking about, and that he was laughing at her. ‘I can't say, though, whether you can trust him.'

‘I believe he wouldn't hurt me.'

Bluebell smiled tightly, and didn't say what she was thinking:
I believe he
would
hurt me.

By the afternoon of the fourth day with Unweder, Bluebell had prevented Ash from speaking more than a few sentences with him. Every time Ash sat down and asked him a question, Bluebell would interrupt, find her a chore to complete, or sit so close she couldn't talk freely. Ash knew Bluebell was being protective, but Ash didn't need protecting. Not from Unweder. He knew about her dream — Bluebell's questions had alerted her to that fact — and yet he wasn't afraid of her. He hadn't run or demanded she take herself off in exile. He could help her: she was certain of it.

So when Unweder announced they were drawing close to his home, the disappointment was heavy in her belly.

‘Already?' she said, as she reined in her horse next to him. Bluebell had made him ride ahead of them the whole way.

He pointed along the road in front of them. ‘In ten miles you'll reach a road that forks. Head west. The plains open up after the rocky heath. A tall standing stone will tell you that you are near Yldra's home. Head north a little way and the path will appear, running up a hill. I should tell you, she is notorious for protecting the way.'

Ash thought about the corn dollies she had seen in her vision, and she shivered softly from the inside.

Bluebell gazed up the road, then back to Unweder with her mouth in a hard line. She nodded once. ‘Thank you.'

Unweder looked as though he was fighting a chuckle.

‘We should take him safely to his front door,' Ash said.

‘He can manage,' Bluebell replied.

Unweder glanced at Ash. ‘It's only a mile from here. Perhaps Ash could accompany me while you rest?'

‘Yes,' Ash said, at the precise moment Bluebell said, ‘No.'

‘We should be on our way,' Bluebell continued, with a steely note of warning in her voice.

Ash, made bold by the days of frustration, dug in her heels. ‘Bluebell, I am going to take Unweder home.'

‘Then I'll go with you.'

Ash knew Bluebell's will was inexorable. ‘Very well.'

Unweder inclined his head politely. ‘This way,' he said.

They followed him down a narrow path that was little more than a track beaten into the grass. Tall trees grew on either side of it, spring saplings competing for the sun. A deep, green smell surrounded them, ancient deadfall between layers of mud. For some reason, the smell made Ash feel calm, as though the bubbling anxiety in her soul was ebbing away. She took deep breaths of it.

Within ten minutes, Unweder's house came into view. It sat in a hollow, with a narrow, lichen-spotted stone path leading towards the front door. Bare trees crowded close around it, and fallen leaves clung to the roof. Green and yellow mould bloomed in patterns on the thatch.

‘Here it is,' Unweder said, reining in his horse at the top end of the path. ‘Would you like to come in?'

Ash looked to Bluebell. ‘Please?' she asked.

‘I'll wait here with Isern and the dogs,' Bluebell said.

Ash dismounted, her heart speeding a little.

Unweder indicated the front door. ‘I'll take my horse around to the stable. Let yourself in.'

Bluebell dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘If you're not back out here in five minutes, I'm coming in. I've already lost one sister from this journey, I won't lose another.'

Ash swallowed guiltily. ‘Give me ten.'

Bluebell nodded.

Ash advanced down the path. A cool breeze moved past her, shaking the hedgerows. It seemed winter still clung around his house: the hedges were so bare she could see the fine grey twigs inside. She pulled open the front door and cold ash swirled up from the hearthpit. The house was narrow: the walls seemed only a few feet apart. It smelled of woodsmoke and rosemary, and faintly of mice. Vines had grown through the shutter slats and died, leaving brown skeletons behind. The only light came from the open door, illuminating long wooden benches crammed untidily with objects, bent floorboards, and a narrow rectangular bed built into a corner of the room.

A shadow moved across the light and Ash turned to see Unweder.

‘That was quick,' she said.

‘I'll let him walk about for a while and tend to him later.' He pulled a stool over next to the hearthpit and bent to stir the ashes. ‘Pass me a log and some kindling.'