Fire Arrow (2 page)

Brie had told her father she wanted to dance around the bonfire and feel the fire's heat on her face and arms. He had said she was too young. But even when she grew older, Brie didn't dance. She would gaze enviously at the abandoned twirling forms of the dancers, but her body felt hemmed in, awkward. And there was the unspoken word that it was somehow unseemly for the daughter of the hero Conall to join the bonfire dances.

"Brie?" Collun broke into her thoughts. "Where have you been?" he asked with a smile.

"At the bonfire dances, long ago," she said musingly. She shivered slightly. Brie did not often think of Dun Slieve. Her uncle and aunt lived there now. She had left the day after her father's burial—to seek his murderers—and had never returned.

"Perhaps we should go inside?" Collun asked, trying to read Brie's face in the darkness.

"Not yet. I was thinking of the last time I saw the dun where I grew up." She paused. "And the pledge I made when I left there."

Brie felt Collun's eyes on her. "It has been two years, or more, since then..." She trailed off.

Then she turned to Collun with a ghost of a smile. "I have been wondering of late if I oughtn't leave my father's murderers to their own fates."

Collun let out a breath, smiling broadly. "I'm glad," he said simply.

***

As they made their way down the inside stairway, a loud crack of thunder echoed in the tower. "If we wish to remain dry, we'd best stay inside tonight," Collun said.

They had to rummage about to find bedding, and it took some time to sort out where to sleep in the long-deserted dun. But finally Brie lay on a pallet, Collun in the room next to hers. It felt strange to be separated by walls. She listened to the rain, glad it had held off until after the bonfires. She dozed, thinking again of her childhood in Dun Slieve.

***

Brie was in the Ramhar Forest, crouching beside her father's body, her heels skidding in the blood-slick grass. Hatred raged inside her, roaring in her ears. The three men stood before her, like ghosts: one with wide shoulders and thick pale arms, carrying a black spear; another tall, with yellowish eyes; and the last, the most evil, with his arrogant, coarse face and black eye-patch.

As she stood to face them, they disappeared. Then there was darkness. A throbbing, quiet stillness. And suddenly out of the silence plunged a blazing yellow bird of prey. Its talons were extended and it dived at Brie. She raised her hands to fend it off.

***

There was a pale face hovering over her and the faint sound of a voice speaking. But the features of the face were blurred, black smudges where the eyes should have been, and she could not recognize it. Panic filled Brie, as if she were falling backward into darkness, nothingness. Her hands flailed; she didn't know if she should be trying to catch hold of something or to push it away.

"Brie?" Collun caught one of her fluttering, cold hands in his. She tried to snatch her hand away, hating the feel of his warm skin. But he held fast, keeping his voice low, soothing.

Her racing heart began to slow. She was able to focus on Collun's face; on the comfort in his voice. But for some reason, she still wanted her hand back.

"Let go," she croaked, pulling away, and suddenly her hand snapped loose of Collun's grasp. She cradled it against her chest. Collun drew away slightly.

"A bad dream?" he asked, his voice neutral.

"Yes. My father," Brie replied indistinctly. And a bird, she thought. She didn't understand about the bird. It had been familiar, yet not like any live bird she had seen. Its yellow feathers were overvivid, unnatural. Perhaps she had dreamed it before.

"Can I bring; you something? Water or...?"

Brie forced her lips into a smile and shook her head. "I'm better now. It was probably all the peach mead we drank." Collun's face relaxed. They had discovered an overgrown orchard of peach trees and for the past week had eaten little else but peaches: peach pie, poached peaches on toast, guinea hen flavored with peach juice. It was Kled's idea to make several barrels of peach mead for Midsummer.

"It was rich," Collun agreed. He paused. "This is the first of those nightmares you've had in a long time."

Brie nodded. "The first since coming here." They were silent for a moment. "No more peach mead for me," Brie added with a thin smile.

Soon Collun left the room, and Brie rose, crossing to the heavy tapestry that covered the window. She pulled it aside. It had turned into a wild night. Through lashings of rain she could just glimpse the sea.

***

The next day as she and Collun labored to rebuild a stone wall separating pasture from crop-producing land, Brie felt edgy, her eyes prickly from lack of sleep. She worked hard, hoping to sweat out her unease. Collun tried several times to start a conversation, but Brie's responses were perfunctory. At midday, Kled came by to share their meal. He offered Brie a cup of peach mead, which she refused with a frown. Kled raised his eyebrows, then turned to Collun.

"You'll never guess what Renin came across this morning," he said, munching on a peach tart.

"What?" asked Collun, trying to coax some damp kindling into a fire for brewing chicory.

"A wyll."

"A what?"

"A wyll. A kind of witch-woman or fortune-teller. Haven't you heard of them? You find them mostly in the north, closer to Dungal. That's where they come from. Dungal."

Dungal was a small kingdom north of Eirren, separated from it by the Blue Stack Mountains, a formidable, almost impassable mountain range that began practically at the Western Sea then swept inland, curving northward until it crossed over into Scath and became the Mountains of Marwol. The mountain range provided a natural boundary between Dungal and Scath as well.

To the people of Eirren, Dungal was a place shrouded in myth. Dungalans were said to have more than a little Ellyl blood running in their veins, and it was not unusual to find at least one person in a village with the ability to perform magic of one kind or another, be it the curing of ills or weather-working. They spoke their own language and worshiped their own gods. Traditionally they were ruled by a queen, but in recent years a prince named Durwydd ruled the small kingdom.

"She's a tiny thing, the wyll; Renin thought her a child when he first came upon her. He found her sheltering in that broken-down dovecote," continued Kled. "She knows all sorts of things you can't figure out how she would. The others are all worked up. Renin has already given her his favorite torque because she told him he was going to marry the girl he fancies back in his birth town. The wyll knew the girl's name and everything. You two ought to come, have your fortunes told."

Brie was skeptical and her head ached with fatigue, but Collun was curious, so they accompanied Kled to the soldiers' quarters in what had once been the dairy barn.

When Brie and Collun entered, the soldiers were listening raptly as the wyll told a story.

She was indeed small and had long coppery gold hair. It was woven into dozens of braids that fell past her waist. Her forehead was broad, unusually broad for such a small face, which—coupled with her large amber eyes—kept her from being beautiful. She wore colorful clothing that seemed to consist of many layers, and bright earrings sparkled at her ears. The wyll took note of the new arrivals, but did not pause in her storytelling. She spoke with a lyrical, accented voice, and Kled whispered that her name was Aelwyn.

Despite her sore head, Brie found herself getting caught up in the story. She wished she had been there from the beginning. Then the wyll fell silent, her story finished. She turned toward Brie. A smile curved her small mouth, and she suddenly spoke in a tongue Brie did not know. At Brie's puzzled look, Aelwyn shifted back to Eirrenian. "Are you not from Dungal?"

Brie shook her head.

"I'm sorry. You have a look about you of home."

"They want their fortunes told, Aelwyn," Kled said. Brie started to demur, but Collun stepped forward. Aelwyn motioned for Collun to sit before her, and she took hold of both his hands, shutting her amber eyes. She was silent for several moments, her wide forehead ridged with concentration.

"I see a long journey. A monstrous creature. Burning pain. But then relief and peace." She paused, then opened her eyes. "You have learned something ill of a blood kin, yet where there was honor before, there will be honor again."

Collun stared at the wyll, his mouth open slightly.

"Didn't I tell you she was a marvel, Collun?" said Kled, breaking the silence.

Brie wondered just how much the soldiers had told the wyll of Collun's history, but she said nothing.

"It's your turn, Brie," said Kled.

"I really don't...," Brie began.

"Come," said Aelwyn with a smile. Reluctantly Brie sat before the wyll, who gathered up her hands. Aelwyn started to close her eyes then seemed to change her mind, opening them. She gazed straight at Brie. The wyll's amber eyes were glittery, like faceted gemstones.

Suddenly a shudder went through Aelwyn, and she tightened her grip on Brie's hands. Her eyes seemed almost to spin, and she began speaking in a rasp, unlike the voice that she'd used with Collun. But she spoke in the language of Dungal.

Brie felt cold, as if an icy hand had clamped on to the nape of her neck. She wanted to withdraw her hands but was mesmerized by the wyll's eyes. The wyll continued to speak, the strange words flowing out of her mouth, almost like a melody.

Finally Aelwyn fell silent. Brie heard one of the soldiers nervously clear his throat.

Aelwyn gently released Brie's hands. She blinked several times, then smiled at the assembled group as if nothing untoward had happened.

There was an awkward silence. Kled muttered to Collun, "Haven't seen her do
that
before."

Then the soldier Renin said, "So, did you see anything?"

"I did."

"By Amergin, are you going to tell us or not?"

Aelwyn turned her now-still eyes on Brie. "Do you wish to hear what I saw?"

Brie wanted to say no, but it seemed cowardly. Besides, it was all foolishness anyway. She nodded.

"I saw a brave man hewed down in a forest while a girl"—the wyll looked at Brie—"watched."

She could have learned that from the soldiers, Brie thought.

Aelwyn continued. "There were many, but two struck the most, the deepest. A man with broad pale arms holding a black spear, and another, tall with eyes like saffron, part morg. And last, one who led them, with a dark covering over one eye. Evil." The wyll shivered slightly. She stopped speaking.

Brie drew a deep breath. She had told no one what the killers looked like except Collun, and she knew he would never speak of it. "That was in the past," she said, her voice high and stretched thin. "What of the future?"

The wyll's amber eyes widened. "That which you seek lies in Dungal," she said.

Brie's pulse quickened, and the invisible cold hand at the back of her neck tightened its grip. "My father's murderers?" she asked, locking eyes with Aelwyn.

"If that is what you seek."

The wyll adjusted the torque on her arm. "It has been long since a seeing took such hold of me. Do you yourself have draoicht?" Aelwyn asked, curious.

"You mean magic?" Brie gave a short laugh. "Of course not."

Collun spoke up, his hand on his trine. "I carry a stone...?"

Aelwyn shook her head briskly, uninterested in the cailceadon. "No, it is from her." She turned back to Brie. "What is your name?"

"Breo-Saight. Or Brie."

"'Fire arrow...,"' the wyll said thoughtfully. "Listen, there is more." She drew Brie closer and spoke softly into her ear. "Shifting water and earth. Sacred standing stones covered with seabirds. A crippled man. And a man of power. Treachery. I saw hatred, the lust to kill. I saw death." Her breath tickled Brie's ear. "And ... an arrowhead pointed at your own heart."

Abruptly she resumed her normal voice. "There. That is all." She reached up and smoothed a coppery braid. "Now, does someone have a bauble for Aelwyn?" she asked, flashing a catlike smile.

Brie was too dazed to respond. Kled nudged Collun, who had been watching Brie with a worried frown.

Aelwyn crossed to Collun and said in a teasing voice, "Didn't you say something about a stone?"

"Uh, no ... I mean..." He stumbled over his words, reluctantly tearing his gaze from Brie. "That stone is, uh, too precious..." He trailed off.

"Not the cailceadon," laughed the wyll. "I have no interest in so potent a stone. I mean the one in your other pocket."

Puzzled, Collun felt in his pocket and drew out a chunk of rock he had found while plowing several days ago. It had several large saphir gems embedded in it, and he had thought to dig them out and make a bracelet or hair clasp for Brie.

Kled gave him another nudge, and Collun offered the rock to Aelwyn.

She took the chunk of rock with a look of pleasure, holding it up to the light coming through the dairy door.

Brie had been sitting very still, unaware of the conversation around her. Abruptly she rose, a flash of blue from a saphir banding her cheek as she began to move across the barn.

"Will you go to Dungal?" Aelwyn called after Brie.

Brie paused. "Perhaps," she said, heir voice sounding muffled.

Startled, Collun gave Brie a sharp look.

"Be warned, Breo-Saight," said Aelwyn, rummaging in her colorful layers of clothing for a soft leather pouch. As she slid the rock into the pouch she continued, "Once you go to Dungal, it is not easy to leave."

"You left."

"Because I like pretty, shiny things, and your people will pay well for the skills I have. But the hiraeth, the heartsickness from being away, it is with me all the time, like a knife in the heart. Farewell, Breo-Saight."

"Farewell, Aelwyn," Brie said, and left the barn.

There was a roaring in her ears and her breath came short as she moved away from the barn. Her father's killers. In Dungal. She would have her revenge.

In the room next to Collun's, Brie was stowing her things, in her pack.