Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (15 page)

I looked around the room which was generously appointed with heavy wooden cabinets, plush chairs and thick rugs. Dark drapes covered the windows, keeping out the early spring evening's chill. It was clear Owain did better than all right.
 

"I'm sure I won't need to stay a sevennight," I said. "A day, maybe two, and I'll be well again. I can't afford to delay any longer."

"Can't rush these things. And there's Bramble too."

We both looked down at the little terrier curled up in the basket. She gazed up at us, her eyes already drooping.

"She might not be well enough to come with me." The words hurt but I had to do what was best for Bramble, not for myself. "She lost a lot of blood and it's going to be a while before she can walk properly."

Owain nodded and returned his gaze to the fire.
 

"Would you… Could I… That is, if she can't come with me, can she stay with you?" I finished in a rush, wishing I had found a more elegant way to say it.
 

"Sure." Owain spared Bramble another quick glance. "If she wants. Mayhap though she wants to stick with you."

I looked down at Bramble to find her sitting up and glaring at me. Curiously, she appeared to have taken offence at my request. How much of our conversation had she understood? Surely it wasn't possible for a dog to recognise more than a few words. Come, sit, eat. But still, the look she gave made me want to hang my head in shame.

"I'm not saying I want to leave her behind," I said quickly.
 

Owain mumbled something that might have been agreement. We sat in silence after that, each occupied with his own thoughts, and I noticed he dropped a hand down to stroke Bramble gently on the head.

Bramble no longer seemed sleepy. Although she lay down again, she continued to glare at me. I kept my gaze firmly on the raven in the fire and pretended I didn't see the hurt in Bramble's eyes.

I was pitifully weak from my illness but each day I grew a little stronger and my ankle a little more sound. I passed my recovery time mostly lying in bed, talking to Bramble, and worrying about how many nights remained until the next full moon. I didn't see much of Owain after breakfast each day but every evening he came to carry Bramble and I downstairs for dinner. After we had eaten, the three of us would laze in front of the fire. Maeve always absented herself after the evening meal and I wouldn't see her again until breakfast.

"Didn't expect her to make it," Owain said one evening, referring to Bramble who was sprawled on his lap, head draped over his knee, seemingly asleep. "Didn't expect either of you to make it actually."

"She's tougher than she looks," I said.

Bramble opened one eye to glare at me.

"I don't thinks she likes me much," I added with something of a laugh. Bramble might glare and huff at me but every night she slept curled in a warm ball against my side.
 

"Her wounds were festering." Owain stroked Bramble's back with a gentleness unexpected in one so large.
 

"I didn't realise." Guilt filled me. If only I hadn't rationed the water. If only I had cleaned her wounds more thoroughly. Perhaps they wouldn't have become infected if I had looked after her properly.

"Her ear won't heal right." Owain's hand touched the bandaged ear ever so gently. "There's a piece missing. Maeve stitched it best she could."

"At least she's alive. I wonder what happened to her before she found me."

"Boar."

I looked at Bramble with new respect. "She's so small. I can't imagine how she could fight a boar and survive."

Bramble huffed although she didn't deign to open her eyes. She didn't have to. I already knew the sound was directed at me.
 

I could hardly reconcile the white terrier curled up on Owain's lap with the blood-soaked creature who had first slunk towards me in the woods. Her injured paw was still bandaged. The bones weren't broken but the paw was badly bruised and the large gash from which so much blood had oozed was healing slowly. She still refused to put any weight on that paw but she moved around easily enough on three legs. Her other wounds — ear and shoulder and flank — were still red and inflamed.
 

There was time yet for Bramble to heal though for I was still weak and tired easily. I ate everything Maeve put in front of me and often, with Owain's insistence, had seconds, but still my clothes hung more loosely than before and my face, when I caught a glimpse of it in the wash bowl, was gaunt and haggard.

I relaxed into the comfortable chair, basking in the fire's warmth, and tried not to notice the raven flickering in its depths. Fatigue crept through my body, leaving my limbs heavy. Soon I was yawning enough for Owain to decide it was time we all retired. He banked down the fire and we headed upstairs.
 

As Bramble and I lay in bed, thick blankets pulled up over both of us, the sounds of an argument between Owain and Maeve reached my ears. Were they arguing about us? Maeve made it clear at every opportunity that our presence was an inconvenience. I would have probably left by now, even as weak as I was, if not for Owain's quiet insistence that we stay. He and Maeve had a strange relationship. She clearly disdained him. He suffered her harsh words with nothing more than a resigned shrug and an occasional sigh.
 

Bramble shifted beside me and I wrapped an arm around her.

"I wish I knew what they were saying," I murmured. "I bet you can hear every word."

She draped her head across my arm. The stiff hairs on her chin tickled my skin.

"Are you comfortable? I hope your wounds aren't bothering you too much."

A soft sound, almost a sigh.
 

"Do you think I can do this, Bramble? If the witch is Ida, do you think I can find her? Do you think I can really destroy her?"

Bramble stirred. She was listening.

"I wonder sometimes. I don't know whether I'm strong enough. I have no idea what I'm doing or how to destroy her. I only know I have to do it or… or die trying."

It was the first time I had dared voice this thought. Perhaps Ida would hold the same power over me that she had over the villagers of Crow's Nest. What if I abandoned my quest merely because she told me to? What if she forced me do awful things? Or if she killed me?
 

"I wish I knew what she was doing," I whispered. "We've been here too long. More than a sevennight. The closer the dark of the moon comes… I'm scared, Bramble. I feel so alone. I know this is my fault and I have to be the one to fix it, but still…"

She huffed at me.

"Yes, I know you're here. But it would be nice to have someone I could talk to."

Another huff and then she disentangled herself from my arm and rose. She wiggled out from under the covers, moved to the end of the bed and lay down again, her back to me. I had left the curtains open and her white hair shone in the moonlight that peeked through the window.

"Don't be like that."
 

No response.
 

"Bramble, please."

A huff.

With a sigh, I sat up and reached for her, nestling her once again under the covers and in the crook of my arm.

"I'm thankful to have you. I don't know what I'd do if I was all alone."

I prattled to her for a while, telling her how lovely she looked with her shiny white coat and her big, unblinking eyes. Likely she didn't understand anything I said but it soothed me if nothing else. Eventually the stiffness left her body, she draped her head over my arm again, and I knew I was forgiven.

My words tapered off and I closed my eyes. How would I ever sleep alone again? Perhaps I wouldn't have to. Perhaps Bramble would be well enough to come with me, and we would somehow defeat Ida, and then we could go home together to Silver Downs.
 

I drifted off to sleep with my mind full of Bramble running across the grassy fields at home, sitting beside me as I created my tales, and curling up next to me in bed every night.

He comes. I feel it, in my bones, in my blood, in every breath I take. He and I, we are one, even if he doesn't know it. So now he comes and I understand his intent: to destroy me.
 

At first, he drew closer, slowly but steadily. Now his journey has halted. Nonetheless, he will come to me eventually.
 

I know he intends to destroy me but that confounds me. He created me. Everything I am is because of him. Everything I know came from his mind, all I know of the world is from his tales. And the tales tell me the world is a dark and dangerous place. It is full of terror and evil and despair.

I want… something more. I cannot express it, this vague longing inside of me. The tales do not hold any explanation of this. I only know there is something
more
.
 

Until I discover what the
more
is, I have made myself a home of sorts. I have a house at any rate, in a village. Diarmuid's tales taught me much about evil. Wherever evil exists, it must be rooted out and destroyed. The people here fear me, I see that. If only they knew I am trying to help them, to save their village. Our village. For I am living by Diarmuid's tales. I am cleansing the village. Evil by evil, I am removing those who contaminate this place. Those who have darkness in their hearts, those who have secrets. Those who long for something else.

We stayed at Owain's for nine nights before Diarmuid was ready to continue his journey. Even then, Owain urged him to stay one last night.
For Bramble's sake
, he said.
 

I was glad for the reprieve, for my paw was tender and walking was still painful. Not that I could have told Diarmuid. He, as a bard, should have seen there was more to me than four paws and a tail. I had been trying to communicate, to show him I was no normal dog, but he wouldn't listen. Instead, it was Owain who noticed.
 

As he carried me upstairs that last evening, while Diarmuid followed slowly behind, Owain stared into my eyes.
 

"You're more than you seem," he said, quietly.

I held his gaze, unblinking, but he said nothing further, only deposited me on the bed. Diarmuid, when he arrived, was breathing a little too heavily. He wasn't yet as recovered as he believed. Owain left and Diarmuid and I curled up together in bed, the blankets draped over us up to our necks. Diarmuid wrapped an arm around me and I sighed, contented.

"We have to move on tomorrow, Bramble," he said.
 

How strange that Diarmuid had chosen such a name for me. My father used to call me Bramble as a child. He often said I was as stubborn as a bramble bush.

"I wish I knew what was happening in Crow's Nest," Diarmuid said. "I don't even know whether Ida is still there. What if she's moved on? How will I find her?"

I growled softly, requesting he shut up and let me sleep. He talked for some time, repeating himself endlessly. I ignored him at best I could until I heard my name.

"What am I going to do about you, Bramble?"

I flicked an ear at him.

"I can hardly take you with me while you're injured. Perhaps I should leave you here with Owain. He would take good care of you."

I lifted my head to glare at him. Did he really think it would be his decision whether or not I travelled with him? Had I been able to speak, I couldn't have said exactly why it seemed so important I go with Diarmuid. I simply knew I must. How I would cope with the endless hours of walking as we travelled to Crow's Nest, I didn't know. I would endure it because I had to.

Diarmuid didn't notice my indignation. One hand absently stroked my back and, reluctantly, I allowed the motion to soothe me. I dropped my head down onto my paws and squeezed my eyes shut. Perhaps if I tried really hard, I could fall asleep and leave him to talk to himself. He continued to speak and I let the words wash over me. It was the catch in his voice that finally caught my attention again.

"I'd never forgive myself if I took you with me and something happened to you. What if I get killed? Who would look after you?"

You great idiot. It will likely be me looking after you.

He continued to talk and I continued to try to ignore him. Finally, he was silent and I was able to work on falling asleep in earnest.
 

As I was drifting off, Owain and Maeve's raised voices drew me back to wakefulness. They bickered constantly. Or rather Maeve bickered constantly and Owain mostly let her have her say. Then he would hang his head and walk away. I had never heard him snap back.
 

But tonight it wasn't only Maeve I heard, but also Owain, his low voice a stark comparison to her shrillness. Whatever the argument was about, and I had an awful feeling it was probably Diarmuid and I, Owain was not giving up. Eventually a door slammed and the house was silent. Diarmuid said nothing, for a change, but he held me a little tighter.

I woke with the sun and waited in bed while Diarmuid washed and dressed. It wasn't until he was ready to go downstairs that I stood and stretched, extending each leg as far as it would go, rejoicing in the new strength in my muscles. Diarmuid lifted me down from the bed for my wounded paw could not yet handle a jump. The twisted scars on my shoulder and side were bright and vicious but they were healing and felt less tight every day. Owain had said my ear was permanently damaged but I had no way of viewing it. I didn't allow my mind to drift to whether I might retain any injuries when finally restored to my own form. No point in worrying about the future while I had the present to deal with.

Maeve was nowhere to be seen and today there was none of the usual thick porridge. Diarmuid and Owain ate slices of yesterday's bread slathered with summer berry preserves. Owain placed a bowl of last night's mutton in my basket by Diarmuid's chair. I also received a soft stroke on the shoulder and in return I briefly pressed my nose against his hand. I met his gaze, trying to express thankfulness for all he had done for us. He nodded solemnly.