Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin (14 page)

Gai’s face was lit up with a kind of malicious joy as he watched the bird’s struggle grow feebler.

Caymin seized his hand, her other on the bird’s breast. She closed her eyes. Gai’s face went ashen, and he tried to pull his hand free, but Caymin held him fast. He began to pant. He dropped the bow he still held in his other hand and grabbed at his tunic, over his chest.

“Look,” said Daina.

Overhead, black clouds gathered, low and menacing as they circled and the wind whipped to a frenzy.

“He can’t breathe,” Cíana said, looking from Gai to Caymin. She laid a hand on Caymin’s shoulder. “Stop.”

Gai sank to his knees, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Stop it!” Cíana grasped Caymin’s hand and pulled it free from Gai’s.

Gai fell onto his side, gasping for air. Caymin cradled the bird in her lap, the arrowhead protruding from the bird’s breast. She snapped the shaft and gently pulled the arrow through until it was free. Her hands, placed over each hole in the bird’s chest, glowed red and hot. She went stiff, and the cords of her neck stood out, her eyes screwed shut. Day turned to night and the wind howled.

“She’s having a fit,” Daina whispered, taking a step back, looking fearfully at the sky.

“No,” said Diarmit. “Look.”

Caymin suddenly went limp, slumping over the bird, her hands no longer glowing. The pheasant wriggled free and flapped furiously away into the trees.

Caymin slowly sat up, looking very pale. She looked at the blood on her trembling hands. The wind calmed and the clouds began to disperse, letting sunlight through once more.

The sound of heavy footsteps made them all jump as Ivar, Neela and Enat came running.

“What happened?” Neela asked.

The apprentices looked from Gai to Caymin.

Gai pointed with a shaky hand. “She tried to kill me.”

“What?” Ivar hauled Caymin up by her tunic, lifting her as easily as if she were a rag doll.

“No.” Cíana stepped in, laying a hand on Ivar’s arm. “That’s not what happened.” She told them of Gai’s wanting a moving target – “He shot at me!” Diarmit sputtered – and of his shooting the bird. “And then…” She paused. “I’m not sure what happened then.”

They all turned to Gai who had pulled his tunic up and was probing his chest. “I thought there would be blood,” he muttered. “She tried to kill me.”

“No.” Caymin pulled loose from Ivar’s grasp, straightening her own tunic. “I only wanted him to feel the bird’s pain and terror. I made him feel everything she felt.”

“And then,” Daina said, her voice hushed, “the sky got dark and you healed it. You healed the bird. Like you did the badger after the wolves attacked.”

Enat laid a hand on Caymin’s shoulder. “Is this true?”

Caymin nodded. “I had to. It was not an honorable death. She was not shot because we needed to eat. She has a nest of young ones that need her.”

Neela rounded on Gai. “You shot a live creature because you craved sport?”

Telltale scarlet patches rose in Gai’s pale cheeks. “Our hunting parties used to bring in scores of birds. This was just one.”

“Just one.” Enat’s voice was gentle, but even Caymin winced at the pain in her voice. “Have we taught you so little?” She squatted down and placed her fingers under Gai’s chin, making him look at her. “There is no such thing as ‘just one life’. All life is sacred. You are just one human, but you are sacred to us, Gai.”

“We’ve all had enough to think on for one day,” Ivar said. He picked up the bows and arrows lying scattered on the ground. “Go. All of you.”

When Caymin got back to the cottage with Enat, she slumped on the floor next to the hearth. Enat laid a hand on her forehead.

“You’re feeling weak?”

Caymin nodded, wiping sweat from her face with a trembling hand.

Enat swung the kettle over the fire and selected some herbs from her pots. When the water was hot, she poured it into a cup with the herbs and handed it to Caymin. “Drink this. You took the bird’s pain as well, didn’t you?”

Caymin nodded again. She sipped the tea and felt strength returning to her.

“You must be more careful. If her wounds had been more grievous, you might have died, taking her pain and trying to heal her, your life for hers.”

“I had to try,” Caymin said. She sipped more of the tea. “This is good.”

Enat nodded. “You have some color again. You were white as death for a wee bit.”

A shadow fell across the doorway, and they looked up to see Gai standing there.

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” Enat said. She poured another cup of tea and handed it to him as he sat cross-legged on the floor.

For a long moment, he stared into his cup. Enat and Caymin glanced at each other as they waited.

“Would you like to speak with Caymin alone?” Enat asked.

Gai looked up. “No. I need to speak with both of you. I’m… I’m ashamed of what I did. Shooting that bird. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for saying that, Gai.” Enat frowned toward Caymin, who was watching him.

“Why did you do it?” Caymin asked.

Gai drank some of his tea before saying, “When I was young, my father’s men took me hunting. I shot my first deer. It was a bad shot, and I only wounded her. When we found her, we probably could have removed the arrow and she would have lived, but they told me I had to kill her.” His pale face was paler than usual. “I hesitated, and they laughed at me, said I was weak. One of them cut her throat.” He swallowed hard. “And then they left her lying there. Said we had enough venison and didn’t need to haul the carcass back.”

Caymin didn’t know what to say. She felt sick to her stomach – for the deer and, curiously, for Gai.

“When we got back, they told my father and my brother what had happened. My father grabbed me by the throat and pinned me against the wall. He said if I ever failed to kill again, he would disown me. He wanted no part of such a weakling for a son.” Gai’s mouth twisted into a snarl as he said this last. His eyes glittered with tears when he looked up at them. “I was never anything but a disappointment to him.”

“You’re better than that, Gai,” Enat said softly. “Strength does not come from hurting or killing others. Strength comes from knowing yourself and doing what you know in your heart is right.”

He nodded, wiping a hand across his eyes. His gaze lowered as he swirled the tea in his cup. “I’ve never felt anything like what that bird felt.” He glanced up at Caymin. “What you made me feel.”

“I should not have done that,” Caymin said.

“No.” He leaned forward. “I’m glad you did. I want you to teach me how to talk to them. To animals.”

Whatever Caymin had expected Gai to say, this was not it. “I do not know if I can teach you,” she said. “I have always known how to do it.”

“And it may not be a matter of learning,” Enat cautioned. “Animals will decide for themselves who they will and will not speak with.”

Gai pulled back and his expression hardened. “You mean they might not want to speak with me.”

“I mean,” Enat said, “that we must respect that they can make their own decisions. Learning that is the first lesson.”

The hardness disappeared from Gai’s face. “You’re right, Enat.”

Caymin felt a stirring of pity for him. “We can try.”

He smiled, and Caymin thought it transformed him into something beautiful. “Thank you,” he said.

“You might want to offer to teach the others as well,” Enat said.

A flicker of displeasure passed over Gai’s face, but he forced a smile. “Of course. We should include them.”

“We can do this,” Enat said. “But it will have to wait until after Lughnasadh. You have other important lessons to master between now and then.”

CHAPTER 9

Lughnasadh

H
old steady now.”

Caymin held her hand out as Méav passed a ball of fire from her own hand. The younger apprentices had been paired with the older ones to practice more advanced skills.

“Ouch!”

Next to them, Diarmit flinched as Ronan passed him a similar ball of flame.

“You have to brace yourself,” Ronan said impatiently.

“I did,” Diarmit said. From the corner of her eye, Caymin saw him shaking his hand.

Her ball of fire, sitting now in her palm, tingled and was warm, but it didn’t burn. She had sat, mesmerized, next to Méav as she conjured the flame out of nothing. She could now easily spark a candlewick or a fire when there was something to ignite, but this pulling flame out of nowhere eluded her.

“Again,” she had begged, watching her do it over and over. Méav taught her the incantation, but Caymin hadn’t been able to do more than create a spark until today.

Nearby, Gai also held his hands out, but instead of fire, as he worked with Fergus, they were causing ruts to appear in the dirt as if they were dragging a hoe through the earth. With a sweep of their hands, the loose dirt shifted and filled in the ruts.

On the other side of the empty fire pit, Una and Niall were teaching Cíana and Daina how to conjure water out of the air, gathering it into a clay bowl and then causing it to shoot into the air, arcing gracefully back into the bowl.

“Why are they different colors?” Caymin asked. Her ball of flame, as she accepted it from Méav, was a pale blue while the flames produced by Ronan were a deep red-gold.

“Every spell we do carries a bit of us, our energy,” Méav said, watching the flame burn steadily as Caymin fed it. “Your energy sustains it now, look.”

Caymin gasped as the flame turned from blue to a brilliant white.

“Pass it from one hand to the other,” Méav said.

Caymin carefully passed the flame to her other hand. The flame began to gutter.

“Feed it,” Méav said.

Caymin concentrated, and the flames exploded into her face. With a cry, she dropped the ball of fire and shielded her face with her hands.

Diarmit’s flame went out with a pop. Everyone stopped to watch her as she lay on her side, her arms wrapped around her head.

Méav laid a hand on her shoulder. “You’re fine, now. You’re fine.”

Slowly, Caymin loosed her arms and sat up, feeling her face. “I am not burned?”

“No.”

“That’s not exactly true,” said Cíana. “You’re just not burned again.”

The tension broke as Caymin laughed shakily. Embarrassed, she turned back to Méav. “I am sorry.”

“No need to be,” Méav said. The others returned to their practice. She pointed to Caymin’s face. “Do you remember it?”

“No. I was very young.”

Méav’s icy blue eyes glinted angrily. “I can’t imagine, even in the middle of a raid, how anyone could throw a wee baby into a fire.” She tilted her head. “Ready for another go?”

Caymin nodded.

“Hold your hand out and try to make the fire yourself then.”

Caymin closed her eyes and held her hand out.

“Center yourself,” Méav said. “Find your power and bring it up slowly, under control.”

Caymin whispered the incantation and a ball of white fire appeared in her palm.

“Good,” Méav murmured. “Now, feed it; make it grow, but control it. You are in control.”

The ball of white flames grew, licking the air, then shrank to a pinpoint, and then grew again.

“You did all that?”

Caymin nodded, smiling.

“Hmm. You should scare yourself more often.” Méav pulled a wooden bowl near. “Now, we work on water.”