Son of the Shadows (15 page)

"I'm not going to ask where you learned that," Bran commented. "Are you happy you put him through this? Still convinced you're right?"

I looked up at him. His severe features with their strange half pattern blurred before my eyes, the feathered markings moving and twisting in the lamplight. I was aware, suddenly, of how weary I was.

"I stand by my decision," I said faintly. "The time you have set me is too short. But I know I'm right."

"You may not be so sure after six days in this camp," he said ominously. "When you've seen a little more of the real world, you will learn that everyone is expendable. There are no exceptions, be it skillful smith or hardened warrior or little healer girl. You suffer and die and are soon forgotten. Life goes on regardless."

I swallowed. The rock walls were moving around me.

"There will be people looking for me," I whispered. "My uncle, my brother, my . . . They will be searching for me by now, and they have resources."

"They will not find you." His tone allowed for no doubt.

"What about the escort that traveled with me?" I was clutching at straws now, for I suspected they were all dead. "They cannot be far away. Someone must have seen what happened—someone will follow—"

My voice trailed away, and I put out a hand for balance as my vision filled with spinning stars.

"Sorry," I mumbled foolishly, as if excusing myself from polite company. Suddenly there was a very firm grip on my arm, and I was propelled to the wooden stool and pushed unceremoniously onto it.

"Snake, leave that for now. He's still breathing; he'll keep. Fetch the girl clean clothes, if you can find anything small enough. A blanket, water for washing. Go down to the fire, get yourself food, and bring some for her when you come back. She's little enough use at her best; she'll be none at all if we let her starve." He turned back to me. "First rule of combat: Only the most battle tested can function well on little food and less sleep. That comes only with long practice.

You want to do your job properly, then prepare for it properly."

I was far too tired to argue.

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"You'll get two guards tonight. One for outside, one to watch the smith while you sleep. Don't let it make you complacent. You chose this task yourself, and you're on your own after tonight."

At last he was leaving. I closed my eyes, swaying with exhaustion where I sat. The smith lay quiet, for now.

"Oh, and one more thing."

My eyes snapped open.

"This will have earned you a certain—respect—among the men. Make sure you don't let it develop into anything more. Any of them who breaks the code will face the severest penalty.

You'll have enough on your conscience without that as well."

"What would a man like you know about conscience?" I muttered, as he turned on his heel and walked away. If he heard me, he gave no sign of it.

It was a strange time. There are tales of men and women taken by the Fair Folk of a moonlight night in the woods, who journey into the Other-world and experience a life so different that, on return, they scarcely know what is real and what a dream. The Painted Man and his motley bunch of followers were about as far from the visionary beings of the Otherworld as was imaginable, but still I felt removed utterly from my normal life; and although it may be hard to believe, while I dwelt there in the hidden encampment

I did not spend much time thinking of my home or my parents or even of how Niamh was faring, all alone and sharing a stranger's bed. There were moments when I grew chill with fear, remembering Eamonn's tale. I recognized that my situation was perilous indeed. The guards Liam had sent with me had almost certainly been dispatched with ruthless efficiency. That was the way these men went about things. As for the code, it might protect me and it might not. In the end, my survival probably depended on whether the smith lived or died. But my father had told me once that fear is no winner of battles. I rolled up my sleeves and told myself I had no time for fits of the vapors. A man's life was in the balance. Besides, I had something to prove and was determined to do it.

That first night and day they guarded me so closely it was like having a large, well-armed shadow always a step behind. I even had to remind them that women do have some bodily needs best attended to in private. We then developed a compromise whereby I could at least be out of sight briefly, provided I did not take too long and came straight back to where Dog, or Gull, or Snake would be waiting, weapon in hand. Nobody needed to point out to me the utter futility of any attempt to escape. They brought me food and water; they brought me a bucket so I could wash myself. Clad in someone's old undershirt, which came down well below my knees, and a roomy sort of : tunic with useful pockets here and there, I braided my hair severely down my back, out of the way, and got on with what had to be done.

Carefully

measured drafts for the pain; mixtures to be burned on the brazier, encouraging the ill humors to leave the body; dressings for the ugly burn, compresses for the brow. Much of the time I would simply sit by the pallet, holding Evan's hand in mine, talking quietly or singing little songs as to a feverish child.

On the second night I was allowed out as far as the cooking fire. Dog walked by me through the encampment, where many small, temporary shelters were dotted between the trees and bushes, until we came to a cleared area where a hot, smokeless fire burned neatly between stones.

Around it a number of men sat, stood, or leaned, scooping up their food from the small vessels most travelers carry somewhere in their packs. There was a smell of stewed rabbit. I was hungry enough not to be too particular and accepted a bowl shoved into my hands. It was quiet, save for the buzz of night crickets and the faint murmur of a bird as it fell asleep in the branches above.

"Here," said Dog. He handed me a small spoon crafted of bone. It was none too clean. There
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were many eyes turned on me in the half darkness.

"Thank you," I said, realizing I had been accorded a rare privilege. The others used their fingers to eat or maybe a hunk of hard bread. There was no laughter and little talk. Perhaps my presence stifled their conversation. Even when ale was poured and cups passed there was scarcely a sound. I finished my food; declined a second helping. Somebody offered me a cup of ale, and I took it.

"Did a good job," someone said curtly.

"Nice piece of work," agreed another. "Not easy. Seen it botched before. Man can bleed to death quicker than a—that's to say, it's a job that has to be done right."

"Thank you," I said gravely. I looked up at the circle effaces from where I sat on the bank near the fire.

All of them kept a margin of three, four paces away from me. I wondered if this, too, were part of the code. They were a strangely assorted group, their bizarre polyglot speech indicating a multitude of origins and a long time spent together. Of them all, I thought, perhaps but two or three had had their birthplace here in Erin. "I had help," I added. "I could not have performed such a task alone."

II

One very tall man was studying me closely, a frown creasing his features. "Still," he said after a while, "wouldn't have been done at all, but for you. Right?"

I glanced around quickly, not wishing to get anyone into trouble. "Maybe," I said, offhand.

"Got a chance now, hasn't he?" the very tall man asked, leaning forward, long, skinny arms folded on bony knees. There was an expectant pause.

"A chance, yes," I said carefully, "no more. I'll do my best for him."

There were a few nods. Then somebody made a subtle little sound, halfway between a hiss and a whistle, and suddenly they were all looking anywhere but at me.

"Here, Chief." A bowl was passed, a full cup.

"It's very quiet here," I observed after a little while. "Do you not sing songs or tell tales of an evening after supper?"

Somebody gave a snort, instantly suppressed.

"Tales?" Dog was perplexed, scratching the bald side of his head. "We don't know any tales."

"You mean, like giants and monsters and mermaids?" asked the very tall, lanky fellow. I thought I

detected a little spark of something in his eye.

"Those and others," I said encouragingly. "There are also tales of heroes, and of great battles, and of voyages to distant and amazing lands. Many tales."

"You know some of these tales?" asked the tall man.

"Shut your mouth, Spider," someone hissed under his breath.

"Enough to tell a new one each night of the year and have some left over," I said. "Would you like me to tell you one?"

There was a long pause, during which the men exchanged glances and shuffled their feet.

"You're here to do a job, not provide free entertainment." There was no need for me to look up to know who spoke. "These men are not children." Interesting, when this man addressed me, he used plain Irish, fluent and almost unaccented.

"Is telling a tale against the code?" I asked quietly.

"What about this Bran character?" Gull put in with no little courage. "I'll wager there's a tale or two about him. I'd like to hear one of those."

"That is a very grand tale to be told over many nights," I said. "I will not be here long enough to finish it.

But there are plenty of others."

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"Go on, Chief," said Gull. "It's harmless enough."

"Why don't I start," I said, "and if you feel my words are a danger, you can stop me when you choose.

That seems fair."

"Does it?"

Well, he hadn't said no, and there was an air of hushed expectancy among the strange band gathered around the fire. So I started anyway.

"For a band of fighters such as yourselves," I said, "what could be apter than a tale of the greatest of all warriors, Cu Chulainn, champion of Ulster? His story, too, is a long one made up of many tales. But I will tell of the way he learned his skill and honed it so that no man could master him on the field, be he the greatest battle hero of his tribe. This Cu Chulainn, you understand, was no ordinary man. There were rumors, and maybe there was some truth behind them, rumors that he was a child of Lugh, the sun god, by a mortal woman. Nobody seemed quite sure, but one thing was for certain: when Cu Chulainn was about to fight, a change would come over him. They called it riastradh, the battle frenzy. His whole body would shake and grow hot, his face red as fire, his heart beating like a great drum in his breast, his hair standing on end and glowing with sparks. It was as if his father, the sun god, did indeed inspire him at such times, for to his enemies it appeared a fierce and terrible light played around him as he approached them, sword in hand. And after the battle was won, they say it took three barrels of icy river water to cool him down. When they plunged him into the first, it burst its bands and split apart. The water in the second boiled over. The third steamed and steamed until the heat was out of him, and Cu Chulainn was himself again.

"Now, this great warrior had exceptional skills, even as a boy. He could leap like a salmon and swim like an otter. He could run swifter than the deer and see in the dark as a cat does. But there came a time

when he sought to improve his art, with the aim of winning a lovely lady called Emer. When he asked her father for Emer's hand, the old man suggested he was not yet proved as a warrior and should seek further tuition from the best. As for the lady, she'd have taken him then and there, for who could resist such a fine specimen of manhood? But she was a good girl and followed her father's bidding. So Cu

Chulainn asked and he asked, and at length he learned that the best teacher of the arts of war was a woman, Scathach, a strange creature who lived on a tiny island off the coast of Alba."

"A woman?" someone echoed scornfully. "How could that be?"

"Ah, well, this was no ordinary woman, as our hero soon found out for li himself. When he came to the wild shore of Alba and looked across the raging waters to the island where she lived with her warrior women, he saw that there could be a difficulty before he even set foot there.

For the only way across was by means of a high, narrow bridge, just wide enough for one man to walk on. And the instant he set his foot upon its span, the bridge began to shake and flex and bounce up and down, all along its considerable length, so that anyone foolish enough to venture farther along it would straightaway be tossed down onto the knife-sharp rocks or into the boiling surf."

"Why didn't he use a boat?" asked Spider, with a perplexed frown.

"Didn't you hear what Liadan said?" Gull responded with derision. "Raging waters? Boiling surf?

No boat could have crossed that sea, I'll wager."

"Indeed not," I said, smiling at him. "Many had tried, and all of them had perished, swallowed up by the sea or by the huge, long-toothed creatures that dwelt therein. Well, what was Cu Chulainn to do? He was not the sort of man to give up, and he wanted Emer with a longing that filled every corner of his body. He measured the distance across the bridge with his keen eye, and then he drew in his breath and let it out, and drew it in again, and the riastradh came on him
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until his heart threatened to burst out of his chest, and every vein in his skin swelled and stood out like a hempen cord stretched tight. Then Cu

Chulainn gathered himself and made a mighty leap, as of a salmon breaching a great waterfall, and he landed lightly in the very center of the shaking bridge, neatly on the ball of his left foot.

The bridge bounced and buckled, trying to throw him off, but he was too quick, leaping again, such a leap that when his foot touched ground he was on the shore of Scathach's island.

"Up on the ramparts of Scathach's dwelling, which was a fortified tower of solid granite, the warrior woman stood with her daughter, watching.

"'Looks a likely fellow,' she muttered. 'Knows a few tricks already. I could teach him well.'

"'Wouldn't mind teaching him a few tricks myself,' said the daughter, who had something quite different in mind."