Son of the Shadows (66 page)

Gull staggered sideways and regained his footing. All I could do to help him was make sure Bran did not fall from where he lay balanced; we would never get him up again, for one error on this small, safe patch of ground would send him rolling down into the sucking mud.

"We can't go on, can we?" I asked Gull bluntly.

"Go on." He tried to flex his fingers and sucked in his breath. Bent his elbows experimentally, with a groan. "Go on ... no choice. What else?"

"We can't see the way. And there's a limit to how long you can hold him."

"Can't stay. Men. Torches. Go ... other side."

But it was dark, and we could not go.

"Perhaps you should put him down." My heart was cold, but I forced myself to say it, although it seemed as good as admitting we had failed. Going on was pointless. If Gull collapsed, which appeared more likely by the moment, the men were both gone. And that would be the end for Johnny and me. Without

Gull to guide us, we could go neither forward nor back.

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"Can't put down. Never ... up again."

"All right. Let me think for a little. Perhaps there is an answer."

"Men . . . torches," repeated Gull in a voice now barely audible.

"They would not cross in the dark to pursue us." Eamonn had said only, We will light torches

, and

We will shoot

. Nothing about coming after us. "Would they?"

"Listen," said Gull. And now, between Johnny's sobs, between the strange gurgling song of the swamp and the strident croaking of frogs and the endless buzzing of the blood-sucking insects, I could hear men's voices, distant enough, but coming ever closer. Peering back in the darkness, I thought I could see lights, moving slowly toward us over the inky surface.

"Put him down," I said heavily, "for we can go no farther." At least, if we must die, I would do so with my arms around the two of them, Johnny and his father, and with the best of friends by me. There it was again, an eerie counterpoint to the little sounds of night: that distant, mourning wail that turned the spirit to ice.

"Strong," Gull whispered. "Strong. Stand. Carry." And he lifted his arms again, and stretched them up to support the other man's body. On my back, Johnny fell suddenly silent.

"Sorry," I choked. "Of course I will not give up. How could I think of such a thing? Our mission is but half completed."

Then all at once there was another sound, a harsh cry, and this time it came from the other side, in front of us. A squawking, cawing sort of cry. The voice of a raven. My heart lurched.

"Maybe help has come," I said through dry lips. "Maybe help has come at last."

Now we could see, northward across the marshland, a small, dancing ball of light, an odd, flickering shape that seemed to be flying swift toward us and calling out in Fiacha's voice as it came. Nearer and nearer, above the dark surface, this apparition moved, and as it came close I heard a rustling and creaking in its path, as if die very bog itself were changing as it passed. Gull stood beside me, mute. As for Johnny, he was quiet now, but his fists maintained a tight grip on my hair. There had been altogether too much jumping and bouncing around, those little hands told me, and I had better make sure there was no more.

Gull exclaimed softly in a foreign tongue, and I spoke under my breath.

Dana, mother of the earth, hold us safe in your hand

. For as we watched, we saw that the light was like a burning torch in the shape of a flying raven, not so much a bird as an Otherworld fire in the semblance of a bird. And as this light passed over the bog, strange plants rose out of the mud, long branched, strong tendriled, and wove themselves together with clinging fronds and tangling twigs to form a narrow pathway above the surface;

a pathway that led ahead of us, straight to the north, straight to the low hills and to safety. The light, which might or might not have been Fiacha, hovered above, showing us the way.

I cleared my throat. "Just as well you didn't put him down," I said. "Come on."

"On," said Gull, and stepped onto the delicate-looking tangle of foliage, scarce two handspans wide. It creaked under his weight, but held firm. I moved after him, and Johnny made a sound of protest. I began to sing to him, quite softly, so as not to distract Gull, who must still move with great caution, for there was a considerable way to go, and he must support his burden and maintain a straight path. I sang the old lullaby, a song so ancient that nobody could remember what the words meant. This language might still be known somewhere: perhaps amidst the standing stones with their cryptic markings, that had looked on in silence as I lay with Bran in the rain and made this child. Perhaps in the hearts of the oldest oaks that grew in the deep, secret places of the forest of Sevenwaters. I sang, and Johnny was quiet, and we moved steadily on to the north. The ball of light flew from one side to the other, sometimes behind, sometimes in
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front, always keeping pace. It was Fiacha all right. Once, I looked back, for the voices of Eamonn's men could still be heard somewhere in the darkness. And I saw that in our wake, where we

had walked across a narrow, safe pathway of twisted growth, now there was no path, only a line of bubbles on the surface of the mud. And in time the voices behind us faded, and the lights disappeared, and we were alone in the night with our strange guide.

Aid had come, as I had been told it would, when we were at the extreme of need, when our own strength was all but exhausted and we had run out of solutions. I was bone weary and my head throbbed, but now I allowed my mind to consider, cautiously, what must be done when we reached dry land. Gull had said Bran was too far gone to wake. He had said the chief would ask for the knife if he could. If I

were to refuse this, it must be with good reason. I had got it wrong with Evan and had prolonged his suffering. This time, if I said I could heal him, I must do it. I must bring him back.

"Other side," said Gull, up ahead of me. The cawing, flapping ball of brightness that was Fiacha was in front of him, and Gull's figure was silhouetted against the light, bent over, his poor hands still helplessly pointed upward, and the unconscious man held firm by his friend's broad shoulders and supporting arms.

These men had such strength, such powers of endurance, it was no wonder simple folk believed them to be something more than mortal. They shared a bond of brotherhood, a loyalty that meant your own life was of little consequence when your comrade was in trouble. This they had without ever acknowledging it, even to themselves.

"Yes," I replied. "We must keep on until we reach the other side. And hope there will be help close at hand, for Eamonn's men can still use the road, and may do so now."

"No," said Gull. "Other side. Look."

Startled, I looked up and forward, and felt my parched lips stretch into a grin, and my eyes fill with tears.

Not ten strides ahead of us there was a bank sloping upward, and at the top a line of scrubby bushes growing, and somebody was standing there with a lantern. We had reached the other side, the four of us.

We had done it.

It was hard, at the last, to maintain the careful pace along the narrow, mysterious way; hard not to give in to the sudden tide of elation that swept through body and spirit and made one want to run forward, laughing with relief. But Gull walked steadily on, each pace calculated precisely, and I came after, step by step, for the burdens we bore were precious and must not be let go until we were sure, quite sure, that it was safe.

The figure with the lantern stood very still. A tall man robed and hooded in black. After what Gull had said, I had hoped some of them would be close by: Otter or Snake or Spider; with luck a few of them, and horses. We made our slow way across the last patch of swamp, and I could hear the woven pathway sinking back into the mud behind me as I went. None would use this way again. And at last I

saw Gull step onto dry land and stagger a few paces up the bank. He bent to roll Bran off his shoulders onto the earth, and I walked forward until I was next to him and looked up.

Fiacha flew, a bright ball of flames, to alight on the shoulder of the tall, hooded figure; and the moment he landed, the light was gone, and he was an ordinary raven again, if any raven can be considered ordinary.

"Well," said Ciaran gravely. "You are here, and he still lives. This was bravely done." He glanced at Gull and then back at me. "There's help close at hand."

"Th-thank you," I stammered, my fingers touching Bran's brow, feeling how cold he was, sensing
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how little time was left. "Fiacha found you then. I did not expect that you yourself would come.

The four of us owe our lives to you."

"Fiacha. That's apt."

"Why did you help us?" I asked him. "Why did you do this? Doesn't it go against what she—what your mother would want?"

He regarded me levelly, with something of the look of my Uncle Conor. "We owe you a debt, Niamh and I. Now it is repaid in part, at least. As for the bird, I am his custodian; but he makes his own choices."

"You didn't answer."

"Let us call for help. This man is close to death. You must move him before it is too late." He gave a short, piercing whistle, and Fiacha a croak. "You must work fast if you are to save him."

"I know. How did you do this? How did you—?" I gestured back toward the swamp, where there was now no trace of any pathway.

"A druid's skills lie in manipulating what is already there," Ciaran said. "Wind, rain, earth, fire.

They lie in understanding the margins between world and Otherworld; they lie in the wisdom of growing things.

What I have done tonight is not so much. Tricks learned in the nemetons, no more. There has been no high magic here. But I am no longer a druid; and Conor will realize, one day, that his teaching was only the beginning for me. He will discover, in time, exactly what I can do."

"You are his brother," I whispered.

"If he had chosen to tell me that when first he began to teach me, things might have been different. Now it means nothing."

"Are you telling me you intend to follow the Lady Oonagh's path? A descent into evil, for the sake of power? And yet you guard Niamh like a treasure; you came to save me and—and the child."

His stern features were softened by the most fleeting of smiles. Up the bank, there were men's voices, and the flare of a torch.

"My mother thinks me a suitable tool for her purpose," he said quietly. "And indeed, she has much to teach me. Conor himself instilled in me a thirst for learning. Besides, what is this but a great game of strategy? Now your men are here, and I must go. Niamh cannot be left for long."

There was a lump in my throat. He was my last link with my sister, and I sensed a very long farewell. "I

wish you well," I said. "I wish you what joys are possible. And—and that you should not choose the pathway to darkness."

"I am pledged to guard your sister before all else."

"Tell Niamh I hold her in my heart," I said softly, not at all sure he would even tell her he had been here or that he had seen me and my son.

Ciaran's voice was very grave. I thought he spoke now almost against his better judgment. "I hesitate to say it," he said, "but if you wish to keep your child safe, I think you should take him away. As far as you can go. There are those who would do much to ensure he might never grow to be a man and a leader.

Still, the two of you do not appear to be lacking in protectors."

As he spoke, there came through the bushes a number of men, men with strange, exotic markings on the skin of their faces and limbs and bodies, men clad in outlandish garb made from wolfskins and feathers

and metal, with helms that gave them the semblance of Otherworld creatures, half human, half beast. I felt a stupid grin of relief spreading across my face as I sat with Bran's head on my lap
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and Gull slumped beside me on the ground. And when I looked back toward Ciaran, he was gone.

"Sweet Jesus!" It was Snake, he of the skin garment and the patterns on wrist and brow. "What happened to him?" He squatted down by Bran, his fingers reaching to touch the crusted wound to the head. "Deep blow; days old. You know what he'd say."

There was a murmur from the men who encircled us in the darkness.

"Ask her," Gull said weakly. "Ask Liadan."

Snake turned his fierce, bright gaze on me. "Think you can save him?" he queried. The men went very quiet.

Now that I was sitting down, I felt extremely weak and terribly tired. Snake's voice seemed to come from a long distance, and my own sounded strange.

"Of course I can," I said, my tone of certainly entirely feigned. "But we must hurry. We must get him to safety first. Off Eamonn's lands. I want to go to that place where we camped before. You know where I

mean. The place of the standing stones. Where you can go underground."

Snake nodded. "Quite a ride," he said.

"I know. But we should go there. And Gull needs help, too. His hands are badly hurt. And—"

Johnny began to cry again, softly this time, as if to say, Why isn't anybody listening to me? I'm tired and wet and hungry, and I did tell you before

.

There was another murmur of voices, and someone let out a low whistle.

"A child!" Snake exclaimed under his breath. "Yours? You came across there with a child on your back?"

"My son."

Another whistle.

"Where's his father then?" asked someone rather boldly from the back of the group, "None of your business," snapped a voice I recognized as Spider's.

"This is his father," I told them, thinking they had better know the truth now, to save complications. "And like to die, if we are not on our way soon. There's very little time. You'd better strap the chief up to one of your stronger men, so he is not jolted too much. Is there a horse for me?"

For a moment, they did not move. I had stunned them into silence. Then Snake began to rap out orders.

Spider, his long fingers gentle, came over to touch the baby's small head and offer to carry him for me.