Éire’s Captive Moon (7 page)

“Here! Bring that ladder here!” Devin shouted, gesturing firmly to the youngsters who were helping in the defense of the
rath
. “And you, there! Yes, you! Fetch the healer!”

Charis heard her husband and hurriedly gathered what supplies she could carry, not knowing what the man needed. Had he been hurt? So close to a battle? Foolish man, gouging his arm with an axe, no doubt trying to fortify their
rath
.

Tension thrumming through her, she was already at the door to their dwelling when the young, black-haired boy appeared at the door. “Healer! Devin wants you!”

“Is he hurt?” she snapped.

The youth stopped short, as if he had run into a wall. “Hurt? No, Healer. He just said he wanted you.”

Charis felt the pressure inside her cease at once, even though she knew the Northmen were coming. The sails had been seen, but the invaders had gone to the monastery first—more luck to the warriors here. Charis believed in luck, yes. Not the gods and goddesses who had let her and her people down over the past long times, but luck—luck they couldn’t live without.

Still with her herbals and bandaging in the numerous pouches and pockets she fashioned in her
léine
, Charis ran past the young messenger and found Devin by his voice. When his gaze lit on her, she could see his demeanor soften a bit.

“Charis, I want you to go to the tunnels.”

She blanched, then her face hardened. “No, I won’t go into hiding. I will be here with you and Devlin, where I can help!”

Her answer turned her husband into the stern warrior-chieftain who struck fear into the hearts of rival chieftains and the nearby, land-hungry kings. His voice dropped to a low register and he all but dragged her behind the nearest haystack. “I can’t fight if I’m worried about you. Devlin can’t either. You know that. We have to concentrate!”

Charis set her jaw and glared at the man. “I will not go below! The passages are for the old and the children. We need to be getting them below; that is what we need to do. They can hide there until the Northmen have been driven off.”

He threw his hands up in the air with a roar before grabbing her by both shoulders and shaking her once. “Charis! Lass! Listen to me! Haven’t you heard what they do to women? I’ll not have them do that to you!”

She shuddered. It wasn’t so much the thought of captivity that bothered her, but being violated was degrading, humiliating. Although, she reminded herself, she was not without resources. Bringing herself—body and mind—under control, she reached up to stroke her husband’s tense, hard hand with her own.

“Devin, I’ll not have you worrying about me. I can take care of myself.” Had he forgotten that healers had knowledge beyond pulling teeth and patching wounds?

Devin shook his head once. “I know you can, lass. I know it. But . . . I cannot allow the distraction. That will kill me.”

“That’s not fair!” she protested, shaking off his hands and stepping away.

His face smoothed to impassivity, but she could see the fear in his eyes and it made her hurt inside. She thought of the tunnels, stone-lined passages underground that they had constructed over the past three years for just such an occasion. There were stores there. Travel food, medicinals, blankets—though who knew what condition they were in—and places for the children and aged to hide.

It wasn’t fair, though, that an able-bodied woman such as herself should hide, too. She resolved not to do so, but not tell her husband she’d be helping as best she could aboveground. To drain the fear from his face and shoulders, she slowly nodded her head.

“I’ll go,” she said, not wanting to lie to her husband, but refusing to give in. “But if you or Devlin get yourself killed, I’ll not want to be seeing your shades at my door!” Holding no faith or beliefs near to her heart, Charis nevertheless believed in ghosts. Spirits of dead people could and would extract revenge on those deemed responsible for their demise.

Devin made a small show of laughing off her fear. “Not to worry, lass. We’ll be pulling you out from underground as soon as we get rid of the Northmen.”

And what if you’re the men who are taken away?

Not if she could help it, Charis decided, shaking her apron and turning abruptly from Devin.

“Come!” she called loudly to the children. They were everywhere, having been drawn by sheer curiosity to where the healer and chieftain were arguing. Their elders were busy; where else would the children go? They surrounded Charis in the space of a few breaths. Youth over-young for battle, toddlers and infants clung to each other, eyes wide with fear.

“You are brave, my children,” Charis assured them with a nod. She took the youngest in reach into her arms and nuzzled downy black curls. The gesture set off several sniffles among the pale faces and tousled heads. “You know what to do?”

Aislinn, a girl of ten summers, nodded. “We go to the tunnels, Healer, until you or the others come for us.”

“
Isea
, my girl. You do.”

Thinking it would be a simple matter to just lead them to the tunnel’s entrance at the blacksmith’s other fire pit, she beckoned to them and started walking, still carrying the infant in her arms. But what had been a rehearsed, orderly sequence of events turned into noisy chaos as parents came to hug their little ones, and children darted away, bawling, to beg to stay with
Ma
or
Da
.

Charis’s heart twisted inside her breast, but there was no help for it; the children had to be hidden, for their safety and that of their families. With hidden exasperation, she called them, gestured, and even dashed off over muddy, sticky ground to gather them back again.

“Come! Your safety is important! Your parents cannot concentrate if you’re not safe!” She darted a fierce look at Devlin, who had helped with a couple of recalcitrant boys. He met her glance with a lifted brow, but that was all. Finally the children were in order, paired with a sibling, cousin, or friend, and they straggled in a rough line toward the smith’s fire.

Once there, Charis gave the curly-haired boy into Aislinn’s care. She was a leader among the children, showing promise as a warrior and a healer both, even at her age. “You go first to reassure the little ones,” Charis said gently.

The blue-eyed girl’s lips were pinched as she tossed a longing look over her shoulder to where her brothers were arming themselves. After a silent moment, she nodded. “I will go.” To those behind her, she offered a thin excuse for a smile. “Come! Those Northmen are too stupid to find us here!”

Some of the older ones tried to smile bravely as they followed Aislinn into the dark, slanting throat of their tunnel of refuge. Charis counted them as they passed her.

She kept a reassuring smile on her face, wishing to erase the fear that flashed in their eyes, if nowhere else. These children knew her; she was their healer. She fought pain and death. Often she won, sometimes she lost.
Will you make it not hurt?
Huge, frightened eyes begged her.
Will you fight this, too?

I will
, she promised with a nod. Not for her to hide here, though. She would fight!

“In you go now, Eithne. You, too, Aidan. That’s the way.”

Charis filed in last, carefully wedging a stone in the low opening so that she could see the small fire that burned a child’s pace away. Low, edgy voices were just ahead, and Charis mentally approved of the flickering candlelight. It was so dark that the children would be afraid to be there any longer than necessary.

“Healer! What do we do when the babies cry?” Boy or girl, Charis couldn’t tell from where she was, but the speaker was low to the ground, several paces ahead.

The healer tried to infuse her voice with strength and security, much as she would make an infusion for healing purposes. “Give them something sweet to suck on, or allow them to suckle on your finger. Bounce them gently. Sing quiet songs. You will find ways, I know. You have seen your mothers quiet the wee ones all your lives.”

After a few more questions, Charis told the children to take care of each other. “We will come for you when we’ve defeated the Northmen,” she concluded. Before leaving, she touched Aislinn on the shoulder and pulled her a pace away, around dirty legs and small bags of provisions the children were already passing around.

“Yes, Healer?” the girl whispered.

“You know how to open the door from within, right?”

The girl nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving Charis’s face. “Yes . . . do you think I’ll have to? Won’t you come for us?”

“I hope to, of course, but in case I can’t, you will have to be the chieftain here of the children. Keep them safe, lass. Listen for the sounds of battle and keep the little ones still, then listen for the stillness outside before leading them out. Do you understand? We’ll not have you captured by the Northmen! You must stay here and be safe!”

“Y-yes, Charis. I—I’ll keep them safe.” The girl pushed a stray lock of hair behind one ear. “Just come back for us.”

Charis nodded and stroked Aislinn’s long, black hair. “I will. Be safe.”

With a last look at the young ones, Charis slipped back out the door, closing it with the secret latching, and moving so as not to cast a shadow that Devin or Devlin might spy. They would be beyond furious if they discovered her above ground.

She unearthed a spear she had hidden under the wall of the smith’s home. Just as she was dusting it off and checking the leather bindings, she heard the distinctive, twin roars of her husbands.

“They’re here! All to your places! Man the gate and stoke the fires!”

Heart pounding loudly in her chest, Charis clamped her lips shut and ran away from the roars, spear at the ready, hoping that she would kill one of the invaders herself. One way or another.

Chapter 5

“What are you doing?” Cowan demanded as a beardless man pulled him to a tree just outside the
rath
in the monastery’s vicinity. “I thought your leader wanted me with you!”

Naturally, the young man didn’t understand a word Cowan had said and, with only a harsh look, the red-haired youth proceeded to tie him to the nearest oak tree, using the bond around his wrists as anchorage.

Cowan shouted at the braided leader. “You there! I thought you wanted me with you! Don’t just leave me here!” What if he were taken as an enemy by those within the
rath
? What if the
vikingr
burned the fields around him and the fire spread? He would be roasted alive—not a happy prospect. Far worse than slavery, and it left no chance of escape.

Over the walls of the village, perhaps a boat’s length away, Cowan heard the welcome sound of
Gaeilge
. “Who are you? Are you being held prisoner?”

The sun escaped from behind a wall of clouds as Cowan sought the friendly face that went with the voice of a fellow islander. The dirt wall surrounding the village of Ragor—a village his father knew of, but avoided—was topped with several heads, spear blades, and the strange shimmering of air that indicated great heat. Hope surged in Cowan’s heart; they were ready to meet the intruders. The braided leader, Agnarr, had only twenty men with him; surely the villagers could defeat such a paltry raiding party.

He pulled at the rough ropes that held him. “I’m Cowan, King Branieucc’s son of Fiatach! They’ve made me a prisoner!”

The dark-haired warrior at the wall lifted his spear and shouted back. “We’ll change that!” A riotous, victorious-sounding whoop sounded all along the wall when the warrior declared his intention.

Cowan had to smile. Yes, surely they’d free him. However, since nothing in this world was certain, he started working furiously on the ropes that cut into the skin of his wrists. “Jesu, help me,” he muttered as he twisted his hands back and forth.

While he did so, he eyed the barbarians’ approach to the closed village gate. A shield-rimmed group they were, moving slowly along the dirt path. Secrecy at this point was impossible, so they’d fortified themselves the best way they could. Cowan had to acknowledge that they were hiding the battering ram effectively.

The battering ram. He had to warn the villagers!

He took in the breath to shout, but a resounding cry vibrated in the air around him as the villagers of Ragor attacked the approaching Northmen. Fiery arrows, swift spears, and even red-hot bits of metal went flying over the earthen wall to clang uselessly against armor and shields. The raiders started to run uphill, straight to the gate.