Little talk passed between Diarmuid and Owain as they ate. I chewed my mutton slowly. I was sorry to be leaving Owain for I had become fond of the large, gentle man. But if I must choose between him and Diarmuid, it was clear where I belonged. Diarmuid might be a clueless idiot but we had been brought together for a reason.
You will leave here and set out on a journey,
the fey girl had said. She never did say why or to where I journeyed but it didn't matter anymore. It seemed she had achieved her aim for here I was, breakfasting in a house far from my own home with two people who were strangers to me ten nights ago. For surely this was the journey she had intended. How else could I have found Diarmuid in the vast expanse of the woods if the fey hadn't guided my steps towards him? He had been waiting for me, whether he knew it or not. Were his own injuries also a result of the fey's meddling?
Diarmuid's journey was a strange one. I had pieced it together, bit by bit, from the confessions he whispered late at night. He was a bard, he made no secret of that. What he hadn't told Owain was that he had imagined a muse — a woman he pretended whispered his tales to him — and had somehow brought her to life. She had escaped and was doing… something bad. He hadn't said what but his journey was to find her and stop whatever it was. And he believed he had only as long as the next new moon to complete his quest.
A new moon was a powerful time. What would happen when it arrived? If I were to guess, I'd say that this creature he had created would become even more powerful. I didn't know what Diarmuid intended to do when we arrived at Crow's Nest. Obviously he meant to stop her, but how?
As the daughter of a wise woman, I had seen enough of the world's mysteries that I didn't doubt his claim of what he had done. It was a curious ability and, truth be told, it scared me. Could he bring to life other images from his mind? What other power might he possess? I wasn't yet sure whether I should fear him but I knew I should be wary. I certainly shouldn't trust him.
After we had eaten, Diarmuid went upstairs to collect his pack. I waited in my basket, figuring I may as well enjoy the last few minutes of comfort I was likely to have for a while. To my surprise, Owain picked me up, basket and all.
"Might as well take you outside," he muttered and carried me out to where his two huge oxen stood, hitched to the cart that had brought us to Owain's house ten nights ago. The beasts blew nostrils of steam in the crisp air. The cart already contained several large bundles wrapped in oilcloth with a pile of folded blankets on top. Owain stowed my basket securely between the packages. He tucked a soft blanket around me and I gratefully nestled into it with only my eyes and nose poking out.
The cart shuddered as Owain hauled himself into the front. The oxen snorted, eager to be off. I could see little other than the blue sky and the inside of the cart from my cozy nest but I heard the front door of Owain's house open and close.
"Figured I may as well go with you," Owain said, presumably to Diarmuid. "You and Bramble, you don't look like you'll manage long on your own."
There was silence from Diarmuid and I knew exactly what he was thinking for I had already had the same thought. I had expected Owain would send us off with enough provisions to last a few days, but this — the luxury of travelling in a cart and time to rest while my wounds finished healing — was far more than I had dared to hope for.
"What about Maeve?" Diarmuid asked.
"She'll be happier with me gone." Owain's voice hitched a little. "Besides, you and Bramble, you need me. Maeve's never needed anyone. I've left enough coin for her to get by for a good while. And when that runs out, I guess she'll have to go back to her father, or take another husband."
For the first time, I was relieved I couldn't speak. Perhaps our presence had given Owain the excuse he needed, an honourable reason to leave. Regardless, I wouldn't have known whether to offer condolences or an apology or something else.
"Pass me your pack," Owain said. "Not much room here in front. You'll have to sit in the back with Bramble."
Diarmuid moved the blankets to the floor of the cart and settled himself on one with another wrapped around his shoulders. He perhaps wasn't as comfortable as me, but it was certainly better than walking.
"Not a bad way to travel, eh Bramble?" he muttered as he leaned back against Owain's bundles and tucked the blanket more firmly around himself.
Owain clicked at the oxen and, with a jolt, we were off.
The motion of the cart soon sent me to sleep. I woke occasionally. Sometimes Diarmuid was staring out at the hills. Sometimes he was watching me.
The sun was high overhead before we stopped and then only briefly. Owain produced bread and cheese, and some dried meat for me. We ate in silence, Diarmuid and Owain leaning against the cart, me sitting in the back. The hills stretched before us, empty but for the winding path, melting snow, and trees. A smudge of smoke on the horizon signalled a lodge but we saw no other human presence as we ate.
I felt more alert as we travelled on through the afternoon. The day had grown warmer and, for a while at least, I didn't need to huddle beneath a blanket but could enjoy the breeze rustling my fur. I inhaled deeply, savouring the cold air and the tang of smoke. Cows and sheep grazed in the fields, making what they could of the winter-short grass. An eagle sailed high overhead, drifting on the currents. What was it like to fly up there, as high as the clouds? How small we must look to the eagle as we crossed its path below.
Soon enough I tired of the scenery and my eyes began to droop. The last thing I saw was Diarmuid, his brow wrinkled and his gaze vacant. His lips moved although I heard nothing. Perhaps he was making plans for when we reached Crow's Nest. Maybe he was practising what he would say to the creature he had made.
My thoughts were slow as I hovered on the edge of sleep. The visions had been silent ever since the fey girl had forced me into this form. Without their constant presence, it was like part of my soul was missing. The meanings of some of the visions were now clear but there was so much more that I didn't yet understand. I didn't need to see them again to recall their details but I missed their relentless intrusion in a way I never thought I would.
Diarmuid was the young man who had featured so prominently. Owain was the man who had stroked the little white dog. But who was the woman with long white hair and ice blue eyes? Was she the creature we travelled towards or someone we would meet on the way? And when would I face Titania? Of course, the visions show not only past, present and future, but also maybe. The future in which I wore my own form as I met the fey queen might never come to pass. I clung to the hope that it would. As much as I didn't want the life Mother had prepared me for, perhaps it was time to finally admit that I did indeed possess some of a wise woman's talents. Perhaps it was time to learn how to use them.
We camped that night by the side of the road in a valley that was somewhat sheltered from the wind and where the ground was mostly free of snow. Owain produced a meal of bread, cheese, pears and dried meat. After we had eaten, we sat by the fire in companionable silence. I leaned against Owain's legs, enjoying the fire's warmth on my face and the gentle hand stroking my back.
The night air was cold but without the tang of frost. I snuggled down into my basket, warm enough within the pile of blankets Owain had draped over me. He had positioned my basket where I could see both him and Diarmuid as they slept on oilcloths on the ground.
I woke with a start some time later when Diarmuid cried out in his sleep. The fire had burnt down low but there was still enough light to see Diarmuid thrashing around. He sat up with a start, awake at last, and seemed to stare at something on the end of his blanket. I would have sworn I saw a raven take flight, swiftly disappearing into the depths of the night. Diarmuid sat for a few moments longer and then lay down again. My eyes closed and I too drifted back into sleep.
I had slept restlessly, my dreams full of ravens and some other beast I only dimly remembered after I woke. My breath steamed in the brisk morning air as we set off. Grey clouds cloaked the sky and a drizzling rain began before the first hour had passed.
"Diarmuid, the spare oilcloths are under your pack," Owain called over his shoulder. "And pass me my coat."
I pulled Bramble's basket closer and spread an oilcloth over us both. Up front, Owain rode with his coat draped over his head. I pitied the poor oxen who had no cover. At Silver Downs, the fires would be stoked to stave off the early spring chill and my brothers would be sharing ale and telling tales. My heart ached. Home felt like a very long way away.
At noon, we stopped briefly to rest the oxen. I dug through the pack of provisions and found bread and cheese for Owain and I, and some dried meat for Bramble. She eyed my cheese but I stared intently at a line of ash trees in the distance and pretended not to notice.
"Should have been here by noon," Owain said as we passed through a village some time later.
The persistent drizzle eventually turned to heavy rain and our progress slowed even more. I was sodden and numb with cold, despite the oilcloth. Bramble crawled onto my lap and shivered. I kept the oilcloth wrapped firmly around her but even so, the rain found its way in and her hair was damp. I thought longingly of warm baths, fireplaces and dry beds.
"There's a house up ahead," Owain said. "I'll ask if we can stay the night."
But when we arrived, the house was ablaze with lights, music and merriment and we were hesitant to intrude. Surely nobody would mind if we slept in the barn, which stood some distance from the house. As the oxen patiently pulled the cart towards the barn, their ears pricked up despite the water dripping from them. It seemed even they knew warmth and dryness lay just ahead.
The barn was small but looked well made. As long as it was water tight, it would suit me just fine. We pulled up and Owain jumped down from the cart. I clambered down somewhat stiffly and then lifted Bramble to the ground. She hurried into the barn, pausing at the entrance only long enough to shake the water from her hair.
By the time we got the oxen inside and had unhitched the cart, I couldn't feel my fingers. I fervently wished I was at Silver Downs, sitting in front of a blazing fire with a mug of Mother's spiced wine in my hand and a belly full of warm food. The best I could hope for tonight was to warm my hands beside a lamp and that our blankets would be only damp rather than soaked. Either way, it would be a long, cold night.
I retrieved my spare shirt, pants and socks, which were blessedly dry. I wrung out my dripping shirt and draped it over the side of the cart. My boots were damp but might perhaps dry by morning.
The barn was tidy enough, if somewhat dusty, and well stocked with plenty of shelves and hooks for various tools. Large bins of animal feed stood in one corner. A dozen stalls lined the back wall, doors closed. A soft lowing indicated that at least one of them was inhabited by a cow.
Owain finished rubbing down the oxen to dry them off and led each into a stall. He retrieved an armload of provisions from the cart and arranged them on an empty shelf which made for a convenient table. My mouth watered and my stomach gave a low growl at the sight of a feast that put my own journey rations to shame. A loaf of bread. A jar of honey and one of berry preserves. Large wedges of cheese, some soft and white, some hard and yellow. A small sack of last summer's apples, and an entire tart that looked just like one of Maeve's apple pies. For Bramble, there were slices of dark meat although from the way she was sniffing in the direction of the cheese, I knew that wouldn't be all she ate.
"Might as well eat the pie," Owain said cheerily. "Won't keep much longer."
"Why didn't we eat any of this last night?" I asked, recalling the bread and hard cheese we had dined on.
He flashed me a grin. "Didn't want to eat all the good stuff on the first night."
Owain cut large wedges from the pie. I dusted off a stool, pulled it up to the bench and attacked my serve. The pastry was somewhat crumbled around the edges but the filling was sweet and delicious. I gobbled it down but even so, Owain was already on his second slice before I finished. Bramble daintily ate some dried meat. Owain offered her some pie but she sniffed disdainfully.
We ate in silence. The pie devoured, Owain started on the bread and cheese. I was pleasantly full after two slices of pie but nibbled at an apple divided into thin slices with the dagger Caedmon had insisted I always carried in my boot. I had finally learned that lesson well. Owain passed Bramble some hard cheese and she lay in her basket to gnaw at it, the cheese tucked between her paws.
Owain finally sat back and rubbed his belly. "Won't be seeing any more of Maeve's pies, I s'pose."
"You could go back," I said. "It's not too late."
"'Twas never me she wanted." He yawned and headed towards the back of the barn. "G'night."
He went into one of the stalls. There was an indignant yell — a woman's voice — and then Owain backed out of the stall, hands held out in front of him.
"Sorry, didn't 'spect anyone to be in there."
"Well now you know, perhaps you could find somewhere else to sleep," a frosty voice replied.
Owain turned to me, a sheepish look on his face. "There's a girl in there."
Before I could reply, she came out of the stall and my heart stopped. Long red hair, green eyes and a mouth I remembered well. She was dressed unusually for a woman, in a loose-fitting shirt with pants instead of a skirt.
"Diarmuid!" For a moment she looked flustered. "What are you doing here."
"Rhiwallon. I… we're…"
"Diarmuid here's on a quest," Owain said.