One Small Step, an anthology of discoveries (29 page)

Murtahg leant forward and she slipped the leather circle around his head. It was a tight fit and when he turned away from her to leave he did not look happy.

I noticed the pipe on the mantelpiece. “He forgot his pipe again.”

“
Leave it for now.” She sighed and made her way to the work bench. “Do you think Ciarnor will be cured?”

I nodded.

“
Because of the bell?”

“
That,” I said, “And because he believes he will.”

My answer seemed to please her for she smiled and pointed to a small chest. “Fetch me that.”

When I returned with it, she opened the lid and took out a fine cloth, unrolling it to reveal a perfect little silver bell, a pure white candle and many fine vellum sheets, sewn together down one side. I recognised the symbols on the front — Male opposed Female, Death opposed Life. I longed to turn over the pages to see how many more I knew.

Reverently, she showed me. “These are the symbols of the Wyrding-ways, my symbols. My candle to bring the light, my bell to banish the dark.” Her finger, twisted by the bone-ache, tapped the vellum. “And the knowledge I have gained through my long life.” She held my eyes. “All this can be yours, Sun-fire, if you will swear fealty to my clan. I will not live forever and we need a strong Wyrding-woman.”

She meant it. I had won her over, but now that it had happened I realised she had won me, too. I wanted this so badly…

All I had to do was swear loyalty to the clan that had ravaged my valley, torn me from my home and used me as a vessel for their Warlord-reborn. We hill-people never surrendered.

Yet, I wavered.

One part of me argued that I could stay with her long enough to serve out the remaining years of my apprenticeship. Once I knew the Wyrding-ways I could go home to my valley. I imagined their joy when I returned as a fully fledged Wyrding-woman, versed in the deep, secret Lore.

But that was to forget the babe. It did not seem real yet. It had not shrivelled and died as many babes do in the first three moons, so the Wyrding-mother meant me to carry it to term. I was convinced that my child would be the daughter I longed for. But I did not want the Warlord’s cruel soul twisting her nature. Before the birth I had to find out how to banish the Warlord’s soul to save my little girl, and I had to reclaim my Wyrding-sign.

But for now…

I fell to my knees and spoke the words before they could choke me. Revenge was more important than being forsworn. “I swear clan fealty, Wyrding-mother.”

She gave me frankly sceptical look.

“
I do,” I insisted. “For as long as it takes to learn the Wyrding-ways. Then I want to go home.”

This must have satisfied her for that evening she left me alone in her private chamber for the first time. Feverish with haste I removed the foxglove jar from its shelf and took just enough to kill three men. Then I froze, waiting for the Watcher to sound. Nothing. That was odd. I realised her Watcher had a flaw; I had not removed the poison from the Wyrding-woman’s chamber.

And now I had the means to exact my revenge. When I was ready, I would slip the foxglove into the brothers’ stew. They would die and I would run away. It meant giving up the training the Wyrding-woman had promised me. Could I give it up for revenge? I examined this and decided I could. There were other Wyrding-women, ones who did not use death-power.

Besides, Murtahg and Lohnan deserved to die. I enjoyed imagining their death throes. As for Druaric…

Pain curled its hand around my heart with surprising intensity. Even though he had betrayed my trust, I could not bear to kill him. And I could not kill two, without killing the third and running away. Their deaths would be suspicious. Their wives would point to me.

Stunned, I put the foxglove back. How the Wyrding-woman would laugh if only she knew.

I had trapped myself.

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The fourth moon of my captivity passed and the grain hung heavy in the fields. With the harvest came the farmers from the rich pasturelands, bringing a portion of their crops to their clan-leader as tribute. For several days there were reunions. And in the evening there was dancing, smoking of weed, singing and noisy couplings. But the revelry held a frantic tone for, come the feast, the clan’s new leader would be elected.

Murtahg talked forcefully and loudly of what he would do if he led the clan. His men wove through the groups, urging his case. Lohnan’s men spoke up, just as eager for him to take the lead. The supporters of the two eldest sons were itching for a fight. The Wyrding-woman had been right to try to forestall this.

I caught only glimpses of Druaric going about his business. And I refused to ask after him. First he had betrayed me then, as soon as he had what he wanted, he ignored me. I hated him, yet I could not bring myself to kill him. It was strange.

As the days counted down to the harvest feast, I watched the stronghold fill with clansmen and women. There was still time for me to slip away, time to retreat to the highlands and reach my village before the snows cut off the passes. But I knew, even though these festivities would have made it easier to escape, I wasn’t going. I was weak. I had been seduced by the Wyrding-woman’s promise of knowledge and by a sweet-voiced cripple who had betrayed my trust.

As yet there was no sign of the babe. My body was slim, though my breasts felt swollen and tender. This pleased the Wyrding-woman; it meant the babe flourished.

Then one day, as I labelled jars with Wyrding symbols, I felt a flutter in my belly. Like the wings of a humming bird, something barely brushed my senses. My babe had quickened. In that moment the child became real to me and my life narrowed down to a tunnel. At the tunnel’s end was the agony of childbirth. Either I would die, or I would produce the Warlord-reborn in my daughter’s body.

In that heartbeat I knew I could not be the clan’s tool.

Tonight I would hit the old woman over the head, take the amulet and run. As for my revenge… It was clear now that I did not need to kill the three brothers. By leaving I would bring down the clan down. Without the Warlord-reborn, Lohnan and Murtahg’s followers would tear it apart. This was a much better revenge. And it meant I did not have to raise my hand against Druaric.

A wave of relief washed through me. Tonight I would act.

“
What is it?” the Wyrding-woman asked, sharp as always.

“
Nothing,” I lied, replacing the jar of lavender. “I gulped breakfast and now I’m paying for it.”

“
I can give you something for that.” She mixed up some gripe medicine and I dutifully swallowed it, pathetically grateful for her thoughtfulness. I had to go without delay.

That evening Druaric came to the Wyrding-woman’s chamber for the first time since he had betrayed the existence of my caul. My heart quickened for there was laughter in his eyes, and he could not keep the smile from his lips as he offered me something wrapped in a blanket.

I folded my arms. “I want nothing from you.”

“
Oh, take it,” the Wyrding-woman muttered. “He’s spent every night since the last raid making it.”

Curiosity got the better of me. I took the object thinking it was light for its size and unrolled the blanket. My mouth dropped open.

He had made a zither, every bit as fine as his. The craftsmanship alone was enough to make me weep.

“
Am I forgiven, Sun-fire?” he asked.

I wanted to refuse him but the words would not come.

“
Here.” He unslung his instrument and sat down, resting it across his lap. “Like this.” And his fingers produced a bird song.

I did not want to accept his gift for it meant I condoned his betrayal. At that moment, I looked up into Druaric’s eyes and saw his naked soul. My heart turned over. He loved me and I meant to leave tonight.

“
What’s wrong, Sun-fire?” the Wyrding-woman asked.

“
No one has ever given me such a fine gift.” I blinked away tears, letting her think I cried with joy.

Druaric laughed and hugged me. I did not pull away. Knowing I was about to leave, I revelled in the feel of him. The Wyrding-woman nodded, satisfied.

He released me, fingers going to his zither. “Watch, Sun-fire.”

Truth be told, I was eager to learn. I joined him and so began the happiest, yet most painful evening of my life. After a while, the Wyrding-woman retreated to her bed in the alcove. As for us, we sat up so late discovering our shared love of the music that the cock crowed before we put out the candle. When I crawled under the bench to sleep on my pallet, I told myself one more day would not matter.

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I slept all that day, missing the fight between Murtahg and Lohnan. The first I knew of it was when I entered the kitchen late in the afternoon in search of food. Instead I found the cook’s assistants madly packing salted meat, skins of wine and rolls of cheese. From their chatter I learned Murtahg could have killed Lohnan but he hadn’t, he had banished him. The eldest brother, along with his family and followers was sailing with the evening tide to set up a stronghold of their own.

Before he left, Lohnan came to get the Wyrding-woman’s blessing. She gave him some of the sacred-hearth fire to seed his own hearth fire, and a shawl she had wrapped him in when he was a baby; these symbolised the luck of the household. When he complained that he did not have a Wyrding-woman of his own, they both glanced to me and I was glad that he could not take me.

With Lohnan gone, I thought the rivalry would settle down. Druaric was only seventeen and he didn’t have a loyal core of followers ready to kill at his command. Besides, his place in the stronghold was different from Lohnan’s because of his clubfoot and the power he had with words.

After the evening meal, Murtahg came to see the Wyrding-woman. She ordered me to prepare wine. Impatient as always, Murtahg chewed on his pipe stem and paced. Even from across the room I smelt the weed on him, coming through his skin as well as his breath.

Druaric sat in his usual place by the fire, plucking at the strings of his zither. He was composing another verse of their family saga, incorporating the new events. I heard snatches of it as I prepared the mulled wine.

The Wyrding-woman, worn down by her grandsons’ feuding, had been bothered by the bone-ache so I added a little powdered snakeskin to ease her pain. As I did this, I realised I didn’t want to hit her over the head. She was a hard woman because only a hard woman could control these headstrong men.

Like Druaric, she had slipped past my guard. I might not agree with her use of death-power but I liked and respected her as a practitioner of the Way. My head spun. The vengeance of the hill-people had motivated me since the day the brothers stole me from my people. Without it, I felt rudderless. I had needed it to make me strong.

Murtahg took his wine without a word of thanks, putting the pipe on the mantelpiece. “Now I learn that Lohnan took the metal-worker’s best apprentice. I should—”

“
Let it go. Let him go,” the Wyrding-woman urged. “Your task is to care-take the clan for the Warlord-reborn.”

Murtahg nodded but, from the look in his eyes, I knew he saw only the near future. It would take twenty years for the Warlord-reborn to grow up, and there wasn’t much chance of Murtahg still being around then. Even if he was, he would be an old man of nearly fifty summers.

He grimaced and spat into the fire. “They whisper behind my back.”

“
Call the clan together tomorrow,” the Wyrding-woman advised. “Give them stability and you will have their loyalty.”

He nodded, draining the last of the wine. But, as he left, I noticed him glance at Druaric who was singing under his breath. With a sick lurch I realised Murtahg feared Druaric. I met the Wyrding-woman’s eyes. She had seen it too and now she stared into the fire, troubled.

Druaric stood up and stretched. “I’m for bed.”

I wanted to clutch his arm and warn him. But he wasn’t mine to protect. No formal words had passed between us. I could claim him if I wanted to, for Wyrding-women take their lovers where they choose. But I hadn’t lain with him last night because I meant to leave tonight.

Could I leave, after the way Murtahg had looked at him?

“
Watch your back, Dru,” the Wyrding-woman warned.

He shrugged this off with a smile. “I’m no threat to Murtahg.”

She frowned as he limped off to his room above ours. Unlike the other unmarried youths he did not sleep in the great hall. The stronghold was packed tonight. Only the Wyrding-woman and Druaric had private chambers in the tower.

“
Sun-fire, fetch me Murtahg’s pipe,” she ordered and I realised he had forgotten it again. She did not take it from my outstretched hand. Instead, she looked up at me, dread in her eyes. “What does it tell you?”

I knew what she feared. The same feeling closed in on me. It was an effort to clear my mind and then I wished I hadn’t. Murtahg’s hateful, hard-edged impulses filled me, circling like wolves around a new born lamb. One swift bite, tear out the throat, break the neck. “D … death.”

She blanched.

I made to hand her the pipe but she shook her head; for all her talk of scrying, she did not have the Way of seeing that I had. “What will you do?”

She sighed. “I will do nothing until I have slept on it.”

I cursed silently for I was hoping she would sleep deeply so that I could take the amulet. All the same, I felt sorry for her as she lay down in her alcove, only to toss and turn. I had to go tonight. Druaric’s gift of the zither had convinced me that I could not stay. Not when invisible bonds threatened to make me his willing prisoner. What’s more, with Lohnan gone the stronghold felt wrong, somehow.