Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin (19 page)

“How many?” Again, she pointed at him and then held up her hands, ticking numbers off with her fingers.

He held up both of his hands four times.

“We didn’t see that many coming in from the lake,” Neela murmured. “Where are the others?”

Enat stood. “Tie his hands behind his back,” she said. To Neela, “We need to summon Ivar and Timmin.”

She stood and closed her eyes. Within a few heartbeats, an owl and a hawk landed on her outstretched arms. Caymin heard her ask them to fly, the owl to Ivar and the hawk to Timmin. She lifted her arms and they spread their great wings and took off.

Ronan produced a length of braided leather and tied the invader’s hands tightly.

“What happened?” Cíana whispered, sitting beside Caymin. “We felt… something.” She pointed her chin at him. “And who’s he?”

“Four of their boats came across the lake,” Caymin said. “They had two mages with them and they got into the forest. They had axes and were cutting some of the trees, when…”

“The trees moved,” said Diarmit through a mouthful of oatcake. “They did. I swear.”

“’Twas amazing,” said Una. “It was as if the forest came to life. More than it normally is.”

Caymin ripped loose a chunk of bread for herself and passed the loaf to Cíana. “It was unlike anything I have ever seen.”

The prisoner groaned, and Enat knelt again beside him. “I need a couple of you to hold him.” Fergus and Niall grasped him by either arm while she snapped the shaft of the arrow still protruding from his leg. “Brace yourself.”

The man seemed to understand what she meant, for he nodded and screwed his eyes shut as she pulled the arrow from his leg. He gave a strangled cry, panting in pain.

Enat turned to Caymin. “Go to the cottage. Get what we need.”

Caymin ran, collected a roll of cloth for a bandage along with some healing herbs and brought them all back to Enat. She quickly packed the wounds in the man’s leg with some of the crushed leaves, and then wrapped it all with the cloth. From the rest of the herbs, she made a tea and held it to the man’s lips. He drank it with a look of gratitude.

Almost before he finished his tea, he was getting drowsy. He slumped back against the wall of the meetinghouse, sleeping heavily.

“He’ll be asleep for quite a while.” Enat turned to Neela. “Start at the beginning.”

Neela told what had happened, and then Enat gestured to Caymin.

“It’s time we heard what led you there. How did you know?”

“Someone called to me in my sleep. Told me the invaders were coming from that direction.”

Neela frowned. “Who called to you?”

“His name is Péist. He is…” Caymin glanced at Ronan. “I do not know what he is.”

“He was in a cave when we first were sent to watch the forest,” Ronan said. “He looks like a… a white worm. Has short legs, but kind of wriggles about. Caymin can talk to him.”

“Not like I can talk to others,” she corrected. “With Beanna and other animals, it is like talking to one of you. This was different. He was hurt, and when I touched him… there was a connection unlike anything I have ever felt before. No words, but I felt things, saw things.”

“What things?” Diarmit stared at her.

Caymin closed her eyes, trying to remember. “Flashes of light, pain, someone attacking him, hurting him.” Her eyes fluttered open. “But that is all.”

Neela looked at Enat, bewildered. “What is she describing?”

Enat glanced at the stranger where he lay sleeping. Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t know for certain, but I’ve an idea.”

“Well, I never saw anything so disgusting,” Ronan said.

“Is he speaking with you now?” Enat asked Caymin.

She listened. “Not speaking. I always feel him now. Like a quiet breeze that you do not always notice, but always there.” She frowned. “He is sleeping, somewhere dark. He does not like the light.”

Heavy footsteps signaled Ivar’s return. He ran into the village, red-faced and panting. “What happened? I was already on my way back when the owl found me.” His mouth fell open at the sight of the sleeping prisoner. “And who is that?”

Just then, the hawk flew to Enat, landing lightly on her shoulder.

“Timmin is weak. He needs you.”

Neela gasped. “It was his magic. We should have known.”

“We must check on him.” Enat pushed to her feet. “Come, Ivar, we’ll tell you on the way.” She pointed to Fergus. “Come with us. The rest of you stay here, and stay away from the prisoner.”

Caymin and the others watched them leave.

“Why? What is wrong?” she asked.

“The energy it must have taken to work such a spell from such a distance,” Una said.

“The forest? That was his spell?”

“What else could it have been?” Niall said.

“They’re afraid he won’t be alive,” Cíana said solemnly.

Diarmit turned to her. “It might have killed him?”

“Magic takes energy,” Gai reminded him. “You know that. If it demands more than you have, it can kill you.”

A somber silence fell over the group. Caymin looked from one to the other, bewildered. “Timmin is old,” she said tentatively.

“Yes,” Daina said. “But because he is old, he is the wisest among us. It will be a great loss to us if he dies.”

Caymin fell silent. All her life, she had lived with death. Badgers, foxes, hawks, owls – they all hunted. For them to live, something else had to die. It was simply the way things were. There was a sense of loss, of course. Other badgers had died in the winters she lived with them, and she missed them, but she knew, if Broc or Cuán had died, she would have felt a keen grief.

Cíana must have been watching her, because she said, “You told us about the night the wolves attacked. You would have died fighting them, to save the badgers.”

Caymin nodded.

Cíana dipped her head. “The same with Timmin. He fought the invaders with magic, and he may have died doing it. We honor that.”

This, Caymin understood.

The day wore on with no sign of the elders. The prisoner stirred and sat up. He looked longingly toward a nearby pail of water.

“He is thirsty,” Caymin said.

Méav stood over him with her spear as Caymin filled a gourd with water and raised it to his lips. He gulped it down, plus a second gourd-full of water. They eyed him curiously.

“What kind of animals did those skins come from?” Méav wondered.

“I do not know,” Caymin said. So many things about him were strange and wondrous, like the brooch he wore at his chest, fastening his furred cape. It was made of metal, worked with intricate designs. She leaned forward for a closer look.

“Take care,” Méav warned her.

Caymin glanced into his pale blue eyes, but he was smiling. He nodded and she reached out to touch the pattern – a long, sinuous creature with wings spread.

“Drage
.
”

She frowned. “Dragon?”

His eyes widened. “Ja!”

“Caymin,” Méav said in a low voice. “Come away.”

Caymin backed away from the man and waited with the others.

The sun was on the far side of the sky by the time Enat and the others returned to the village, Ivar carrying Timmin in his arms.

They brought him into the meetinghouse, and Caymin got a glimpse of his face, nearly as white as his beard. Someone fetched a sleeping mat from one of the dwellings and they made Timmin as comfortable as they could.

The apprentices were shooed outside while the elders worked. Enat emerged after what seemed like a long time and called Caymin to accompany her to their cottage to gather herbs and roots she needed.

“Will he live?” Caymin asked as Enat loaded her arms with pots and jars.

“I don’t yet know,” Enat said. “He’s very weak. The spell took nearly all he had. And he had a great deal.”

“But it worked. The invaders left. They are gone.”

Enat’s expression darkened. “Not all are gone. And now they know we’re here.”

CHAPTER 12

Back Into the Mist

F
or the next days, Caymin barely saw Enat. She slept alone at the cottage, making the porridge and oatcakes she liked so much. She brought some to the meetinghouse, leaving them outside the door for the elders who were still tending to Timmin. Neela thanked her tiredly, and then closed the door again. No word came as to whether Timmin was improving or not.

The apprentices were left on their own to speculate what would be done with the stranger. He had been brought into the meetinghouse as well so that the elders could heal his leg.

“They’re trying to talk to him,” Diarmit whispered, listening at the door. “He just keeps saying the same things over and over.”

“Come away from there,” Ronan said.

“What do you think they’ll do with him?” Diarmit asked as he joined the others.

The older apprentices looked at one another darkly.

“What?” Daina looked from one of them to the next.

“Well, they can’t just let him go now, can they?” Méav said.

“He knows too much about us and the forest, now he’s been here,” Fergus seconded.

Caymin sat up. “What would they do with him?”

“There are ways,” Una said. “Spells that can take away someone’s memories, but it’s near impossible to only take the memories you want. It might leave him completely addled.”

“In the meantime, we’ve work to do,” said Ronan. “It’s past time we should be finishing the harvesting. The crops have been ready.”

Gai scowled. “Can’t we hunt? We need meat as well.” He glanced at Caymin. “You can speak to them better than we can. You can call something to us.”

She looked at him, aghast. “I would never. Hunt if you must, but you cannot hunt animals who trust you enough to speak with you.”

“She’s right,” Una said. “No matter how skilled any of us ever becomes at speaking with them, we can’t call animals to us. It isn’t sporting or right. We hunt by stealth, and we’ll honor the spirit of any we kill.”

Fergus and Una shared a meaningful look. “I’ll go with Gai to hunt,” he said. “If the rest of you don’t mind harvesting.”

They left to get bows and spears while the others collected baskets and headed to the planted clearing. There, they spent the rest of the day gathering the last of the barley and wheat and oats, digging up parsnips and turnips, pulling carrots and onions, cutting cabbages and picking beans. They filled two baskets with apples.

Caymin tried to block the occasional stabs of fear she felt from animals in the forest where she knew Fergus and Gai must be in pursuit. Underneath all, she felt Péist, faint and indistinct, but there. Always there. She smiled.

When they had gathered all they could carry, they shouldered the baskets and carried them back to the village. To their surprise, they found Ivar, Neela and Enat sitting around the fire outside the meetinghouse, a pot of stew hanging over the flames.

“How’s Timmin?” Méav asked as she set her basket on the ground.

“Finally better,” said Enat.

Caymin noticed how tired she looked. “He will live?”

Ivar nodded. “He’ll live. But he’s still weak. That spell cost him dearly.”

The others deposited their baskets and joined the group at the fire.

“And what of the stranger?” Ronan asked.

“He’s well enough to walk,” Neela said. “In a few days, we’ll remove all memory of the forest and his days here, and take him where others can decide what to do with him.”

She dished out bowls of stew for each of them.

“What happened when you were at the village?” Cíana asked Ivar as she passed a bowl to Daina.

“They were ready to fight,” Ivar said. “I was organizing them to go meet the invaders at a valley beyond their village, but the invaders stopped on the far side and never advanced. We could see them camped there. We didn’t know what they were waiting for, why they didn’t attack. Then, they just retreated back the way they came.” He glanced at Caymin. “Not until I got back here, did I realize they were just a ruse to distract us while the others came across the lake.”

“Thank the goddess you were warned that they were coming from that direction,” Enat said to Caymin. “When things are calmer here, I would like to meet Péist.” She looked around at the harvest baskets. “But for now, we have more work to do, getting everything you harvested stored away and picking the rest tomorrow. It’s nearly the equinox.”

A triumphant shout diverted their attention as Gai and Fergus appeared with the carcass of a stag slung over their shoulders.

Ivar got to his feet. “I’ll help them skin and then butcher the meat.”

Neela sighed. “Well, let’s get the bowls cleaned and back to work.”

Caymin gathered an armful of bowls to wash while the others took the harvest baskets to the storage cellar dug on the outskirts of the village. Diarmit accompanied her.

“You really can talk to the worm-creature?”

Caymin shrugged. “As I said, it is not really talking so much as I feel his thoughts.”

“But he didn’t show you who hurt him?”

Caymin knelt at the edge of the stream. “No. Why?”

“No reason.”

Diarmit knelt beside her and they scrubbed the bowls in silence. As they carried the clean bowls back, Diarmit said, “Only, we know someone who enjoys hunting and hurting things, don’t we?”