Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (19 page)

I lingered for another few minutes but heard nothing useful other than that they planned to depart late the following morning. I returned to our table and Owain met my gaze with just the slightest nod before suggesting we retire. He draped an arm loosely around Rhiwallon's shoulders as we left. She kept her head down, hair covering her face and her shoulders slumped as if to disguise her height, or perhaps her build.

When we reached our bedchambers, Owain suggested we all sleep in the same room. Rhiwallon agreed quickly and moved her pack into the larger bedchamber that Owain, Diarmuid and I had intended to share. Diarmuid laid a blanket down on the rug and stretched out. I curled up beside him in my usual spot and tucked my nose into my paws to keep it warm.
 

My mind whirled. Who or what was Rhiwallon running from? There were only three reasons a woman like her would leave home: to escape violence, flee from an unwanted marriage, or because she was with child. Neither Diarmuid nor Owain noticed the times Rhiwallon slipped away to vomit or the way she sometimes held a hand over her stomach, as if cradling the life inside. She couldn't have been more than two moons along for there was no discernible swelling of her belly.
 

If Mother were here, she could have aided Rhiwallon with herbs. Fennel, perhaps, or a tea of raspberry leaf. Mother could have eased her sickness or, if Rhiwallon wanted, provided other herbs to release the child from her womb. Even I in my own form could have helped. If Rhiwallon took anything to soothe her stomach, I never saw it.

Her relationship with Diarmuid also puzzled me. Once or twice Rhiwallon had hinted she knew some secret of Diarmuid's. He had blushed bright red and mumbled. Obviously they had met before but I couldn't figure out exactly what manner of relationship they had or how well they knew each other.
 

Rhiwallon rarely saw the small terrier by her feet and she had about as much intuition as Diarmuid. Despite her initial demand that Diarmuid should keep me away from her, she didn't seem to mind my presence. Occasionally she patted me roughly on the head, or ruffled the hair on my back, not noticing my discomfort. But she certainly didn't whisper any confidences to me the way Diarmuid did so I had little insight into her behaviour. Why was Rhiwallon running? And who pursued her?

Our journey was uneventful. The oxen walked tirelessly, the cart didn't break down, and we weren't attacked by robbers intent on murdering us as we slept. It had been almost three sevennights since I left home. I had expected to be at Crow's Nest long before now. Of course, I also hadn't expected such a lengthy delay while I was ill and my ankle was healing.
 

The easy travelling left me with plenty of time to plan for my confrontation with Ida. She was unlikely to listen to reason, however persuasive my words might be. Equally unlikely that she would feel compelled to obey me even if I was, in some way, her creator. So it seemed I must find a way to destroy her. Despite Caedmon's efforts to teach me to fight, my ability was limited to perhaps defending myself against an unskilled and unmotivated attacker. Perhaps my companions would aid me. Owain had the strength of several men and Rhiwallon was proficient with a bow and arrow. They were happy enough to travel with me but would they help destroy Ida?

Crow's Nest was now only a two-day journey away and we were well between villages when it was time to stop for the night. We chose a spot beside a stand of shrubby young rowan trees, which were still mostly naked from the winter. Our routines for setting up camp came easily and without discussion for we had spent several nights outdoors.
 

Owain unhitched the oxen, then fed and watered them. Rhiwallon and I unloaded what we needed from the cart. Then she disappeared with her bow and arrow while I cleared a spot for a fire and gathered wood. It was always Rhiwallon though who lit the fire. She could down a hare and skin it long before I could start the fire and would hiss in exasperation as she watched my feeble attempts. Eventually she would shove me aside and light it herself, while I stood beside her, feeling inadequate and useless.

Nevertheless I persisted. I gathered up a good pile of twigs and some leaf litter and then retrieved my flint. Tonight though I couldn't produce so much as a spark. The wood was bone dry and the breeze was light enough that I couldn't blame its interference. Bramble watched from her basket, which I had positioned nearby, as I tried again and again, my frustration increasing as each attempt failed to produce even a whiff of smoke.

Rhiwallon returned with two neatly-skinned squirrels and took the flint from my hand without a word. I couldn't bear to watch her succeed where yet again I had failed so I turned to laying out the remainder of our meal: somewhat stale bread, hard cheese, and a few handfuls of hazelnuts we had picked that morning. But tonight, even Rhiwallon was unable to coax a flame into existence. She rearranged the twigs, and tried again, holding the flint close to the leaves and sheltering its flame with her hand. But still the fire wouldn't catch. Eventually she swore and shoved the flint into her pocket.

"No fire tonight," she said, her voice tight.

Owain had by now finished with the oxen. He glanced at the stacked twigs and the dead squirrels and shrugged. "No matter."

I swallowed an offer to try. It would likely earn me a scornful glare and a few sharp words. And if Rhiwallon couldn't get the fire started, I probably couldn't either. Instead I retrieved some dried meat from our remaining rations in the cart. When I returned, the squirrels had disappeared and Bramble had a somewhat regretful look on her face. Clearly they hadn't been offered to her.

We ate in silence, then Rhiwallon rose with a determined look. But yet again she couldn't produce even the smallest of flames. The evening stretched long and bleak without a fire to warm us. I soon lay down and wrapped myself in a blanket. The ground was hard and it took some time before I could get comfortable enough to sleep. Bramble curled up in her favourite spot behind my knees and I draped another blanket over her.

I woke some time later to Bramble barking loudly, a series of short, sharp sounds I had never before heard from her. Owain was yelling something I couldn't make out over Bramble's barking.

I sat up, sleep still clinging to my mind, confused by all the noise. "What's wrong? Bramble, be quiet. Come here, girl."

She continued barking.
 

A lamp flared. Owain lifted it high as he moved around our small campsite. Never before had I seen him move so quickly and it was this that finally informed my sleep-addled brain there was a problem.

"Owain," I yelled over Bramble's barking. "What's wrong? Where's Rhiwallon?"

"Gone." He didn't pause long enough to even glance at me.

"What? Bramble, be quiet girl."

Bramble slunk over to me and crawled onto my lap. Her small frame convulsed with tremors and I gathered her up in my arms. I had never seen her act like this. Something was very wrong.

"Bramble, what is it?"
 

She whined and burrowed her nose into my chest.

Owain still lurched around, the lamp held high, calling for Rhiwallon.

"Owain? Owain!"

"Rhiwallon's gone." His voice broke and in the lamplight, tear tracks shone on his cheeks.
 

"Gone where?"

Owain seemed to stumble blindly. He almost fell and the lamp dipped precariously close to the ground, but he regained his balance and kept moving.

"Owain, stop. Tell me what happened."

Bramble's trembles started to ease. Her face was still burrowed into my chest and she didn't seem inclined to move. I kept my arms around her, stroking her back. Owain finally set down the lamp and collapsed onto his blanket, head in his hands and his shoulders slumped. He seemed smaller than he usually did.

"Something was standing over her when I woke," he said hoarsely. "It took her."

A few moments passed before my mouth would work. "Who? Why?" I hardly knew where to start.

"Couldn't move, couldn't speak."

My mouth framed questions I couldn't say. Finally, I managed to squeak, "The fey?"

He shrugged. "You're the bard."

"But… What would they want with Rhiwallon?" A horrible thought occurred to me. "It wasn't Rhiwallon they wanted. They want to stop me from getting to Crow's Nest. Or delay me. It's a distraction. Like how they led me off the path last time."

Fiachra had said I would have companions and that one would not be what they seemed, but he hadn't said I wouldn't need each of them. I tried to remember his exact words, whether he had said my companions would still be with me when I faced Ida, but I couldn't think clearly. There was a possibility I wouldn't be able to stop Ida without all three.

"We have to go after her," I said. Owain nodded his agreement.

I packed some provisions while Owain untethered the oxen. They would have to fend for themselves until we returned.
 

"Do you know much about the fey?" I asked. I didn't wait for his reply. "We must not eat or drink anything offered to us within their territory. Time may not pass the same way as it does here. We might seem to be there a week and find only an hour has passed here, or it might seem no time there and weeks here."

Owain grunted, intent on sharpening his daggers.

"We should make sure we don't get separated. And we shouldn't believe anything the fey say, be it good or bad. They won't lie, or at least the old tales say they won't, but they may twist the truth and make things seem what they are not."

Owain handed me a dagger. Moonlight glinted off steel as he slid another into his boot. He slung his pack over his shoulder and hefted his axe.
 

I tested the dagger's weight. It was larger than my own and more finely made. When I ran my thumb along the blade, the skin parted effortlessly and a bead of blood appeared. My own small dagger was already in my boot; the experience in the woods, when I didn't know it was only Bramble behind the bush, had taught me the value of being armed better than Caedmon's lectures ever did. I slid Owain's dagger into my other boot. It didn't sit quite as comfortably as my own.

Owain strode over to where Rhiwallon had been sleeping. Her blanket was empty and rumpled. Beside the blanket lay her bow and quiver. She wouldn't have left willingly without them. Owain picked them up and slung them over his other shoulder.

"She'll want these when we find her," he said.

I nodded, unwilling to voice my fear that the fey might have taken Rhiwallon somewhere we couldn't follow. I looked around for Bramble. For one heart-stopping moment I feared she too had been taken. Then I saw a streak of white some distance from our camp. She dashed around, nose to the ground.

"Come on, Bramble," I called, and then to Owain, "Which way do you think?"
 

He nodded towards Bramble who still circled, sniffing at the ground. "Follow Bramble."

Indeed, as soon as we looked at her, Bramble gave a short, sharp bark. It was a definite
follow me
.

I hesitated but Bramble barked again. Owain started towards her. Still she waited, looking to me.

"All right, I'm coming." I picked up my pack. "But I hope you know where you're going."

Bramble trotted off, following a path only she could identify. She paused, looking back over her shoulder to make sure we were following. Branches crunched beneath Owain's heavy boots and I hurried after him, anxious to keep myself within the light of the lamp he bore.

She led us on a winding path around bush, up hill and then down, over rock and through a dry creek. We walked in circles and doubled back on our path. Finally Bramble paused at a low mound, mostly still snow-covered but with a few eager strands of grass poking through.
 

"This is where the path leads?" I asked. "What are we supposed to do now?"

Bramble gave me a disdainful stare and turned back to the mound. She barked three times and an opening appeared. It was large enough to admit a grown man. Inside was shrouded in darkness.

I was so shocked that my legs almost gave out beneath me. It was a coincidence, of course, the opening appearing right as Bramble barked. Likely our presence had somehow activated it.

"Good girl," Owain said.

Bramble flicked her tail at him and glared at me.

"Well done, Bramble." I leaned down to rub her ears. "I don't know how you did that, but well done."

She ducked her head out of my reach and stepped away. If she wasn't just a dog, I would have thought she was angry with me.

Owain held the axe in front of him, gripping it in one hand and the lamp with the other. "I'll go first."

I was only too glad to agree. He stepped into the barrow, ducking his head in order to fit, and I followed.

The moment I passed through the entrance, one of my boots began to feel warm. Then suddenly it was hot. Burning hot.
 

Owain threw both axe and lamp outside onto the snow and ran out of the mound. The lamp's flame sputtered and died.
 

My foot felt like it was on fire. I dived through the opening and flung myself to the ground to pull off the boot. Owain's dagger dropped out and sizzled in the snow. I reached for it but burnt my fingers.

"Hot," Owain said.

"Yours too?" I looked from his axe to the dagger and knew what I had forgotten. Almost every tale I knew of the fey told of this. "Cold iron. The fey can't stand to be near it. There must be a charm on this place to prevent us from entering with cold iron."

"No weapons?"
 

My little bronze dagger was still safely tucked into my other boot. I opened my mouth to tell Owain but hesitated. If there was a charm to prevent us entering with cold iron, there may be other charms on this place. Perhaps even now the fey watched or listened.

"No, no weapons," I said and pulled my boot back on.

Bramble watched from the entrance to the mound, one front paw slightly raised.