Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (31 page)

A shadow crossed Ida's face and she turned her back on him. "So, Diarmuid, will you stay for lunch?" she asked. "The soup will be ready in a while."

"No." I meant to say something further but unease was building within me. Those few moments while she stirred the pot might have been our only chance.
 

"Oh, what a pity." Ida pouted.
 

Davin frowned. "Why would you want other company, my love? Am I not enough?"

"No, you silly man," she said. "You're boring. You never talk about anything interesting. In fact, I'm growing quite tired of you."

There was barely time for a look of disappointment to cross Davin's face before Ida turned to Owain.
 

Bramble barked once, a brief warning.

"Kill him," Ida said with a nod towards Davin. "Do it for me."
 

Owain's eyes were glazed and his face blank as he drew a dagger from his boot. It took him only four steps around the bench to reach Davin.

Davin looked disappointed, rather than fearful. "My love, you cannot mean this."

"Oh but I do," Ida said with a vicious smile. "And you would please me by not resisting."

"Owain-" I started, but I was too late.

Davin's eyes were still locked on Ida as Owain raised the knife and stabbed him in the heart. Davin staggered and blood ran down his chest but he never took his eyes off Ida.

I was too stunned to move until something splattered on my face. When I wiped it, my hand was covered in blood.

Owain pulled his knife from Davin's chest. Davin swayed for a moment before crumpling to the floor. He gasped and tried to lift an arm towards Ida. Even as he died, his gaze was fastened on her.

Ida merely nodded and turned back to the stove. "You may leave now."

I couldn't take my eyes off Davin's body. A pool of blood seeped around him, slowly stretching across the wooden floor.

When I finally looked away, Owain was gone. Even now, he obeyed her.
 

Bramble barked and there was urgency in her voice. She was waiting by the door. I stumbled after her. As we left, I glanced back. Ida stirred the contents of the pot on the stove. She looked calm and unperturbed. To see her, nobody would know that a man lay in his own blood beside her.

Bramble barked again and finally I followed, a sudden chill wracking my body. The sun was bright and warm as we exited the house. It soaked into my skin although it didn't ease the chill. I had failed again and, this time, a man had died.

I stumbled along, seeing nothing and aware only of Bramble's presence at my side and the pain in my ankle until we caught up to Owain.

He was standing in the middle of the path, staring at the bloody dagger in his hand.
 

"Diarmuid." His voice was full of anguish. "What have I done? Tell me, what have I done?"

"You killed a man, Owain." The words were bitter on my tongue. "And he didn't even raise a hand to defend himself."

"No," he said and then lifted his head and screamed to the sky. "No."

I left him there and headed for the inn. First Rhiwallon, then Owain. Would Bramble be next? Would I stand in Ida's house as each of my companions betrayed me in turn? I suddenly realised I was alone. Bramble had stayed with Owain.
 

In my mind, I saw Fiachra. He sat at a desk, a sheaf of papers spread out in front of him.
I will be watching you on your journey,
he had said.
If you have need of me, call and I will come if I can.

He had not told me how but somehow I knew.
Fiachra,
I screamed silently, holding his image in my mind.
I need you.

Fiachra seemed to lift his head and look right at me. "I am coming, Diarmuid," he said.

My mood lifted slightly as I hurried to the inn. Fiachra would be there, waiting. He would know what to do. There would be another way to destroy Ida. I burst into the inn, my eyes searching the common room. He would be there, I knew it. But there were only two men there and neither was Fiachra. My heart sank. Even Fiachra had abandoned me. I stumbled towards the staircase that led up to our room.

"Ho there," the innkeeper called. "Can I get you something, friend?"

"A bath," I muttered. "Send up water."

If he noticed the blood on me, he said nothing.

I was relieved to find our bedchamber empty. I didn't know where Rhiwallon might have gone but at least she wasn't here. A boy brought a bucket of water and I washed thoroughly. Blood swirled in the bowl, leaving it muddy-red. I pulled off my clothes and left them in the corner of the room. I would not wear them again. Even if the blood splatters came out, they would always remind me of the day I watched my friend stab a man to death.

As I dressed, heavy footsteps announced Owain's arrival. My stomach twisted. How could I face him after what he had just done? I kept my back to the door and finished buttoning my shirt.

"Diarmuid." Owain's voice was tormented.

Despite my intention to not look at him, I did. His face was pale beneath splashes of blood. My sympathy surged at the horror in his eyes but I ruthlessly squashed it down.

"She made me do it." His voice pleaded with me to believe. "It was a charm. I would never do such a thing. I've never killed a man without a contract."

"You're a killer." I spat the words at him. "No wonder you do what you do for a living."

I pushed past him and left. He didn't try to stop me. Bramble waited behind him in the hallway. I met her eyes and the disapproval I saw there made me feel even worse. The last thing I needed was to be judged by a dog.

I stormed down to the common room and ordered an ale. I intended to drink until I fell off my chair. Then perhaps I might forget, if only for a while, what a failure I was.

I might have expected one of my companions to join me in the common room — Bramble perhaps — but, hour after hour, I sat alone. I lost count of how many ales I drank. At some stage, I must have told the innkeeper to keep them coming because as soon as I finished one, the next would appear beside me. Eventually the innkeeper brought me a bowl of soup.

"You need to eat, my friend," he said softly, depositing the bowl by my elbow. "Too much ale without food is not good for a young man." He didn't wait for a response.

I intended to ignore the meal but the savoury scent hit my nostrils and my stomach growled. The room had been bright and almost empty of patrons when I sat down. It was now more than half full. Lamps drove back the encroaching darkness and a small fire blazed in the hearth. I must have sat here for hours, noticing nothing but my own miserable thoughts.

My one remaining friend was Bramble but she had stayed with Owain. Owain the killer. Owain who had stabbed to death a man who never even raised a hand in his own defence. My stomach churned abruptly and the soup came back up, splashing into the nearly empty bowl. The innkeeper appeared promptly at my side.

"I'll take that," he said, reaching for the bowl. "And I think perhaps you've had enough ale for today, my friend. How about you go upstairs and get some sleep?"

"Do you have any spare bedchambers?"

"Sorry, we're all full up tonight." If he wondered at my request, he didn't ask. "You're welcome to sleep in the barn though."

I found an unoccupied corner in the hayloft. I had left my blood-splattered coat in our bedchamber but I found a horse blanket that didn't smell too strongly. I wrapped myself up and burrowed into the hay. My head spun and my stomach churned. I vomited twice more although I managed to avoid the hay. The loft smelled like sickness and sour ale but I pulled the blanket over my face and slept.

I felt thoroughly wretched when I woke. My head throbbed, my stomach still churned and my mouth tasted bitter. The loft reeked, making my stomach roll and empty itself yet again. I washed outside in a horse trough, the water cold and none too fresh. The early morning glare burned my eyes and my head throbbed even harder. I stumbled into the inn.
 

I sat at a table in a gloomy corner, far away from the windows and the brightness of the fire, and massaged my throbbing temples. Then suddenly I realised somebody sat across the table from me. Bitter comments welled on my tongue as I looked at Fiachra: about how long he had taken to arrive, how he should have warned me that all of my companions would desert me and I would fail. But I said nothing.
 

"I told you this would be harder than you expected," Fiachra said.

"You should have told me everything you knew. I could have been more prepared."

"It is not my place to tell you what may or may not happen. I cannot foretell the future. The choices you make are your own decision."

"I think you know more than you pretend to."

He didn't respond.

"What do I do now?" I asked eventually.

"What do you think you must do?"

"Must you answer everything with a question? Why can't you tell me what to do?"
 

Fiachra merely looked me in the eyes, his face as implacable as ever. "This is your quest, Diarmuid. Is it finished?"

"How can I ever finish? I can't match her power. She is turning my friends against me, one by one."

It wasn't until I said it that I realised I no longer blamed Owain. Ida had charmed him, like she charmed everyone else who carried out atrocious deeds at her instruction. Still, I didn't want to face him. I couldn't bear to look in his eyes and see my friend and know he had killed an innocent man.
 

"Tell me about your journey," Fiachra said.

The words began to spill from me and I told him everything. About finding Bramble and how we almost died in the woods. Owain rescuing us. Finding Rhiwallon. The journey through the tunnels and the beast and the dragon. How I had tried and tried again to defeat Ida. How I had failed.

"So you intend to give up," Fiachra said. There was no judgement in his tone but I squirmed at his words.

"I'm not exactly giving up," I said. "But I have no other options. Ida is too powerful."

"You have power of your own, Diarmuid."
 

The tiniest flicker of hope flared. "My tales?"

He looked at me and waited.

"But how could telling a tale defeat
her
?"

Still he said nothing.

Slowly, awkwardly, my thoughts came together and I discovered I already knew the answer. "She came from inside of my head. Her strength, her power… it all came from my words. So perhaps I could defeat her with a tale, if I knew how they worked."
 

It sounded ridiculous. Whatever power I might have, surely Ida was far stronger. And the one time I had tried to make a tale come true — in the fey tunnels — it didn't work. I picked at a splinter poking out of the table. It dug into my thumb and a bead of blood formed. I stared down at the blood with disinterest. The pain was nothing. It could be someone else's hand for all I felt.

"Perhaps the aim is not to defeat her," Fiachra said. "Perhaps you need to mend the breach that is broken. Restore that which should not have been divided."

"Do you mean I need to send her back into my head?" My stomach suddenly felt hollow and my chest tightened until I could barely breathe. "I can't. Even if I could somehow get her back in there, I can't live like that. Knowing she's in there. Knowing she's watching everything I do, listening to everything I think."

"You've lived like that for years already, Diarmuid."

"But that was different."

"How?"

"I didn't know she was there. I didn't know she was alive."

"Why does that matter?"

"I don't want to live like that."

"Ida is your responsibility," Fiachra said evenly. He rested his arms on the table, looking completely at ease.

"But how would I even do it? Do I tell a tale about a muse who comes to life and is returned to the bard's head?"

Fiachra shrugged.

"Can I wait until tomorrow?" I asked. "I can't go back yet. I need… time. To prepare."

"Time for more people to die?"

"You didn't see what happened yesterday. It was awful. Davin didn't even raise a hand to stop him. He just stood there."

"Remember, Diarmuid, this is what she does. She charms folk into doing what she wants, and they have no choice but to obey."

"Surely they could resist. Surely there was a part of Owain's mind that was still his own. He could have stopped if he wanted to."

"Have you asked him?"

My cheeks burned. "No, I haven't spoken to him. Not since… Not since we argued."

"Owain is your friend, Diarmuid. He acted on Ida's will. This is her fault, not his."

"I can't risk taking him with me again. What if she orders him to kill me? Would he do it?"

"Perhaps. It seems to me that the people she charms have no control over their actions."

"Will you come with me? Surely she couldn't charm you."

"I cannot interfere. I can only advise, and only because you asked me to. What you choose to do, and how you do it, are your decision alone."

"You would leave me to go to my death rather than interfere?"

He looked at me evenly but didn't answer.
 

"So I'm on my own," I said, bitterly. "All of my companions have deserted me and I'm left to face Ida alone."

There was a huff from the floor and Bramble glared up at me. I hadn't even realised she was there. As I met her gaze, the tightness in my chest eased a little.

She huffed again, then looked to Fiachra. He met her gaze and they stared at each other silently for the longest time. Eventually, he nodded.
 

"Your task has been great, little one, but it's almost at the end. You need to be strong a little longer."

Bramble dipped her head, as if in thanks.

"I guess we should go then," I said, feeling excluded from their private conversation. "Might as well get this over with."

"Eat first," Fiachra said. "This is the day you either complete your quest or fail entirely."

I suddenly realised I was famished. The innkeeper brought new bread and steaming bowls of porridge. I set a bowl on the floor for Bramble and then ate with gusto.