Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (35 page)

My mouth fell open and I stammered. "What- Why- I don't know what you mean."

Rhiwallon rolled her eyes. "It's obvious, Diarmuid. Anyone who has eyes can see the way you feel about her."

"Do you think she knows?"

"Probably, but she's waiting for you to make the first move."

"But what would I do?"

"Just tell her. Tell her how you feel."

"I couldn't."

"Then the two of you will part ways and you'll probably never see her again."

"Is there nothing else I can do?"

"It's time to be a man, Diarmuid. If you want her, you're going to have to tell her."

I swallowed hard and stared down at the ground. "What will you do now? Where will you go?"

Rhiwallon shrugged. "Away from here. As far as I can. Somewhere he will never look. Where even Titania won't be able to find me if he thinks to ask her."

"I wish you luck," I said. "I hope you find somewhere safe."

"Thank you, Diarmuid." Rhiwallon tossed the final pack into the cart and climbed in after it. It seemed the conversation was over.

As we left Crow's Nest, things felt strangely familiar and yet at the same time, they were so different that I wondered how I had ended up in such a situation. Once again I shared the cart with Diarmuid and Rhiwallon. Only this time, instead of being tucked into a cozy basket with a blanket that Diarmuid had wrapped snugly around me, I sat with my back against a pack and the edge of my thighs touching Rhiwallon's.
 

Diarmuid sat on the other side of Rhiwallon. That didn't surprise me. He would hardly want to be in a situation where he might accidentally touch me. I hardened my heart. He had hurt me enough. It was time to remember who I was: Brigit, wise woman. Or intended to be a wise woman, at least.
 

What would Mother would say when I finally arrived home? Had she been worrying about me or had the Sight showed enough for her to make sense of my strange journey?

We spoke little as the cart rumbled along and the day passed with us each absorbed in our own thoughts. My heart lifted a little at each sign of spring's approach: young shoots of grass in a sunny patch where the snow had melted, tiny new leaves on birch and beech, pale yellow catkins on hazels. The only sign of human habitation was a trail of smoke from an unseen chimney. The oxen moved slowly, pulling the cart with unusual reluctance.

We were midway between towns as the light started to fade from the sky. Owain directed the oxen away from the road and halted beside a row of shrubby birch that would provide some cover from overnight winds. I clambered out of the cart, my legs stiff after hours of sitting. Diarmuid, Owain and Rhiwallon quickly fell into their usual routine of setting up the camp. I hesitated, unsure how to contribute for as Bramble I had not been expected to do anything other than curl up in my basket and watch.

"You could make some tea," Rhiwallon said, her tone almost friendly. She had seemed almost as startled as Diarmuid to see me in my own form for the first time. Owain, on the other hand, had greeted me with a firm hug and a complete lack of surprise.

"Tea," I said. "Good idea."
 

A search of the area around us elicited a handful of sage and thyme. Diarmuid had already made a ring of stones for a fire pit and built up a pile of dry twigs and dead leaves. Rhiwallon had just started the fire and was tucking the flint back away in a pocket. I emptied a flask of water into a pot and nestled it amongst the blazing kindling.

Rhiwallon returned with a pair of hares before the water had even boiled. For a moment, I felt like Bramble again, curled comfortably by the fire, watching as Rhiwallon skinned and gutted the hares. As Bramble, I was always hopeful she might offer me the innards and was always disappointed when she tossed them into the fire. As Brigit, I could make a decent enough meal of the innards if necessary although I preferred the roasted meat, smoky from the fire and dripping sizzling fat. Rhiwallon chopped the hares into chunks, skewered them on sticks and arranged them around the flames.

Diarmuid sat on a blanket and began removing his boots. Should I sit next to him or on the other side of the fire? The stiffening of his shoulders indicated he had noticed my nearness but he feigned intense interest in his boots. That decided me. If Diarmuid wanted to pretend I didn't exist, I would sit right next to him.

He said nothing as I sat on the blanket, but he edged over a little to give me room. I waited a minute or two but he obviously didn't intend to speak.

"Do you still see the ravens?" I asked.

Diarmuid started and, for a brief moment, actually looked directly at me. His face was pale and haggard with deep shadows around his eyes. He hadn't slept since he had captured Ida.
 

"I- What- How do you know about that?"

I shrugged and looked away into the fire. It had been more of a lucky guess than anything else but Diarmuid wouldn't know that. I was being stubborn, as usual, for what good could come of forcing his acknowledgement? But my obstinate heart wanted to know that he saw me and as a woman, not a terrier.

"The ravens are still there," he said, at last. "Everywhere I look, I see them. They are Ida, or they are from her. I suppose it doesn't matter which. Either way, they are intended to remind me that she watches me. She's always watching."

"Is she secure?" I asked.

"She's locked away as securely as I can. Whether it will be enough, I don't know."

"What will happen if she gets loose again?"

He plucked a handful of grass and shredded it restlessly. "Fiachra said she might be able to take over my body. Maybe she won't want to though. Maybe she will want to leave again. Fiachra thought that if she became strong enough to escape again, I might not be able to restrain her. And all of this will have been for nothing."

"It's not for nothing," I said, surprised at how fierce I sounded. "You did what you had to do, regardless of what happens in the future. Maybe that's enough for now."

"Do you think so?" Diarmuid looked at me with shining eyes. "Do you really think I've done enough to make up for what she did? The people she killed. The lives she ruined. The families she destroyed. They haunt me."

"Of course they do," I said, trying to soften my usual no-nonsense tone. "That means you care. There would be something wrong with you if it didn't haunt you."

"But I can never make it up to them."

"No," I said. "You can't. But what you can do is ensure she never gets loose again."

Diarmuid nodded but made no further reply. Rhiwallon began fussing with the roasting chunks of hare, turning them so they didn't burn. Fat dripped from them and sizzled in the flames, sending up an aroma that made my mouth water. Owain returned from taking care of the oxen and eased himself down onto a blanket on the other side of the fire. Such a familiar scene from our days of travel and yet at the same time, now so strange.
 

I missed Bramble with an intensity that surprised me. The steady balance of four paws. The pleasure of a wagging tail. The acute hearing and sensitive nose. The sniffs and barks and growls that she communicated with. The simplicity of needing nothing more than a meal, a warm basket and a kind hand to stroke your back. The freedom of returning an affectionate caress with a nuzzle of the head or the press of nose against skin.

The sun had completely disappeared, leaving us in darkness except for the glow of the fire. Rhiwallon began passing around the sticks skewered with chunks of roasted hare. For a moment, I hesitated, expecting Owain to cut the meat for me and drop it into my bowl. Then I remembered and reached for a stick. The meat was sweet and tender. When I was finished, I tossed the stick back into the fire and watched it crumble into ash.

The herb tea was ready and I wrapped a cloth around my hand to remove the pot from the fire. I portioned the tea into mugs and handed them around, then returned to my spot on the blanket. I wrapped my fingers around my mug, relishing the warmth as I waited for the tea to cool a little. Normally I would either sit on Owain's lap or curl up in my basket and it felt strange to sit in front of the fire in my human form.

"Tell us a tale, Diarmuid," Rhiwallon said, her tone studiously casual.

Diarmuid flinched and shook his head. "I don't tell tales anymore."

"But you know how it works now, don't you?" she asked. "You figured out how to make the tales come true."

"To an extent," he said. "But there might be more parts to the puzzle. Other ways to make the tales come true. I won't risk it."

"Then tell the right sort of tale," I said. "One that won't hurt anyone if it comes true."

Diarmuid's gaze flicked up to meet mine ever-so-briefly. He was tempted, I knew. It must hurt to feel like he couldn't tell tales anymore. After all, he had always expected barding would be his livelihood once he became accomplished enough. What would he do now?

"Try it," I said. "Keep your emotions in check, watch what you are thinking, and tell only a tale that won't hurt anyone. Learn how it really works."

If I was honest with myself, I wasn't encouraging Diarmuid solely for his own benefit. I wanted to hear a tale, something grand and adventurous. I had now tasted three of the four things I had always wanted. Danger, mystery, adventure. I had yet to experience any romance but I could live with three out of four. My appetite wasn't dampened in the slightest. True, they weren't what I had expected. Instead of adventure being a glorious thing where I was filled with courage and fire and recklessness, it was wet and cold, dirty and hungry, and sometimes miserable. There were times I didn't know whether I would live through it. But it was also exhilarating and fabulous.
 

My skin tingled and my feet itched to start walking, go somewhere, have another adventure. But I couldn't. It was time to resume the life intended for me. Time to go back to possets and charms, potions and cures. But perhaps the tales of a good bard might give me adventure and mystery and danger once more.

"I don't think so," Diarmuid said, at last. "Not tonight anyway."

I avoided Brigit as best I could on the journey home although I was always conscious of exactly where she was. Each night as I wrapped a blanket around me and stared up at the stars, I missed having Bramble's warm body beside me. The ache inside of me seemed much larger than the absence of a dog. From time to time, I considered approaching her but my cheeks heated at the very thought and I didn't know what I wanted to say anyway. It just seemed there was something between us left unsaid.

The four of us travelled together as far as Tors. Owain and Rhiwallon intended to branch off from there, heading to a larger town some days travel away. Although neither he nor Rhiwallon mentioned an intention to stay together, it seemed that was the case. I was sad to part ways with them. Owain wrapped me in his big arms, almost crushing my ribs with his hug. Rhiwallon surprised me with a quick kiss on the cheek. I blushed fiercely, remembering that the last time she had kissed me, my hands had explored her breasts. Brigit gave me an odd look.

Brigit took Rhiwallon aside and spoke to her quietly. She handed Rhiwallon a small packet and they hugged. I couldn't be sure but I thought Rhiwallon might have been crying.

"What did you give Rhiwallon?" I asked later.

Brigit's face was shuttered. "Nothing you need be concerned about."

Brigit and I departed from Tors on horses purchased at Owain's expense. One day, when I had money of my own, I would pay him back. The horses were somewhat old and not terribly fast but they were quicker than travelling on foot.
 

We spoke little as the day passed although Brigit seemed to spend an awful lot of time glaring at me. I spent the hours concentrating on Ida's box. I caught myself questioning every thought, wondering whether it was my own or hers. I still didn't know whether she could hear my thoughts but in case she could, I was ensuring there would be nothing that would give her any power over me. How much of what I had thought was myself had really been Ida?
 

Despite everything, I found it hard to wish Ida away entirely. She had been such a big part of my life, my constant companion since Caedmon had left in my tenth summer, that I couldn't regret everything about her. But I did regret bringing her to life, and I regretted that I hadn't tried to learn about my ability earlier. I realised I was sinking down into melancholy and quickly changed my line of thought. I couldn't afford to linger over thoughts like that anymore.

As we drew closer to home, the landscape became more familiar. The snow on the distant hills was melting and grass had started to grow in the fields. Birds circled high overhead, too high up to tell what species they were. I could smell just the faintest trace of a familiar scent that I had always associated with home.
 

We reached the start of the woods stretching all the way to the edge of Silver Downs and Brigit reined in her horse.

"There is where I leave you," she said, with another glare in my direction.

I stammered something incoherent. She rode away without another word.

"Wait," I called.

Brigit turned her horse and came back. She paused in front of me, one hand holding the reins, the other on her hip, her eyes flashing. I recognised that look.
 

"Why are you angry at me?" I asked.

"For a bard, you don't seem to know much." Her horse stomped and snorted, as eager to be away as she.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"How could you not know, Diarmuid? You were
surprised
when you saw me."

"I didn't know you were…"
A woman
, my mind supplied.
The very same woman I was trying to find the courage to speak to all those weeks ago
. "Human."

"What exactly did you think I was then?"

I must have looked like a fool, my mouth opening and closing uselessly. "I don't know," I said, eventually. "I just knew you were something else. Something more."