One Small Step, an anthology of discoveries (28 page)

With a hiss, she snatched the ball from me. I thought I saw fear in her eyes but the expression was gone too quickly to be sure.

She studied her shelves then sent me a sly look before handing me a small drum. “What child did this toy belong to?”

I held the drum, sensing great power. “This is no toy.”

“
Ha! Only half right. It is my Watcher,” she revealed. “A faithful servant volunteered to die so I could have this drum made from his skin. If anyone tries to steal from me, the drum will sound.”

I returned it with a shudder, which made her smile. How could the Wyrding-mother countenance power sourced from death?

“
You are impressed with my Watcher,” she said.

“
I am surprised that you do not trust your own people. Our people would never have stolen from their Wyrding-woman.”

“
Slaves steal.”

“
We do not keep slaves.”

“
More fool you.”

Again she studied the shelves, then shuffled over to get a jar. Without her cane her limp was much more pronounced and I realised she had a clubfoot like Druaric, though not as malformed as his. She unstoppered the jar to show me a fine powder. “What is it and what does it do?”

I sniffed. No scent. It could be anything.

“
She does not know…” the Wyrding-woman muttered triumphantly. “But she should.”

“
My Wyrding-teacher died suddenly.”

She resealed the jar and tapped the stopper. “This is powdered human skull, just the thing to quieten fits.”

After replacing the jar on the shelf, she turned to look at me. “I will not have the mother of the Warlord-reborn belittled by the wives of my grandsons. I will take you for my apprentice.”

I suspected she would dole out just enough knowledge to keep me docile, but my heart leapt at the thought of what I could learn, though I did not let her see this.

“
You’re as stubborn as the stone of the hills you were born in.” She regarded me thoughtfully and seemed to come to a decision. “When I did the scrying and sent my grandsons out to find you, I did not see that you would be Wyrding-marked. Three girl children of my line were born with the Wyrding-sign but none lived long enough to train at my side. Now I see that the Wyrding-mother meant for me to teach you. What say you, Sun-fire? Will you put away your hatred and serve the Wyrding-mother as you have sworn to do?”

It was a tempting offer. I would be alert for lies or omissions on her part. She could not watch me every moment of the day. As her student I would find a way to rid my babe of the Warlord’s soul. Serving the Wyrding-woman would give me access to all her herbals, including the poisons. Her grandsons would suffer as they had made me suffer. But to truly escape her, I would have to destroy the amulet.

All this went through my head in a blink. For now it suited me to train under this wise old Wyrding-woman so I inclined my head. “I will give the oath.”

“
Wise choice. We will prepare for the ritual.”

I nodded. It would feel good to be walking the Wyrding-way again.
Like coming home.
This surprised me. Was she right? Was this what the Wyrding-mother had intended all along?
 

She tilted her head, sharp eyes on me. “You bear no signs, Sun-fire. How is it that you are Wyrding-marked?”

I smiled inside. Like my true-name, she would never know.

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So I became the Wyrding-woman’s apprentice; part slave, part daughter. Two moons passed in her service. Sometimes I pretended ignorance to test her and the few times her explanations varied from my teacher’s it was only by a matter of degrees.

In all things I aimed to please her, to make myself indispensable and gain her trust. It was a game I played to win but one I could easily lose. For, in opening my mind, I opened myself. When I strove to please her, her approving words and smiles became my rewards.

I realised what was happening the first time she surprised a laugh from me. Sometimes, for a whole day I forgot that I was her captive.

But she never forgot. She always slept with the amulet around her neck.

Once a moon the sons would eat with the Wyrding-woman and make plans for the clan. They talked of uniting all the fierce people of the Wild Isles under one warlord and when they talked, it seemed possible.

More often, the sons came alone for there was no love lost between them, particularly the eldest two. Lohnan would sit and watch while I worked. He still hungered for me but he hungered for every woman, all the more if he could not have them. He talked of how, when their people gathered for the harvest feast, they would choose a leader to caretake the clan until the Warlord-reborn was old enough to lead them. He thought it should be him.

Murtahg did not sit. When he visited, he paced, chewing on his pipe stem, reeking of the weed that in other men induced good-natured laughter. In him, it seemed only to deepen his restless hunger. He claimed Lohnan was so fond of wine and women that his mind had gone soft like his body. And he was right.

The Wyrding-mother would say nothing, but the more she nodded and listened, the more they said, revealing the way their minds worked.

As for Druaric, I don’t know what he thought. He never spoke of clan power. I guess he had power of his own. My favourite time was the evenings, when he came to play for us, singing their family’s history while the Wyrding-woman dozed.

Soon I knew all the stories. I learned of the granddaughter, Druaric’s older sister, who had been born with a Wyrding-sign that no one was aware of until it was too late. One day while playing with her ball, she was stung by a bee and fell to the ground screaming. In a panic, Druaric had run back to the stronghold to fetch the Wyrding-mother, but by the time they returned, his sister was dead amongst the blue bells. When I heard this, my heart contracted with sympathy and I looked down to hide my feelings.

Saddened by the memory, Druaric put his zither aside. It was so close I could have reached out to touch it. We had nothing like the zither in my village. Drums and pipes were our way of making music. I longed to see if I could coax the Wyrding-mother’s sweet voice from it. “Keep playing, please.”

“
No more tonight.” His voice caught.

Tears stung my eyes. I touched his arm. “I’m sorry. You could not know. Sometimes the Wyrding-sign is hidden.”

“
Like yours?” His hand covered mine, hot, dry and heavy with import. “I have seen all of your milk-smooth skin, Sun-fire, and I cannot forget it, but I did not see a single imperfection.”

A wave of molten heat rolled through my traitorous body. “I was born with a caul.”

“
A useful thing.” He nodded wisely. “Where is it?”

Sanity returned to me. “Hidden.” And I pulled away.

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Not long after that the brothers went off on another raid. They hadn’t taken their ships reaving to the mainland this summer and it was too late to do so now, so they went raiding rival clans on their island. They came back laden with tribute, freely given, or so they claimed.

Later that day, I was grinding herbs when the three brothers came to see to the Wyrding-woman. Knowing Lohnan would try to catch my eye, I ignored them.

“
So? Is the whole island ours?” she asked.

“
Just as you said it would be,” Murtahg said. “And—”

“
The treasure was where you said it would be.” Lohnan handed her a pouch.

She gloated as she undid the leather satchel. “Come see this, Sun-fire.”

I didn’t like the note of triumph in her voice. Steeling myself, I approached.

She showed me a small, translucent sheet of velum. No. A caul.

My caul!

The whole world shivered.

“
Catch her!” she warned. Lohnan needed no more urging to lay his hands on me. I tried to shove him away. He pinned me against his body, supporting me as my vision cleared.

“
What is it?” Murtahg asked uneasily.

“
Sun-fire’s Wyrding-sign,” Druaric said.

I glared at him and he had the grace to blush and look away.

Even though his betrayal cut me to the quick, I could see why the Wyrding-woman loved him best of all her grandsons. He was clever and loyal, placing his clan’s safety above personal ambition. Reluctant admiration warred with my resentment.

“
Say no more, Druaric. Knowledge is power,” the Wyrding-woman warned.

Murtahg cursed. “It’s not natural teaching him the Wyrding-ways. And you shouldn’t be teaching this hill-brat. What if she turns on us?”

“
I will teach who I choose, Murtahg. And the hill-brat is no threat. Her knowledge barely scrapes the surface of the Mother’s Ways.”

“
Wyrding-ways!” He spun on his heel and marched out.

She ignored him, turning to me. “Now watch, Sun-fire.”

I could not do other, as she removed the amulet and unpicked the stitching. Rolling up my caul, she tucked it safely inside.

“
I may not have your true-name, girl, but I have this.”

“
It’s mine.”

“
Yes. Now you are mine.”

Despair and rage rolled through me.

Lohnan chuckled. “Eh, I can feel the fire in her. Let me have her. I don’t mind if she scratches my eyes out.”

“
You’re a fool, Lohnan. She’s too powerful for you.”

“
She wasn’t too powerful when I planted the babe,” he protested.

“
That was then.” She dismissed him. “Let her go.”

As Lohnan stormed out I realised that, despite what she’d told Murtahg, she needed my caul to keep me under control. I looked down, pleased with this new knowledge.

Druaric seemed to hesitate. I refused to meet his eyes, angry with him and with myself for I was doubly trapped by that amulet now.

“
Go,” the Wyrding-woman told him.

I waited only until the door closed. “I know how you found out about it. But how did you know where to look?”

She smiled, her last three teeth gleaming. “In a village the size of yours, where else would it be?”

Stupid of me. I had been a fool to trust Druaric.

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Time passed. I enjoyed learning but felt Druaric’s absence. He no longer came to spend the evenings with us. Every dusk I looked for him then had to remind myself of his betrayal.

I had been a prisoner for nearly four moons when the clan’s metal worker delivered an object he had crafted for the Wyrding-woman. It was a perfect little bell strung on a piece of leather. She listened to the tone, then sent for Murtahg to bring his son.

When they came I recognised the lad. He was no more than seven and small for his age. But that was not why the others teased him. His words stumbled over themselves, harried by false starts and the more they teased him the worse his speech became.

“
Murtahg and little Ciarnor,” the Wyrding-woman greeted them. “Come, sit by me, Ciarnor.”

Murtahg hung back, clearly uneasy with Wyrd power.

The lad approached and sat on a cushion at the Wyrding-woman’s feet. She had earlier directed me in the mixing of a tincture. It was mildly alcoholic, sweetened with honey and contained a little of the powdered weed they smoked. A strange combination. Now she accepted this from me.

“
Watch, Ciarnor.” And she rang the bell.

His eyes lit up. “C … c … can I have it?”

“
It is yours, but bells hold great power.” She turned the bell over, poured a sip of the liquid into it and held it out to him. “Drink this.”

He wrinkled his nose but did not complain about the taste, so the honey must have helped.

“
Now ring the bell,” she told him.

He turned it right way up and rang it, smiling at the pure tone.

She nodded. “Now give the bell to Sun-fire.”

His face fell but he obeyed, watching as I washed the bell and purified it. All the while I felt Murtahg’s stare. By the time I had finished Ciarnor’s blue eyes had grown glazed with the drug. I knew the signs; he was suggestible. If my old teacher had needed to perform a painful healing on him, she would have done it now.

The Wyrding-woman took the bell from me, strung it on a leather thong then leant close to tie the bell around his neck. “Listen to me, Ciarnor. From this day forward your speech will grow clearer. If you feel your words jamming up, ring the bell. Its pure tone will ease your tongue. Do you understand?”

“
I do.”

“
See, it is working already.” She beamed. Oh, but she was clever. I watched her, torn between admiration and resentment. “Off you go, Ciarnor.”

“
Wait, son.” Murtahg put his pipe aside to study the bell. “Very well. Go.”

The boy ran off, still a little stunned but happy.

“
It is nothing but an ordinary bell. How can it work?” Murtahg demanded.

“
Bells have great power. They banish evil spirits.” The Wyrding-woman held his eyes. “There are many forces at work for good and evil. Perhaps you should look into your soul and ask why your only son’s speech suffers. You say the words of devotion, but is your heart truly open to the Wyrding-mother? Here…” She dug into the deep pockets of her leather apron and pulled out a strip of leather. “I’ll help you find your way back to the Wyrding-mother.” Her gnarled fingers wove the ends together. “As I form this circle, so your life is formed. You spring from the Wyrding-mother and in the end, you return to the mother. Bend down.”