The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy (15 page)

Eremon winced. ‘Only six days!’

Rhiann grinned and patted his cheek. ‘This time I will brew enough tansy to settle your belly ten times over.’

‘I think I’ll need some prayers, too.’

Rhiann bit her lip, glancing down at the hide boats which bobbed against their pier on their weed-furred ropes. ‘Prayers I can give you, and not just my own.’ She drew a deep breath, and then expelled the words in a rush. ‘I have it in mind to return to the Sacred Isle while you are gone.’ She braced herself for an argument, but Eremon only frowned.

‘Why?’

‘I wish to ask the Sisters for aid, and to call the Source to strengthen you and your men.’

The crease in Eremon’s brows deepened, and the sun shimmered from the water into his eyes, showing his fear clearly. ‘I cannot deny we need it … but we just returned from the Sacred Isle. I don’t like the idea of you roving the seas alone, not with Maelchon still at large.’

‘It only takes three days in a good wind, Eremon,’ she wheedled. ‘No one will notice a little fishing boat.’

His jaw was setting in that familiar way. ‘You can’t go alone.’

‘I won’t be alone.’ She waved behind her. ‘I will take Didius; you know I could not have a more devoted guard.’

Eremon snorted, his eyes narrowing on Didius. ‘More devoted, perhaps not,’ he muttered, ‘but more
effective
would be better.’

The breeze coming off the bay was keen, and Rhiann crossed her arms over her breast, shivering. ‘I don’t want to take any warriors away from you or the defence of Dunadd. Besides – not that you care – but it would be wise to remove Didius from Gelert’s sight and—’

At those words, Eremon’s expression transformed, his eyes jerking back to rest on her face with sudden intensity. And that’s when she realized what she’d accidentally invoked: the attractive idea of placing
her
away from the chief druid’s sight. ‘Gelert,’ Eremon repeated, absently rubbing her arms to warm them. At last he kissed the top of her head. ‘Give my own regards to the Sisters, then, and take three of my armbands as an offering to your Stones.’

Rhiann smiled with relief. ‘So I will,
cariad
.’

Three days later, from a lookout on top of the sea-facing headland, Rhiann managed to remain dry-eyed as the flotilla of boats passed out of sight beyond the wood-cloaked Isle of Deer. Caitlin, tucked under her arm, fared less well, and Rhiann felt the violent trembling in her sister’s thin shoulders. It was a threatening, dark day, and spatters of rain began to fall, driven by growing gusts of wind that tugged fiercely at their sheepskin cloaks.

‘I
won’t
say I wish you were staying, Rhiann.’ Caitlin swiped at the mingled tears and rain on her cheeks with impatient fingers. ‘I
won’t
. Anything you do that protects Conaire is right, it must be.’

Rhiann smiled, wrapping Caitlin’s cloak tighter about her neck and repinning it with nimble fingers. ‘I know this is hard. But though Dercca will coddle you, Linnet’s mountain is beautiful – more like your old home. And Eithne will be with you.’

Caitlin nodded, staring out at the iron-grey sea, her hands absently rubbing her belly. ‘He will come back, though, won’t he?’ she whispered. ‘He’ll see the baby?’

‘Of course he will.’ Rhiann brushed Caitlin’s braids free of her fleece ruff and kissed her, trying not to notice how her belly jutted, and how it was already putting a noticeable sway in her narrow back.
Only five moons
, Rhiann counted, with a stab of unease.
It will be well for me not to stay away too long
.

As they waited out the rain among the damp hazel woods below, watching the drops denting the bay, Rhiann relived again the moment when Eremon left.

He had held her cold face in his hands, as his standard of braided boar-tails and horse-mane streamed above them on the pier. They had both remained silent in front of all those men swarming over the boats, yet Rhiann’s fingers dug into Eremon’s mailshirt as she searched his eyes, and there, at last, she had seen the farewell he would not speak.

CHAPTER 11

T
hough she had left the Sacred Isle on a day of sun, glowing with triumph, Rhiann’s return echoed the cold knot of dread that had gradually come to rest in her belly, the further north they sailed.

For two days rain lashed the little hide shelter in the timber boat, pattering ceaselessly on the worn leather, spraying her with every gust of wind. Its sail down, the boat was driven north along the edge of the restless swells, making an easier and shorter journey for the escort of six oarsmen Rhiann had taken from among the fishermen, and Didius.

When Rhiann at last ducked out of the shelter as they entered the sea-loch of the Sisters’ settlement, she was stiff and cold, and her skin, hair and cloak were coated with drying salt.

The low, tumbled cliffs of the Sacred Isle’s west coast were a featureless bank in the drizzle and mist, slowly emerging into jagged profile as the loch waters nudged the boat shorewards. Yet Rhiann would not need to see with her eyes in order to know the Stones were near. She raised her face as the boat passed under their headland, heedless of the rain being driven under her hood. Instead she closed her eyes, drawing into memory the Stones as she had last seen them: a cross and an inner ring of aged sentinels, tall and grey, watching the sea. On that day of her leaving, the sun had glittered on their pale surfaces, shifting and moving as if with joy that she had found Eremon, and been reunited with the Goddess.

And now…

Rhiann’s eyes flickered open. This day the Stones seemed to huddle into the grey rain, and the rocks lining the shore as they drew close were slick with cold spray, darkly clothed with weed. Rhiann shivered and gripped the hood under her chin, shamed by the Stones’ stern gaze. Did they know of the sacred pool, and how she had failed? Did they know what she had come to ask, despite this?

For the Stones not only marked a major convergence of the rivers of earth power – pathways for the Source – that ran beneath the land. They also cradled the spirit of each priestess, turning child to novice and novice to initiate. Rhiann had gained her own power here, power she had now lost, and she was unsure if she deserved to count herself among the Stones’ children any more.

Yet I also gained love
, she found herself thinking, and her fingers crept up to the amber necklace where it lay against her neck.

The Epidii rowers brought the small boat skimming over the dark water to the pier, which crossed the kelp-wound rocks on spindly legs. It was only then, peering into the drizzle, that Rhiann saw she was not the only visitor.

A larger plank ship was also tied up, its sail of oiled hide unfurled to display the painted emblem of a raven. It was of the Lugi tribe then, on the northern coast. Yet Rhiann’s mouth had gone dry, for the Lugi lands also faced the strait to the Orcades islands – Maelchon’s realm. Just as Rhiann’s boat edged its stern side-on to the pier, a man in a rich, striped cloak stepped into the hull of the Lugi ship, guarded by warriors whose spear-tips gleamed dully through the rain.

And beyond the Lugi ship and pier, on the rocks below the cluster of priestess houses, stood a cloaked figure that Rhiann knew as well as the outline of the Stones. Her heart gave a peculiar lurch, and she waited only long enough for the boat to be secured by ropes before clambering out onto the slick timber planking.

The Lugi ship had now cast off, and the figure on the shore raised a pale hand that was answered by the call of a war trumpet, booming faintly across the water. And suddenly Rhiann realized she was running along the pier, hopping over the last few rocks and all but flinging herself into Setana’s wiry arms.

‘Child!’ the old seer exclaimed, rocking on her heels. Her voice was muffled by Rhiann’s cloak for, bowed with age, she only reached the younger woman’s shoulder. ‘Dear child, you have returned so soon?’

Her breath squeezed out by the fierceness of her own embrace, Rhiann remembered herself at last and pulled back. ‘I am so sorry, Sister,’ she said, with a half-sob she disguised as a laugh. ‘It …’ She trailed off, hands pressed to her breast, breathing deeply. ‘It has been a stormy journey.’

Setana peered out from her own hood at Rhiann, her shrewd blue eyes a keen contrast to the rest of her face, which was round and almost childish. ‘Ach, as it often is, my chick.’ She waved her hand at the departing Lugi ship, beating under fast oar back down the sea-loch. ‘Though the weather keeps few from our door, at such times.’

Rhiann put back her hood to her shoulders so she could breathe properly. ‘Was that the Lugi king himself ? Why was he here?’

Setana clamped Rhiann’s forearm as the damp wind gusted, plucking at the deer-head brooch on her cloak. ‘Why they all come – to expunge their guilt, child! Will they get this alliance, deserved or not? Will they be blessed with children? Is the fever sweeping the tribe a curse, and if so how can they regain the Mother’s blessing?’ She sighed and shook her head, and wisps of grey hair escaped her hood. ‘They wish to control the world, dear souls, yet it is not like that. The Mother has her hand on the loom, more than they will ever know.’

‘And why did this king come?’ Rhiann asked evenly.

‘He would not say. He begged Nerida to ask the Stones, and tell him if what he planned would be favoured by the Goddess or not, if it would keep his people safe.’

‘And she did not know of what he spoke?’

Setana shook her head again, mouth pursed. ‘He is not the first. Even before you came at Beltaine the visits and offerings from chiefs and kings had grown more frequent – and urgent. They sense the disquiet of the land, you see, as we do. Yet we are sending them away with little but the love of the Mother, and this is not enough for them.’ She sighed again, and it was Rhiann’s turn to pierce her with her gaze.

‘The Stones are not speaking?’

Setana cocked her head to one side her full cheeks shiny and red with the cold, like crab apples. ‘Oh, they speak to
us
, for the earth is restless, and Her power heaves and swells like a fractious sea. But no clear seeings have come, not for any of us here – there is only mist and confusion. Perhaps this is a time when men are to be guided by their hearts alone – and for this, I fear.’ With one of her abrupt mood changes, Setana suddenly smiled up at Rhiann, clasping her hand. ‘But enough! Nerida can tell you more; she will be so pleased to see you again, and so soon!’ Setana’s bright eyes came to rest on the pier behind. ‘Goddess be! What have you brought us?’

Rhiann turned to see Didius swaying green-faced on the end of the pier, clutching his new sword and Rhiann’s pack. The blade, made for tall Alban warriors, nearly dragged on the ground, while his too-large helmet had been pushed back above his high forehead.

‘That,’ Rhiann said, beckoning Didius forward, ‘is our Roman captive, Didius. Yet he is my own personal guard now.’

‘Welcome.’ Setana studied him, and Didius couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. Then he thought better of that and sketched an awkward little bow, scraping his scabbard chape on the rocks. At that Setana laughed, though not unkindly, the lines around her eyes crinkling into folds. ‘You look a trifle pale, Roman. Ask for our healer Tirena; she will have you feeling fit again before nightfall.’

Rhiann smiled at Didius, taking her pack from him. ‘The boatmen know where to go, Didius. There are some huts for men. Take our things there and I will find you.’

Many of the blue-cloaked Sisters nodded at Rhiann as she and Setana made their way through the settlement. They appeared to be returning from the seeing rite in the Stones, for some clutched drums and elderwood flutes for the sacred music, and some pots of scented oil. All of them were soaked by the rain, and most hurried along with their hoods drawn up.

The cluster of roundhouses and worksheds crouched on the landward side of the Stones headland, sheltered from sea storms by a screen of stunted rowans and hazel trees. The mud walls were yellowed with salt, the thatch roofs dark with damp, and the garish decoration of noble houses was nowhere to be seen. There were no cries or shouts, beyond the faint, high piping of the novices chanting somewhere; no babies or dogs; no clanging smiths’ hammers or male laughter or wood saws or rumbling carts. Everything the Sisters did not make was given to them in payment for their gifts of seeing, their blessings, their special dyes and herbs, and their stewardship of the Stones.

For a moment, Rhiann allowed herself to be soothed by this softer world, by the muted colours and low, murmuring sounds, and the dank mist that blurred all the shapes into paleness. Yet they were already at Nerida’s modest house, and it was with trembling hands that Rhiann lifted the door-hide and entered.

Nerida glanced up from the fire and, with a cry of surprise, put aside the spindle she’d been winding and groped for her ash staff. ‘Daughter, this is unexpected!’ She was of the same height as Setana, but her face was a finer oval, and where Setana’s hair was grey and frizzy, nearly untameable, Nerida’s had turned to the pure whiteness of snow, held in two long braids. In her youth her beauty would have been severe, with arched brows and prominent bones, yet deep wrinkles and sagging flesh had softened that remoteness.

‘I greet you, Eldest Sister,’ Rhiann murmured, as Nerida stepped over the scattered tufts of unspun wool to embrace her fiercely.

‘Come, come, warm your hands!’ Nerida sank back into her rush chair, as Setana shook the rain from their cloaks.

‘I have some gifts for you first.’ Rhiann dug through her pack and, with bowed head, presented Nerida with pots of Linnet’s best goat cheese, Eremon’s three armbands and a large assortment of bronze brooches, since the Sisters had no smith. The other iron goods – cauldrons, pots, fire dogs and chains – were in the boat.

As the Eldest Sister gave thanks, Rhiann slid to the hearth-bench, at last able to study Nerida’s face more closely. And what she saw there alarmed her. For Nerida’s shoulders were distinctly more bowed, and her blue eyes had retreated further behind their folds of flesh, the skin stretched more thinly over her bones.