Morrighan (7 page)

“Go ahead, brother,” Jafir yelled between heaving breaths. “Move! I'd love to slice this across your thick neck!” He pressed the blade closer.

Steffan glared at me, then back at his brother. “You are greedy, Jafir. Keep her to yourself, then,” he sneered. “Her kind are dull and stupid anyway.”

Jafir's chest heaved with anger, his fist still tight on the knife, and I thought he might plunge it deep into his brother's throat, but he finally stood and ordered Steffan to get up. Steffan did as he was told, indignantly wiping the dust off his clothes as if he had been clean before the fight.

“Go,” Jafir ordered. “And never come back here. Do you understand?”

Steffan smirked and left. Jafir stood in the doorway watching him go.

That was it?
Leave?

My hands shook uncontrollably, and I pressed them to my sides, trying to make the trembling stop. I hadn't said a word through it all—my throat had frozen in fear. A shaky whisper finally spilled out. “Jafir.” Terror pounded in my head. “How did he find us?”

Jafir's eyes were wild, and his lip was bleeding, dripping and staining his chest. “I don't know. He must have followed me. I was always careful, but today—”

“What are we going to do?” I sobbed. “He'll come back! I know he will!”

Jafir grabbed my hands, trying to stop the shaking. “Yes, he will come back, which means you never can, Morrighan. Ever. We'll find another place for us—”

“But the tribe! They're not far! He'll find them! How could you let him follow you, Jafir? You promised! You—” I whirled, wiping my brow with the heel of my hand, trying to think, panic rising in me.

Jafir grabbed my shoulders. “He
won't
find the tribe. You said yourself the vale is well hidden. I've never found it. Steffan is lazy. He won't even try.”

“But what if he tells others?”

“Tells them what? That he found a girl from a tribe we had already raided? A tribe that had already abandoned their camp and were moving on? You have no worth to them.”

Jafir insisted on riding me back to the ridge that led to my tribe, just in case his brother had lingered, but Steffan was gone. The meadow and canyon seemed as it always had, quiet and free of threat. My heart began to beat its normal rhythm again. Jafir said he would meet me at a crevasse in the ridge in three days—time for Steffan to cool his heels and believe the raided tribe was long gone and out of reach. He clutched my hand as I slid from his horse, looking at me as if it might be the last time he saw me, a crease between his brows.

“Three days,” he said again.

I nodded, worry twisting in my throat, and I finally pulled my hand from his.

Chapter Sixteen

Jafir

My face stung with the wind. I rode as fast as I could, snatching up my snares as I went. They were all empty, but it didn't seem to matter. I could only think about Steffan and the way he had smiled at me last night. I understood now. Somehow he had spotted us, seen me riding with Morrighan. Or maybe when we were wading in the pond?

I retraced our steps, trying to think where it could have been. I never took her anywhere close to our camp, and Steffan was lazy and rarely strayed far from it. But Fergus had been more surly since the arrival of the northern kin. More insistent on building up our stores. No one was to come back empty-handed, and—now it struck me with clarity—of course Steffan would follow on my heels, since I was the better hunter. Maybe it was he who had already emptied my snares.

The image of him coming upon us flashed through my mind again. Standing in the doorway, composed and confident, with that same smile as the evening before smeared across his face.

Dread crept through me, and my hands tightened on the reins.
How long had he been standing there listening?
Fear exploded through my veins.
Morrighan
. I tried to remember every word I'd said, but it was all a jumble—me trying to convince her I would never raid a tribe again, the despair in her eyes, the disappointment, my promises.
But did I say her name?
Did he hear me call her Morrighan?

What's your name, girl?
he had asked.

Why would Steffan care about a name unless he suspected? Unless he'd heard.

And the name Morrighan was of great worth—at least to one person—which made it valuable to Steffan too.

When I got back to camp, I jumped from my horse, not bothering to tether it. Laurida carried a child on her hip, letting it sip from a cup of broth.

“Where is Steffan?” I demanded.

She looked at me, lifting a single suspicious brow. “What is all the hurry today?” she asked. “Steffan just stormed past too. He's down at the lodge ring with the others. Harik and his men meet with Fergus—passing the brew.”

Sweat sprung to my face.
No, not Harik. Not today.
I ran to the lodge, but it was already too late. Steffan was strutting around the cold fire ring, announcing his find to them all—a girl of the tribespeople.

“I found her,” he said. “Morrighan.”

The group fell silent. Harik's features sharpened, and he leaned forward. Of course Steffan didn't mention me—the find had to be all his. He basked in the attention of Harik and Fergus, telling them the story of his stealth.

I glared at him. “How would you know it's her?”

“She was talking to a foolish little maiden who squeaked her name.”

When Fergus asked why he hadn't brought her there, Steffan claimed he was on his horse on a ridge above them, and when the girls spotted him, they ran. But he saw the direction they headed. The camp was near. I was almost in awe at how quickly he conjured stories. I knew it was not to protect me but to keep all the glory to himself.

Harik took a long sip of his brew. “Then that means the old woman is near too. So many years…” He said it more to himself than to us. His voice was thick with curiosity. “Their supplies are probably great.” But his interest seemed to be in more than just their stores of food.

They began to make plans to ride to the camp, and Steffan quickly backtracked, saying he hadn't seen exactly where it was, but he could lead them close enough, and at night they would surely see a fire to help lead them.

I stepped forward, scoffing at Steffan's claim. “I saw the tribe we raided a few days ago just east of here and heading south,” I said. “She was probably one of them. Why waste our time?”

Steffan insisted she wasn't one of them, and the more I argued that we shouldn't go, the angrier he got—the angrier everyone got, except Harik. He regarded me with a cool eye, his chin lifting slightly. Everyone noticed and quieted.

“Let the boy stay behind if that's what he wants,” he said as he stood. “But he'll enjoy none of the fruits of our ride.” He looked at Fergus for confirmation.

Fergus glared at me. I had humiliated him in front of Harik. “None,” he confirmed.

They all moved toward their horses—our men plus Harik and his four. I couldn't stop them all. I had to go along.

“I'm coming,” I said, already trying to think of ways I could lead them astray. And if I couldn't do that and they should find the camp, I knew I had to keep myself between Steffan and Morrighan.

Chapter Seventeen

Morrighan

Jafir and I had had a lifetime between us. There seemed to be no before—not one that mattered. My days were measured not in hours but by the flecks of color that danced in his eyes as he looked into mine, by the sun on our hands laced together, our shoulders touching as we read. His smile came easily now, the scowling skinny boy a hazy memory.
His smile.
My stomach squeezed.

We had something that was too long and lasting to be wiped away in a single day—or by a mistake. He had promised he would never ride with them again. And now he had promised three days. In three days we would see each other again. Begin anew and make plans for a new safer meeting place.

For a few hours, it comforted me beyond reason. It spoke of the future.
Three days.
Jafir believed all would be right again. This would pass. My stomach settled. My pulse quieted. There was no need to alert the rest of the tribe and worry them. I went about my evening duties, but I knew that Pata and Oni noted I had brought nothing back with me today. I always brought
something,
even if was only a few seeds or a handful of herbs. But they said nothing to Ama who was busy trussing the boar with Vincente. Maybe they thought I was sick. I rubbed my forehead a few times and saw a knowing nod pass between them. I tried to keep all my other actions and words casual.

But as dusk turned to night, even as we lifted up the skins and rushes to let a breeze pass through the long house in the summer heat, even as I added twigs and branches to the fire to keep the boar roasting, I knew. Jafir and I would not meet at the crevasse in three days. We would not meet there ever.

It is in the sorrows.

In the fear.

In the need.

That is when the knowing gains wings.

Ama had used many different ways to explain it to me.
When the few who were left had nothing else, they had to return to the way of knowing. It is how they survived.

But this knowing that crouched in my gut felt nothing like wings.

Instead it was something dark and heavy, spreading, squeezing at each knot of my spine one at a time, like steps getting closer. Those few days would come and go, and Jafir would not be there.

I leaned against the longhouse pole, looking into the dark hollows between the trees where crickets chirped their night songs, oblivious to what I felt in my heart. The twins danced near the fire, excited about the boar. Though they were eight years old, they had never tasted one, and its aroma hung in the air, lusty and pungent. Carys had bludgeoned it as she collected mushrooms in the shade of the poplar. It was a rare treat.

We took our meal outside, sitting on woven mats around the fire, and once I had eaten, I felt better. Nedra whistled a tune, adding to the festive air. My spirit lifted temporarily, and I wondered if hunger was what had been bothering me all along.

But as I stood and looked the length of our vale as far as the firelight would let me see, the heaviness gripped me again, squeezing away my breath. It made no sense. There was nothing but peace, but then Ama came up behind me and laid a hand on my shoulder.

“What are you feeling?” she asked.

I saw it in her eyes too.

“Let's douse the fire,” she said, “and get the children and others inside.” But it was already too late.

The sound roared down upon us, the pounding of hooves that seemed to come from all sides. There was confusion at first—the twins screaming, everyone turning, trying to see what it was—and then there they were, the scavengers surrounding us, circling on their horses, making sure none of us ran. The tribe froze as the predators closed in, all of us silent except for the whimpers of Shantal. Though it had been two years, Rhiann's death was still fresh in all our minds.

The leader, Harik, motioned to more riders, who had hung back in the shadows, and they stormed into the longhouse on their horses, tearing down walls as they went. They dismounted and began grabbing sacks of grain and dried beans we had stored for winter, rummaging through other supplies, ripping skins from the walls, stuffing their bags with fabrics and clothing, taking anything they wanted and tossing the rest.

Another scavenger, one the others called Fergus, ordered more to search the darkness with torches, looking for pens of animals. We heard the squawk of our hens when they found them. They were stuffed into bags too.

It was a whirl of movement—flesh and arms and fervor—making it hard to distinguish one scavenger from another in their careless zeal. But then there was a color. A flash. A cheekbone. A chest. A long cord of hair.

The clamor was suddenly distorted and muffled, the world slowing. Tumbling upside down.

Jafir.

Jafir rode with them.

He hoisted a large bag of grain onto the back of his horse.

My bones turned to water.

He
had led them here. He worked side by side with his brother. They were skilled at looting. It was quickly over, and they left the longhouse to circle around us.

Jafir's eyes met mine, and my numbness vanished.

I trembled with rage. They showed no mercy or compassion. Steffan reached for what little remained of the boar still on the spit and set about wrapping it in a skin to take too. I spotted the knife Carys had used to cut the meat only an arm's length from me, lying on a stone.

“Leave us something!” I yelled as I stepped forward to grab it, but Ama was lightning quick and pulled me back.

“Be still, child,” she whispered. “Let them take it.”

Harik turned his horse at hearing my voice and guided it closer. His silver knives glittered at his sides, and he eyed me. “She's grown.”

Ama pushed me farther behind her. “You and your thieves have what you want, Harik. Now be on your way.”

He was a man of enormous stature, his brows heavy, his fists thick and meaty. But it was his eyes that frightened me the most. They narrowed as he studied me before looking back at Ama. “It is my right, old woman, to have what is of my blood.”

Ama did not back down, and I was stunned at their familiarity with each other. “You have no rights here,” she said. “She is nothing of yours.”

“So you'd like to believe,” he said. His gaze turned back at me. “Look at her hair. The fierce gleam in her eye. She wants to kill us all. That is mine.” I could not mistake the pride in his voice. My stomach turned over, and my head ached. I felt my meal rise in my throat, the boar alive and gamey. My memory flashed with the whispers of Ama, Oni, and Nedra, the whispers that I had long denied. The truth.