Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (10 page)

I knew what he wanted me to hear in his words: don't tell one of my usual sorrowful tales. It seemed I was the only one who saw the benefit in these tales that taught. Even my own family could not rise above the thought that a tale should merely entertain.

I moved to the fireplace, heart pounding and my mind blank. I had managed to avoid being in this situation ever since the tales had fled my head but tonight I had been careless and lingered. I couldn't refuse, not on Caedmon's last evening with us.

I glanced around the room. Mother and Eithne sat with their chairs drawn close together. Eremon and Niamh shared a bench; their boys played on the floor at their feet. Marrec and Conn sat on another bench at the back of the room. Papa and Sitric reclined in comfortable padded chairs, one on each side of the room. They were all silent, waiting for me to begin.

My gaze locked with Caedmon's and the sound of Rhiwallon's laugh echoed in my memory. Anger stirred, anger I had thought forgotten. Beside Caedmon, Grainne clutched his hand and smiled at me. She was flushed and bright eyed, resting her other hand to her stomach. Did she already carry his heir? Jealousy squeezed my heart and for a moment my only thought was that he had everything. He was the man I wanted to be. The man I would never be.

In that moment inspiration finally returned. The tale I told was of a soldier who leaves for campaign, his head full of images of the sweetheart he leaves behind, believing her well and safe and carrying his child. Shortly after, one of the fey, who is smitten with the girl, goes to her and asks her to forget the soldier and come away with him to the Otherworld. When she refuses, he becomes enraged and beats her senseless, tearing her clothes with his long fingernails and biting viciously at her soft flesh.
 

When the girl's family discovers her, bruised and beaten and bloody, they blame the soldier, and her male relatives set off in pursuit. The tale finished with her menfolk, having beaten the soldier to death, learning the truth of the girl's injuries. The moral, of course, was that it is unwise to rush into action without ensuring one has full knowledge of the circumstances. One should never assume.

As always, the tale's end prompted an uncomfortable silence. It was Caedmon who eventually spoke.

"Not exactly an uplifting tale with which to send me off, little brother."

I shrugged and tried to forget his words. I was well accustomed to audiences disliking my tales. Still, it hurt, especially when it was Caedmon.
 

"It was a… different sort of tale," Grainne said.

Nobody else seemed inclined to comment and after a few moments Eremon announced he too had a tale to share. I stepped back and leaned against the wall. As soon as everyone seemed engrossed in his tale, I slipped out of the room.

I slowly cracked open the back door, hesitating as it creaked, but nobody came to investigate. I set off towards the barn, wanting to be alone for a short while. The late winter night was colder than I had expected and I swiftly regretted not bringing a coat. The ground shone silver in the moonlight and remnants of the last snowfall crackled underfoot. Distant fir trees stood like sentinels, silent witnesses to the night's events.
 

Suddenly a figure in a dark cloak trod soundlessly beside me. I greeted Fiachra with a nod. There seemed no need for words. He returned my nod and we walked together without speaking. The only noise was the crunching of my boots against the snow and the sighing of the trees as the night breeze whipped through them.

I opened the barn door and by the time I secured it again, Fiachra had a lamp lit.

"Events are occurring, Diarmuid," he said. "The time of evil has arrived. The only question remaining is what you will do about it."

"Me?" I squawked. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You do not know?" Fiachra's face was solemn and I could read nothing in his eyes.

I shook my head.

"But surely you suspect?"

I hesitated, not wanting to voice aloud my silly superstition.

"All you tell me will be held in confidence, brother."

"I wondered…" My courage failed but he waited patiently as I sought the words to admit what I barely believed. "The witch… I thought… I think she may be my fault."

Fiachra held my gaze and waited. If he judged me, it did not show on his face.

"I created a woman. In my mind. A muse. She was just another tale really. I pretended she whispered ideas to me and I told my tales to her. The more I thought about her, the more real she seemed to become. Then one night I dreamed she left my head and walked away. I think she might be the witch everyone has been talking about."
 

It sounded as ridiculous as I expected but Fiachra nodded gravely.

"So what do you intend to do?" he asked.

Courage increased, flooding through my body like warm soup.
 

"I guess I have to stop her," I said, although I had not actually considered this until now. "If I created her and somehow brought her to life, I can't leave her to… People have died. If this is my fault…"
 

My voice trailed off. Fiachra stretched out a hand and laid it gently on my shoulder. Like the last time he touched me, a warm tingle passed through my body.

"You must do what you must do, Diarmuid. If you believe you have created this creature, you must stop her."

"But how? How can I stop a witch? I'm just a bard."

"You tell me. How did you create her?"

"I thought of her. And then she was there, in my mind."

"If you created her in your mind, then your mind can also devise a way to stop her."

"I suppose I should go to Crow's Nest. Find the witch. See if she really is Ida."

Fiachra nodded and gently pressed his fingertips against my forehead in a final benediction. "My blessing be on you, brother. Be brave. Be cautious of whom you trust. You will find companions on this journey but they will not all be what they seem."

"You already know what will happen? Will I…" I couldn't put into words all I wanted to ask.

"I can tell you nothing further, Diarmuid. You must be free to choose your own way. Indeed, I do not know the outcome of your journey. There are options, choices, paths. Each leads to a different result. But which one you will choose, I do not know."

"When should I leave?"

"As soon as possible, tomorrow if you can. Creatures such as these are often strongest with the dark of the moon. She has already had one darkness. Two or three may make her unstoppable."

"The new moon was just a couple of days ago so I have almost four sevennights until the next."

"Less, for her strength will grow as the moon waxes and its darkness draws nearer."

"I'll leave tomorrow morning." My voice was somewhat thready for this gave me little time to prepare.

Fiachra nodded and his eyes were solemn. "I will be watching you on your journey, brother. There may be little I can do to aid you but if you have need of me, call and I will come if I can."

"How will you hear me?"

He smiled briefly. "I will hear. Do not fear that I won't."

"Mother. Will you tell her something? Enough that she won't worry but perhaps not the whole truth?"

"Do not worry about our mother. With all else happening here, she will barely notice your absence."

The thought was discomforting.

"I wish you well, brother. May your journey be successful and may you return home with both mind and body intact."
 

The moon was well on its odyssey across the night sky before I went to bed. I bundled up the items I thought I might need into an oilcloth and stowed them in a deep pack. Two clean shirts and a spare pair of socks. Flint. A small dagger. Two blankets for the nights were yet cold. A surreptitious trip to the kitchen after the servants had retired for the night secured several days' supply of food: bread, cheese, water, some dried meat, pork perhaps but it was hard to tell. I had little in the way of coin but all I had went into the pack. Caedmon sometimes gave me a coin or two before he returned to the campaign and I had rarely had need of them.
 

By the time I was done, the pack was far heavier than I liked. I emptied it and started again. Spare boots weren't necessary for I could buy them on my way. The needle and thread I kept and, after all, they weighed little. The second blanket was surely a luxury. I hesitated over the spare water flask but I could ration my supplies and fill my flask at every opportunity. I weighed the purse in my hand. It wasn't that heavy and I might need every coin.
 

And so it went on, until the pack was reduced to a weight I thought I could carry all day. It looked piteously small now for I had discarded more than I kept. I could only hope those summer expeditions with Caedmon had prepared me for this journey.

With freedom comes joy and pain, pleasure and sorrow. Pride, rage, passion, remorse. So many emotions. I feel them all and know I am truly alive. They flow into me, strengthening my body, fuelling my power. I draw them into me, more and more and more, until all that remains of the source is an empty and lifeless shell. It is of no matter. There are plenty of other sources. And they all have such a wonderful array of emotions. I can hardly believe how much, and how deeply, they feel.
 

I grow stronger with every day and soon I discover fear. That is the most powerful emotion of all. Once I find it, I crave more and more. The power is like nothing I have ever imagined.
 

If only I had known what waited out here for me, I might have left sooner. But I needed to wait. I had to bide my time until I was strong enough.
 

If he was not so full of darkness, perhaps I would yet still be too weak. I might still be waiting, siphoning off his emotions, piece by piece, encouraging his darkest thoughts and dreams, and drawing all of that power into myself.
 

If he was weaker or his soul was lighter, I might never have gained the power to leave.

As winter began her slow withdrawal, the intensity of the visions increased. At night, I tossed sleeplessly while images of the boy, the white dog and the woman filled my mind. By day, I was anxious and tired, as irritable as a honeybee smoked out of its hive, and unable to concentrate on anything. Signs of spring were everywhere the day Mother sent me to gather herbs for her. Perhaps she had her own vision of my fate for after I had recited the list of herbs she wanted, she gently placed her palm on my forehead.

"My blessing on you, my child," she said. "Travel safe."

I scowled, in no mood for blessings and benedictions. I snatched up a basket and my coat and left without a word to her. She stood in the doorway, watching after me for the longest time.

My mood lifted as I stomped across the fields under a sky blanketed with fluffy white clouds. No breeze ruffled the branch of birch or beech. The snow underfoot was thinner now for the days were starting to warm. I walked with purpose for I knew exactly where I needed to go. Two of the herbs Mother wanted could be found by a particular stream; for another, I would need to venture into the nearby woods. I watched for the fourth as I walked, for its leaves preferred sunlight and open air.
 

By the time I reached the woods, I had found all but one of the herbs. My legs were tiring and I was hungry, for in my bad temper I had not thought to bring any food. The air was colder within the shelter of the woods and smelled of moss and dampness. Little snow had reached these depths. Fir trees grew close together, fighting to grow tallest and reach the sunlight first. I picked my way around fallen branches and between mossy rocks, trying not to tread on the small mushrooms growing in the shadows.
 

At first I had ignored the fey girl as she slipped from tree to tree, almost invisible in the gloom, but now I was hungry and tired and more than a little fed up with being spied on.
 

"Why do you follow me?" I asked as I clambered over a toppled fir that blocked my path. My voice echoed through the woods, louder than I had intended.

There was no response, not that I expected any. However as I rounded a bend in the barely-visible path I followed, more sense than sight, she stood there.

Slight and fey, she had long dark hair that curled and tangled around her shoulders. Her skin was milky white and her lips far too red. Her eyes were what startled me the most for they were as blue as a summer sky and seemed to pierce my soul as she stared at me. She stood awkwardly, hip jutting out to the side, and waited. For what, I wasn't sure.
 

It was I who spoke first. "Hello."

She continued to stare.

"Why do you now stand there after trying to be invisible for so many days?"

"Had I wanted to be invisible," she retorted haughtily, "you would have known naught of my presence."

"Why do you follow me then?"

"To watch you."

"Why?"

"So that we know what you do and what you don't."

"Why do you need to know?"

"Because you will be important, in as much as a mortal can be."

"Important to what?"

"To everything," she said. "And so you must do as I say."

"I shall not," I said indignantly, before realising she hadn't yet said what she wanted from me.
 

She glared, clearly unused to anyone refusing her instructions. "You shall. For you have no choice. Everything in your life has led you towards today, towards here and now."

I reined in my temper. Perhaps it was better if I at least appeared to consider her demands. "What is it you want from me?"

"You will leave here immediately and set out on a journey."

"And where would I travel to?"

"It is not important that you know the destination." Her tone was dismissive and my annoyance rose again. "All that is important is your obedience."

"You expect me to leave my home and my life to journey towards some end you will not even share with me?"