One Small Step, an anthology of discoveries (30 page)

It was lucky that I had dreamed the day away, for I had no trouble staying awake as I lay there on my pallet under the bench, listening to the stronghold wind down. Soon the revellers were in a stupor of wine, weed and exhaustion and the Wyrding-woman was blessedly quiet at last. This was my chance.

I was about to gather my things when the door creaked open. I recognised Murtahg by the glow of the hearth coals. One hand rested on his sword hilt. It was against clan law to wear a sword inside the stronghold. My mouth went dry with fear, but he crept past my bed where I lay feigning sleep. I wanted to run the moment he entered the Wyrding-woman’s alcove. Another part of me wanted to spring up and warn her. I did neither; instead I listened.

“
I’m not asleep, Murtahg,” she said softly, and I was glad I had not tried to take the amulet. “Why do you come to me wearing your sword?”

“
I come to talk sense.”

“
As you see it.”

“
No more twisting of words to suit your Wyrding-ways, Grandmother. You are not all powerful. I have eyes in my head. Get rid of Sun-fire before Dru can worm his way into her bed. With her at his side and him the stepfather of the Warlord-reborn, they’ll undermine my power. Either you get rid of her or I will get rid of him.”

I held my breath, waiting for her to defend me, even though I knew her loyalty had to be to her clan.

At last she let out a long sigh. “Much can go wrong while birthing. Druaric won’t suspect a thing if she bleeds to death after delivering the child.”

My heart turned to stone in my chest.

“
Very well. But I will be watching. There are going to be changes, Grandmother.”

He had called her ‘Grandmother’ again, denying her authority as the voice of the Wyrding-mother. Murtahg strode out of the chamber. I lay utterly still even after the closing door cut off the thud of his boots

In truth I was so stunned and frightened, I could not move. It was just as well because the Wyrding-woman came out with a candle.

I felt her observe me closely, but managed to keep my breathing steady. I must have been convincing because she muttered to herself as she opened a familiar jar. Only two days earlier she had had me crush hymlic then strain the pulp through cloth to produce this clear liquid containing concentrated poison.

Now she wept as she dipped the mouth piece of Murtahg’s pipe in the jar. Tomorrow morning she would send a servant to return it. Soon after Murtahg placed the pipe on his tongue, his heart would falter to a stop. She did this not for me, but for the Wyrding-mother; her Ways had to be respected.

Replacing the pipe, the Wyrding-woman returned to her chamber. A soft keening arose as she wept her heart out. But I had her measure now. Her tears were for her failed plans. I was only a means to an end.

Cold within and cold without, I listened for her weeping to cease as she finally fell asleep.

Now, to take the amulet.

I crept into her alcove. It smelt of old woman and tired emotion. I knelt by her bed. The amulet had slipped out of her vest to rest on her shoulder. I lifted the leather strip that threaded through the loop and slit it with a soft snick of my knife, setting myself free. It was that easy.

Why had I waited so long?

I returned to the outer room and knelt by the glowing coals to take the amulet apart, removing its contents. The caul I tucked inside my bodice next to my skin. So soft and fine. So good to reclaim what was mine.

The rest of the contents, I studied. Salt, the purifier, was easy to recognise, as was the chip of iron, the protector, from a sky rock. But it was the circle of red thread that made my heart soar in triumph. This was thread from my hill clothes, woven into the circle to mirror the circle the Warlord’s soul would make when it left his body and took root in my babe.

To be sure of my freedom I burned everything but the circle of red thread. I did not want to extinguish my child’s life.

When in doubt fire is an excellent cleanser. However, it also concentrates power so I gathered the ashes and the hot sky rock from the little brazier used to prepare ingredients, meaning to throw them in the sea. Since water opposed fire I believed this would be enough to negate the Wyrding-woman’s power.

Next, to deal with the red thread circle. It had been created to bind a body and soul, so I put the thread between my teeth and gnawed through it, breaking the Warlord’s journey and reclaiming my daughter. Now the growing babe was all mine, for any child produced by a Wyrding-woman belonged to her.

“
What are you doing?” the Wyrding-woman demanded.

I spun around to find her by the hearth. She lit a candle so she could see me clearly. Too late to dissemble, I displayed the broken thread then swallowed it to protect my child.

Her hand went to the amulet only to find it gone. Her eyes narrowed and I felt the power of her ancient will.

I was not ready for this confrontation.

Murtahg flung the door open and stalked in, eyes glazed with the weed, carrying his naked sword. Clearly, he had thought things over and he did not trust the Wyrding-woman’s word.

The Wyrding-woman tried to bluster. “What are you doing here, Murtahg?

He did not answer, striding towards her.

Wyrding power lay in subtle threats, prepared treatments and manipulation of people, not in force. Still, she drew herself up to her full height. “Murtahg, I helped bring you into this world. Listen to—”

But he was not going to let her wear his will away with the weave of her words. He drew his sword arm back. She tried to dart past him. He caught her by the hair and ran her through. I saw the disbelief on her face as he let her drop.

He did not even wait for her to die, but turned on me. I backed up, arms lifting uselessly. Sweet Mother, why hadn’t I run when I had the chance? Why hadn’t I warned Druaric and run away with him?

“
Come here, Sun-fire.”

I couldn’t move.

“
Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”

I shook my head.

With a curse he caught my arm and jerked me towards him so that when I recovered my balance the bloody sword tip rested under my chin.

“
The clan needs its Warlord-reborn and it needs a Wyrding-woman. But there are other Wyrding-women, Sun-fire. Cross me and I’ll tell the clan you threw yourself off the tower. Do you understand?”

I swallowed and nodded numbly.

He let the sword tip drop then made to leave.

“
Wait.” I pointed to the mantelpiece. “You left your pipe.”

He smiled and grabbed the pipe, tucking it in his pocket. “You learn quickly, Sun-fire.”

Yes, I did.

The moment he was gone I peeped out the door after him. He headed down towards the wing he shared with his family and supporters. I ran in the other direction, up the steps to Druaric’s room on the floor above.

I threw open the door to see him kneeling by the fire, singing intently. “Come quick!”

He put the zither aside slowly, as if dazed, though he never smoked the weed. Stiffly, he came to his feet.

“
Hurry, Murtahg’s after you!”

Too late. Booted feet ran up the stairs, blocking our escape. Mouth dry, I backed away as Murtahg and four men filled the doorway.

“
So,” Murtahg muttered finding me with Druaric. “This is your idea of loyalty, Sun-fire.”

“
Don’t speak of loyalty,” I countered, pointing to his bloodied sword. “Not when you killed the clan’s Wyrding-woman!”

“
Brother, how could you?” Druaric whispered, shocked.

Murtahg’s followers shifted uneasily, drawing away from him.

“
Why…?” one of them whispered.

“
She was going to set these two up as clan-leaders,” Murtahg said. Then, certain his own men would never turn on him, he took out his pipe, to chew on its stem.

How long would the poison take?

“
Why weren’t you born a girl, Dru?” Murtahg taunted. “Then I could have used you.”

“
You will not use either of us,” I told him, stepping in front of Druaric. “The Wyrding-mother will not stand by and let the murderer of one of her servants go unpunished.”

“
The Wyrding-mother did not stop me.” Murtahg grinned. “And I don’t see her saving you.” He nodded to his men. “Kill the hill-brat and the cripple.”

His followers hesitated.

I pointed to Murtahg. “Wyrding-mother take this man. Make his heart race. Make his breath tight in his chest.” As I described the symptoms of the poison, I saw evidence of its effect on him. His eyes widened in horror. “Make his fingers grow numb. Make his legs tingle. Make his heart falter.” He dropped to his knees, hands going to his throat. The pipe fell to the floor. It had done its job.

I heard Druaric gasp behind me.

Murtahg’s followers stared as he fought for breath; once … twice, then he pitched forward, face down on the floor.

I looked up at the remaining four men. “Put away your swords and the Wyrding-mother will not strike you down.”

They hurried to obey.

I nodded to Murtahg. “In life he served the clan well. Let us honour him in death. Prepare him for death’s realm.”

This was familiar to them and two took his legs, while another took his shoulders. They shuffled towards the door. There they hesitated, looking back at us, unsure of me.

“
Do not fear, the Wyrding-mother will forgive her children,” I told them.

As soon as the door closed I threw the pipe in the grate and stirred up the fire, then turned to face Druaric. Did he fear me, too?

Graceful despite his clubfoot, he sat and took up his zither again.

“
There’s no time for this.”

“
Hush, Sun-fire,” he said. “I must sing the way it will be. The greatest danger is panic, clansmen turning on each other to avenge old insults, tearing our clan apart, killing our people.”

His people were not my people, but I listened as he sang of how we became leaders of the clan. He’d been singing like this when I came in to warn him. My skin went cold.

Truly, Murtahg had been right to fear him. How much more had he sung into being, here in the privacy of his chamber?

I heard the name he used for me and his words claimed me. I saw a vision of us leading the clan into a glorious future, safe from raiders and secure from want while I served the Wyrding-mother. Joy filled me, for she had never deserted me. This was meant to be…

Yet, at the same time, I knew my feelings were a product of his cleverly woven words. With great effort I sloughed off the effect of his power.

He smiled and stood, slinging the zither over his shoulder. “Come, we must reassure the clan, Sun-fire.”

I was immune to his song. Could he tell?

“
What is it? What’s wrong?”

I read loving concern in his face. This much was not a lie. He opened his arms to me. It would be so easy to go with the song’s seductive refrain, still echoing in my heart and body.

But I could not live as a slave, not even Druaric’s. I took a step back. “You sang my love for you into being.”

His eyes widened and I saw fear flicker in their ice-blue depths. “I sang to lure you. But only you can give your heart.”

“
I am the Wyrding-mother’s servant. I serve no man. Murtahg was a monster but you … you sang him into—”

“
No. I tried to sing him down but his soul was without music.” Druaric licked dry lips. “Didn’t you hear my words when you came in?”

I’d been focussed on warning him.

He put the zither aside. “Truly, Sun-fire, if you can see the weave of my song then I have no power over you.” He swallowed. “The clan needs us. If we don’t unite our people the other clans will turn on us, loot our stronghold, kill the men and take the women and children for slaves.”

“
It is no more than you have done to other clans, to my hill-people.”

“
Put aside your need for revenge,” Druaric whispered. “It’s a kind of poison. Look into your heart and tell me what you find.”

Boots clattered on the steps as the warriors returned but still I hesitated. I could leave right now with my child.

“
I am a cripple,” Druaric said. “They won’t follow me unless you are at my side.”

It was true. To see the clan crushed and its people scattered would be sweet indeed but…

“
Would you condemn the clan’s children to slavery, Sun-fire? Little Ciarnor is innocent of his father’s crimes.”

The door swung open and I stepped across to join Druaric.

∞
¥
∞
Ω
∞
¥
∞
 

I
’d c
ome for a reason, although that was easy to forget now I was actually here.
 

The walls towered over my head, red brick pocked with last century’s unsuccessful cannonfire and entangled in a web of lush summer-green vines. I smelled damp earth from the night’s rain and sulphuric residue, like the dust of fireworks. Arched windows, some shuttered and some open, peered between strands of ivy and climbing rose. I saw a black sleeve trailing across a jutting sill and couldn’t help wondering, a little pointlessly, if it belonged to him.

The sleeve disappeared. I reached up to knock at the brass-studded ebony doors, a good two feet taller at their peak than I was myself, and flinched back reflexively when one swung inward at my touch. For the residence of a man in such demand, it didn’t seem very well protected. Perhaps reputation was guard dog enough. I drew up my skirts to step over the threshold, as though the thick dust on the other side of the doorstep might be impetus enough to ignite them. For all I knew, it might.

Suits of armour lined the musty hallway on both sides. Spikes jutted from their strangely shaped spines; the elongated helmets gaped jaws that did not look designed for a human head. Pushing through the unlocked doors at the other end of the hall, I found myself in an enormous circular chamber where diagonal stairways cut a wide wooden
X
between floor and ceiling. Light filtered from windows so high up I had to tilt my head back as far as it would go just to ascertain their existence. Green vines poured through their arched mouths to claim the inside of the fortress as they had done the outer walls.