The Raging Fires (16 page)

“Please,” I begged. “Don’t die.”

The deep brown eyes closed, then fluttered briefly. “May green meadows . . . find you.”

He exhaled one last time, then lay still.

19:
T
HE
W
HIRLWIND

Swathed in mist, Eremon’s blood running down our arms, Hallia and I strained to carry the stag’s heavy body over to a protected bend in the riverbank. There a patch of vibrant green grass sprouted, and there we dug his grave in the moist, rich soil. Hallia wove a funeral shawl from shoots of eelgrass, which she carefully draped over his neck. After filling in the grave, I set out to ensure that it would remain undisturbed. Weary though I was, I carried more than a dozen stones to the spot. Hefty ones. Yet as much as my back ached, my heart ached even more.

As I worked, Hallia stood in silence by the grave, an occasional tear drifting down her chin. Although she said nothing, she sometimes clutched her yellow robe or stamped the turf, testimony to the violent storms raging within her. My stone gathering completed, I stood nearby, hardly daring to look at her, let alone comfort her.

At last, without lifting her eyes from her brother’s grave, she spoke. “He called you
young hawk.”

Silently, I nodded.

“It is a name with a meaning for my people.”

I said nothing.

Still without looking at me, she continued, her voice sounding far, far away. “There is a story, as old as the first track of the first hoof, about a young hawk. He befriended a fawn. Brought him food when he hurt his leg, led him home when he was lost.”

I shook my head. “Your brother had faith in me. More than I do myself.”

Her round eyes flitted my way. “In me, too.” She sighed heavily. “Soon you will be going, I suppose.”

“That’s right.”

She threw her braid over her shoulder. “Well, if you think I’m coming with you, you are mistaken.”

“I never asked—”

“Good. Because if you did, my answer would be no.” She kicked at one of the river rocks. “No, I say.”

I studied her for a long moment. “I didn’t ask you, Hallia.”

“No, but
he
did.” She glared at the stones. “He asked me. Not with his words, but with his eyes.”

“You should not come. You’ve suffered enough.”

Her head bowed. “That I have.”

Spying my sword on the bank, I crouched by the river, washing the mud from its blade. Somberly, I replaced it in the scabbard. Then, my feet feeling heavier than the stones I had laid upon Eremon’s grave, I stepped slowly over to Hallia. She did not move, merely watching me with her gaze so full of intelligence and grief. A pace away, I stopped.

I felt the urge to take her hand, but held myself back. “I am sorry. Truly sorry.”

She did not respond.

For several minutes we stood there, stiff and silent. But for the swirling mist, weaving about our legs, and the churning waters of the River Unceasing, nothing moved, nothing changed. I felt again the profound stillness that I had sensed inside the living stone. And, somewhere deep within, the quiet magic of a deer.

Out of nowhere, a sharp gust of wind struck us. Hallia’ s robe flapped against her legs. Spray flew off the river, drenching us; mist shredded into nothingness. The wind accelerated—howling, driving us both backward. Hallia cried out as her braid lifted straight up from her head. Hard as I tried to keep my balance, the wind sent me careening on the slick mud. I fell toward the river, about to hit the water, when—

I never hit.

Suddenly I was airborne, carried aloft by the fierce, whirling winds. My tunic flapped and billowed, sometimes covering my face. Hallia’s foot struck me as she tumbled through the air nearby, but when I called to her the wind forced the words back into my throat. Spinning wildly, we rose higher into the air.

At one point, through the spiraling mist, my second sight glimpsed the patch of vibrant grass where we had buried Eremon. Just upstream, the remains of Valdearg’s eggs lay scattered. Then thick clouds swallowed up everything, even as the wind had swallowed us. The whirling currents screamed in my ears.

Jostled and spun relentlessly, thrown upside down and sideways, I lost any bearings that I might have possessed. My body felt stretched, pummeled, turned inside out. Assaulted—from every side at once. Eyes watering, I could barely breathe amidst the battering winds. Was Hallia doing any better? Wherever this whirling storm was carrying us, I only hoped that we might arrive there alive. Before long, I fell unconscious.

When I awoke, I found myself sprawled facedown on a floor of smooth flagstones. Still whirling, my head pulsed with a roaring sound, as endless as ocean waves. I clung to the stones—they seemed so solid!—for a few more seconds before willing myself to turn over. At last I summoned the strength to roll onto my back. Weakly, my head still spinning, I pushed myself into a sitting position.

Hallia, I realized, lay beside me. Her face looked pale; she breathed fitfully. Her tan-colored hair, no longer tied in a braid, spread across the stones. I reached an unsteady hand toward her, when suddenly I caught myself.

That roaring sound . . . not my head, not the ocean, but voices. Hundreds and hundreds of voices. All around us, all shouting.

The two of us lay in the middle of a great circle of seats, filled with clamoring people. An amphitheater! Although I had never seen one before, I remembered well my mother’s descriptions of the Roman amphitheaters during my childhood in Gwynedd. They were, she had explained, colossal arenas for sports—and, sometimes, for sacrifice.

Dizzily, I shook the fog from my second sight, trying to take it all in. The flagstone floor stretched wider than any courtyard I had ever seen, all the way to the rows upon rows of people encircling us. Many waved fists at us, making me feel that their shouts were more likely taunts than cheers.

All of a sudden, a huge pair of doors flung open at the far end of the amphitheater. Out of the darkness galloped an immense black stallion, pulling a wheeled chariot. Seated in the chariot, a muscled warrior raised his burly arms to the crowd. As they bellowed encouragement, he cracked his whip over the horse’s streaming mane, driving the chariot directly toward us.

He’s going to trample us!
The realization shot through me like a bolt of lightning.

Struggling to my feet, I reached under Hallia’s arms. Desperately, I tried to lift her onto my back. All the while, above the roaring crowd, I heard the pounding of the stallion’s hooves on the stones. Closer drew the chariot, and closer.

At last, shaking with the weight, I managed to lift Hallia off the floor. Glancing behind, I saw the crazed eyes of the horse and the triumphant smile of the warrior bearing swiftly down on us. My heart slammed against my ribs. I took one halting step, then another. The crowd thundered angrily.

My legs buckled beneath me. I collapsed to my knees. Hallia toppled, hitting the floor with a loud moan. I swung my head around, an instant before the chariot crushed us beneath its wheels. Instinctively, I threw myself in front of her.

Just then, the chariot melted into the air. So did the amphitheater, the crowd, the roaring cries. All that remained were the stones, the black stallion, and the warrior himself. Eerie blue lights flickered around the edges of the room, if this really was a room, yet I could see no more. No walls, no ceiling. Only darkness, tinged by the dancing blue lights on the horizon.

With one hand hooked on his gleaming breastplate and the other grasping the whip, the warrior strode over. Grinning down at us, he cackled with evident satisfaction. Then, miraculously, he too began to change. His bearded face grew wider and smoother, as all the hairs vanished. Two triangular ears sprouted, along with a shriveled wart in the center of the high forehead. Across the hairless scalp, wrinkles ran like furrows in a field. Two ancient eyes, blacker even than my own, peered at me. Only the warrior’s grin remained, though it was studded with bent, misshapen teeth.

“Domnu,” I rasped, my throat suddenly dry.

“Such a pleasure to see you again, my pet.” She patted her sack-like robe and began circling us, her bare feet slapping against the stones. “And you gave me such a splendid chance to drive that chariot! The humans, all told, are not much for ideas. But those Romans had a good one there.”

She paused, scratching the wart on her forehead. “Or was it the Gaels? The Picts? No matter—humans, of whatever sort. An unusually good idea they had. Even if they lacked the imagination to make it more exciting.”

The black stallion stamped his hoof and whinnied loudly. Domnu stopped circling and glanced at the powerful steed. The tips of her teeth showed as her grin widened. Her voice grew more quiet, and even more menacing.

“Are you disagreeing, my colt? Was the excitement too much for you?” She stepped closer and slowly ran her hand down the stallion’s nose. While quivering slightly, he continued to hold his head high. “Perhaps you would rather go back to being a chess piece?”

At once, I remembered the chess piece of a black horse that I had seen when I first visited Domnu’s lair. He had shown spirit then, as he did now. And he reminded me vaguely of that horse . . . that stallion. What was his name? I chewed my lip, recalling those days, long ago, when I felt my father’s strong arms wrapped around me, and the still stronger back supporting us, as we rode around the castle grounds. Whatever else I had forgotten, I could never forget the stallion’s prancing gait, his dignified air. And the way he ate apples out of my hand.

As Domnu continued to speak to the stallion, Hallia shifted beside me and opened her eyes. Seeing the hairless hag, she stiffened. Although a bit of the color had returned to her cheeks, I knew that she was probably still very weak.

“Are you able to stand?” I whispered.

“I . . . don’t know.” She observed me worriedly. “That wind . . . where are we? Who is that . . . hag? What have I missed?”

“A lot.” I gave her a wry smile. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Hallia frowned. Taking my arm, she raised herself to her knees. Her eyes darted to Domnu once more. “She makes me . . . shiver. Who
is
she?”

“Domnu. I think we’re in her lair.”

“Well, now,” interrupted Domnu. “Our second guest is awake.” She glanced sharply at the stallion, then slid over to us. Bending toward Hallia, she ran a hand across her wrinkled scalp. “A deer woman, is it?” She clacked her tongue knowingly. “I can always tell by the chin. Bristling bones, I know that shape! So adorably tapered.”

Though Hallia stiffened with fright, she did her best to hold her voice steady. “I am, indeed, a deer woman . . . of the Mellwyn-bri-Meath clan.” She looked away. “And I beg—no, demand—that you set us free. Imm . . . immediately.”

“Demand? Did you say demand?” Once more, the hag started walking in a circle, examining us like a hungry wolf. “Best to make no more demands, my pet. Poor manners, truly poor. I will decide what to do with you in time, just as I will decide how to teach a certain horse a lesson.”

At that, the stallion stamped again on the stone floor. He snorted proudly.

Domnu stopped circling. Her dark eyes narrowed. From the edges of the room, the blue light swelled strangely, crackling like the flames of a heatless fire.

“I understand, my colt.” Her voice sounded soothing—and altogether menacing. “You simply need a change. A different perspective on life.”

She raised an index finger. Briefly she inspected it, watching the blue light shimmer across her skin. Then she licked it slowly and deliberately. Finally, she held the wet finger before her lips and blew ever so gently.

The stallion reared back, whinnying loudly. He kicked his immense hooves in the air. Suddenly he shrank down into a small, sharp-nosed beast, as thin as a serpent, with dusty brown fur and tiny black eyes. A weasel. The little creature gave us a baleful look, then scurried across the floor, disappearing in the blue flames.

Hallia gasped and clutched my wrist.

Domnu flashed her misshapen teeth. “Poor little colt. This will give him a chance to rest.” Her eyes darted back to us. “Of course, I made certain he has no teeth. That way he won’t be tempted to use them, shall we say, inappropriately.”

“You wretch!” I exclaimed. “That was a terrible thing to do! The horse was only being—”

“Disrespectful.” Domnu’s face shimmered in the rising blue light. “And I trust that you will not do the same.” Thoughtfully, she scratched the prominent wart. “Especially since I plan to feed you a sumptuous meal.”

She clapped her wrinkled hands together. Instantly, a full-blown feast appeared on an oaken table in the middle of the floor. Before us lay steaming breads, milk pudding, baked apples, buttered green vegetables, river trout, flasks of water and wine, and an enormous pie that smelled like roasted chestnuts.

My mouth watered. My stomach churned. I could almost taste that pie. Yet one glance at Hallia told me that she felt as mistrustful as I did. We shook our heads in unison. Clambering to my feet, I helped her stand, although she teetered unsteadily. While Hallia looked in the direction of the departed weasel, my own gaze met Domnu’s. “We do not want your food.”

“Really?” She stroked her scalp. “Perhaps you would prefer venison?”

I scowled. “I would prefer hag.”

The blue light at the edges of the room flared, but Domnu watched us impassively. “Surprising, my pets, that you aren’t hungry. After all, you have been here for quite some time.”

“Some time?” I glared at her. “How long have we been here?”

Domnu started circling again, her feet slapping on the stones. “Oh, how adorable your kind can be when it gets willful! Like little sparrows who are angry that they cannot yet fly! But yes, my pet, it was quite some time ago that my little whirlwind came to fetch you. I was beginning to worry that you might not wake up at all, at least not while I was still in the mood for charioteering.”

She scratched a mass of wrinkles by one ear. “I even laid a wager—against myself, there being no one else around just now—that you would never wake up. Though I lost that bet, I also won, if you take my meaning. An admirable outcome.” She cackled softly. “I do so love to win.”