Hero's Song

  Once he saw how the lasan worked, Collun laughed. "I thought the fire you kindled so quickly came from magic in your fingertips."

  Talisen had overheard the interchange and came to sit beside them. "What kind of magic do you have, Crann? How did you stop the Ellyl Wind? And bring the rain to quench the fire in the Forest of Eld? Were they ancient spells?"

  Crann shook his head, still smiling. "My magic, as you call it, does not lie in some mysterious realm of spells and potions. It is like the Ellyl draoicht, and yet it is different. Ellyl power lies in the music of all things, animate and inanimate. Mine is rooted in nature, in living things. In flowers and grass and wind and rain. My power comes from the trees. The forest is my true home, where I was born, where I go to be restored, and where I shall return when I die. That is why I am called Crann, the old word for tree. What I am able to do, all that appears to you as magic, is only because of the trees."

  Talisen gave a dubious nod. "I confess that I understood better the Ellylon's description of their magic. Perhaps because it's to do with music."

  "Indeed," Crann replied, then said pensively, "I envy Ellylon, their gift for melody. My own efforts make a bullfrog sound lyrical." The wizard gave a wry laugh. "Ah well, perhaps one day..." He trailed off, reaching for his map.

  They roasted a pheasant Brie had felled with her bow and glazed it with sweet honey the Ellylon had given them. The air was so cool they could see their breath. When they had eaten their fill, they lay by the fire, and Talisen took up his harp. Crann asked for an Ellyl song.

  Talisen nodded agreeably, but when his fingers went to find the chords, they faltered. He tried again, a puzzled look on his face, and again his fingers were stiff and unyielding.

  "I do not understand," he said. He closed his eyes and concentrated. His hands frantically scrabbled over the strings, but still no melody came forth.

  He looked toward Crann with a bewildered expression.

  "I wondered if they would let you keep their songs. I suspected not," Crann said, his voice touched with sympathy.

  "What do you mean? Why, only yesterday..."

  "Legend has it that if a human should ever learn an Ellyl song in Tir a Ceol, he will forget it the moment he leaves their land."

  Talisen stared at the wizard. He suddenly tossed the harp aside in a burst of anger. "I might have known. Those deceitful Ellylon..."

  "Did they say it was a gift that you might keep?"

  "No," replied Talisen. "Nor did they say they would take it from me. I never thought..." He trailed off. "Wait. I wonder..."

  He grabbed his harp again. His fingers flew over the strings, and the notes to a lovely melody began to emerge. He sang. It was a song of loss, and of regaining, and it reminded Collun of waves in the ever-moving, gleaming pattern of the sea.

  When he finished, Talisen burst into laughter. "I will be a true bard yet," he said triumphantly. "Even if I cannot remember Ellyl music, I have still the ability to make songs of my own. It is one gift they could not take from me."

  "Perhaps because they chose not to," said Crann in a low voice, but Talisen paid him no heed. He stayed up late that night tinkering with his new song. Collun lay on the ground, his cloak wrapped around him, and listened to the harp music. As he drifted into sleep, Collun thought about the father back in Inkberrow he had lost and the one he had gained, if Cuillean yet lived.

  The next afternoon as they were traveling through a thicket of birch trees, Crann suddenly stopped. He gestured for them all to pause, and his face wore the look of one who listens deeply to a far-off sound.

  "Someone follows us," he said tersely. "A rider on horseback. And he comes quickly."

  Brie readied her bow, pulling an arrow from the quiver on her back. Collun and Talisen drew their daggers, while Crann sat unmoving on Gealach. Soon they could all hear the crackling sound of a horse's hooves traveling over the bracken. They waited, bodies tensed and weapons at the ready.

  EIGHTEEN

  The Lapwing

  A dark horse with a rider crouching in the saddle burst through the thicket of birch trees.

  "Hold, Gerran!" the rider said to his horse. The steed immediately came to a halt.

  The companions looked, unbelieving, into the hand some face of Prince Gwynedd.

  "At last!" said the prince. "I have been seeking you all this day and the last. I'd begun to believe that the Ellyl, Silien, had guessed wrong about your route to Scath. Well met, Collun!"

  "Prince Gwynedd," Collun greeted him stiffly. He cast a darting glance at Brie.

  "You are Gwynn and Aine's son?" asked Crann, moving his horse forward.

  "Yes. And you must be the wizard Crann. It is an honor to meet you." Gwynedd bowed his head respectfully. "So, son of Cuillean—," the prince began, but stopped when he saw the expression of surprise on Collun's face. "Yes, Silien told us everything when he got to Temair. I can see the resemblance now."

  "Did Queen Aine agree to the comhairle?" queried Crann.

  "Most assuredly. All of Temair is buzzing with the news. It is truly an historic occasion."

  "Why are you not there?" The words popped out unbidden. Collun hoped his tone did not betray him.

  "I have come to rejoin the quest that the traitor Bricriu did his best to thwart. Silien told me of your journey to Scath. If you are to tangle with the Queen of Ghosts herself, you will need another sword."

  "I hope it will not come to that," said Crann.

  "What happened to Bricriu?" asked Talisen.

  "When I returned to Temair and discovered the message was a hoax, we thought at first there had been some sort of mistake," related Gwynedd. "Bricriu has long been a friend to my mother and father. But when I went back to Bricriu's dun with a party of soldiers, we found it deserted. A search of the dun revealed evidence of Bricriu's collusion with Medb."

  "So he has escaped?" said Talisen.

  "No doubt he is in Scath by now," said Gwynedd.

  "Come," interrupted Crann, "we must not delay further."

  When they began moving forward, Collun noticed that Gwynedd gravitated naturally to a spot beside Brie. She greeted him warmly. Collun forced himself to look away.

  That night over the fire Gwynedd reported that the last news they had received from the border was ill.

  "Rumors of an invasion are rife, and it has been several weeks since any messengers have been able to get through," said the prince. "Even before Silien arrived in Temair, my mother was preparing for war. The proposed alliance between Tir a Ceol and Eirren gives everyone new hope."

  Crann nodded gravely. Then he turned to Brie. "Are you fresh enough to scout for us? We should not relax our vigilance."

  Brie nodded quickly and began to move toward her horse.

  Gwynedd jumped up. "She should not go alone."

  "No," interrupted Crann. "Brie is an accomplished tracker and trail finder. And one is less easily spotted than two."

  "Crann is right," said Brie, swinging herself onto her horse.

  Collun watched as Brie rode out of sight, her hand upraised in farewell. He resented Prince Gwynedd's protective gesture—despite the fact he had had the same impulse.

  Collun woke well before dawn. He scanned the campsite quickly. Brie had not returned.

  Crann was keeping watch and sat by the fire, brewing a pan of chicory. He held out a steaming cupful as Collun sat beside him. Sipping the nutty hot liquid, he looked sideways at Crann. The wizard's face was drawn and troubled.

  "Is something wrong?" asked Collun anxiously.

  Crann turned toward him and smiled. "Do not worry, spriosan. I'm certain Brie is fine. She will be back with us soon."

  Collun relaxed. "What is spriosan?" he asked.

  "Ah, it is the old word for twig or little branch. I hope you do not mind it." Collun shook his head. Then Crann said, "You asked if something is wrong. The answer is yes. I have been thinking of the Firewurme. Collun, what do you know of it?"

  "Only what you have told me."

>   "Perhaps it is time I told you more," the wizard said. "I hope you will never see it, but it is well for all Eirrenians to be prepared." He drew a breath.

  "In form, the Firewurme is much like the earthworms you find in your garden, only it is the size of a dun. Its body is supple and wrinkled, and it gleams pale white. It has no teeth, nor does it breathe fire. But in the Firewurme's white skin there is death, for it secretes an oozing, colorless guam, or sram in the old language, and this guam burns without flame. It is said to strip flesh from bone in a matter of minutes."

  Collun shivered at the wizard's words.

  "It has a long black tongue," continued Crann, "which is also coated with the deadly sram, and the tongue moves with lightning speed. The Firewurme cannot be harmed through its skin. It is many layers deep and, like its earthworm cousin's, can regenerate itself. It is rumored that its only vulnerable point is the eye, but the creature's eyelids are as hard as stone.

  "According to the Ellyl who came to Tir a Ceol from Scath, it appears the monster lies quietly and shows no sign of leaving the island in northern Scath where it now dwells. But if Medb plans to place the Wurme at the head of her army..." Crann sighed deeply. "Yes, I am troubled by the Firewurme. And frightened, spriosan. All the comhairles and armies of the land will amount to naught if the Firewurme comes to Eirren."

  Collun refilled his cup, willing his hand not to shake.

  Crann shifted his position on the log they shared. "I am frightening you."

  "No," began Collun, his cheeks reddening.

  Crann gave a brisk shake to his head. "It is well to be afraid. You should never be ashamed when evil frightens you, spriosan. It is what will make you strong."

  "I don't understand."

  "You will. At any rate, Medb knows what the Wurme did to her ancestor Cruachan. I cannot believe she would risk such a fate herself. It is my guess that she will use it as a threat, a show of force, and nothing more." But Collun thought the wizard did not sound convinced by his own words.

  Crann was gazing into his cup of chicory. Then he set it down and reached into his cloak. He pulled out the leather map.

  "Here, I want you to have this, spriosan."

  Collun looked at the wizard, uncomprehending.

  "I have little need of it," said Crann, "and if for any reason we should become separated..." Collun opened his mouth to protest, but Crann spoke quickly. "I do not foresee that happening, but humor me just the same."

  Collun took the map.

  Dawn was breaking by then, and the others awoke. After a hurried meal, they set out again. It was late in the afternoon when Brie rejoined them. She looked pale and exhausted.

  "Morgs," Brie said. "Four of them. They are about a half day's lag behind us."

  "No Scathians?" asked the wizard.

  "Just morgs, and they are traveling at a leisurely pace."

  Crann looked thoughtful. "Either they wait for reinforcements, or they have orders merely to follow us." He paused. "Morgs shun daylight. Unless these four are unusual, they will rest during the day and travel by night. I suggest we do the same so there can be no surprise attacks."

  And that became the pattern of their northward journey—sleeping during the day and riding all night. Collun found he could not easily adjust to this.

  He did, however, grow increasingly comfortable riding Fiain. They began to develop the wordless communication Ebba had spoken of, until at times Collun felt he understood Fiain's thoughts. And it was clear the Ellyl horse knew his, for only rarely did he need to guide Fiain with pressure from his knees.

  Most often he and Fiain rode alongside Crann, while Gwynedd and Brie rode together at the front. Talisen brought up the rear, singing snatches of the songs he was composing.

  Close to dawn on the fourth day of the journey, they crossed a stream that Crann identified as Trout Beck. They made camp not far from the stream, and the dawn meal consisted of fresh trout flavored with peppergrass. As they ate, Crann asked Talisen if he knew any songs of the Cailleach Beara, the Old Woman of Beara.

  "I know one, but it is no favorite of mine," Talisen replied. "It is all about old age and loneliness. Although I do like the bit about the well," he added with a smile.

  "Who is the Old Woman of Beara?" asked Collun.

  "An old friend," said Crann, and his face held a softness Collun had not seen there before. "She was once well-known in Eirren. And at one time she lived near Trout Beck. Beara planted that apple orchard." The wizard gestured toward the beginning of a grove that stretched out of sight.

  "You knew the Hag?" asked Talisen in some disbelief.

  Crann smiled. "She was not called so when I knew her."

  "Does she still live?"

  The wizard nodded. "Though I lost track of her many, many years ago. In truth, she cannot die."

  "She is immortal?"

  "Not exactly, but she found a way of renewing herself. I never learned how. But there is a very old spell that enables a person to take his life out of his body and put it into a separate vessel. As long as that vessel remains safe, the person will live. I have long wondered if Beara found that spell. Her magic was powerful enough. Come, Talisen, let us hear your song of Beara. I am in the mood for memories."

  Talisen wiped his fingers clean and took up his harp. The song was indeed sad, telling of all the lifetimes the Old Woman of Beara had lived through; the husbands she had watched grow old and die, one after the other; the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren she had long ago buried and forgotten. Talisen paused.

  "I told you it was gloomy," he said. "But here's the part about the well.

  "Nine hazel trees spread their branches wide;

  In clear water spotted salmon glide.

  Past, present, and future to reveal,

  When Beara the secrets will unseal."

  Talisen broke off. "Is there indeed such a well, Crann?"

  "There was," said Crann.

  "What were its powers?"

  "It revealed what was to come and what had already been. It could find that which was lost. It healed injuries. But it could also be very dangerous, if used improperly."

  "Does the well still exist?" asked Talisen.

  "I do not know. I heard long ago it had run dry. Now let us get some rest."

  At first Collun slept deeply, but then he awoke and could not get back to sleep. The sky was overcast, obscuring the sun, but because it was daytime Collun could not shake his restlessness.

  He got to his feet and stretched. His eyes fell on the apple orchard. He wondered if there were still good apples to be found. He took along an empty pack and headed for the grove.

  There were hundreds of apples on the ground; many were rotten, but Collun found a few edible ones. He began to fill the pack, letting his thoughts drift. Nessa had had a great love of apples, especially roasted and slathered in butter, honey, and cinnamon. These apples were the kind that tasted best roasted.

  At the foot of a tree Collun spotted a clump of comfrey. He remembered he was low on the herb and bent to pick some, when he suddenly heard a bird call out, "Peewit, peewit!" It was a cry of distress. He quickly turned, scanning the area. He saw a fluttering motion on the ground ten paces away. He moved toward the bird. It hopped away. Collun took another few steps and it hopped farther away from him. He tried to speak to it in soothing tones, but the bird kept moving out of his reach.

  It was a bronze-green bird with a black throat and underbelly. It held its wing at an awkward angle, and Collun was afraid it was broken.

  Collun was slightly out of breath from chasing the injured bird. He paused. He could not identify it. Its belly and "peewit" reminded him of the lapwing, but lapwings did not have golden eye markings.

  Lapwing. A memory stirred in Collun. The deceitful lapwing. He suddenly laughed out loud.

  The bird was a lapwing, a different species than the ones in Inkberrow perhaps, but like its southern relative it had been leading Collun on a merry chase. When he was young, he and T
alisen had made a sport of finding and robbing birds' nests. They had never been able to find the lapwing's nest, until they had caught on to its tricks. The lapwing was a master of deception. It would feign injury to lure intruders away from its nest.

  The lapwing must have realized Collun was on to him, for it suddenly flew up into the apple trees, its wing showing no sign of injury, and disappeared.

  Collun retraced his steps, a grin on his face. Some fresh eggs for the evening meal would be a welcome treat. At first he doubted he'd be able to find where he'd been before the lapwing drew him away, but then he remembered the comfrey.

  Sure enough, he spotted a nest in the tree right beside the one with the comfrey under it. After filling his wallet with comfrey, Collun shimmied up the trunk and took three of the six eggs, leaving some for the lapwing.

  Nestled in among the eggs was a small apple. Collun idly wondered how it had gotten there, and because it was so perfect in shape and was a rich golden color, he pocketed the apple as well.

  Once he was back on the ground he gazed up at the sky. Sunset was still far off. Yet he did not feel sleepy. He walked slowly among the apple trees, thinking again of Nessa. Eventually the orchard ended, and he emerged into a copse of trees. Spotting a slab of smooth rock in the midst of it, he sat down, removing Nessa's small book from his jersey pocket. He ran his fingers over the simple design tooled in the leather cover. Despite the fact they were being pursued by morgs and still did not know where Nessa was, Collun felt the first stirrings of optimism since leaving Aonarach. He knew it was because of Crann.

  He replaced the book in his pocket and took a draught of water from his skin bag. Some of it dribbled onto the stone under him. The water quickly seeped into grooves on the surface. Collun peered more closely and saw there was something carved into the rock. It was lettering in the old language.

  He suddenly experienced an odd feeling of breathlessness; a hushed expectant sensation he could not account for.