"I'm sorry," Brie said awkwardly, wishing she had never brought the panner to Hyslin's attention.
"No, I'm fine. In truth, I am glad to be thinking of Rilla on my binding day." Hyslin smiled. She quickly pinned a gillyflower behind each of Brie's ears and told her to leave her hair as it was; in Dungal, she said, unmarried maidens wore their hair loose on wedding days.
The food and drink had been conveyed in many trips to the Storm Petrel over the past few days. The night before, the children of the village had gathered cannyll-pryf, or candle flies, which came to Ardara when the weather began to warm. They captured them in clay pots with loosely woven linen tied over the top. These pots had been carefully stowed in the hold of each fishing boat.
By the time the sun was directly overhead, the fishing fleet of Ardara, with most of the village aboard, had arrayed itself in a wide circle in the center of the bay. Their sails were furled, and each boat had sent ribboned nosegays of crocus, bluebells, and silla up the mast. The boats were lashed very closely together, and the anchors were lowered. From her place on the starboard side of the Storm Petrel, Brie could see Lom's boat bobbing on the water several boats down, with Lom and his parents and several others on board.
Sago stood by the mast of Jacan's boat. He looked more ethereal than ever in his ceremonial singing robe, a long white garment decorated with sparkling, beaded pictures of fish, dolphins, and whales that glittered in the midday sun.
Earlier that morning, as they had set bottles of wine into the hold of the Storm Petrel, Jacan had muttered to Brie that he hoped the Sea Dyak sorcerer would not forget what he was about and break into one of his nonsense songs instead of the song of binding. But when the time came, Sago gently and clearly led the couple through the words of union. And he sang the song of binding, the cwl cano, with great solemnity.
The sorcerer's voice filled the bay—an astonishing, bursting sound from such a frail source, thought Brie—accompanied by the sound of waves slapping against the boats' hulls.
Brie watched the serious, radiant faces of the two young people as Sago wove their fingers together to form the symbolic rhwyd, or fishing net. This lacing of hands, Ferg whispered to Brie, would ensure bounty and joy in the years to come.
When the song finally died on Sago's lips, a pair of fiddlers standing on the stern of the Storm Petrel began to play a lively air, and Gwil joyfully gathered Hyslin in his arms. He danced her across the deck of the Storm Petrel and back again. Hyslin's eyes were as bright as the sunlight glittering on the waves. Musicians on the other boats took up the melody, and the fisherfolk began stamping their feet and clapping their hands in rhythm with the dancing couple.
Suddenly Gwil danced Hyslin to the starboard side of the Storm Petrel and, twirling her feet up into the air, he tossed his bride across the water to the next boat in the circle. She was deftly caught by the sturdy bearded fisherman whose boat it was, and he in turn danced Hyslin across the deck of his fishing boat. After their brief dance, the bearded fisherman tossed Hyslin to the next boat in the circle. And on and on, until Hyslin had danced on each boat and come full circle to the Storm Petrel.
Ferg told Brie this, too, was an old custom, and that it bestowed good fortune to have a newly married woman dance on the deck of your fishing boat. He made Brie laugh by telling her a story about one year when a bride, whose girth was twice that of her husband's, had wound up in the sea when one fisherman had bobbled the toss from deck to deck. It was said that that particular fisherman had a very poor yield of fish that year.
By the time Hyslin had completed the circle her legs were wobbly, but her smile was no less radiant, and she returned to Gwil's arms for more dancing.
Thereupon all commenced to dance, and before she had time to figure out how he'd gotten from his boat to the Storm Petrel, Brie found Lom at her side. Without a word he swept her into his arms and they were dancing.
FOURTEEN
The Bell Tower
For a moment Brie panicked, her legs feeling as stiff and unbending as the legs of an oystercatcher. But her feet somehow found the rhythm of the music and she relaxed. Brie closed her eyes, a smile curving her lips. She was dancing.
Brie and Lom danced until the setting sun turned the sky orange, then purple, then a dark, deep blue. Just before the sun went down, Brie looked up to see Sago standing at the mast, gazing at her as she danced.
Then, on an impulse, Brie looked Lom full in the face and for the first time saw his true feelings for her. She did not look away.
Lom was a kind man. Perhaps Hela could be their fishing boat, together. And perhaps she need not ever dream of yellow birds and bell towers again. Brie's feet spun and twirled and flew over the wooden deck.
It was dark now and the music slowed. The children ran for their jars of candle flies. The dancers moved forward, lining the rails of the boats. As a lone harper played, the children let loose the cannyll-pryf. Hundreds of the insects scattered, flying upward. They glowed like golden pearls hanging in the air, their lights pulsing on and off.
As Brie and Lom watched the candle flies dance in the night sky, Lom's large, warm hand enfolded Brie's, and she left it there. She was unaware of the knowing glances and the whispers that went around the circle of boats.
Brie loosed her hand from Lom's only when Hyslin appeared before her, bearing the arrow of binding. Brie gazed at it. Where the arrowhead would have been was the skeleton of a fish head, and the fletching had been worked in sea roses, with ribbons trailing from the ends.
Jacan brought Brie her bow from the hold, and she stood at the very tip of the prow. She nocked the ribboned, flowered arrow to her string. Fara, who had disappeared during the dancing, materialized suddenly at Brie's side. Brie glanced down at the sleek, wet head of the faol and smiled. Then she let fly. The arrow soared through the pulsing lights of the cannyll-pryf and cleaved the water almost directly in the center of the circle formed by the fishing boats.
As a cheer went up from the fisherfolk, Brie remembered Rilla's panner. An arrow flying over the water. Perhaps Hyslin was right, Brie thought. She plucked the panner from the bodice of her dress and peered at it. In the flickering light of the torches, she saw that what she had taken for the fire arrow might easily be the arrow from the binding ceremony, with candle flies flickering around it.
Brie closed her fingers around the panner. A candle fly brushed her cheek.
The music started up again and there was more dancing. Brie danced with Ferg and Jacan and a few of the other fishermen, but mostly she danced with Lom. Gradually, though, the ropes between boats were untied, and one by one the fishing boats began making their way back to shore. Snatches of song and laughter could be heard floating over the water.
Hyslin and Gwil departed in a small horse-drawn cart gaily decorated with seaweed, flowers, and ribbons. It took them to their new home, a cottage on Gwil's father's farmhold.
Brie stood with Lom on the shore watching the last few flickering candle flies and listening to the sounds of a fiddle coming from the few boats still anchored in the bay.
Lom turned to Brie with an earnest expression. "Biri, I—"
"Lom!" Lotte's voice came, sharp and nervous. She and Farmer Garmon rode up in their curricle. "Come, quickly."
"What is it?"
"Your father and I would speak with you," Lotte said loudly. Brie caught a glimpse of Farmer Garmon's face in the moonlight. He looked uncomfortable, his eyes fixed on the horse's reins.
Lom hesitated.
"It's news from your sister in Dungloe," Farmer Garmon said reluctantly after a nudge from Lotte.
"But cannot Biri...," Lom began.
"Go on, Lorn," said Brie. "I will meet you in the morning.
Reluctantly Lorn swung himself into the back of his parents' curricle and was soon out of sight.
Brie made her way home, Fara gliding alongside. Brie found herself humming a melody she had danced to on the Storm Petrel. When she arrived at the hut, she poured Fara a bowl of milk, t
hen took out the fire arrow and sat on her pallet, still wearing the green dress. She held the arrow loosely in her hands. There was something different about the humming on her fingers tonight. It was urgent, like Lotte's voice through the darkness.
"What is it?" she said softly.
And suddenly she saw Sago. He lay on the beach, face-up, waves foaming around his spindly legs. His singing robe was crumpled, crusted with sand, and his eyes were closed.
Brie dropped the arrow, frightened. She had not been asleep or dreaming, and yet it was like one of her dreams. Could it be true? Was Sago hurt? She tried to remember when she had seen him last. She thought she remembered seeing him leave on his boat, Gor-gwynt, soon after Brie had shot the arrow of binding. Brie blinked. Her eyesight was blurred and her eyelids felt heated. Fara licked her hand. It took several minutes for her sight to clear.
Brie ran most of the way to Sago's mote, Fara alongside her. When the water came in sight, Brie spotted a small boat making its way north. She recognized the markings on the sail as those belonging to a fisherman who was one of the innkeeper's cronies. She did not remember seeing him or the innkeeper at the binding ceremony. Then the moon came out from behind some clouds, and Brie could make out three men in the boat: The innkeeper and the fisherman, and the third looked like the Traveler with the red lips. Almost reflexively Brie ducked into the cover of some bushes. Soon the boat rounded a bend and was out of sight.
When Brie arrived at Sago's mote, she found it deserted. She thought things looked out of place, but it was hard to tell in all the clutter. The seabirds were quiet up in their aerie. Brie went out onto the beach. The moon was obscured by a thick layer of clouds. She looked both ways down the coast, but could see little.
She went back into Sago's mote for a lantern. She lit it and began to run down the coast, Fara still at her side.
Brie ran and ran, slowing occasionally to catch her breath. A mist of rain started falling, growing heavier as she went. She told herself she was a fool, running on a wet night along the coast because of a briefly glimpsed picture in her head. Her green dress was soaked and slapped against her legs. She had not even stopped to put on her boots, and the thin leather dancing slippers grew sodden and slipped on her feet. Finally she kicked them off.
She and Fara had been running steadily for a long time when Brie spotted something white and shining on the shoreline. Fara reached it first.
It was Sago. As in Brie's vision, he lay on his back, but now the waves Were washing up over his shoulders. When they receded, Brie could see his legs like two pale bones sticking out from under his crumpled, waterlogged singing robe. Rain pelted his exposed face and limbs. For a moment she thought he was dead, but as she came up alongside him, she saw his eyes were open. They blinked. Fara let out a sound and a large wave came and crashed over them, knocking Brie off balance. The undertow was pulling Sago to the sea, but Brie grabbed one of his arms and pulled him onto dry sand.
She crouched next to him, peering anxiously at his wet, pale face. Fara made another low sound, and Sago blinked again. He attempted to whisper something through barely moving, cracked lips.
Brie saw that one of his hands was swollen to almost twice its normal size and was an ugly purple-yellow color.
"A stonefish. In my amhantar."
Brie could see Sago's amhantar nearby, its contents spilled out on the sand. The stonefish, dead, lay faceup, its flat staring eyes gazing at nothing.
"How did it happen?" Brie asked.
"Back at the mote. A visitor, a villager put it there. Afterward, they brought me here, in a boat." The whispery voice paused, then resumed. "Rig a jig, jig; three men in a gig." His cracked lips curved into something that was meant to be a smile.
Brie remembered the boat she had seen. Then she hurriedly put her hands at Sago's armpits and lifted. He weighed little more than a small child. Indeed, most of the weight came from his sodden singing robe. Carefully Brie cradled him in her arms, carrying him like a baby, and began the long walk back to the mote through the rain.
When they arrived, she laid Sago on his pallet while Fara settled in a wet mass by the door. Numbly Brie followed Sago's whispered instructions, peeling the wet robe off him, rubbing his gaunt body with dry cloths, and covering him with blankets. Then she brewed a broth, using ingredients from jars Sago indicated. She poured the sour-smelling liquid into a shallow cup and held it to the sorcerer's lips. He drank and then closed his eyes. Exhausted, Brie sank down on the floor next to his pallet and slept.
She woke, sneezing. Her clothing stuck to her skin and her hair was still damp. Amazingly, a ragged piece of gillyflower was still pinned behind one ear. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had danced with Lom on the deck of the Storm Petrel, a flower behind each ear. She looked up to see Sago sitting on his pallet, smiling. His fingers were weaving something small out of strands of a red-orange seaweed called carragheen.
"Dry clothes are in the chest there," Sago said, his voice no longer a whisper.
Brie stood, her limbs stiff and aching. When Sago lay back again, his fingers still wove the seaweed, but he closed his eyes. Brie stripped off the green dress, now clammy and discolored with seawater, and put on a pale blue tunic that was soft to the skin but too long for her.
"Shall I make more of the healing drink?" she asked.
Sago shook his head. "It is time for you to leave Ardara."
"And go where?" she asked dryly.
Sago grinned. "Kesca too fay, kesca too fee, which is the way to go to sea?"
"What if I don't go?" Brie asked, sighing.
"Many will die," Sago answered calmly.
Brie drew in a sharp breath. "Why? What is it you know, Sago?"
"He knew a little, he knew a lot, he knew enough to stir the pot," the sorcerer responded, his expression birdlike, alert.
"Stop it!" Brie said loudly. "Enough of riddling. What villager put the stonefish in your amhantar?"
"The innkeeper, with the help of his friends. Rig a jig, jig..." Sago's eyes were still bright, but he had answered solemnly enough.
"Why?" Brie cut him off.
"They serve a dark master."
"Who?"
"Go," Sago said, suddenly severe. "There is little time. And none at all for good-byes."
"You speak of Lom."
Sago nodded.
Reluctantly Brie stood.
"Here..." The sorcerer held up the thing he had been making with his fingers. "It is a travel charm. To put in your boot, near the anklebone."
Brie took the charm and crossed the room. After all the dancing she had done, the long run along the coast, and the walk back carrying Sago, her legs felt as substantial as a pair of feathers, and her knees gave way for a moment. She had to grasp a chair to steady herself. Shaking her head, Brie whispered, "I cannot."
Sago said nothing.
Straightening, Brie forced her feather legs to move, one foot in front of the other. She looked back at the gaunt, pearl-colored face, the fey smile of the Sea Dyak sorcerer. Tears came unbidden to her eyes. Blinking them back, she whispered, "Farewell, Sago." And quickly she left the mote, Fara at her heels.
***
Dawn was just breaking as Brie passed the harbor. She caught sight of the Storm Petrel pulled up on the sand. No one appeared to be about, but she kept in the shadows, not wishing to be seen. As she moved away from the harbor, up the cobbled streets, Brie suddenly remembered standing barefoot on the sun-warmed planks of the Storm Petrel's deck, sea wind on her face. With a certainty that bewildered her, she knew she would never sail on the sturdy fishing ketch again. This time the tears fell unchecked, hot and wet, mingling with the rain on her face.
***
After a brief stop at the hut behind Jacan's house to change clothes and gather her belongings, Brie made her way through the streets of Ardara. She had seen no sign of Jacan or Ferg, and there was something different about the village this morning. Something unsettled, nervous. The villagers she saw walked with jerky
movements, their faces shuttered, voices hushed.
She spotted a fisherman she knew hurrying along. "Is something amiss?" she asked after exchanging greetings.
"Aye. Been an attack down by shore. Old Ewsko and his son, both dead. Some kind of killer fish they're saying."
"Sumog!"
The fisherman looked at her sideways. "Mayhap. Some have gone down to the mote, but the sorcerer be half asleep, singing his nonsense songs." He soon hurried off.
Brie stood, irresolute. Perhaps she ought to stay, help the villagers somehow with the sumog. But Sago had told her it was time for her to go, and somehow she knew it to be true.
***
She stopped that night to make camp. As she lay on the ground, sleep eluding her, a bone-chilling loneliness overcame her. She rolled onto her back and, looking up at the sky, found the star pattern Casiope. She could hear Lom's voice, telling the story of Hela; then it mingled with Collun's, "The archer Casiope ... the arrow that doubles back..." Brie found herself reaching for the fire arrow. It was pleasantly warm to the touch. She closed her eyes and there, etched on the dark canvas of her eyelids, was the bell tower, the one she had dreamed before. She held very still, straining to make out the details; she thought she could just make out a figure standing beside the bell tower. Then the image faded.
Brie opened her eyes and, though she could not see, she sat up. The bell tower. That was where she journeyed.
***
The next morning, fording an ice-cold river, Brie thought that it was all very well to know you wanted to get to a certain bell tower, but it wasn't much good if you hadn't the least idea where the bell tower was. Or what awaited you there.
So Brie continued to head north. Sago's travel charm, lodged firmly inside her boot, seemed to make her feet ache less at the end of a long day's tramp. Fara, as always, was tireless, bounding along at the same pace at the end of the day as at the beginning, occasionally vanishing for short periods of time to reappear with a well-fed, smug expression on her face.
Once Brie caught sight of a band of gabha in the distance, heading north like herself. They did not see her, but she veered east to stay well apart from them.