Fire Arrow

  Brie dozed.

  She woke to a raucous barking noise. Fara let out a long sibilant hiss.

  "Dyfod, Jip!" commanded a distant voice.

  There was another torrent of barking. Fara stood beside Brie, her back arched high, her tail swollen with outrage.

  "Easy, Fara," Brie whispered. She was too weak to sit up.

  "Dyfod!" called the voice, impatient and still far away.

  Brie tried to cry out, but her lips were cracked and dry and she could barely move them.

  The voice continued to speak, but it seemed to be moving away. Tears of frustration pricked Brie's eyes. She struggled against her weakness.

  But the dog kept coming toward Brie. It got as close as Fara would allow and, planting its legs stubbornly, continued to bark, loudly and persistently. Fara's eyes were slits and she looked ready to hurl herself onto the large brown-and-white dog. "No, Fara," Brie whispered.

  Then Brie heard footsteps moving toward her. Abruptly they stopped, and Brie could see the outline of a person standing over her. It appeared to be a woman, though a tall one.

  Brie felt a dry, cold hand on her forehead. "Poeth," said the voice tersely. Strong fingers gently probed her leg. Brie groaned. Suddenly she was being hoisted onto a strong back.

  EIGHT

  The Havotty

  The next thing Brie was aware of was lying on straw. A firm hand held up her head, and warm liquid was ladled into her mouth. She managed to swallow a little, then fell back.

  She was so cold, shivering until her jaw ached from chattering. Then she was hot, burning up, and trying to rip all the coverings off her body. Throughout, the woman was near, often speaking to her in a matter-of-fact way that, though Brie could not understand the words, was oddly reassuring. The woman's face was a blur, but her voice was sturdy, like a well-built home.

  Fara stayed at Brie's shoulder, occasionally hissing at one or another of two dogs when they came too close.

  Brie was in and out of consciousness. Once, she was aware of the woman resetting her leg.

  That was the only time Brie screamed.

  ***

  Brie woke to the smell of cooking. It was just past dawn. A black cooking pot hung from a chain over a hearth fire. The woman was dozing in a chair beside the hearth, an open book facedown in her lap. The brown-and-white dog slept at her feet, the other, ebony with gray markings, slept on the flagstones of the hearth. Fara, too, lay asleep at Brie's hip.

  Brie studied the woman's face. It was a strong face, roughened by weather and framed by short thick hair the gray of a campfire burned to ashes. The woman wore long brown trousers and a bulky knit jersey. Her body looked strong, too, lean and muscular.

  They were in a stone hut, unfurnished save for the rough wooden chair on which the woman sat and the two primitive beds made of straw on either side of the hearth.

  Brie put her hand to her cheek. It was cool to the touch, but she felt frail, her limbs inert, lifeless. She reached down to pull off the quilt that lay over her leg and the effort made her head spin. Fara awoke and stretched, flexing her claws.

  Brie looked at her leg dispassionately. It had been carefully, even expertly, set and throbbed only a little when she tried to move it.

  "It will heal straight," came a voice. Brie looked over at the woman, who was now awake. Her eyes were the same light gray as her hair. They revealed little.

  "Thank you," said Brie. There was a brief silence. Then Brie asked, "You know the language of Eirren?"

  The woman nodded. "During the fever you spoke. I recognized the tongue." Then she picked up a small clay pipe and, tamping its contents down with a broad thumb, lit it. "Hungry?"

  Brie realized suddenly that she was very hungry. "Yes."

  The woman drew on her pipe and exhaled a stream of perfect circles. Then she rose and crossed to a pot on the hearth. The dogs rose, too, tails wagging. When the woman lifted the lid, the smell of simmering oat porridge made Brie's stomach rumble.

  The woman handed Brie a half-full bowl.

  "Don't eat fast. Your stomach hasn't had much in it except broth these past seven days," she warned.

  "Seven days?!" Brie stared at the woman.

  "You had a bad fever. Almost took you, but I guess you're stubborn, like me."

  Brie gave a thin smile, then took a spoonful of the porridge. It was hot and delicious. Brie gazed at the woman. A beam of early morning sunlight came in the window, and Brie saw that the woman's eyes were blue, not gray.

  "What is your name?" asked Brie.

  "Hanna."

  The woman spoke Eirrenian with an accent, a Dungalan accent, which made the words sound more interesting, even musical. Rilla had spoken with the same sort of burr.

  "I am called Brie."

  The woman frowned, then said Brie's name, but in her mouth it sounded like "Biri."

  "No, it's Brie," the girl repeated.

  "Biri," the older woman said again. She shrugged. "I shall call you Biri," she said.

  They sat for a time in silence while Brie ate small bites of porridge. Then the woman said, "I saw a dead goat-man, not far from where I found you. Did you kill him?"

  "Yes."

  "With what?"

  "An arrow."

  The woman arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.

  Brie thought of the split, burnt chest of the dead creature. Fara rubbed against Brie's shoulder and the girl absently fed the animal a fingerful of porridge, then another. Hanna watched.

  "This is a faol? One of the Ellyl animals?" she asked.

  "Yes."

  "I had not known they could be tamed."

  Fara's eyes went into slits, and she fastidiously began cleaning her whiskers of porridge.

  "Fara is not tame. Is this your home?" asked Brie, to change the subject.

  The woman shook her head. "This is a havotty. It is where we bring the sheep in the summer, to graze the flocks in the foothills."

  "You are a shepherd?"

  "No, a Traveler."

  Brie gave a questioning look.

  "A Traveler is a sort of gypsy, one with no set home. I range throughout Dungal, sheepherding in the summer, harvesting in the fall, and," she added with a slight smile, "during the dark months I am a teller of tales."

  "I see." Her stomach comfortably full, Brie set the bowl down, and Fara licked it clean of porridge. "By chance, have you seen a man come out of the mountains, a ragged man with a bad leg?" Brie asked.

  "I did see such a man, perhaps three days ago. It was from a distance. I noticed him because he was the first to come through in a long time. Except for a few goat-men. I expected him to stop for food or water, frail as he looked. But he did not. He was headed north."

  "Toward Bog Maglu?"

  Hanna arched her eyebrow again. "That direction, yes."

  "How far a journey is it to Bog Maglu?" asked Brie.

  "A distance. More than a week by horse."

  "I see. And to Ardara from there?"

  "The same, more or less. You go to Ardara?"

  "Perhaps. I bear ill news for one who lives there."

  "Who?"

  "A fisherman named Jacan."

  "I know Jacan. What news?"

  "His daughter Rilla is dead. Killed by goat-men."

  Hanna's face darkened. "This is ill news indeed." She refilled her pipe. "I have seen bands of gabha. Have even lost a sheep or two, and I thought it might be them. But I have not heard of them attacking people." She lit the tobacco with a worried frown. "There has been a mist over the stars to the north. I knew it boded ill for Dungal."

  The older woman's eyes suddenly turned dark, almost black. Brie stared. "Are you a wyll?" she blurted out.

  Hanna turned her black eyes toward Brie and gave a short laugh. "Not exactly, no," she said shortly. "Why do you ask about Bog Maglu?"

  "I seek to go there."

  "No one seeks to go to the bog."

  "I am on the trail of a killer. More than one, I hope."

  "This
man you follow?"

  Brie explained as briefly as she could about the traitor Bricriu and her belief he would lead to her father's killers.

  Hanna's eyes seemed to grow darker yet as she listened. But she said nothing for a time. Then she rose and crossed to the hearth.

  "At any rate, you will not be able to travel anywhere, not for a time."

  She scraped what remained in the porridge pot into two rough wooden plates and set them on the floor for the two dogs.

  ***

  Brie stayed at the havotty while she regained her strength. Hanna was gone a fair amount, moving the flocks around the grazing land of the foothills, accompanied by Jip and Maor, the Dungalan sheepdogs. But when she was at the havotty there was an ease between Brie and Hanna, almost a recognition, and a friendship grew between them. Hanna was taciturn, even gruff at times, but she had an active, seeking mind. She loved books, though her wandering life kept her from owning them. But she always took one book with her when she came out to the havotty at the beginning of the summer. By the end of the summer she had the book memorized. Consequently there were dozens of books, she said, in her mind that she could call up at will. These book stories were only a small part of the repertoire of stories Hanna held inside her; there were innumerable oral histories and tales picked up from all the places in Dungal to which she had traveled. There was a great demand for Travelers such as Hanna during the dark months, when the nights were long and much of the time was spent indoors.

  Hanna asked Brie many questions about herself, and about Eirren. She was curious about Brie's great-grandmother, Seila, though Brie could tell her little.

  In turn Brie asked Hanna about Dungal. She had a deep curiosity about the small kingdom so close to Eirren, yet so apart from it and so unknown. If her great-grandmother was from here, it meant that Brie herself perhaps had Dungalan blood.

  Brie asked Hanna how she knew the Eirrenian language so well, and if this was true of all Dungalans. Hanna shook her head. "Travelers often do," she said, but did not elaborate.

  "Would you teach me Dungalan?" Brie asked.

  "If you wish."

  And as they roasted meat or cut vegetables or baked bread together, Hanna began to teach Brie to speak Dungalan.

  Hanna was a gifted wood-carver, something she did to pass the time while watching over the sheep. She fashioned a crutch for Brie, sturdy and quite beautiful, with the semblance of an ivy vine climbing the stem.

  ***

  One morning while Hanna was out, Brie retrieved her quiver from the corner of the havotty where Hanna had placed it. Gingerly she removed the fire arrow. She had not looked at it since yanking it out of the goat-man, and there were still traces of charred skin and blood on it. Again she remembered the goat-man's chest splitting open and the smell and the flames.

  The arrow felt cool and dull in her fingers, almost as if reproaching her for neglecting it so long. She carried it outside with a bowl of soapy water and a clean rag. As she washed away the blood and hair, the arrow, very faintly, began to hum against her fingers. Brie smiled. "You're welcome," she said, then looked around in embarrassment. Only Fara was nearby, lying in the sun with her eyes shut.

  When the arrow was clean, Brie gazed closely at the picture bands. She found that by squinting she could just make out the one she had seen in the mountains, the one that had unraveled, showing the girl child with yellow hair and the seawall. But the rest were just as blurred as before.

  "You're a fickle one, aren't you?" she said in a teasing voice.

  "Talking to arrows now, eh?" Hanna said, crossing to Brie, her dogs at her heels and a bleating lamb in her arms.

  Brie flushed slightly but retorted with a smile, "And this, coming from one who spends her days conversing with dogs and sheep..."

  "That's a Dungalan arrow, isn't it?" Hanna said, setting down the lamb. She lifted one of its back legs and began to pry out a small stone that had lodged in the hoof.

  "So I've been told."

  "It wouldn't be the one killed the goat-man, would it?" Hanna said, glancing up from her task.

  "It is."

  The stone popped out and the lamb struggled out of Hanna's arms, bleating furiously. Jip quickly herded it back in the direction of the flock.

  Hanna sat back on her heels. "May I?" she said, holding out her hand.

  Without hesitating, Brie handed her the arrow.

  "As I thought. Saeth-tan. Fire arrow," the older woman said softly.

  Brie started, hearing Hanna say the name she herself had been calling the arrow. "What is a fire arrow?" she asked.

  "Rare thing, never seen one myself, except a picture drawn in a book. Goldenhawk fletching, story bands, and the arrowhead made of black flint. How did you come to acquire a fire arrow?"

  Brie explained about the wedding gift and Masha's last words. "The man I followed here sought to steal it from me."

  "I shouldn't wonder. Fire arrows are extremely powerful."

  Brie smiled wryly. "Indeed. And I've had the blistered fingers to show for it."

  "Pardon me, Biri, but if all you've suffered are blistered fingers then either you are extraordinarily lucky or you yourself have something of draoicht in you."

  Brie shook her head decisively. "I spoke of this with the wyll Aelwyn. I have no magic."

  "No? You travel with an Ellyl animal; most would find that unusual."

  "Fara and I are old friends."

  "Perhaps the Dungalan Seila was a wyll, or had Ellyl blood."

  Brie suddenly remembered the hatred her father had for Ellylon. Perhaps this was why he had disliked Seila so.

  She said absently, "I thought I saw her in the mountains, when I lay near death. Her voice kept me alive. And she found the arrow for me when I thought it was lost. But she did not have silver eyes. At any rate, I have no draoicht." Brie's tone was final, signaling an end to the discussion.

  ***

  Later that day, when Hanna had gone off with the dogs to check on the flock, Brie set about making a cord out of an old piece of leather Hanna had found for her. She had decided to string Rilla's panner and wear it as a necklace.

  When she had finished whittling a hole at the top of the small disc, Brie stared at the image of the arrow. Were all the women of Dungal possessed of magic powers? she suddenly wondered. And if Brie's great-grandmother had indeed been some kind of wyll, then perhaps Brie herself did have a trace of draoicht thrumming along in her veins. The thought made her uneasy.

  She slid the homemade necklace over her head, and the panner settled against her chest as if it belonged there.

  ***

  On her eleventh day at the havotty, though she was still weak and her leg ached, Brie grew restless, frustrated by the forced inactivity. She decided to hike up to Simla's Tor, where Hanna had taken the sheep for the day.

  Fara stalked along beside Brie, occasionally loping off to chase down an unsuspecting squirrel. The sun was warm on Brie's hair, and at first she felt good, glad to be doing something and pleased that her strength seemed to be coming back. She would be able to continue her journey soon.

  But as the morning wore on, the uphill walk grew more difficult and she began to falter, leaning more and more heavily on the crutch Hanna had made. By the time she reached the tor, her breathing was labored and her face pale and clammy.

  "That was a fool thing to do, to come so far," Hanna said, frowning at Brie, who had settled thankfully on a large, flat rock. The dog Jip bounded up to greet Brie, then backed away when he saw the faol. Fara had not yet decided to trust the two sheepdogs.

  "I needed the exercise," Brie gasped.

  Hanna only snorted. "Where's your skin bag?"

  Brie felt at her side. "I forgot it," the girl replied shamefacedly.

  "Here," Hanna said gruffly, thrusting her own at Brie. "Now, drink. And stay put."

  The older woman moved away, shouting at Maor, who was enthusiastically redirecting a large sheep that had strayed too near an incline.

&nbsp
; Brie made herself comfortable on her rock and watched Hanna and the two dogs move among the longhaired, black-faced mountain sheep. Like Brie, the animals seemed restless. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of barking, bleating, and Hanna's calling voice as they blended and wafted back to her on the warm wind. Brie dozed.

  She woke to a flash of light. Confused, she gazed around. The sky had darkened and small splinters of lightning danced among the looming clouds. But there were only faint rumblings of thunder and no rain. Brie could not see Hanna or the dogs.

  All of a sudden a small shaft of lightning knifed the air not twenty feet from Brie. She let out a cry and had started to her feet when another crackling dagger of light struck the ground on her other side. Startled, Brie was knocked off balance and she fell, landing on her injured leg. The jolt of pain stunned her and she rolled into a ball, cradling her leg with her arms.

  Hanna appeared, at a run, and leaned over Brie. Flashes of white light continued to dance about them.

  "Blasted summer storms," Hanna growled. "Can you walk?"

  Brie nodded, but it was a struggle just to sit upright. All the sheep seemed to be bleating at once, making a deafening noise.

  ■ "Uffern!" Hanna exclaimed. Brie recognized the word as a particularly potent Dungalan expletive Hanna had taught her. The older woman's eyes were the color of the gray-black clouds above.

  Brie tried to get to her feet. Suddenly Hanna put a restraining hand on Brie's shoulder, holding her in place. Then she closed her eyes and, standing very still, began to move her lips, though no sound emerged.

  The flashes of lightning abruptly disappeared and, with an astonishing swiftness, the gray-black clouds rolled across the sky, fading in the distance and leaving bright blue skies in their wake.

  NINE

  Bog Maglu

  Hanna opened her eyes. They were now mirror images of the sky, brilliant blue. Her face, though, was drawn and etched with pain. She lowered herself into a sitting position on the flat rock.