Flame of Sevenwaters

  Bear crept up to the platter, seized a sliver of chicken, padded back to his companion. He dropped the meat at Badger’s feet. A snatch, a gulp, and the morsel was gone. Scarcely one mouthful.

  “Bear. Come.” I pushed the platter a little farther in their direction, not turning.

  The silence drew out, punctuated only by the sleepy conversation of hens as they settled for the night, their coop now closed against the fox. It was all a bit upside down, I thought, staring pointedly away from the spot where someone was moving the platter around as if applying an enthusiastic tongue. Lock in the chickens over there and leave the fox hungry; share a chicken with hungry dogs over here. There was no right and wrong about it, only a choice about survival.

  “Well, then,” I murmured, “the two of you have fallen on your feet at last. You look as if you’re overdue for a bit of good luck.”

  The food was gone, the platter empty. Someone was lapping noisily from the water bowl. Not Bear; he had come to hunker down beside me, as close as he could get without quite touching. Badger lifted his dripping muzzle and lowered himself to sit. He was perhaps six paces away, his eyes always on the other dog. “Good, Bear. Good, Badger. You are safe here. As safe as you can be.”

  “Safe,” echoed Rhian from beyond the open door. As she spoke the dogs raised their heads in unison, but did not move. “Spoiled, she means. Where I grew up, the best the dogs got was a handful of fish guts thrown their way when the boats came in. And they had to fight for that. No lovely ladies coaxing them with tasty morsels of meat and bowls of rabbit stew. All I can say is, the two of you better be on your best manners when she lets you inside. I’m not sleeping with a pack of smelly, flea-ridden good-for-nothings. Catch a rat or two, and I might start to think you’re earning your keep.”

  “They’re still right near me,” I said. “And Bear’s letting me stroke him.”

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” said Rhian. “They feel it, the same as Swift does. The touch, or whatever it is you have. They know they can trust you. The question is, can you trust them not to take over the house and have the two of us running around after them?”

  “Bear’s already responding to my commands. Badger may be more difficult, but all he needs is time. As for flea-ridden, we’ll give them a bath before they come inside.”

  Rhian had come out onto the step, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Easy, Bear,” I murmured. Then, “What?” as I realized my handmaid had turned a particular expression on me. Our mutual understanding could occasionally be somewhat awkward.

  “You have a new look in your eye,” Rhian said, in uncanny echo of what I had felt on seeing her come in from her sojourn with Emrys. “A new brightness in your face. You look…happy.”

  “Is that so amazing?”

  “It is, that a little thing like a dog can bring such a change.”

  “It’s not the dog himself, though he is a fine creature. They both are. It’s that they are learning so quickly and that I may really be able to help them. Having a purpose makes me content, Rhian. That’s all it is.” She was right, of course. I had not felt such a surge of well-being since the days back at Harrowfield when Swift was young, and we began to discover what a remarkable creature we had on our hands. “Yes, all right, you’re remarkable, too,” I muttered in Bear’s ear. “And your friend, once he learns to trust me a bit more. Now I’m fetching you a couple of sacks, so you can sleep out here and guard the door. No coming in until you’ve had that bath.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Fallen leaves crunched under my shoes as I walked. Overhead, the green canopy still cast its shade, but that shade was less deep than before, with autumn’s touch loosening the summer garments of the oaks and setting shivers through birch and elder. The air was cool and crisp; I had a shawl tied around my shoulders.

  I had assured Rhian that I could manage quite well without her on the walk up to the keep, and that if I needed an escort on the way back I would ask for one. She didn’t like me to go off into the forest alone in case I should be faced with a challenge that required a functioning pair of hands. She imagined a pack of wolves, maybe, and the need to climb a tree with speed. Or a fall into a hole and a broken leg. Rhian also knew I valued my independence, so when I had said Bear and Badger were more than adequate as a safeguard, and that it was not as if this was an unfamiliar path or a walk by night, she had raised no arguments. Besides, though neither of us had mentioned it, Emrys would be at the nemetons later working with Swift, and he did rather like it when Rhian was there in person to give him his refreshments. If anyone was getting spoiled, maybe it was a certain love-struck groom.

  This was the first time I had taken the dogs to the keep with me, but we had been practicing against this possibility. They had walked halfway there and back again with me and Rhian several times now. They had learned to stay quiet and calm while Emrys or Donal worked with Swift in the field or on the tracks around the clearing. They had learned not to bark at the cows or the druids. As for sleeping arrangements, I had not been displaced from my bed as Rhian had anticipated. Bear would have slept inside readily, but Badger did not like to be in the cottage when the door was closed. When night fell and Rhian began to secure our abode with shutters and bolts, he always went out to lie on the old sacks beyond the door. Bear would generally cast a sad-eyed look in my direction as he followed, but he would not leave Badger on his own. I had never before seen a dog with eyes of such a remarkable color as Bear’s, a mellow, lustrous gold-brown. Against his black coat, now glossy with good care, they were striking indeed.

  There was no doubt in my mind that Bear had once been someone’s well-trained house dog, part guard, part companion, for he had swiftly learned the few commands I used: the little hiss that meant No, the instructions Come, Sit and Stay. Often he seemed to sense what I wanted from him without my needing to do anything at all. Badger was still wary. With the help of both Rhian and Emrys, and the employment of a tub of warm water and a mutton bone, I had managed to bathe him and check him closely. Quite plainly he’d been half-starved, for his ribs were prominent and his hip bones sharp, but I had found no signs of an injury. Both dogs had been infested with fleas. The application of certain herbs—rosemary, lavender, juniper—helped with that, and good feeding had begun to remedy their general condition, but Badger remained unsettled. Without Bear he could not have survived out in the woods; I was sure of it. Just over halfway to the keep, a narrow plank bridge crossed a fair-sized stream. We had not come so far before, and when they saw the bridge, both dogs hesitated, hanging back. I moved onto the planks, putting my arms out for balance, and walked briskly over. “Bear, come!” I called. “Badger, come!”

  Still they held back, and I cursed myself for not testing them with water; it had not occurred to me that a confident dog like Bear might be afraid of such an obstacle. Perhaps it was not the water itself, but a fear of standing on the insubstantial bridge, through whose cracks the swift stream beneath could be glimpsed. I had never used a rope lead with either dog; there would have been no point, since I could not hold on. Any animal I worked with must learn to respond to my voice.

  I did need to talk to Father, not only about Swift but about my own future and the tenancy of the cottage. I was also planning to ask him about the dogs—he could make inquiries as to whether anyone had lost such a pair, and we could then arrange to return them. The prospect of that was becoming less pleasing with every passing day. I would not turn back. The dogs must learn to obey even when they were frightened.

  “Bear, come!” I used a sterner tone this time. “Badger, come!”

  It was quite clear Badger was not going to attempt the bridge; he stood with shoulders hunched and tail down, shivering. Bear solved the problem by splashing into the water, swimming a few strokes and emerging on the bank beside me, where he shook himself energetically. After a moment Badger launched himself after his bolder companion, swimming over to join us on the bank. Immersion in cold water was a lesser evi
l than being parted from his friend.

  “Good boys,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Let’s run, or you’ll both get cold.”

  We ran awhile, I in the middle, the dogs on either side. I felt my body fill with well-being and my heart with pleasure to be in this lovely place with my two companions, strong and alive. Bear kept looking up at me, tongue out, mouth open in something close to a smile of joy. Badger stayed close to me, which was an achievement in itself. For a while we were in a fine small world of our own.

  I do not remember which came first, the sense of wrongness that gripped me or the two dogs halting, frozen on the forest path. For the space of a breath the three of us stood in silence; then Bear began to growl. Badger edged forward. Both dogs were gazing into the woods with some intensity. Bear’s hackles were up; his body was stiff with tension. Badger moved forward again. Unusually, he was ahead of Bear, off the path. I followed their gaze, thinking they might have spotted a boar, a deer, a man wandering where he should not. I could see nothing out of place.

  “Stay!” I ordered, for both of them were on the verge of flight. Bear had never disobeyed this command, and what Bear did, Badger copied.

  Badger took another step forward; Bear gave a sharp warning bark.

  “Bear, Badger, stay!” Curse it, I had thought even Badger obedient enough for this walk. My judgment seldom let me down. “Stay!”

  A heartbeat, then the two of them erupted in a frenzy of barking, and all chance of control was gone. Badger raced off into the woods with Bear just behind him. Almost before I could draw breath, they were out of sight.

  Curse it! This was no simple chase after a rabbit or squirrel, but something far more serious. They’d run at full tilt, heading into an area with no visible tracks. The forest was vast. Could I trust Bear to make his way home to the cottage later, bringing Badger with him? I thought not; the dogs had not been with me long enough. Their time of flight and hardship was too recent. If I took no action, I might never get them back.

  There was only one thing to do. Never mind Rhian and her visions of disaster. I was the dogs’ friend; they had become my purpose. I might not be able to hold on to a leash, but I could run.

  As I raced into the woods I could hear them barking somewhere ahead of me. I followed the sound as best I could. Curse the two of them! They had been doing so well, Bear especially. Why had he suddenly disobeyed? Well, the answer was plain enough, I thought, as a heavy growth of brambles slashed at my skirt. Bear had run because Badger had run: however much Bear might respect my authority, he would always put Badger first. A duty. Unusual, and tricky to work with. But then, Bear was an exceptional dog. I had seen that from the first.

  Let me find them, I thought as I ran on, not sure whether I was addressing this to a deity or to fate or simply to myself. Let them not be lost and hungry and wild again, not after they finally came home. But that was foolish. The cottage was not home, not for the dogs and not for me. They belonged somewhere else. And I…Maybe I didn’t belong anywhere anymore.

  The thorns were behind me and the ground was becoming more level. Not oaks here but birch and willow. And a path, a narrow way where, oddly, no leaves lay on the earth, nothing at all to conceal the marks of their paws, leading onward. The hairs on my neck prickled. Something odd here. Something not right. The dogs’ voices were fading. I gritted my teeth and picked up the pace. I hoped very much that the old theory about family never getting lost in the Sevenwaters forest was actually true. I judged I was going more or less westward, away from both nemetons and keep. Provided I caught up with the dogs, maybe they would lead me home.

  It was a long way. I ran until my breath came in painful gasps. I ran until my legs would barely carry me. I ran until my head was reeling and I knew I should sit down before I fell down. Was I imagining things, or was the barking closer now? I reached a little stream and made myself stop to drink. Since I could use neither cupped hands nor vessel, I got right down and put my mouth to the water, somewhat as a dog might. I banished thoughts of being lost. I closed my mind to the things Rhian would say if she could see me. I rose to my feet and ran on. Between the trees, over a heap of mossy stones, nearly losing my footing as I thought I spotted something dark through a gap in the foliage—Bear?

  “Bear!” I attempted a shout, but had breath enough only for a squeak. “Badger! Wait!”

  They were close. Was that a clearing ahead, a patch of grass in full sunlight? I emerged from the cover of willows and halted at the edge of an open area that was so neatly circular it could hardly be a natural clearing. It was, perhaps, a secondary place of ritual for the druids. A lone tree stood in the perfect center of the circle, an elm whose high crown was studded with the remnants of last season’s rook nests. Bear and Badger were running to and fro under the tree as if something there both attracted and terrified them. The frenzied barking went on and on. And now I could see what had drawn their attention. Something was hanging from the elm, dangling just off the ground. A bundle. A large bundle tied with rope, its shape curiously reminiscent of a sleeping human form. Now I was cold all through. In this open, sunny place something was terribly wrong.

  “Bear!” I called as I approached, and he came to me. His whole body was trembling; his eyes were wild. “All right, Bear. Good boy.” I stroked him briefly with the back of my hand, keeping my tone reassuring, though my belly had clenched tight. That was a man hanging there. Out here in the depths of the forest, far from well-traveled paths, someone had been wrapped up tightly and suspended upside down against the rough bark of the elm. The rope stretched high; the branch over which it had been looped was far above the reach of a tall man. As I walked forward with Bear beside me, I told myself druids sometimes wrapped themselves up in ox hides and suspended themselves in oak trees for whole days and nights, the better to open the eye of the mind to visions. At least, in the old tales that was the kind of thing they did. I willed this to be one such devout servant of the gods, even as I knew it was not. Then we were at the tree, and I paused to stroke the quivering Badger and tell him he, too, had been good. They had known what was here. Even so far away, from the moment they had halted on the track, somehow they had known.

  I took a steadying breath, then stepped closer. The bundle moved. My heart turned over; the hairs on my neck prickled. Alive. Against all the odds, still alive. And here was I without useful hands, without a knife, without anyone I could send for help.

  I crouched down next to the man. Someone had rolled him in a voluminous blanket and tied him tightly at shoulders, waist, knees and ankles. The ankle rope became the long cord that suspended him. Someone had hauled him up to hang there like a grub in its chrysalis. In just one place the enveloping blankets had an opening, and through that narrow gap I saw his staring eyes, the flesh around them suffused purple-red. His head was an arm’s length from the ground; this had been a precisely calculated act of torture. I crouched down beside him, and at that moment the last light left his eyes, slipping away to be replaced by the dull, blank stare of death. Gone. Gone before I could speak a word. Gone before I could cradle his head and tell him he would not die alone. Oh, gods. Oh, gods, give me today over again so I can make this not happen.

  Bear’s cold nose pressed against my hand.

  “We have to fetch help,” I muttered with tears streaming down my cheeks. “We can’t do this on our own.” I would have to leave him hanging. I would have to trust I could find him again, for I would not ask the dogs to wait in this place of death. The sun was still quite high; there should be time to get to the keep and back before dusk. “I’m sorry,” I murmured, laying the back of my hand against the man’s face—still warm, oh gods! His body swung away at the light touch, making me shudder. “I would have spoken words of comfort, at least. I would have asked your name. But there was no time. We’ll get word to your loved ones, I promise. We’ll lay you to rest with due ritual.” I made some promises to myself as well. I would train the dogs to chew through ropes. I would obtain a sm
all, sharp knife and learn to hold it in my teeth and cut cleanly. If something like this happened again I would be better prepared.

  No if about it; it would happen again. It would happen over and over until Mac Dara was defeated. Each time would be ingenious, cruel, and different from the last. There was, in truth, no way to prepare. The dead man was one of Cruinn’s lost riders. My mind might shrink from that fact, but I knew it must be so. Mac Dara had arranged this killing. Mac Dara had been here this very day, in this very spot. Perhaps even now he was watching. And if Mac Dara wanted something, neither well-trained dog nor knife-wielding girl would be able to stop him.

  I must go. The sooner I reached the keep, the sooner someone could come and give this man back his dignity. Before I left, I must attempt a prayer. Never mind that I was an unbeliever and not practiced in these things.

  I rose to my feet and stretched out my arms as I had seen Ciarán do. I searched for appropriate words. “Danu, lay your hand over this fallen one,” I said. “Morrigan, guide him gently through the great gateway. May he find peace. May those dear to him remember his good deeds and not his cruel passing. May they celebrate his life with fine tales around the hearthstone.”

  I stood there for the space of three long breaths. Then, “Bear, come,” I said in a different voice. “Badger, come.” We turned our backs on the hanging man and ran for the keep.

  Three things to be grateful for. The dogs were obedient to my commands. They found the way for me. And when, after a run I’d thought I might not have the strength to complete, we emerged on the main track, it was to glimpse a familiar figure on a bay mare, riding away from us toward the nemetons.