Night of the Lightbringer Page 7

  ‘Don’t you have an old saying that the gods look after fools and drunks?’ Eadulf asked, before realising he had used the plural ‘gods’ instead of the singular. But no one had noticed.

  ‘He must have taken a lot of looking after, to be able to negotiate these paths in the dark,’ Aidan grunted. ‘Anyway, I cannot see any good ground for grazing sheep in this area except …’

  His voice suddenly trailed off and Eadulf glanced round to see what was amiss. The warrior was staring at something further up the hill above them.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Eadulf.

  ‘I thought I saw a figure up there – something black. It was moving behind the rocks on the ridge.’

  Eadulf peered up. ‘Well, there is nothing there that I can see. Maybe it was some animal, a wolf or something.’

  Aidan grimaced. ‘It was no wolf, friend Eadulf. It was a human figure standing watching us. When I saw them they must have ducked down behind a rock or the ridge. There is nothing up there now.’

  Fidelma had halted and looked back enquiringly at them.

  ‘Are you saying that someone is spying on us?’ she asked.

  Aidan shrugged. ‘I saw what I saw, lady. There was a dark figure up there and now it has vanished.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything,’ Eadulf admitted, as her eyes turned to him.

  Fidelma sighed. ‘Then it can be of no importance. People are naturally inquisitive if they see strangers in their territory. The sooner we press on, the sooner we can find the shepherd’s cabin and see what we can discover. Then we can get back to Cashel before dark, for the days are short.’

  She nudged her grey-white pony, Aonbharr – the ‘supreme one’ – forward and the animal responded immediately to her touch. Once more they moved off across the hillside, trying to find an easy path to ascend to the higher levels over the hill. However, Aidan continued to cast an occasional glance upwards. The northern slopes had given way to more pleasant stretches of a soft green sward, for the grassland here was clearly well attended by animal life. It seemed ideal for sheep, and even without the grazing flocks the sight that met their eyes was of small groups of rabbits and hares, who paused at their approach. Some scampered off while others, bolder, waited to ascertain if they were friend or foe. The sides of the hill at this point were precipitous, and it was only when they were moving over the shoulder of the hillside that they found that it was as rocky on the southern slopes with isolated trees and patches of thorn bushes as it had been when they began moving into the hills.

  ‘That is more like shepherd’s country,’ observed Eadulf. ‘But I can see why Della said that the approach was unfriendly. Would Spelán’s cabin be situated on these rocky southern slopes?’

  Fidelma did not answer for the moment. She had raised a hand to shield her eyes and was squinting across the broad shoulder of the hill to a rise some distance away.

  ‘Those must be the standing stones that we were told of,’ she said, indicating some dark shapes on the horizon, made silhouettes by the light sky behind.

  ‘So that is the Hill of the Bullock,’ Eadulf replied. ‘Though on the slopes I can’t see any cabins that might accommodate shepherds or herdsmen of any type.’

  They moved on in silence for a while but Fidelma halted again to take stock of the terrain.

  ‘Where to now, lady?’ prompted Aidan.

  ‘I suppose we must make for the standing stones for, if Della is correct, that will give us a point of advantage overlooking the northern and the southern slopes. Then we can see if there are signs of a shepherd’s cabin nearby.’

  ‘I don’t see an alterative,’ agreed Aidan, ‘but the hillside is very deceptive. There appear to be many nooks and crevices in which an entire cabin could be hidden if constructed with cunning to take advantage of the areas providing natural wind-breaks. Let’s hope we can …’

  He suddenly stopped, staring up at the slopes above them. This time both Fidelma and Eadulf swung quickly round and peered in the same direction – but saw nothing. Aidan was scowling in frustration as he surveyed the empty hill.

  ‘Just for a moment …’ he said between clenched teeth. ‘Just for a moment there, I thought I saw …’

  ‘The dark shadow?’ enquired Fidelma softly.

  ‘I swear, lady, I saw the black figure of a human being again. You see that rock formation, near where those bushes are? The figure was right there – but as soon as I looked up, it vanished.’

  Eadulf tried to conceal his nervousness by making light of the matter. ‘If this is what happens to a warrior of the Golden Collar on this path in broad daylight, then I can’t imagine what a drunken shepherd would be seeing on his way home at night.’

  No one laughed. It was not really funny.

  Fidelma appeared to be taking the matter more seriously than before. She knew perfectly well that Aidan was not given to fears and imagination. He was a trained warrior of her brother’s élite guard. If he said he saw something – then he saw something. But who or what did he see?

  ‘No use delaying,’ she decided. ‘Half a cadar of the day has been used up already, so we only have a full cadar before sunset is upon us. Let us move on again.’

  To Eadulf, the way time was measured in Fidelma’s world was very difficult to comprehend. The day was divided into four quarters, each one called a cadar. Because of the time between sunrise and sunset, the late autumn day consisted of only one and a half cadar of full daylight. But surely a full cadar would be time enough to achieve what they had set out to do? The sun was nowhere near its zenith. They could see its pale orb high up against a sky so colourless that even the white clouds provided the darker hue.

  The track now broadened and began a gentle swing to their left around the shoulder of the hill; as it did so, a new vista opened up. Fidelma realised that the hill was shaped almost like a horseshoe, with the standing stones on the far curve at a point where the hill descended gently north to the valley below, whereas the southern slopes continued to be precipitous and rocky.

  They had arrived at a small, flat area where a waterfall-like brook was spilling down the hill, trickling across their stony path. It was not this that caused them to halt – the flow of water was too slight to cause a blockage to their path. It was the tall figure clad in black and seated on a boulder to one side, slightly above the pathway. The figure was a woman with long, black hair which shone even in the pale light of the autumn day. Around her was an ankle-length black cloak which fluttered in the breeze as if it had a life of its own. It, too, was of a dark sheen and it took Eadulf a moment to realise that the entire cloak was made out of ravens’ feathers, all elaborately sewn in layers, one line over another. The blackness of the clothing the woman wore was reflected even in the eyes that bore into them: dark, and penetrating – but in themselves impenetrable. The face was pale, the bones almost protruding as the flesh stretched tight around them. It took the little group some moments before they realised that this apparition was actually smiling at them. It was not a smile of welcome but a mysterious smile of amusement.

  When the woman finally spoke, the cadences were clear but with a softly menacing, almost musical quality to them.

  ‘So, Fidelma of Cashel, daughter of the Eóghanachta, are we then well met?’

  Behind her, Fidelma could hear Aidan, almost choking in his reaction.

  ‘It’s her!’ he finally blurted out. ‘That’s the woman who claimed to be from Tech Duinn!’

  FIVE

  Fidelma studied the extraordinary woman for a moment or two. Apart from her strange appearance there was nothing supernatural about her, although she seemed to have exerted an intimidating effect on the young Aidan – and even Eadulf was looking a bit spooked. This, Fidelma realised, was an antagonist who should not be allowed to have the upper hand. The woman had made the first move, thereby seeking dominance. Fidelma, a good fidchell player, whose favourite board game was ‘wooden wisdom’, knew that she should make a counter move, to show that she was not overa
wed.

  ‘Who are you, who appear to know my name?’ she asked.

  The dark-haired woman’s smile broadened a little. ‘Who would not know the name of the dálaigh whose reputation has spread through all the Five Kingdoms?’

  ‘I am sure there are many.’ Fidelma was not to be flattered. ‘So you are …?’

  ‘My name is Brancheó.’

  ‘That means “raven mist”. An interesting name. Where are you from?’

  The woman chuckled, a sound without amusement in it. ‘I am sure that young warrior,’ she indicated Aidan, ‘must have told you that. I am Brancheó of Tech Duinn.’

  ‘A curious place to claim acquaintance with,’ Fidelma commented dryly. ‘The House of Donn, the old god of death.’

  ‘The House of the Gatherer of Souls,’ corrected the woman. ‘Do gods or goddesses ever get old? Nevertheless, that is the name of my house.’

  ‘Ah, just your house? Which is where?’

  ‘I suppose it depends on what you want to believe.’

  Fidelma examined the dark, deep-set eyes of the woman, searching carefully, for in spite of the smile on her lips, she could find no humour in the eyes, only a strange intensity of expression.

  Aidan could restrain himself no longer.

  ‘You’ve been following us,’ he said accusingly.

  ‘Have I?’ Brancheó turned her black eyes upon him.

  ‘You were seen a couple of times on the high ground above, seeming to keep parallel with our path,’ Eadulf put in, feeling he should contribute to the exchange.

  ‘So because of that fact you have deduced that I was following you? Could it not be that it was you who were following me?’

  ‘That’s ridiculous! We are on the way to …’ Aidan began, and then stopped when he saw the look of disapproval from Fidelma.

  ‘You were on your way to find the cabin of the shepherd whose body was discovered this morning,’ the woman said, completing his sentence.

  ‘How …?’ Aidan blustered.

  ‘You are well informed, Brancheó,’ Fidelma interrupted.

  ‘Do people not say that news travels fast, especially when there is an ale-keeper nearby?’ Brancheó riposted, without answering the implied question.

  ‘So, did Rumann give you this information?’ demanded Eadulf.

  Fidelma cast a withering glance in his direction and this time there seemed a genuine amusement on Brancheó’s features.

  ‘News of Spelán’s death spread as quickly as the ravens can fly,’ she remarked. ‘As you well know, I went to Rumann and asked to see the body of Spelán.’

  ‘How did you know of his death before you went to Rumann?’ countered Fidelma. ‘What was the shepherd to you?’

  ‘It is given to my kind to know many things,’ the woman replied.

  ‘Your kind?’

  ‘Those who have remained loyal to the Old Faith,’ the woman responded imperturbably.

  ‘You were following us!’ snapped Aidan, before Fidelma could frame another question.

  ‘I was following a track on the upper slope.’

  ‘A route that you must have known well, in that it has allowed you to overtake us,’ he returned.

  ‘I am the raven-caller,’ the woman said again, sneering at the angry young warrior. ‘Perhaps I asked their help to speed me here?’

  ‘Mind how you reply to these questions.’ Aidan was losing his temper. ‘You are speaking to a dálaigh.’

  ‘Is that so? Just now I thought I was speaking to a frightened young warrior who does not know the paths and tracks that are adjacent to the very palace of the King whose life he is supposed to guard with his own. I believe the King would be well advised to place no reliance on such a youth, who has not troubled himself to become familiar with every inch of the territory that surrounds his King in order to protect him.’

  Aidan flushed, his mouth tightening. Fidelma raised a hand to pacify him before turning to the strange woman.

  ‘Brancheó, you will now address a dálaigh,’ she said firmly. ‘You are telling us that your journey along the pathway, which is parallel to the route we have taken, is in no way connected with our own?’

  ‘I can only assure you that my journey does not have the same objective or purpose as your journey, dálaigh,’ affirmed the woman, still in the same mocking tone.

  ‘I shall accept that as the truth, for it will be easily demonstrated. Let me ask you this: you did know Spelán, didn’t you?’

  ‘Your assumption is correct.’

  Fidelma paused, waiting for an amplification of the response and when it was not forthcoming, she said: ‘So you went into Cashel to ascertain if the news of his death was correct?’

  ‘That you already know, since you have been informed that I went to see his body at Rumann’s tavern.’

  ‘Let me remind you again, I am a dálaigh. Why did you utter a curse at the Samhain bonfire?’

  ‘I will accept your role of dálaigh in that suspicion is a necessary adjunct to your profession. My answer is that I am Brancheó, the fiachaire; Brancheó, the raven-caller. I am the nemesis who will avenge Spelán’s murder. On the feast of Samhain, certain people will stand exposed to the vengeance of the Otherworld.’ There was a new note in the woman’s voice: cold, malignant.

  Fidelma’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you making a threat, Brancheó?’ she said sharply.

  The woman’s features relaxed back into a cynical smile.

  ‘No threat, Fidelma of Cashel, descendant of Óengus son of Nad Fraoich, who accepted the New Faith on the very Rock on which his ancestors once worshipped in the old ways.’

  ‘No threat?’ The words came tumbling from Eadulf. ‘A man has been ritually slaughtered just before the Samhain feast and you arrive claiming … claiming …’ Words failed him. ‘You claim that this is nothing to do with you although at the same time you claim to follow the old beliefs of your people.’

  She turned her dark eyes on him with an almost sorrowful expression.

  ‘Ease yourself, Eadulf, sometime gerefa of Seaxmund’s Ham. In your true heart you know the old gods and goddesses well, for were you not led from their path when you were a youth? They are still with you and that is why you endeavour to exclude their truth as you labour under this New Faith.’

  Eadulf was shocked into silence, suppressing a shiver of apprehension as he wondered how could this woman know so much?

  Brancheó turned to Fidelma. ‘Spelán’s death will be avenged – and sooner rather than later.’ She stood up. ‘I will say this to you now, Fidelma, daughter of Failbhe Flann, sister of Colgú: Cashel was once the gateway to the Otherworld – if you doubt it, ask your mentor, old Conchobhar. On the eve of Samhain, the gate will once more stand ajar, the portal will be opened and the ancient deities will return to punish those who reject and ignore them. More importantly, those who slaughtered Spelán and tried to blame it on the Old Faith will be met with the wrath of those ancient deities that they have insulted. The Eóghanacht already have blood on their hands and the crime of betraying the old gods.’

  Fidelma forced herself to laugh but she did not doubt the icy sincerity in the woman’s voice.

  ‘You are threatening us, in spite of your denial, Brancheó. To my mind, as a dálaigh, it sounds as though you are playing with the act of tomaithem, of issuing threats and intimidation by trying to conjure fear in those you threaten, which is in itself, the crime of ómun. Whether you have means to make the threats a reality or are just boasting, be careful that those threats are not turned against you.’

  Brancheó was unfazed; she continued to maintain her mocking composure.

  ‘Threats? I utter no threats. I have told you that I am a raven-caller – I merely make prognostications by the flight of the ravens. I have seen them circling above Cashel. I can only interpret what that portends.’

  ‘I am perfectly aware that the raven is the symbol of the goddess of death and battles, Brancheó,’ replied Fidelma firmly. ‘I say that your words can be inte
rpreted in no other way.’

  ‘You are free to interpret what I say as you please. The responsibility of how you perceive things is your own, not mine. And now I will leave you to continue your journey as I have to continue mine.’ With these words, Brancheó spun around and began to climb a steep path up the side of the hill, away from the track that they were following.

  For a while the three of them sat unmoving, watching her agile form move rapidly upwards until she reached the brow of the hill and disappeared beyond it. Then Eadulf let out a slow, soft whistle.

  ‘What manner of creature is that?’

  Fidelma glanced at him and grinned. ‘Certainly it is not one from the Otherworld.’

  ‘She claimed to be a raven-caller, lady,’ muttered Aidan.

  ‘There are still some that have not embraced the New Faith. That you know well, Aidan. But she is harmless.’

  ‘Harmless?’

  ‘Did you not notice that she was talking about punishing those who murdered Spelán, making them pay for their crime? That means that she must have had some emotional tie with him which would have created the need to strike back. As for the vengeance of the old gods, she is not going to unleash the hordes of the Otherworld on us. We must deal with the entities in this world – and that threat is usually manmade.’

  ‘What was that she said, about asking old Conchobhar?’ Eadulf remembered.

  ‘She claimed that Cashel was a portal to the Otherworld. I have not heard that before – I will ask him. Now, we have wasted too much time indulging in Brancheó’s raven-calling fantasy, so I suggest we move on and see if we can find Spélan’s cabin.’

  ‘Even so,’ Eadulf murmured, ‘I wonder how she knew about me?’

  ‘Dear Eadulf,’ Fidelma smiled, ‘you are as well known around Cashel as I am – or haven’t you realised that?’

  ‘That’s true, friend Eadulf,’ Aidan confirmed. ‘When people speak of the lady Fidelma, they associate your name with hers – and thus it is known that you are from this place Seaxmund’s Ham and that you were an hereditary lawgiver of your people. It would be easy for Brancheó to have picked up such information.’