trance.
When Ana came back she said, “Did you see it? The bird, a crow or something like that. It flew so close. This place is full of presences. And we’re not even at Briar Wood yet.”
“If a bird is the worst we encounter, I’ll be content enough.”
Back at the shelter, she thanked him in the courteous way she had and retired to lie on her blankets, while Faolan remained by the fire.He was reluctant to wake Kinet and Wrad, who had worked hard for him and were bone-weary.
“Good night,” he said quietly in the general direction of the shelter.
“Good night, Faolan.” Her voice was soft but clear. He liked the way she said his name. “May the Shining One guard your dreams.”
He knew the right response. One did not live at Bridei’s court long without becoming aware of the fullpattern of formal greetings and farewells, the conduct of ritual observance among the folk of Fortriu. The correct response was, May the Flamekeeper light your waking . But he did not believe in gods, neither those of Bridei’s people nor the arrogant, elusive deities of his homeland. Such blessings were not appropriate in his case. No god had the power to cleanse the dark visitations of his nights.They were with him forever, a hell of his own making. He should curse Ana, not bless her. She had awoken something within him that he did not want, a thread of memory he had spent long years crushing with all his strength. He did not need this. He could not allow it. All he wanted was the orders, the task, the flawless execution of it. Then the next orders.
“Sleep well,” he said despite himself,and saw her curl up under the blankets, her fair head pillowed on one hand. He waited until he knew she had fallen asleep. Then he woke the third shift and sent them out to watch. Above them, from the branch of a gnarled and twisted tree, a hooded crow, bright-eyed, watched every move.
NEXT DAY, ANA lay in the shelter listening to the pattering of rain on the oiled cloth and the soundsof the camp going about its orderly business around her. Not a moment of the unexpected respite was wasted. Game was caught, butchered, cooked. Weapons were sharpened. Waterskins were filled and horses tended to. Some of the men slept, but only after gaining Faolan’s permission. Ana herself drifted off to sleep from time to time; the acrid herbal draught that Faolan kept brewing had a decidedlysoporific effect. In the dusk they cooked oats into a gruel for her, and she found she was hungry. The next morning they struck camp and rode on to the west.
Her cramps had subsided. She still felt faint and tired, but she could see the look in Faolan’s eye and did her best to appear confident and strong. The rain was not heavy; not yet. Not here, at least. But the river was still some way off,if Faolan’s estimate was correct, and in this increasingly grim high country many streams rushed down the valleys, tumbling over rocky shelves, gurgling through secret chasms, spreading here and there to sucking swamps that lay in wait for horse and rider. To the north, dark-bellied clouds massed. In the air above the riders rang out the alarm calls of many birds. So many birds; this place wasfull of them, those Ana knew well, kestrel, buzzard, skylark, and some that were quite new to her. From time to time she saw a bird like the one that had startled her in the woods by the ford, something akin to a hooded crow, but not quite as it should be, for there was a singular look to the eyes. They were wary, knowing. By the time the travelers moved out of the denser regions of the forest andonto a narrow track across steep bare fells, she had sighted a bird of this kind three times, and was beginning to wonder if it were but one bird, the same bird, that followed them, here winging high above, there perched on a great stone by the wayside, observing the travelers with its piercing eyes as they passed. One of the men took out a slingshot, palmed a stone.
“No,” Faolan told
When Ana came back she said, “Did you see it? The bird, a crow or something like that. It flew so close. This place is full of presences. And we’re not even at Briar Wood yet.”
“If a bird is the worst we encounter, I’ll be content enough.”
Back at the shelter, she thanked him in the courteous way she had and retired to lie on her blankets, while Faolan remained by the fire.He was reluctant to wake Kinet and Wrad, who had worked hard for him and were bone-weary.
“Good night,” he said quietly in the general direction of the shelter.
“Good night, Faolan.” Her voice was soft but clear. He liked the way she said his name. “May the Shining One guard your dreams.”
He knew the right response. One did not live at Bridei’s court long without becoming aware of the fullpattern of formal greetings and farewells, the conduct of ritual observance among the folk of Fortriu. The correct response was, May the Flamekeeper light your waking . But he did not believe in gods, neither those of Bridei’s people nor the arrogant, elusive deities of his homeland. Such blessings were not appropriate in his case. No god had the power to cleanse the dark visitations of his nights.They were with him forever, a hell of his own making. He should curse Ana, not bless her. She had awoken something within him that he did not want, a thread of memory he had spent long years crushing with all his strength. He did not need this. He could not allow it. All he wanted was the orders, the task, the flawless execution of it. Then the next orders.
“Sleep well,” he said despite himself,and saw her curl up under the blankets, her fair head pillowed on one hand. He waited until he knew she had fallen asleep. Then he woke the third shift and sent them out to watch. Above them, from the branch of a gnarled and twisted tree, a hooded crow, bright-eyed, watched every move.
NEXT DAY, ANA lay in the shelter listening to the pattering of rain on the oiled cloth and the soundsof the camp going about its orderly business around her. Not a moment of the unexpected respite was wasted. Game was caught, butchered, cooked. Weapons were sharpened. Waterskins were filled and horses tended to. Some of the men slept, but only after gaining Faolan’s permission. Ana herself drifted off to sleep from time to time; the acrid herbal draught that Faolan kept brewing had a decidedlysoporific effect. In the dusk they cooked oats into a gruel for her, and she found she was hungry. The next morning they struck camp and rode on to the west.
Her cramps had subsided. She still felt faint and tired, but she could see the look in Faolan’s eye and did her best to appear confident and strong. The rain was not heavy; not yet. Not here, at least. But the river was still some way off,if Faolan’s estimate was correct, and in this increasingly grim high country many streams rushed down the valleys, tumbling over rocky shelves, gurgling through secret chasms, spreading here and there to sucking swamps that lay in wait for horse and rider. To the north, dark-bellied clouds massed. In the air above the riders rang out the alarm calls of many birds. So many birds; this place wasfull of them, those Ana knew well, kestrel, buzzard, skylark, and some that were quite new to her. From time to time she saw a bird like the one that had startled her in the woods by the ford, something akin to a hooded crow, but not quite as it should be, for there was a singular look to the eyes. They were wary, knowing. By the time the travelers moved out of the denser regions of the forest andonto a narrow track across steep bare fells, she had sighted a bird of this kind three times, and was beginning to wonder if it were but one bird, the same bird, that followed them, here winging high above, there perched on a great stone by the wayside, observing the travelers with its piercing eyes as they passed. One of the men took out a slingshot, palmed a stone.
“No,” Faolan told
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