where I sat, my head bowed on my knees.
My mother shook me awake. "Eat," she said, pressing a roasted haunch of rabbit into my hand.
The meat was greasy and good. I gnawed and swallowed, my belly rumbling. "When did you go hunting?"
"While you slept."
"It's good." I wiped my lips. "Thank you."
She laid her hand on my brow. "Sleep."
I slept.
How many days we went on that way, I could not say. Most of me was still numb inside. Left to my own devices, I'd have just as soon lay down and slept, not caring if I starved. I'd lost every trick I'd known for living in the wild. I'd grown dense and clumsy with grief. But my mother tended to me and kept me going in her stubborn, patient way.
And bit by bit, I came back to myself.
Cillian was dead.
I was alive.
It was the way of the world. I could hate it and I could rail against it, but I could not change it. I could not change the fact that I'd betrayed him in thought while he lay dying. I could not change the fact that his family, save Aislinn, despised me.
All I could do was live.
"You brought him joy, Moirin," my mother said to me some nights into our journey. "That lad loved tales of magic and enchantment. You, you let him live one."
"He didn't die in one," I reminded her.
"He did, though." She busied herself with plucking a ptarmigan. "In the story he told himself, he did. He died without ever knowing the pain of losing you. He died with his heart unbroken, filled with hope and desire."
"That's a small mercy," I murmured.
She looked up at me. "Aye, it isbut a mercy nonetheless. Remember the joy, Moirin mine."
It was in the foothills of the mountains that we saw our first bear of the journey. I scented it on the wind and felt my dulled senses quicken for the first time in many days. I breathed deep through my nose and opened my mouth to let the air play over my tongue. My mother caught my arm and smiled, pointing.
"Oh!" I said in delight.
I'd seen bears before, but not manyand seldom so close. This one stood on its hind legs, taller than a man, scratching its back against a tall oak tree. Bits of its wiry fur clung to the bark. When it saw us, it dropped to all fours and gave a menacing woof.
"Peace, little brother," my mother said in a soothing tone. Twilight flickered around her, sparkling in the corners of my eyes. "'Tis clear this territory is yours. We do but seek to pass."
The bear grumbled.
"Peace," I added. "We seek the Great Mother Herself."
It gave a mighty snuffle, then gave a low coughing bark and wandered away, shambling through the trees. I watched the vast wilderness swallow it with wonder. The spark of the diadh-anam within me sang, happy and glad. "That's a good sign, is it not?"
My mother squeezed my arm. "It is."
For the space of a few minutes, I forgot about Cillian's deathand then the grief came crashing back upon me. I shouldered it and kept going.
Foothills gave way to mountains, and the mountains grew steep. I do not think we travelled so far as we did in our pilgrimage to Clunderry, but the way was harder and our progress was slow. By the time we reached our destination, I was more fit and hardy than I'd ever been in my life.
As for the destination itself, I lack the words to do it justice.
It was the sound of piping that alerted us, high and fluting. At first I took it for birdsong, but no. The melody was too intricate.
A slow smile spread across my mother's face. "I thought we were nearly there."
"Where?" I saw nothing but the mountain slope. You 11 see.
Soon, I did. A man sat cross-legged on a ledge high above us playing a little silver pipe. He lowered it from his lips and called out to us. "Welcome, little niece! Not so little, I see. Greetings, sister! Can you spot the entrance?"
"I can," my mother said.
My uncle Mabon rose. "Come, then."
He vanished.
I blinked. There was no telltale sparkle of the twilight and I'd been looking at him all the while. Ignoring the phenomenon, my mother made for a great pine tree jutting
My mother shook me awake. "Eat," she said, pressing a roasted haunch of rabbit into my hand.
The meat was greasy and good. I gnawed and swallowed, my belly rumbling. "When did you go hunting?"
"While you slept."
"It's good." I wiped my lips. "Thank you."
She laid her hand on my brow. "Sleep."
I slept.
How many days we went on that way, I could not say. Most of me was still numb inside. Left to my own devices, I'd have just as soon lay down and slept, not caring if I starved. I'd lost every trick I'd known for living in the wild. I'd grown dense and clumsy with grief. But my mother tended to me and kept me going in her stubborn, patient way.
And bit by bit, I came back to myself.
Cillian was dead.
I was alive.
It was the way of the world. I could hate it and I could rail against it, but I could not change it. I could not change the fact that I'd betrayed him in thought while he lay dying. I could not change the fact that his family, save Aislinn, despised me.
All I could do was live.
"You brought him joy, Moirin," my mother said to me some nights into our journey. "That lad loved tales of magic and enchantment. You, you let him live one."
"He didn't die in one," I reminded her.
"He did, though." She busied herself with plucking a ptarmigan. "In the story he told himself, he did. He died without ever knowing the pain of losing you. He died with his heart unbroken, filled with hope and desire."
"That's a small mercy," I murmured.
She looked up at me. "Aye, it isbut a mercy nonetheless. Remember the joy, Moirin mine."
It was in the foothills of the mountains that we saw our first bear of the journey. I scented it on the wind and felt my dulled senses quicken for the first time in many days. I breathed deep through my nose and opened my mouth to let the air play over my tongue. My mother caught my arm and smiled, pointing.
"Oh!" I said in delight.
I'd seen bears before, but not manyand seldom so close. This one stood on its hind legs, taller than a man, scratching its back against a tall oak tree. Bits of its wiry fur clung to the bark. When it saw us, it dropped to all fours and gave a menacing woof.
"Peace, little brother," my mother said in a soothing tone. Twilight flickered around her, sparkling in the corners of my eyes. "'Tis clear this territory is yours. We do but seek to pass."
The bear grumbled.
"Peace," I added. "We seek the Great Mother Herself."
It gave a mighty snuffle, then gave a low coughing bark and wandered away, shambling through the trees. I watched the vast wilderness swallow it with wonder. The spark of the diadh-anam within me sang, happy and glad. "That's a good sign, is it not?"
My mother squeezed my arm. "It is."
For the space of a few minutes, I forgot about Cillian's deathand then the grief came crashing back upon me. I shouldered it and kept going.
Foothills gave way to mountains, and the mountains grew steep. I do not think we travelled so far as we did in our pilgrimage to Clunderry, but the way was harder and our progress was slow. By the time we reached our destination, I was more fit and hardy than I'd ever been in my life.
As for the destination itself, I lack the words to do it justice.
It was the sound of piping that alerted us, high and fluting. At first I took it for birdsong, but no. The melody was too intricate.
A slow smile spread across my mother's face. "I thought we were nearly there."
"Where?" I saw nothing but the mountain slope. You 11 see.
Soon, I did. A man sat cross-legged on a ledge high above us playing a little silver pipe. He lowered it from his lips and called out to us. "Welcome, little niece! Not so little, I see. Greetings, sister! Can you spot the entrance?"
"I can," my mother said.
My uncle Mabon rose. "Come, then."
He vanished.
I blinked. There was no telltale sparkle of the twilight and I'd been looking at him all the while. Ignoring the phenomenon, my mother made for a great pine tree jutting
Similar Books
