crouching long around his fires. “I am glad you came. I have a gift for you.”
Beckoning, he walked into the back of the cave. I fo llowed gingerly, guided by Oulagh and her eldest daughter, Dhu, my eyes, watering from the constant smoke, fixed on the knotted shoulders of the smith. Suddenly he halted, raising a hand. “A spirit…comes,” he whispered reverently.
My spin e prickled; Dhu giggled and squeezed my fingers. Tulkar produced a strike-a- light and kindled a torch, which gladdened me, for the cave had grown dark as the underworld. As the light blossomed, my horrified eyes saw a half-buried body lying crouched in foetal position on the floor. I bit back a cry, remembering that the hill folk were not squeamish about corpses, but I found it difficult to control myself, for my folk feared the dead and imprisoned their bodies in round barrows capped with stone slabs to keep them pinioned in the Deadlands.
“This is Ourar, the grand-mother” explained Oo, seeing my fearful and sickened expression, “In her youth she ruled the hill folk with wisdom and prudence, and she was a powerful seer.”
I nodded mutely, recalling the living Ourar, a hunched woman who, despi te her great age, had a bright wit and keen eye. I had liked her but feared her also, because she was of the hill folk and a queen among her people. Her ways were different; the dark ways of the Old Ones.
“Ourar spoke to me the night she died,” Tulkar said. “She told me of a vision – a vision of death. Painted men killed our tribes... the crops burned ... the people lived as beasts, groaning in torment.”
“Ah!” I gasped, knowing that Ourar often saw true.
“Since then,” Tulkar continued, “travelling kinsmen have brought word of the invaders’ arrival. The newcomers are terrible demons, without mercy. Some even wield the star-metal, iron.”
Cold terror gripped my innards. “What has this to do with me?”
Tulkar’s birdlike eyes glittered over his long, sharp nose. “On the very brink of death, Ourar spoke your name... it was a shock to me, Ardagh, for I had not known she marked you so! She ordered me to forge a sword. She said you, of all the folk in your tribe, were most fit to bear it against the invaders.”
Forgetting my fear of the smith, I burst into hysterical laughter. “I am a girl and have no skills with weapons! Ourar must have been raving to suggest a thing! A sword for me? Gods!”
Tulkar grabbed my arm, anger flaring in his eyes. “Perhaps she chose unwisely when she picked you to aid your own people!”
Oulagh stepped in, soothing her man, rubbing the muscled shoulders with their dark soot streaks like tattoos. “Tulkar, be calm. The girl is frightened! Surely you expected that!”
Tulkar shook her off and continued to stare at me, face shuttered. “I will melt the sword down if you do not want it.”
A strange sensation gripped me; it was as if someone were gripping my heart, my belly, forcing me to speak, forcing me to do deeds that I had never dreamed of as a chief’s privileged daughter. Words burst unbidden from my lips, halting but firm: “L…Let me see it first!”
Tulkar gestured to the huddled shape on the floor, the bones poking from beneath the frayed, decaying shroud. “It lies beneath Ourar’s body, in her hands. It was her will that it should be made for you…she desired to present it herself.”
For a secon d I felt faint, my head reeling and numbness gripping my limbs. As if moved by a will not my own, I knelt and thrust my hand beneath the dried husk that had been Ourar, my fingers prying beneath the dead woman. Fingertips skimming over fleshless ribs, I eventually touched a hilt of cold bronze. I grasped it firmly and pulled, and the sword emerged with a rush.
I turned the blade over in my hands. The workmanship was flawless, the edge sharp and fierce. It was a beautiful weapon and I k new in that instant I wanted it. I lifted the sword, giving it a brandish.
Tulkar ’s
Beckoning, he walked into the back of the cave. I fo llowed gingerly, guided by Oulagh and her eldest daughter, Dhu, my eyes, watering from the constant smoke, fixed on the knotted shoulders of the smith. Suddenly he halted, raising a hand. “A spirit…comes,” he whispered reverently.
My spin e prickled; Dhu giggled and squeezed my fingers. Tulkar produced a strike-a- light and kindled a torch, which gladdened me, for the cave had grown dark as the underworld. As the light blossomed, my horrified eyes saw a half-buried body lying crouched in foetal position on the floor. I bit back a cry, remembering that the hill folk were not squeamish about corpses, but I found it difficult to control myself, for my folk feared the dead and imprisoned their bodies in round barrows capped with stone slabs to keep them pinioned in the Deadlands.
“This is Ourar, the grand-mother” explained Oo, seeing my fearful and sickened expression, “In her youth she ruled the hill folk with wisdom and prudence, and she was a powerful seer.”
I nodded mutely, recalling the living Ourar, a hunched woman who, despi te her great age, had a bright wit and keen eye. I had liked her but feared her also, because she was of the hill folk and a queen among her people. Her ways were different; the dark ways of the Old Ones.
“Ourar spoke to me the night she died,” Tulkar said. “She told me of a vision – a vision of death. Painted men killed our tribes... the crops burned ... the people lived as beasts, groaning in torment.”
“Ah!” I gasped, knowing that Ourar often saw true.
“Since then,” Tulkar continued, “travelling kinsmen have brought word of the invaders’ arrival. The newcomers are terrible demons, without mercy. Some even wield the star-metal, iron.”
Cold terror gripped my innards. “What has this to do with me?”
Tulkar’s birdlike eyes glittered over his long, sharp nose. “On the very brink of death, Ourar spoke your name... it was a shock to me, Ardagh, for I had not known she marked you so! She ordered me to forge a sword. She said you, of all the folk in your tribe, were most fit to bear it against the invaders.”
Forgetting my fear of the smith, I burst into hysterical laughter. “I am a girl and have no skills with weapons! Ourar must have been raving to suggest a thing! A sword for me? Gods!”
Tulkar grabbed my arm, anger flaring in his eyes. “Perhaps she chose unwisely when she picked you to aid your own people!”
Oulagh stepped in, soothing her man, rubbing the muscled shoulders with their dark soot streaks like tattoos. “Tulkar, be calm. The girl is frightened! Surely you expected that!”
Tulkar shook her off and continued to stare at me, face shuttered. “I will melt the sword down if you do not want it.”
A strange sensation gripped me; it was as if someone were gripping my heart, my belly, forcing me to speak, forcing me to do deeds that I had never dreamed of as a chief’s privileged daughter. Words burst unbidden from my lips, halting but firm: “L…Let me see it first!”
Tulkar gestured to the huddled shape on the floor, the bones poking from beneath the frayed, decaying shroud. “It lies beneath Ourar’s body, in her hands. It was her will that it should be made for you…she desired to present it herself.”
For a secon d I felt faint, my head reeling and numbness gripping my limbs. As if moved by a will not my own, I knelt and thrust my hand beneath the dried husk that had been Ourar, my fingers prying beneath the dead woman. Fingertips skimming over fleshless ribs, I eventually touched a hilt of cold bronze. I grasped it firmly and pulled, and the sword emerged with a rush.
I turned the blade over in my hands. The workmanship was flawless, the edge sharp and fierce. It was a beautiful weapon and I k new in that instant I wanted it. I lifted the sword, giving it a brandish.
Tulkar ’s
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