The Shining One

Chapter One-2

'It could be useful to know when I die,' Melcorka said. 'I'll come with you to meet this Fitheach, and then we shall discuss what we will do.'

'That is a good plan,' Bradan said, standing up. 'She is waiting for us.'

'How does she know?' Melcorka asked.

'She is a seer,' Bradan said and smiled. 'Also, I told her to expect us.'

Melcorka laughed. 'That would help! Take me to your all-seeing seer, Bradan, and let's see what she sees for us.'

'It is a short walk,'

Bradan led them around the heavily-wooded hill of Tom-na-hurich, inside which the People of Peace were said to live, and to the banks of the River Ness. Even although it was midsummer, the water was high as the Ness surged along the grassy banks, foaming as it washed against half a dozen small, green-treed islets in mid-stream.

'They say there is a water horse in this river, or some kind of dragon,' Bradan said. 'I have never seen it.' He glanced over his shoulder at Tom-na-hurich. 'I'd prefer to meet a hundred water horses than a single creature from that place.'

'The People of Peace are not all bad.' Melcorka touched his shoulder. 'Ceridwen is of their number, as you know, and she cared for Maelona, the queen and helped us when we fought the Norse.'

'I do know that,' Bradan agreed, 'but I still think it best to keep clear of such creatures.' He closed his mouth and said no more on the subject.

The nearest of the Ness islands was close to the shore, yet too far to jump and the water too deep to ford. Instead, there was a double length of rope along which they pulled themselves. In the middle of the passage, this precarious bridge dipped beneath the surface of the water, soaking them both.

'I hope this seer is worth it.' Melcorka stepped onto the island and shook the excess water from her clothes.

'Oh, she is,' Bradan assured her.

At any other time, Melcorka would have appreciated the beauty of the scene, with half a dozen tree-clad islets surrounded by the rushing river, while the hills rose blue and remote in the distance. Today, with the knowledge that a wise-women may soon foretell her destiny, she had other things on her mind.

'It is the most westerly island,' Bradan said, guiding her over a maze of narrow rope bridges that connected each small island. 'The one with the hazel grove.'

Melcorka nodded. 'I have heard that hazelnuts aid divination.' She felt her tension rise as she moved closer to Fitheach, although she was not quite sure why. She looked ahead, aware of the constant tapping of Bradan's staff on the ground and the whisper of the wind through the trees. The seer's island had been shaped by the river until the tip was as pointed as the bow of any Norse dragon-ship, with the water foaming white and lapping onto the smooth green grass that led to the hazel grove.

So here I find my destiny, Melcorka thought, and shrugged away her forebodings. What would be, would be and that was the way of the world.

'Well met, travellers.' The woman was young, with friendly green eyes and brown hair that cascaded past her shoulders. 'You will be Melcorka and Bradan.'

'That is who we are,' Bradan said, resting on his staff as if he had come a great distance.

'Are you Fitheach?' Melcorka asked bluntly.

'I am Fitheach,' the woman said, 'and unless you are afraid of the truth, then you have no reason for fear.' Her smile was as friendly as anything Melcorka had ever seen. 'You expected some toothless, lonely old hag with warts and bad breath,' she said.

'I did,' Melcorka admitted.

'Then you will be disappointed,' Fitheach said, 'for I am neither toothless nor old, I have no warts, and my breath is as fresh as yours!' She tossed her hair. 'And nor am I lonely. Why should I be? I am attractive and female!' Her laugh sounded across the islands to the banks of the Ness. 'Come on then, Melcorka, and I shall make a frith for you. That means I shall delve into your future and see what shall be seen.'

'You look very young for such knowledge,' Melcorka said doubtfully.

'I know I do,' Fitheach said, 'just as you look very young to be the woman who repelled the Northmen.'

Melcorka nodded. 'That is a point well made,' she said.

'Come into my home,' Fitheach invited, 'and you shall hear what I shall see.' Holding a hand out in welcome, she ushered them into the heart of the hazel grove, with the trees murmuring in the breeze and sunlight dappling the ground before them. There was a small mound in a clearing, with a neat, heather-thatched cottage on top. A small window sat on either side of a low wooden door.

'I have not eaten since I heard you wished your frith,' Fitheach said casually, 'for fasting helps the gift.' She looked upward, and a westerly wind now dragged clouds across the low sun. 'It is nearly dark. The most auspicious time for a frith is immediately before dawn, so you will sleep here tonight.'

'We thank you for your hospitality,' Bradan said. 'May God bless your house and all within it.'

'Oh, He will,' Fitheach said. 'Come away in.'

The interior was as neat as the exterior, with a clean dirt floor, a low table and four stools scattered around a central peat fire that sparked welcome light into the dark interior. The sweet smell of peat-smoke was as familiar as Scottish rain.

'You will sleep,' Fitheach told them, 'and you will wake an hour before dawn. Don't worry about the man in the corner. He is here to entertain me and keep my bed warm. He is not here for any reason that concerns you.'

The handsome young man who occupied a corner couch gave them a friendly grin without speaking a word, tossed back a mop of shining red hair and leaned back. His short kilt covered barely enough for decency, while above the waist he was naked and finely muscled.

'You have a fairy sword, I see,' Fitheach said and shook her head at Bradan's immediate expression of alarm. 'Oh, it's all right, Bradan. The People of Peace at Tom-na-hurich don't bother with me, or I with them.'

'It is a fairy sword,' Melcorka agreed. 'It was the sword of Calgagus and Arthur.'

'Excalibur?' Fitheach raised her eyebrows. 'Now, that I did not expect. I see the future and not the past.' She rested a slender finger on the hilt. 'She will not let you down, as long as you do not abuse her trust. Sleep well.' Fitheach smiled. 'Your sword will be safe in my home.'

As was common in the houses of the Gael, the bed was made of heather, with the stalks pointing downward to give spring and the leaves upward for comfort. The pleasant scent of natural heather soothed Melcorka to sleep and if she dreamed, she did not remember. She woke to the chuckle of the rushing river and the soft sough of wind through the boughs of the hazel trees.

'Are you ready, Melcorka, daughter of Bearnas?'

Fitheach stood over her, smiling and not looking as young as she had the previous night.

Melcorka glanced around. Bradan sat at the corner of the cottage, watching her, looking as though he had been awake for hours. Now fully naked, the other man slept the sleep of the exhausted. His kilt lay in a tangle beside the peat flame.

'I am ready, Fitheach.'

Fitheach nodded. 'That is well. Has Bradan told you what I am?'

'You are a seer,' Melcorka said.

'Nearly, Melcorka. I am a frithir. I can see into the unseen. You are welcome to watch if you wish, but not to interfere.' Bareheaded, so her hair cascaded to her shoulders, and barefoot on the clean earthen floor, Fitheach wore a simple linen leine and nothing else. She opened the door of the cottage, closed her eyes and stood on the threshold with one hand on each jamb. She spoke slowly, praying to the god of the unseen, then opened her eyes again and walked around the cottage from east to west.

'Sunwise,' Bradan murmured. 'This is the old way. Praying to the old gods of the druids.' He made the sign of the cross to protect himself and stepped outside the door. Melcorka followed, leaving Defender propped against the inner wall. She knew she did not need it in this house of hospitality.

Fitheach made a circle with the thumb and forefinger of her right hand as she continued to walk around the cottage, sunwise.

'The circle is the symbol of Bel, the sun-god,' Bradan said softly. 'Fitheach is praying to him.'

Melcorka stirred uneasily. 'I am a follower of the Christ God.'

'So am I,' Bradan said. 'Yet sometimes, the old ways work. They were here for thousands of years before the Christ came from the East. The old gods know this land.'

'There is only one God,' Melcorka said, yet she continued to watch Fitheach's progress. She heard the breeze rustle the branches of the hazel and the river surge and suck at the edges of the island. She heard the melody of a dozen different birds, mavis, robin, blackbird and sparrow, and the cheep of a medley of finches. The sounds merged until they became one; until they became part of the incantation that Fitheach was repeating as she circled the cottage, with her bare feet gradually creating a furrow in the ground so she was connected deeper and deeper with Mother Earth. In the east, where the River Ness entered the sea, the sun rose, shining a golden path up the rippling waters until her light sweetened the branches of the trees and dappled the clearing in which Fitheach walked.

Fitheach's words rose as the sun kissed her, but her pace did not alter. Melcorka could not tell how many times the frithir had circled the house; scores, certainly, perhaps more than that and she continued, sunwise, with her face set and her eyes alive, yet what she saw only she knew.

'She will circle the house nine times nine.' Bradan must have guessed Melcorka's thoughts. 'And then the truth will come to her.' He touched her on the sleeve. 'You may not wish to hear what she sees.'

Melcorka swallowed hard. She was unsure of this place. She did not understand this dabbling with the uncanny. Even with Defender, she could not fight the unseen. 'I will hear what the frithir says.'

Taking a deep breath, she watched the hazel grove come alight with the blaze from the sun. The instant the sun licked around her, Fitheach stopped walking; for a moment, she seemed to be a figure of gold.

'I see!' Fitheach said. 'I see a man with braided hair and a face marked and decorated.'

'That is Egil,' Melcorka said, although she knew that Fitheach was lost in her own world and could not hear her. 'Egil is the Northman who killed my mother.'

'I see him well,' Fitheach continued. 'I see him facing you near the circle of Bel. I see him standing over you with an axe in his hand and blood in his heart.'

'Will I kill him?' Melcorka asked.

Perhaps her words got through. 'You want to kill him,' Fitheach said.

'More than you will ever know!' Melcorka saw sunlight creep slowly toward her.

'Neither steel nor iron will kill that man,' Fitheach said.

'How will he die?' Melcorka asked. 'How can I kill him?'

'He will die from the bite of the dead. You will be there, Melcorka and you cannot kill him in vengeance, yet he can kill you.'

'I must seek him!' Melcorka allowed the warmth of the rising sun to filter through the swaying leaves of the hazel grove and light up her face. She told herself she was not seeking the blessing of Bel or any other pagan god. She did not know if that was the truth.

Fitheach stood within a beam of the sun, so a halo seemed to form around her head. 'You will not seek him, yet you will meet. He will not seek you, yet his axe and sword will colour with your blood.'

A cloud covered the sun. Fitheach no longer stood within its golden rays. She looked up. 'Beware of the Bel beachd, the circle of Bel, Melcorka of the Cenel Bearnas.'

'He will die from the bite of the dead,' Melcorka repeated. 'What does that mean, Fitheach?'

She shook her head slowly. 'I say what I see. I leave the interpretation to you.'

'It seems that I cannot kill that man, yet he will die whatever I do.' Melcorka was aware of Bradan watching her.

'He is best avoided,' Bradan agreed.

'We will not be seeking Egil,' Melcorka said quietly. 'We will follow the path of the wanderer rather than the way of the warrior.'

'That is the better path,' Bradan agreed. 'Travellers are always made welcome in this land of Alba, or Erin over the sea and Cymri to the south. Of the land of the Saxons, I do not know.'

'We will see what we will see,' Melcorka said. 'And if I am destined to meet Egil whether I seek him or not, then that shall be what happens.' She glanced around, where Fitheach's male companion had joined them outside. He smiled at her, running his gaze from the top of her black hair to the tips of her toes and back, lingering at her breasts. 'And if you do not control yourself, man-of-the-mobile-eyes, I shall ensure that Fitheach has no further use of your services. That,' she pointed to his manhood, 'would make a small trophy on the edge of my sword.'

Fitheach gave a short laugh. 'That would be a waste,' she said, 'although he would deserve no less.' She held out a hand, palm downward, to Bradan. 'Let me see your staff, Bradan.'

He handed it to her, wondering, and she turned it over and over, examining it. 'Blackthorn, I see.' She said. 'It is a fine staff, and it has cared for you for many miles on many roads.'

'It has done that,' Bradan agreed.

'And now it needs a rest,' Fitheach said.

'My staff will see me on many more roads yet,' Bradan said.

'It will be safe here with me,' Fitheach told him, 'and it will tell me the tales of your adventures. In return,' she reached to the rafters of the cottage and hauled down a staff equal in size and weight, 'here is one for you.'

Bradan took it with a curious expression on his face. 'This is rowan wood. I've been searching for a rowan wood staff for many years.'

Fitheach smiled. 'It is blessed by being rowan wood, Bradan and doubly blessed by the owner it once had.'

Bradan examined it. 'I see nothing to tell of the owner,' he said.

'Look at the top,' Fitheach said.

Bradan did so. 'There is a small cross embossed in the wood.'

'This was the staff of Columba,' Fitheach said. 'There will come a time or three when it will stand you in good stead.'

'Thank you.' Bradan rubbed his hand the length of the staff and tapped it on the ground. 'It is a fine support.'

Fitheach's man grinned. 'It is a length of wood with no more purpose than…'

'Than your tongue, man-of-no-wit!' Melcorka eyed him up and down, shook her head slowly and looked away.

'How can I thank you, Fitheach?' Bradan asked. 'What do you wish of me?'

'I wish you to use the staff well,' Fitheach said quietly. 'If you do that, you will do more than enough for me, and for others.'

Bradan nodded. 'There is a lot that you are not telling me,' he said.

'There is a lot that I do not know.' Fitheach placed Bradan's old staff in the rafters. 'And there is a lot that I would like to know.'

'I will come back and tell you,' Bradan said.

Fitheach shook her head. 'It will be many days before you are back here, Bradan, if indeed you return at all. Your path takes you on a long journey to elsewhere.'

Bradan held out a hand. 'In that case, I thank you for your hospitality and your words.' He tapped his new staff on the floor again. 'It's time we were on the road, Melcorka. You are growing restless, and there is the memory of a man I wish to see.'

Melcorka ignored the mocking bow of Fitheach's man. He was as irrelevant as his nakedness.