The Swordswoman Collection

Chapter 13

"Be wary of the Picts," the Constable warned, as they stood at the bridge over the river. "They are a fickle people. Drest can be charming, or cunning, depending on what day it is, or how the wind blows." He looked upward. "Be careful because the weather is about to change. Rain will swell the rivers north of the Highland line." He lowered his voice. "And be careful of the People of Peace. Your route takes you very close to Schiehallion." He held out his hand. "I wish you both all the luck there is. When you come south again, be sure to visit."

As Melcorka and Bradan headed downhill, the Constable shouted after them, "and watch out for Brude"s druid. His name is Broichan. He will put you through the tests."

Broichan: the name seemed imbued with evil. Its echo followed Melcorka down that wooded hill and joined her last image of Douglas to haunt her dreams on their long journey north.

"I have heard of druids," Melcorka said two days later, as they huddled in a snow hole on the central Highlands. "They were the priests of the old times."

"They were, and still are, the priests of Fidach." Bradan tended the tiny fire that was all that kept them from a freezing death on this east-facing ridge.

"I heard they practice human sacrifice and eat the babies of their enemies." Melcorka nibbled delicately on the leg of a mountain hare they had killed earlier that day.

"They have great wisdom and knowledge of nature and the way of birds, plants and animals." Bradan sipped on an infusion of herbs and vegetation he had picked when they were beneath the snowline.

"They used to put their prisoners of war into huge wicker men and burn them alive," Melcorka remembered.

"Or so their enemies said." Bradan smiled across the smoke of their camp fire. "Only a fool listens to the words of an enemy, and you are no fool."

"It might be true." Melcorka ignored the implied compliment. "It"s better to be prepared to meet these things, don"t you think?"

"You are right to be prepared," Bradan told her solemnly. He looked outside, where horizontal wind blasted snow past the entrance to their lair. "The druids are also known as magi, the same as the wise men of the Bible. I do not think the magi were evil people, although they were not Christian."

"I heard that druids practice black magic and can summon demons from rivers and lochs." Liquid fat dribbled down Melcorka"s chin when she looked up. "St Columba had to fight a river monster in the Ness when he came up here."

"We will watch out for monsters," Bradan promised solemnly, "although I have walked the length and breadth of Alba and Erin and have never met any."

Melcorka wiped her chin on the hem of the hooded travelling cloak that had been a gift from Anice. "You are a very wise man, Bradan. Where are you from?"

Bradan shrugged. "I don"t know if I am wise or not. I will allow others to be the judge of my wisdom." He finished his meal and cleaned the dish with fresh snow.

"And where are you from?"

He was silent for what seemed a long time. "I am from wherever I am at the time." His smile twisted when he looked at her. "I have been a wanderer as long as I can remember, but please do not ask me to tally my life in months and years, because I can"t."

Melcorka washed down the hare with melted snow. "You are a man of mystery, Bradan."

"I am not," he told her. "I am only myself, and there is very little about me to be mysterious. I am exactly what I seem." He lifted his staff from the ground. "A man wandering the land with a stick."

"You are an honest man," Melcorka said. "That counts for much."

Bradan leaned back and tapped his staff on the ground. "You are hinting at your thoughts," he said. "Tell me what troubles you."

"Not what, but who," Melcorka said. When she spoke, the words burst from her, unconsidered and bitter as sleet in spring, near poetic in their intensity. "The love of men is a false love and woe to the woman who does their will! Though their fine talk is sweet, their hearts are hidden deep within. I no longer believe their secret whisper, I no longer believe the close squeeze of their hands, I no longer believe their sweet-tasting kiss …"

"Do you mean all men, or are you referring to one man in particular?" Bradan tapped his staff on the ground.

"It is Douglas. I allowed him to…"

"You shared your body with him, thinking it was exclusive, and you were hurt to find he thought differently," Bradan said.

Melcorka looked away, nodding.

"Was that your first time with a man?" Bradan"s voice was gentle.

Again, Melcorka nodded.

"It will not be your last," Bradan told her. "The memory will last longer than the pain." He paused for a moment. "Douglas would not have meant to hurt you."

Melcorka did not understand the conflicting emotions that assailed her. She only knew that Douglas"s actions had added to the deep agony she felt at the loss of her mother. She could not answer.

"Talk me through your feelings," Bradan invited.

"I cannot voice them," Melcorka said.

Bradan was silent for a moment. "When you can, I have ears to hear them."

Melcorka said nothing.

"Sleep now," Bradan advised, "we still have a journey ahead of us."

"I cannot sleep," Melcorka said.

"Then rest all that you can." Bradan came close. Melcorka huddled next to the fire, and three times during the night, when she awoke, she saw that Bradan had not moved. His eyes were on her always.