When the Fair Folk gave you an instruction, you followed it, whether it suited you or not. That was just the way it was. Anyway, when you looked at it, I didn’t have much choice. I was not prepared for winter, and my brothers had more on their minds than chopping wood or seeking out supplies for me, that last time. So I left my oaken staff, that had been Father Brien’s, and I left the winter boots and the warm cloaks, and the three sharp daggers with carven hilts. I left the pile of smooth stones where my good dog lay, and I left the last bunch of dried lavender, which held the summer’s warmth in its sweet, faint fragrance, and the dwindling stack of ash wood. I even left the spindle and the little loom my brother had crafted for me. But I took the two shirts of starwort and the third half sewn, along with the fibers I had not yet spun, and I took my needle and thread, and in the bottom of the bag was Simon’s carving. I wore my old dress, and around my neck Finbar’s amulet, which had been our mother’s. I walked away from the cave without a single backward glance. But I heard faint voices whispering, rustling, and the beat of delicate wings in and out of the tree canopy.
Sorcha, oh Sorcha. Farewell, farewell
. The sounds followed me along the shore, as I made my way barefoot between stones and across rough grass, until I found the little flat boat with a pole to push it along.
Sister, oh sister. Where are you going? When will you return?
I dug the pole into the sand and sent the boat out into the current, and the water carried me away.
If I had any will at that moment, I would have followed Padriac’s suggestion and hugged the bank of the lake, traveling close under the draping willows until I should reach some place of relative safety. I thought, fuzzily, that the Lady had intended this and had moved me on for protection while I completed my task. But I had no energy to guide the craft. My mind was hazy with hunger, and I supposed I was ill; the faint rocking of the boat felt strangely erratic, the water was turbulent, and the passing trees tilted and swayed, making me dizzy. I sensed other hands were moving the small vessel on a path not of my choosing.
The forest sylphs faded away behind, and within the ripples and surges of lake water other voices arose, liquid, evasive, murmuring one to the other as their owners bore my little boat swiftly, too swiftly, out on the increasingly choppy water. I blinked and stared, wondering how much was real and how much some feverish vision. There were long pale hands in the water, and faces with wide-set eyes, and hair like fronded weed, gray and green and blue. There were tails with jewel-bright scales. “Make haste, make haste,” they sang, one to another. “It’s time.”
And so the boat moved faster and faster, as if on a swift river, and in the sky above heavy clouds gathered and hung, and the day grew dark. Fat raindrops began to spatter down around me, and there was a distant rumble of thunder. The small part of me that was still awake registered these things, and that I was alone in the middle of a large expanse of water, barefoot in my old dress, in a boat designed for peaceful shallows. The wind rose, and the little craft bobbed up and down as it went.
Wavelets sloshed in over the sides, soon soaking me to the waist. But it didn’t feel cold; instead I was burning hot and I heard their voices calling to me, around, under, behind, and before me in the darkening water. “It’s easy, easy, Sorcha. Slip over, slip over the side and down to us. It’s cool here under the water. Slip away down.” And another. “Come away, come away down. Say farewell to your pain, let the water wash it away. Come, let the water take you. Come and dance with us in the deep.” Their voices were sweetly coaxing. I wanted to feel the cool water on my burning brow, wanted to sleep and forget. It would be so simple to lean over, to slide under the water and away from it all. “Throw me your bundle! Throw it! Let go your burden!” I saw the long, clutching fingers stretching up, up toward me, and I came awake, and clasped the bag tight to my chest, never mind the barbs that pricked me through the canvas.
No. I will not
. Then I heard them laughing, high voices, deep voices, and the splashing of their tails as they moved around the boat. And they were gone, leaving me to the wind and water.
I suppose I did come close to drowning, that evening. But I was ill and tired, and at the time the danger seemed unimportant. After a time the sky blackened, and lightning split the darkness like great white spears flung with tremendous force into the earth. Squally rain passed over, and the boat was half filled with water. I gripped on with both hands to keep my balance, and knew it was only a matter of time before it sank. I knew, too, that I would not last long in the water. The lake had long since narrowed to a swift-flowing river, and the shore was closer now; a flash of lightning illuminated rock walls and low clumps of bushes. We were beyond the edges of the forest, in more open country. Here and there I could see gaps in the rocks and small stretches of bank where one might crawl ashore, if one had the strength. I fumbled for the pole, hoping to guide the craft to safety, for possibly it was shallower here. But my mind didn’t seem able to direct my hands, and the pole slipped away from me and over the side, floating rapidly out of reach. I was too weak to swim after it, let alone gain the shore. And if I did not drown, the cold would finish me before morning. I was on fire with the fever, and could not feel the chill, but the healer in me knew how this heat could deceive, and a person freeze to death while in its burning grip.
The storm clouds parted briefly, and the moon appeared. Pale light spread suddenly across the surging water. There was a light on the shore too, and a moment later a man’s voice, shouting. “Hey! What’s that?” And another. “Out there—look! There’s somebody in it! I think it’s a girl.” The wind gusted, blowing my hair across my eyes. The boat was floating away from the shore again. I peered toward the small light. There were two men, one carrying some sort of lantern, and the other was stripping off his shirt and wading into the water, then striking out toward me, swimming into the storm. “You’re crazy!” shouted the other after him. He was coming closer. Despite wind and current, his powerful body, white in the moonlight, moved in a straight path purposefully toward me. He was a big man, moving with grim intention. My body tensed with fear, and suddenly the thought of slipping over the side, of sinking down below the water and out of this world seemed altogether good, the only sensible thing to do. I clutched my bag with both hands and stood up unsteadily. The wind did the rest for me, tipping the boat over so that it filled and sank. The water closed over my head.
For long moments the cool was blissful, the wish for oblivion strong enough to blot out everything. Then the lungs craved air, and the spirit said
No. Not yet
. And I came up to the surface, choking, gasping, shivering, and terrified. Came up as he swam the last few strokes toward me and gripped me around the chest with a pair of arms like iron. I could not scream, but I fought him as hard as I could, scratching and kicking with the last of my strength.
“Stop fighting, you fool,” he snapped, and clamped a large hand over my mouth, turning me on my back and pulling me shoreward. I bit him. He swore, using a word I had heard but once before, for the language he used was that of the Britons. His grip loosened enough for me to slip beneath the water again, and I tried to swim away, evade him somehow, but my nostrils filled with water, and I felt it painfully in my chest, and then he grabbed my hair and I felt myself inexorably towed to shore, held in a grip too strong to break. I was weeping and my nose was running, and I was so scared, this time, that I truly wished I had drowned.
We reached the bank, where he slung me over his shoulder unceremoniously, like some prize of the hunt. “Fool,” remarked his companion. The two of them began walking up among the bushes, away from the water. I noticed he was carrying my bag in his hand. Both of them had knives in their belts. I thought I would snatch one when they stopped to put me down. Before I let them do anything to me, I would kill myself. For why else would men like these bother rescuing me, but to make use of my body then throw me aside? What else could they want with a wretched girl, half starved, half drowned? But I would not let them have me, not this time. I would stop them by whatever means there were.
But when we reached shelter under a rock wall, and I saw that there was a third man waiting there for them in the darkness, I had no strength left to protect myself, and I lay there helpless where he dropped me. They had dimmed the lantern, but I could see they were Britons, and dressed for fast and silent travel across country.
“We’ll have to light a fire.” This was the voice of my rescuer.
“You’re mad,” said the other one, him with the lantern. “What about Redbeard and his men? They can’t be far behind us.”
“You heard him. Light a fire.” That was the third man, who sounded somewhat older than the others. I dared not open my eyes further than a slit. “A small fire. This storm will keep our pursuers away until dawn. We should be well clear by then.”
I heard someone fiddling with the lantern, and after a while a gentle crackling. A little glow spread out, casting its orange light over their grim faces. They spoke quietly among themselves, and after a while I managed to put names to them. The older one was John; the man who had carried the lantern, young, golden-haired, was called Ben. As for the tall man, who had fished me out of the river, his name seemed to be Red, unlikely though that sounded. Now he was going through my bag. I shut my eyes and tried to stop shivering.
“She held onto that tight enough. What’s in it, the family jewels?”
There was no answer. After a while I opened my eyes a little. Red was closing the flap of the bag.
“Not much,” he said. His voice sounded strange. He looked strange too, his face went in and out of focus as he bent over me. I clenched my teeth in revulsion.
“I think she’s sick. Here, give me your cloak, Ben.”
“Hey, it’s cold. What about me?” The reply was plaintive, but his companion handed it over, and I felt its warmth settle around me. The man’s hand touched my shoulder, and I flinched away, biting back a scream. For a moment I stared straight up into his eyes, which were blue and bore a puzzled look. He was frowning.
“Easy,” he said. “Easy there,” as if talking to some nervous horse or half-wild dog. Now, I thought. Now they’ll try to grab hold of me and I’ll—and I’ll—my mind got no further, for there were three of them, all armed, and all far bigger and stronger than those others. These were hardened travelers. I had no chance. But I had sharp teeth and nails, and I would use them until I had no strength left.
“Take your clothes off,” said Red, and my body curled in on itself in terror. I felt myself shaking. My thumping heart measured the silence. How long before they laid their filthy hands on me? How long could I stifle the scream of outrage that welled in my throat?
“What’s wrong with you?” his voice was exasperated. “Here.” He was holding something out to me. Ben spoke.
“She doesn’t understand you, Red. After all, she’s one of the natives, and a couple of sheaves short of the haystack at that.”
“More likely she’s been hurt before,” put in the older man. “Terrified to let you near her. Give her the clothes, and move back. Not much point in trying to talk to her; I doubt if she has the wit to understand you, let alone the language. You need to show her you mean no harm.”
My rescuer raised his eyebrows and put what he was carrying down on the ground next to me. Then the three of them moved back to the edge of the overhang and, exchanging glances, turned away from me.
“This is stupid,” Ben said, with his back to me. “Who is this, some princess of the blood? First, she’s a barbarian; second, she’s about as bright as a lump of wood; and third, Redbeard’s men are on our trail, armed to the teeth, and here we are observing the niceties of female modesty. I think this forest waif has turned your heads.”
“Shut up, Ben,” said Red, and his companion did.
I realized I’d been given a rather big shirt of coarse linen, and a belt to keep it on. It smelled of sweat, but it was dry. There was some sort of undershirt as well.
Red glanced back over his shoulder. “You’re supposed to take off your wet clothes, and put those on,” he said, but it was clear he did not expect me to understand. He turned around fully and mimed the action for me as I stared.
Perhaps, I thought, they really didn’t intend to hurt me. In any event, there was little to lose. I could feel the fever gripping me, burning. I had enough common sense left to know dry clothes would help. Red turned his back again.
“Why bother talking to her?” inquired Ben. He looked several years younger than his friend, possibly only just old enough for an expedition of this kind, whatever it was. If they were indeed Britons, they were a long way from home. “You’ve only got to look at her to tell she’s not all there. You may have had your reasons for coming here, but even you must admit it has been a waste of time. And now we’re risking our one chance of escape for some half-witted girl. This is the last time you drag me along on some fool’s errand.”
“You talk of fools,” said John, “in the heat of the moment. But when he asks you, next time, you will go with him. Now hold your tongue, lest you make bad worse.”
And while they argued, I managed, heart pounding, to take off my sodden gown and struggle into the dry garments, tying the vast shirt as well as I could around my waist. The belt went around me twice, and was still loose.
The argument, such as it was, drew to a close. The three of them turned back and scrutinized me as I sat, still shivering, by the tiny fire. There was the faintest hint of amusement on the older man’s face as he regarded me. I suppose I did look a little odd.
“So far, so good,” said Red, whose own expression gave away nothing at all. “Put the cloak on, too.” I gave no sign that I understood. He picked it up and dropped it over my shoulders. I flinched as his hands drew close, but its warmth was welcome now, and I drew the folds around me.