Gavin Smith - The Age of Scorpio

‘I saw through your glamour,’ Britha spat. ‘I saw your true face. You’re an evil spirit, a demon!’

Fachtna grinned at this, but Teardrop looked thoughtful and more than a bit worried.

‘She has you there,’ Fachtna said.

‘Shut up!’ Teardrop snapped. His warrior friend’s humour often seemed poorly timed.

‘His magics helped bring you back. They fought the demon’s blood inside you,’ Fachtna told her. ‘We only mean you harm if you mean us harm. I will swear by my blood and his if that’s what it takes.’

Britha considered this. If he was a Goidel then she had heard that they had their own honour and could be held to an oath. Teardrop was relieved that Fachtna had decided to be diplomatic and found a way to talk to the woman.

‘We’re here to—’ Teardrop started. Britha swung around to face him again. ‘Fine, fine,’ he said backing away, hands up.

‘I don’t like that sword,’ Britha told Fachtna.

Fachtna smiled. ‘You would like my spear even less.’

Britha could see that he had a spear in some kind of leather tube strapped to the back of his armour. It looked like something was struggling to get out of it. Fachtna was right: she did not like it. She felt its malevolence in her blood.

Teardrop was looking bored.

‘May I speak now? No…’ Britha tried to get at him again. Fachtna got in between them but sheathed his blade and dropped his shield, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm.

‘I will give my oath for my friend as well,’ he said. ‘He worked magics on you while you were asleep.’

‘Oh brilliant,’ Teardrop muttered as Britha looked furious again.

‘But they were healing magics only.’ Britha still regarded the pair suspiciously.

‘Why are you here?’

‘I have come to find and kill someone called Bress,’ Fachtna said.

Britha looked for the truth in Fachtna. He seemed the archetypal warrior: cocky, boastful, arrogant and not too bright, but with a modicum of charm. Judging by his lack of scars he was untested and therefore vastly overconfident, particularly about facing Bress, but she could see no untruth in him. She nodded towards Teardrop.

‘And that? Is it some demon you have bound into your service?’

Teardrop made a small humourless laughing noise. He was sitting on the pebbles now. He had spat on his fingers and was rubbing the spit into the dry wounds that Britha had made by repeatedly bludgeoning him with his own staff.

‘No, he is my friend and a wise and powerful dryw in his own right.’

‘Why is his head like that?’

‘Because he has a grand opinion of himself,’ Fachtna said, grinning. Teardrop silently cursed another of the warrior’s poorly timed attempts at humour.

‘It’s this shape because I sing the mindsong. It’s where my power lives,’ Teardrop said, getting to his feet. The previously conciliatory tone had gone. Britha recognised this – she used it herself – it was the tone you used when the tribe needed to listen to her in her capacity as ban draoi . ‘My name is Teardrop on Fire. Don’t hit me with my staff again. In fact, give it back to me.’

‘I’ll swap you for my spear,’ she said.

Fachtna sighed, ‘I’ll go and get it,’ and headed back towards the crannogs. Britha continued staring at Teardrop.

‘Teardrop on Fire, what sort of stupid name is that?’

‘The only one I have.’

‘Then you’re brave to let me have it.’

‘I have no fear of you. My friends call me Teardrop.’

Britha threw the strange creature his staff back to prove that she did not fear him either, and the more she talked to him the less frightening he seemed.

‘Where do you come from?’ she asked.

‘A place where the ground is the sky and the sky is the ground,’ Teardrop said as he grumpily examined his staff.

‘The Otherworld?’

Teardrop put the base of his staff on the ground and leaned on it. It looked to be a familiar pose.

‘If you like,’ he said.

‘What tribe do you come from?’

‘My friend is a Gael descended from Mael Duin himself. I am Croatan.’

The words were meaningless to Britha. Fachtna was running easily across the pebbled beach back towards them carrying Britha’s spear.

‘He is sidhe ?’ Teardrop did not answer. ‘You were the two that came through the circle.’ It was more of an accusation than a question. Teardrop nodded. ‘Why do you want to kill Bress?’ There was only a small conflict in her voice. Her treacherous fledgling feelings for Bress were a paltry consideration compared to the plight of her people, but Teardrop’s eyes narrowed. I will have to watch him , she thought. He is clever .

‘Because even if this story had been long ago told, he does not belong here.’

‘That does not make any sense.’

‘He is unnatural to this place and means it ill. He is from elsewhere, and his magics were not made for this world.’

Britha gave this some consideration. He spoke in riddles but confirmed what she had thought.

‘Why are you dressed so strangely?’ she finally asked, more for the sake of something to say. Fachtna overheard as he returned and threw Britha her spear.

‘Because he likes to draw attention to himself,’ the warrior said. Teardrop gave his companion a weary look.

‘Bress has an army. Is there just the two of you, or are you scouts for a great army from the Otherworld?’

Fachtna looked at Teardrop, who just shrugged.

‘Teardrop is a powerful dryw and I am a mighty warrior.’

It was said in jest but Britha could tell he believed it as well.

‘You don’t look like a mighty warrior,’ she said. Teardrop laughed.

‘What?!’ Fachtna cried in mock outrage.

‘Even in training warriors get scars and wear them proudly,’ Britha told him.

‘Where I come from, the women train us to fight and they leave all kinds of wounds, but I have lain in the cauldron and that has made me whole again.’

Again Britha was not sure what he was talking about, but cauldrons with healing powers she could understand.

‘You will have to believe me that he is a good warrior,’ Teardrop said. ‘And very, very vain.’

‘Besides, we are three now,’ Fachtna said, grinning, sure of himself. Britha had decided that her earlier judgement of him was correct. He would annoy her.

‘Are we?’ she said scornfully.

‘Are you hungry?’ Teardrop asked with some concern.

Britha had been ignoring the sensation but she realised suddenly that Teardrop was right. She was hungry to the point of being in pain. She felt as if her skin was hanging off her bones.

They were like her, like her people, or at least Fachtna was. She studied both of them, their features bathed in red from the fire they had lit. The smell of roasting venison filled her nose and made her mouth water. Her stomach called to the meat. Fachtna had stripped off his armour and boots and gone into the wooded hills with just three casting spears. He had come back with a roe stag over his shoulders.

Britha had searched the crannogs for food and found some. She had eaten but it had not sated her hunger. The rest she had given to Teardrop, who had returned from the woods with mushrooms, some berries and herbs.

Britha had also found an iron-bladed sickle. It was pitted and rusted but she had scraped off the rust and honed the blade as best she could. When she had the time, she would do the ritual that would attune the sickle to her. Though she would not bathe this one in her blood.

They were like her people but too perfect. Meat filled out their shapes as if they had never known a harsh winter. There were few lines on their skin, though she was sure that Teardrop was older than Fachtna. Their teeth were straight and white, and they smelled like they had washed in a mountain burn just moments before. Their clothes and belongings were well made and showed little if any signs of wear. Life must be good in the Otherworld , she thought.