Edith Pattou - Fire Arrow

Finally they stepped up onto the islet, and the man led her to the tower's door. There were carvings above the arch, faces with protruding eyes and tongues thrusting out, and the surface of the door was covered with runes.

The door was slightly ajar, and the man pushed it open, leading her into a round, dim room lit by flickering lanterns. The man pulled the large door shut behind them, then went around Brie to a spiral stairway. Unaccountably, Brie's legs bore her up the stairs behind him. It was a narrow, claustrophobic, unlit space, barely as wide as her shoulders. Once they were out of sight of the entryway, they moved upward in complete darkness.

They climbed silently, the only sounds their breathing and their feet on the gray stone steps. On and on they climbed. Surely we will soon reach the top, Brie thought. But they did not. Instead they came to a landing, which was lit by lanterns that revealed three closed doors. Even here they did not pause, continuing their ascent of the circular stairway. They passed many such landings and many closed doors. It did not seem possible to Brie that the tower could contain so many.

At last the man stopped, on a landing that had only one door. Unlike the others, this door bore a mosaic inlay of gleaming white and gold tiles. Withdrawing a large golden key from a leather pouch at his waist, the man opened the door.

Inside was a sumptuous, beautiful room, gleaming everywhere with gold: gold brocade curtains, elegant enormous tapestries worked with golden thread, luxurious gold velvet rugs, tables and chairs with ornate gilt legs. A soft warm light glowed from dozens of intricately wrought, gold lanterns. A golden table was spread with plates of biscuits and cakes, and carafes of honey-colored wine. ;

"Please," the man with the blurred face said, pulling out a chair, "you must be weary after your long journey."

Brie wanted to protest, but even as she tried to form the words, her legs were moving, bearing her across the room to a gold velvet chair with golden legs.

Before she sat, the man took her bow and quiver. "You will not need these." He placed them on a gilt table near the door.

Again she tried to protest and again she could not.

Returning to the table, the man filled two plates with food, poured two golden goblets of the honey-colored wine, and said with a smiling voice, "Do eat. You will find you can move your arms now." The hot prickly feeling suddenly left Brie's arms, though remained elsewhere. But she did not eat.

"Who are you?" Brie asked.

"First we eat, then we will talk." He drank from his goblet and then began to eat. Brie still could not see his face. "I assure you," he said between bites, "none of the food or drink has been tampered with. The wine is an excellent vintage, from the first pressing of Oldyn grapes, sweetened with the purest clover honey in Dungal. You must try it, Brie."

He had used her name.

"Show me your face," she said.

The man let out a sigh, then replied, "Very well." He took a last bite, set down his golden cutlery, and wiped his mouth with a golden napkin. Then he pushed himself a short distance from the table.

Mesmerized, Brie watched the man's face. The features began to resolve into a definite pattern; it was a well-favored face with a strong chin, a prominent nose, high cheekbones, and eyes as blue as the core of a lasan flame. It was the face of a young god. Memory stirred in Brie. She knew him, but she could not recall...

He smiled. "It is such a pleasure to see you again, Breo-Saight. Breo-Saight—it was a name I gave you, do you remember? I little guessed then I was a prophet, as well as a sorcerer."

***

" Loolk, Brie. Your arrow flew higher than an eagle. It almost set those clouds aflame. "

" Was it a good shot? "

" The best yet. I know, I shall give you a new name. To match your prowess. Breo-Saight. Fire arrow. "

" Fire arrow... "

" Yes. And one day it shall be known throughout the land. Breo-Saight." A dazzling grin. Her own eager smile in response.

***

"Balor," she said. Her cousin.

He smiled at her. "I enjoyed the year I spent at Dun Slieve. Your father was an adequate teacher for what I required at the time. Of course I was only just discovering the potential in me for other things."

"We never heard from you after you left," Brie heard herself say, her voice childlike.

"Ah, it could not be helped. I came here first, to Dungal. I knew I was ready for instruction of a different kind, to kindle the draoicht in me. I had always heard that Dungal was rich in such people, but as it turned out, none was powerful enough, except the mad ones like Yldir. And they would not help me. So I went to Scath."

"Medb," Brie said softly.

"Indeed. A tactical choice, and a fruitful one as it turned out. But enough. Shall we return to our meal? You haven't yet tried the wine."

Brie's mind whirled.

This man Balor, her cousin, acted as if he had brought her here. And yet she thought the arrow, and Sago, had guided her path. Without thinking, she glanced at the quiver.

His eyes followed her glance. "Ah, yes. I had almost forgotten." Brie's stomach tightened. Again Balor laid down his golden fork. He crossed to Brie's quiver and peered inside. Wrinkling his forehead, he put his hand inside, riffling through the arrows.

Balor made a sound of annoyance. "Where is the arrow?"

Brie kept her voice level. "Arrow?"

"The fire arrow. That I sent the incompetent fool Bricriu to retrieve. I understood you bore it with you."

Brie was silent.

Balor turned the quiver over, dumping its contents onto a gold brocade couch. Brie stared at the dozen or so arrows. They all looked alike. None bore the markings of story bands nor the fletching of goldenhawk feathers.

Balor frowned, then shook his head. He gazed at Brie. She kept her face still, expressionless.

"I wonder what you could have done with it," Balor intoned softly. "Left it with your traveling companion, perhaps. Or hidden it. Ah well, it is immaterial. You do not have it here. And you will not be departing this tower, not at least without me.

"Now, since it is clear you do not intend to break bread with me, we must move on. I have an invasion to prepare and there is more I would have you know of me." He spoke the word invasion as another would have said "evening banquet," Brie thought.

"My eyes," his voice commanded. And, though afraid, Brie gazed straight into those blue-flame eyes, and as she watched, one of them, the right one, drained of all color. The blue-flame dissolved and was gone. The eyeball was completely white.

Casually Balor drew out a dark green eye-patch and affixed it over his right, colorless eye.

An eye-patch ... Brie's mind twitched. But Balor's voice called her back.

"You see me now as I am. The gabha call me Gealacan, or White-eye. It was an unfortunate legacy of my apprenticeship with Medb. I was tending a concoction, an experimental brew Medb had prepared using a flake from the cailceadon. She left the room for several moments and I, believing it would accelerate my education—correctly as it turned out—scooped up a fingerful and put it in my mouth. Unfortunately a drop splashed into my eye, with the result you see now. I also lost a part of my finger." He held up his index finger to illustrate his words; it was indeed cut off at the first joint. "And my tongue was damaged as well, though Medb was kind enough to repair that. My eye she left as it was. Partly as punishment, and partly, I believe, to make us more alike. Or perhaps you are unaware of the paleness of Medb's eyes? She thinks them exceedingly handsome and was quite pleased with my matching eye.

"At any rate Medb's brew did wonders for my draoicht, much more than she knows even now. After all, she lost the cailceadon, but I shall always have a part of it inside me. And to lose a bit of color from one's eye, well, that's hardly an intolerable price to pay."