Edith Pattou: Fire Arrow

When Brie heard the gong for dinner, she realized she had not eaten all day. She left Masha with the dun healer and went down to dinner.

"Uncle Amrys, have you a Dungalan dictionary by chance?" Brie said abruptly, as she helped herself to some minted red potatoes.

Surprised, he replied, "Why, yes, I do. It is very old and very valuable, one of the prizes of my collection, in fact. Traded for it with an old vendor from—"

"May I look at it sometime? Tomorrow, perhaps?" Brie interrupted.

"Well, I don't know ... I suppose so, but—"

"Thank you, Uncle Amrys."

After dinner Brie stopped by the kitchen for a fresh basin of hot water to take up to the sickroom and was surprised to see the dun healer there. "Who is with Masha?" she asked.

"The man Crin. I needed some herbs—"

Without knowing why, Brie was suddenly alarmed. She bolted out of the kitchen and up the stone stairs. The ragged man was just leaving Masha's room, his face hidden. He spotted Brie and scurried down the hall in the opposite direction.

"Stop!" Brie called. She swiftly caught up with him on the winding stairway and grabbed his arm. He kept his face averted, pulling away from her, but Brie held fast to the fabric of his sleeve. The man then deliberately turned his face toward Brie.

It was a ravaged face, ridged with scars and gaunt with suffering. Brie stared. She knew the face. Then the ragged man violently wrenched his arm from her. There was a tearing sound and he catapulted away, down the stairwell. Brie stood still, looking at the torn fabric in her hand. It was stained and dull with wear, threads unraveling, but once upon a time it had been velvet, from a lustrous scarlet cloak. And she knew whose cloak it was; it belonged to the traitor Bricriu, who had been responsible for the kidnapping and torturing of Nessa, Collun's sister.

Masha. Brie ran back to the sick woman's room. Masha was in her death throes, her back arched up off the pallet, her face distorted by pain.

"Masha, it's all right. I'm here," Brie murmured soothingly in Masha's ear.

The wild eyes turned toward her. "Breigit. From Aideen. Caroo tree ra eeth," she said one last time, then died, her body rigid and contorted. Brie took Masha in her arms and awkwardly tried to lay her down. She felt something wet. A brownish liquid had run out of Masha's ear onto Brie's hand. Brie raised it to her nose and sniffed. Bitter, like a root: mandrake perhaps. Bricriu had murdered Masha by pouring poison in her ear.

Brie recalled Collun telling her about mandrake, how in small doses over time it can take away a person's wits, and how a large dose is lethal, squeezing the heart until it stops beating.

Brie drew a blanket over the dead woman and then went downstairs to raise the alarm. A search for Crin was quickly mounted. Brie wanted to go with the search party, but her aunt reminded her of Masha and of the night-vigil. Aunt Rainne was a strong believer in the old traditions, so Brie sat with her aunt in Masha's darkened room, lit by a single beeswax candle. In contrast to the still body lying on the pallet and the quiet of the room, Brie's thoughts were like a stream rushing headlong, veering from the ruined figure of Bricriu to the prophecies of Aelwyn the wyll to Masha's strange final words.

Sometime before dawn, the two women left the room. They joined Uncle Amrys at the morning meal. He told them that the searchers had found no trace of the ragged man. Then Brie related to her aunt and uncle all she knew of the traitor Bricriu. They listened, horrified, to Brie's tale.

"No one knew what happened to Bricriu after his attempt to destroy us failed. But we thought perhaps he went to Medb. If so, she must have dealt with him harshly," Brie said, thinking of the once handsome nobleman's shattered face.

"But why here? Why Masha?" Aunt Rainne asked in confusion.

"I do not know," Brie replied. "Uncle Amrys," she said abruptly. "May I see that dictionary of Dungal?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

"You must be exhausted."

"Please."

"It is very delicate, one of a kind..."

"I will be careful."

Aunt Rainne was giving Amrys a direct look. He sighed. "Very well."

Uncle Amrys led Brie to his library. It was located halfway up one of the dun's highest turrets. Silently he lit several oil lamps.

The last time Brie had been in this room it had been her father's. Gone were the animal-skin rugs, hunting trophies, and sundry bows, arrows, swords. Instead, the floor was covered with woven rugs of muted colors and shelves crammed with books lined the walls.

Uncle Amrys found the Dungalan dictionary, took it off its shelf, and handed it to Brie with an expression of profound reluctance.

"I promise to treat it with the greatest of care," Brie said.

Looking only slightly reassured, and with several backward glances, Amrys left Brie alone with the fragile volume. It was bound in blue leather, and on the cover, embossed in gold, were the figures of a fish and a bird. Brie gingerly leafed through the brittle pages.

"Caroo tree ra eeth," she muttered under her breath. And laboriously she pieced the gibberish together. She had been right. The words were Dungalan. One by one she found them. Carew was "stag." Tri, "three." And rhaidd, "horn" or "antler." Stag, three, antler. Stag of three antlers.

Brie closed her eyes. Stag. Memory washed over her: a memory from many years ago—she and her father at the top of Dun Slieve, her father holding her up, looking down at the bonfires, the white stag lit by the flames. Abruptly Brie stood, leaving the book on her uncle's desk.

She ascended the winding stairs of the turret, taking them two at a time, and came up into the battlements. A steady rainfall hampered her vision, but peering through the castellations she could just make out the White Stag of Herge. And the stag had three horns.

She turned and descended to her uncle's study. Carefully she put the Dungalan dictionary back in its place and blew out the oil lamps.

***

Brie exited the dun, pulling her cloak over her head against the rain. She began climbing the slope of the hillside on which the stag lay.

The wind blew rain into her face and the grass was slippery. Finally she came to the top of the moor, where the stag's antlers crested. Not knowing why she was there or what she was looking for, Brie gazed down at the wet grass and white chalk-stone. Three antlers. Slowly she walked along the length of the first antler, then, rounding the top, walked back down to the head. She did the same with the second and third antlers. When she got to the tip of the third antler, Brie noticed a jagged gray rock sticking up out of the grass. She knelt beside it, then dug her fingers into the soggy earth around it. Despite the cool rain her skin felt hot, and there was a faint humming in her ears.

The piece of rock was firmly embedded in the ground, going down the length of a forearm. Brie kept digging. The rock finally came loose and she pulled it out. It was an ordinary bit of stone, though long and narrow. Brie put her hand into the hole and pressed her fingers further into the earth. Her fingertips hit something solid.

Using the rock as a shovel, Brie enlarged the hole and worked her way around the buried object until she could grasp it. It wouldn't budge. She dug and loosened soil for some time, rain saturating her cloak until water dripped through to her neck and trickled down her back. Finally, tugging hard, she pulled the object out of the ground.

It was a long thin packet, wrapped in some sort of waterproof material that reminded Brie of the material used by fishermen to line their curraghs, the small boats they went to sea in.

Her fingers shaking, Brie started to unwrap the packet.

Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed it from her. Brie jumped up, but she slipped on the grass and fell awkwardly on her side. Rising, she took off after the hobbling figure of Bricriu as he scrambled up the hill. He was headed toward the nearby forest. Brie could see a horse tethered at the edge of the trees. She ran faster. Then her foot hit a mossy patch and she slipped again. Letting out an oath, she clumsily regained her footing. She was slathered with mud and grass but kept slogging toward Bricriu. He was just mounting his horse when Brie reached him.