The Faintest Cloud
A prequel to The Ancient Cothric Chronicles series, beginning with Nylo of Maradon.
The huntsman paused and caught his breath at the edge of the woods and scanned the rolling meadows beyond. Though he had few enemies in these parts, reconnaissance commanded the bear’s share of his habits. He switched his dirk to his other hand and adjusted his pack. Though he hated to be without them, he had left his sword, bow and quiver in the mountains on the other side of the island.
The first adventurous rays of sunlight played onto the meadow’s dewy grass. The paddock lay half-eaten by sheep. No doubt the shepherd boy would lead them back soon.
A sharp bleat pierced the cool damp air. The flock approached, the hunter could hear them now. A small hillock blocked them from view.
He dashed toward the hill and sprinted up to its low summit, arriving at the same time as the shepherd, his young kinsman. The boy, flanked by his thriving flock, stopped in alarm and gaped. “Shizaylah! Massey.”
“Sure as it’s me, ye wee mutton-minder.” The hunter huffed in a deep breath. “And I haven’t the space to halt and dawdle. Is your father aboot the place, Boyce?”
The boy’s expression morphed from alarm to despondence. “Nay, have ye na’ heard it, then?”
“What, heard what?” Massey shuddered as his blood flow eased to a steady rate. He had scarcely rested in three days.
Boyce drooped his head. “He’s gone awa’, and so’s me mither.” He started as a lamb pranced in his periphery. The flock dispersed in drips and drabs and began to graze the dew-soaked forage.
“Gone? Why, lad?” Massey reached down and pinched his chin. “And where?”
“Blessed if I ken it.” Boyce pulled his face away. “Your fingers are rough, uncle-cousin.”
Massey slapped his thigh. “To be expected. Now listen, and dinnae hold back on me. Why did your parents gang awa?”
Boyce’s breath made a little cloud in the cool air. “They were taken by Great Folk slavers, along with a fair few others.”
A knot tightened in Massey’s empty stomach. “Shizaylah. It’s happening all over. It’s sorry I am, lad. And where did they take them? To the mines at Morec Fym?”
“I dinnae ken, they dinna say.” Boyce turned away, his whispy brown hair fluttering in the breeze.
“Lad.” Massey palmed Boyce’s head and turned it toward him. “Look me in the e’e. Ye ken your wee sister knows. She always does.”
The boy gulped and squirmed under the heavy hand. His eyes rolled up to stare at Massey. “Aye, she kens where they be. But she’s scarce said a word for all her weeping, these last six weeks.” Boyce’s eyes bulged as his gaze settled on Massey’s dirk.
“I dinna mean any harm.” Massey dropped his weapon hand to his side. He hadn’t intended to bring the blade so near the boy’s face.
“Weel ye’ll na’ find her.” Boyce backed out from under Massey’s other hand. “She’s aboot, but she’ll nae be showing her face.”
“Oh, I’ll find her.” Massey grunted and turned toward the village.
“I doubt it.” Boyce gave him a wary glare. “And ye best not speak roughly wi’ her, or she’ll be crushed.”
“I suspect I’ll find her at your grandmother’s place.” Massey checked himself. “The elder thing is yet aboot, I trust?”
Boyce gave him a hard stare. “Your trust has guessed well. Noo I must be aboot the flock, afore they strike off tae the ends of the island.”
“Carry on, then.” Massey strode off through the grass. His shins dripped with dew.
On his way into town, he studied the sky. Tiny white clouds populated the heaven like sheep in a paddock. “I dinnae ken wha’ she sees in it. Sky is sky, and cloud is cloud.”
He arrived at his great aunt’s hovel and knocked at the door. The old woman opened it and stared at him. “I thought ye had gone for good.”
“I come in haste, good woman.” Massey squared his shoulders. “My Erin was taken awa frae her father’s house, while I was training in the north land.”
The gnarled gray head before him tilted at an angle. Two watery blue eyes bored into his mind. “And why d’ye come poking aboot this place, man? There could only be one reason.”
“I need the bairn, old woman. I need Tira.”
“Hmph.” Boyce’s grandmother rolled her eyes. “She’ll nae be found. Ye know ye scare the living shizaylah oot of her.”
Massey stared into the watery eyes and managed not to squirm. “I swore the oath to Erin, and I must get her back.”
“And what aboot the many others?” The old woman’s wrinkles tightened about her face. “My ane son, and Tira and Boyce’s mither. De ye care aught for them? And the dozen more what went awa wi’ them?”
Massey turned away. “Aunt Kyla. I am hungered and thirsty. Would ye spare me aught?”
“Wait here, man.” The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll nae have ye traipsing aboot my wee bungalow, and you a thing of the wild.”
Massey balled his hands into fists as soon as Kyla turned her back and reentered her home. The girl was inside, he was sure of it.
A few moments later, his aunt returned with a flask of water and a wedge of cheese. “Here ye be. May that speed ye onto yer journey, then.”
“Journey? Woman, I must see Tira before I go anywhere.”
“Ye ken she hides from you, Massey. Ye’ll nae be finding her hereabouts.”
Massey took a swig of water from the flask. “Well I won’t be finding her anywhere else abouts.” He gave Kyla the wary eye. “I’ll go, then, once I’ve handed ye back your vessel.”
After finishing the water and cheese, Massey trudged into town. He wouldn’t lay hands or eye on Tira now, but he could plan his next moves. At the city’s Beldon inn, he arranged to buy a sure-footed Dunnlander pony. Then he rented a room and took a fitful nap, his weary body grateful for the recovery afforded.
When night came around, he bought a meal, ate it, then saddled his new pony. He led it from the stable to the low street of shacks where Kyla lived. He knew one way to find Tira, and it was all but foolproof. He would burst into the house and snatch her from her bed. She could not sense his approach while she slept. He left the pony fifty paces from the hovel and sneaked toward the building.
“I knew you were here.” Her voice by his knee spooked him and he nearly slashed her head off with his dirk. He looked down—the child stood against the trunk of a nearby maple.
“Tira.” Massey resisted the urge to scold the waif.
“I saw your cloud.” The girlish chirp bore no irony, only facts.
Massey huffed out a breath and squatted to her level. He could make out the glint of her eyes in the scant moonlight. “Where were ye when I came today, wee bit?”
“Behind the house. Your cloud looked angry.”
Massey’s face heated. “Ye hid from me. Tira, dear little lass.” He reached for her hand but she jigged out of reach.
“Ye were in a foul mood, cousin-uncle.”
He shook his head in exasperation, his long greasy hair rustling against his leather jerkin. “And ye would be in a foul mood, as well, if your true-love—”
“I have nae such one, sir.”
He slapped his thigh and stood. “Of course, wee thing. But I had, and she was taken from me, from her very hame and kin folk. When I arrived in town, her old mither said they rounded up four dozen or more, and shipped them oot. Where hae they gone, ye little squirt? Surely ye will hae seen. . . their clouds.”
Tira released a sigh. It sounded too weary for her age. What was she, six now? Seven? The little girl stood in the shadows against the house. A sniffle squeaked from her dark form.
“Well, lass?” Massey surprised himself with the cold tone of his voice.
“If ye dinnae mind putting your dirk awa, I’ll tell ye what I ken.”
He slid the big knife into its sheath and put his hands on the back of his neck. “Well speak of it, wee thing.”
“It was two days after they stole my mither and dadfather.” The words were barely a whimper.
“But we’re on the opposite side of the island.” He scratched his bearded chin.
“I can see their clouds. Ye ken as much, or ye widna be asking me.” She took a halting breath. “Your lady, I only know her cloud because it mingled with yours a few months ago. Her cloud loves your cloud, cousin-uncle. What is her name?”
“Erin.” His heart thumped.
“Aye. She and her frins, they took them to the busy place.”
“Busy place? Which is that?”
“I dinnae ken the name of it. But it’s where sae many Wallans are kept hard at work.”
“On this island? Maradon?”
“Aye.”
“That must be Morec Fym.” Massey winced. “Did ye. . . see what happened next, by chance?”
“Well it’s only their clouds, ye mind. But they all are raining, sad and scared to the death.”
Massey swiped a hand over his mouth. “Tira. I have to rescue her.”
“Well now ye ken enough to be finding her, I reckon.”
“No, wee bairn. If she’s gone tae Morec Fym, they’ll have her all doon in the mine shafts. It’s dangerous for a Beldon to search those mines. If they catch me, they’ll enslave me as well. I need to know precisely where to find her.”
Tira swallowed, the little gulp audible on the night air. “But they move her aboot. All of them, they do it with.”
“Shizaylah!” Massey stomped the ground. “Then I’ll be taking ye with me, lass, and nae mistaking.”
“Nay, I’ll no gang awa wi’ you.” Tira darted toward the doorway. In a moment she would gain the defense of her grandmother.
“Wait.” He took a deep breath. “Tira, stop a wee minute.”
She halted and turned toward him, one hand on the door latch.
“Tira, if ye’ll go with me to Morec Fym, we might free your parents, as well. That’s enough reason to take you along, lass.”
“Nay, Massie, it winna do. My parents weren’t taken to Morec Fym. The Great Folk slavers carried them by ship tae another island, the farthest awa to the north.”
He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Rachnaboorn.”
“Probably.” Tira’s voice broke. “They just arrived yesterday. I saw their clouds.”
Massey lunged and caught her hand. She squealed.
“I must take you, lass.” He gritted his teeth. “When all’s finished, I’ll go meself to Rachnaboorn, and fetch yer mither and father back.”
She quit squirming. “Ye’ll do that, then?”
“I will. Yer mither, she was at all times one of my favorite cousins.”
“Very well, then.” Tira pulled her hand away and opened the door. “I’ll just say fareweel to grandmother and Boyce.”
A few moments later, she reappeared with Kyla.
“Massey, I adjure ye to tak’ a mind of her.” Kyla’s thin voice held a brooding threat. “I winna bear the grief if aught befall her, and no mistake. And remember, she’s naught but a wee parcel, and not to be toyed with, nor put in any danger.”
Massey gritted his teeth. “I swear it. She’ll come to nae harm.”
An hour later, Massey jogged along a dark lane, holding the pony’s lead line.
“How far will we go tonight?” Tira gasped.
“As far as ye can bear.” That may not be much farther. He looked ahead for a place to camp.
He found a clearing and halted. After seeing to the pony’s needs, he built a small fire. He didn’t need it himself, but it should keep the wee one calm.
Tira bedded down in the grass and fell asleep with little fuss. She tossed and pitched throughout the night, though. Massey slept in fits and starts, never willing to shut his guard down completely.
At dawn, Massey gave his young cousin some jerky and cheese, then they started out again.
“Why are ye nervous?” Tira asked after they had gone a mile.
He glared at her. “Not nervous. Wary.”
She stared at the sky. “It’s all the same.”
The hunter scratched his neck with his free hand. “I fear for my love.”
“Your cloud is raining.”
Massey rolled his head back and stared at the cloudless sky. “Dash your foolish little clouds, I’ve heard the end of them. I canna see them at all, and I halfway think ye make it up as ye go.”
She gazed overhead. “Then why bring me?”
“Hush, ye wee bit.” Massey kicked a pebble.
“You’re wanting to go faster, I reckon. So maybe mount up with me, and the pony will trot with us.”
“I may ride for a spell, but I dinnae wish to weary him. I brought him for you to ride, but I could mak’ twice as fast on me own track, through the glens, but not and bring ye wi’ me.”
“Dinnae gang off and leave me.” Her voice held a fearful edge. He took a dark satisfaction in hearing it.
“I’ll nae leave you, child. Your grandmither’d have the blood of me. Where are your clouds now, what are they saying? Do ye see Erin’s cloud?”
“Aye, it’s the faintest of all. She’s raining like many of them, she’s in pains. We’re heading in the right direction.”
A shiver coursed through Massey’s frame. “I ken the way to Morec Fym, bairn. I ken, in fact, a hundred ways.”
“Massey, I need a drink, and a rest.”
Heat crept up his neck. “Nay, we must press on. We’ll stop when I’ve a mind to.”
The next two days were much the same. Massey led Tira along back trails to avoid the clan centers. He pushed the pony to its limits. What had become of Erin? Had the slavers taken her into the deep mines beneath the mountains? How long would she last at the ore seams? Her beautiful face played across his mind through every wakeful hour.
They reached the foothills of the Lorlac mountains on the third day. Massey led the pony up the winding trail and decided to camp for the night on Cannoch Sallaidh, a low peak jutting away from the Lorlacs.
“I never knew the mountains were so tall.” Tira gazed up at the towering peaks. “And this is where the smoke comes from, that I see so often in the sky.”
Massey knelt to start a campfire. “Those are the furnaces and forges of Morec Fym. The city is in the pass above us, between those two mountains. That’s where they make all the metal on the island, or nearly.” He squeezed his flint striker and kindled a wad of dry leaves. “What of Erin? Do ye see her cloud?”
Tira craned her neck backward. “It’s there, but it’s the faintest of all.”
“Are ye certain it’s hers, wee bit? Do they not all look somewhat alike?”
“No.” She shrugged. “Each is different. I see hers, but it wants tae fade awa.”
Massey’s chest tightened. “Is she dying, then?”
The girl bit her lip. “She must be hurt. But so are many others.” Tears gushed from her blue eyes.
Movement on the dark mountainside caught Massey’s attention. He spotted a man, a Beldon like himself, descending the steep trail on a donkey.
Tira still stared at the sky. “Who’s that coming now? One of us, or the Great Folk?”
Strange that she couldn’t tell immediately by the cloud.
Massey took a deep breath. “One of our own.”
“I thought so.” A falling pebble drew her attention to the donkey. “Oh, there he is, I see him.”
By the time the traveler came near, Massey had a significant fire going. The man dismounted and stepped toward them. “Sure as ye’ve picked a beautiful place to camp for the night.” He grinned at Tira, then offered his hand. “I’m Padron. Well met.”
“Massey.”
The newcomer was about his size, thin and wiry. Padron wore town clothing, though, more cloth than leather, compared to Massey’s forest gear.
“What are ye faring on?” Padron’s question sounded polite, but Massey squirmed. Little food remained in his bag.
“Well if ye’ve nothing particular, how aboot some bread and cheese?” Padron unslung his pack.
Before Massey could frame a polite reply, Tira spoke up. “Oh, thank ye, sir.”
“Of course.” Padron pulled a bundle out and broke off a piece of cheese for her.
Massey watched him carefully. One thing about Tira—she could tell a person’s character by his cloud. She seemed comfortable with Padron, so he must be trusty.
“Since ye’re coming doon frae Morec Fym, have ye any news?” Massey paid each word out with care.
Padron tipped his head to one side and stared at the fire. “It’s not good. They’ve brought in many of oor people as slaves, of late.”
Massey gave him a long look. “Yet you appear in good order. Ye’re free.”
“It’s an odd thing, how it works.” Padron’s face twisted into a lopsided frown. “Our folk are left to travel in and oot, with little disruption. The Beldon camp on the far side of the city is still as it was. The Great Folk mostly leave it well enough alone, though they raid it at times for criminals. But the slaves, they mainly haul in frae outside the clan territory. It’s increased a great deal lately, ever since King Lachlan went on his expedition. The mac and stan of Clan Cobb left Morec Fym for the king’s adventure. Things have deteriorated in their absence.”
“That’s grim, man.” Massey looked out over the island’s expanse to the east. The land lay in shadow as the sun’s rays waned beyond the Lorlacs.
“Aye.”
“I must go find my love. She was taken frae Groat, and I—” He hesitated, not wishing to reveal Tira’s gift. “I fear she may be in the mines.”
Padron stared at him, his features flickering in the firelight. “Ye may be wily enough to sneak doon in and find her. But if you’re caught, they’ll add you tae the slave roster.”
Massey clenched his fists. “I hae no choice.” He glanced at Tira who stood contemplating the northern sky. Orange rays of sun bathed the undersides of the clouds in fiery light.
Padron turned to the girl. “Your daughter loves the sunset.”
“She’s—”
“Oh!” Tira jumped up and down. “My parents’ clouds found each other, Massey. They’re happy, they’re mingling again.”
“Parents. . . clouds. . . mingling?” Padron put a hand to his chin.
Massey lunged at Tira and clapped a hand over her mouth. “Hush yerself, wee bit.”
She whimpered and gazed up at him, her eyes glinting in the firelight.
Padron took a step back. “Sorry it is I am to be asking, but what does the wee lass mean by it all?”
Massey released Tira, realizing his haste for privacy could be viewed as violence. “We dinnae talk aboot it much, but she’s a Tooran. One of the last.”
“Ah.” Padron knelt down to Tira’s level. “Do ye ken any others? There be many.”
Tira glanced straight up at the sky. “There are seventy. One is near, we passed his place today, but Massey widna stop.”
“Aye, I ken the one, I may stop with him tomorrow. Seventy?” Padron stroked his beard. “I never knew anyone had a tally.”
“I see their clouds.” Tira sat by the fire.
Padron eased down beside her. “If you’re going to Morec Fym, look for Chelsea in the Beldon camp. She’s trusty.”
“All Toorans are trusty.” Tira broke a twig and tossed it in the fire. “At least—I think so.”
The three bedded down for the night. Massey trusted Padron since Tira did, but as usual he slept little. In the morning, he set Tira on the Dunnlander and they said farewell to Padron.
Massey had traversed the steep mountain trail many times, but never while leading an animal. He had to take the pony’s needs into consideration.
By midday they arrived at the gates of Morec Fym. Massey told the guards he needed to bear a message to a friend in the Beldon camp. The Cothric guards inspected his dirk and the pony’s scant baggage. Finding nothing of interest, they let him through.
Within the city walls, Massey felt eyes on him wherever he went. If only there were a good way to get around Morec Fym without passing through. Cities made him tense. Tira said little as her wide blue eyes took in the stone buildings and forges and weapon-bearing Cothric citizens of Clan Cobb.
They passed through the west gate to the far side of the pass. The Beldon camp lay just out of town. Massey remained wary as he approached. Though his own people, not all Beldons could be trusted.
“That’s her.” Tira leaned forward on the pony’s back. “The only Tooran here, it must be Chelsea.”
Massey turned to look. A trim, attractive Beldon woman, a little older than himself, walked toward them, bearing a clay water jug.
Tira waved. “Are you Chelsea?”
“To be sure, my dear.” The woman approached the pony. “Would ye take some water?”
Tira gladly accepted a drink.
Chelsea turned to Massey as if just seeing him. Her brown eyes widened as they locked with his. “Good day, sir.” She stared a little longer than seemed necessary. His brow broke into sweat.
“Good day to ye.” He glanced at Tira, who gave him a slight nod.
“Welcome to Morec Fym.” Chelsea’s tone didn’t sound welcoming, but if Tira trusted her, that was what mattered.
“We were told of you.” Massey looked away toward the edge of the woods. “I have a sensitive mission. Would it be possible—”
“To leave the girl with me? Certainly.” Chelsea patted Tira’s hand. “Ye dinnae mind, do ye, lass?”
“Nay, I’ll stay with you.” Tira handed her the water jug.
Chelsea took a deep breath. “If you’re ready tae be aboot your business, sir, I can have your pony attended. The girl—what was your name, dear? Tira? She’ll be well off with me.”
“I thank ye.” Massey pulled out his coin purse and gave the woman a questioning glance.
Her eyes narrowed. “A half-moon should do. For the pony.”
Massey stepped close to Tira. “Where’s Erin’s cloud?”
The girl shaded her eyes against the sun and scanned the sky. “Up there. And she’s not well. She’s fainter yet.”
A chill passed through Massey’s body. “But where shall I look for her?”
Tira frowned. “Help me doon.”
He lifted her off the pony. Chelsea watched, her hands on her hips.
Tira looked back and forth from the sky to the earth at her feet, and around at the towering mountain peaks beyond the clearing. “There.” She pointed at the mountain to the south. “I canna tell ye how far tae go, but she’s doon there, within.”
Massey shook his head. “I canna expect ye to do any better.”
Tira sank to her knees beside the pony and put her palms flat on the trodden grass. “Massey.”
“Yes?” He knelt by her, his heart thumping. Her tone and demeanor unsettled him.
“Massey, dinnae gang doon there. Something’s wrong.”
“What?”
“I dinnae ken, but feel my arm, I’m shriveled.”
He touched her skin and felt goose bumps. “I must find her, wee bit.”
“It’s dangerous. Beyond what ye ken.” She turned toward him, a tear dripping from her right eye.
Chelsea hissed in a sharp breath by the pony’s head. “Not that I’m intending tae hear ye, mind, but if ye must gang doon in the mines, ye’ll need a guide. The direction the wee lass showed you is guarded. My uncle, Quinn, goes in at dusk to deliver bread and meat to the crews.”
Massey chaffed at the delay, but two hours later he accompanied Quinn and several other Beldons into the mines. They carried sacks of supplies past the guards. Quinn bore a torch.
“I dinnae ken why Chelsea insisted I take you,” he whispered to Massey in the access tunnel. “But I surmise, the less I ken, the better.”
Massey nodded.
The complexity of the passages and caverns boggled his mind. If not for his mission, he might have found the mines interesting in their own right. He made a desperate effort to memorize the way. He needed to exit unguided, and likely without light. The prospect seemed impossible.
But he would do it for Erin.
The provisioners delivered the food to crew after crew. The work had ceased, and the slaves sat or lay chained to long iron bars for the night. A few Cothric men and women were found among the Beldons, but it seemed the giant Wallans must have been separated from the smaller folk for feeding and rest.
Massey scanned for familiar faces. When he found a chance, he knelt by a battered and bruised Beldon man, whose clothes clung in shreds to his frame. “Have ye seen a new batch brought in from Groat? I’m looking for a lass named Erin.”
“They brought a new shipment.” The man’s raspy voice sounded desperate. “I widna ken the names, but there were women frae Groat. They took them further in.”
Massey slipped him a piece of jerky from his own provisions and hastened after Quinn and the others.
After provisioning several more groups of slaves, Quinn led the men down a sloping passage, slippery with trickling water. “The last lot is doon here.” The older Beldon gave Massey a significant stare. “They bring the new ones into the lowest pits, tae break them in, and all.”
Massey’s flesh crawled as he marched down the tunnel. Tira’s warning played through his head. He scanned the stone walls. Cracks ran along them. How deep did the mines sink? The fresh air and open sky were far above, almost irretrievable.
Faint voices echoed from the cavern ahead. Was Erin there?
Quinn stopped and Massey and the others nearly bowled him over.
“What is it?” One of the other men put a hand on the stone wall.
Quinn froze, his eyes darting around the passage. “Hush.”
The voices from the cavern ceased. Massey’s ears pricked. The only sound was water trickling at his feet. Then, a low rumble echoed throughout the mine.
“Run!” Quinn spun about and dashed up the passage. His fellows followed on his heals. The torchlight retreated with them.
Massey stood stalk still. A crash of rocks filled his ears as the darkness closed in on him. He should run.
Screams pierced the air as a rush of dusty wind blasted toward Massey. The lower cavern must have collapsed. He should flee while he might. Quinn’s light had already disappeared around a corner, he would need to feel his way along. This cave-in might trigger more, and he was not safe until he reached the surface. Tira tried to warn him!
But no. He came for Erin. If she yet lived, it might not be for long without his help. He gritted his teeth and tried to catch his bearings in the utter darkness.
The rumbling ceased. Whimpers and wails came from further down the passage. Some yet lived. Massey felt his way along the wall. The cries came louder and more distinct.
“Almighty, help us. We are in your hands…”
Let them call to the Almighty. What difference did it make? Massey inched his way toward the cavern, tripping over loose rocks and piles of debris. Multiple voices, male and female, cried out in pain. Was Erin among them?
He reached the entrance of the chamber. He moved forward on his hands and knees. How would he free Erin if he found her? Iron chains held the prisoners he had seen. His trousers became soaked with running water, which began to pool.
He advanced through wet rubble toward the cries and whimpers. His hand closed on something—flesh. He withdrew it. Someone lay dead before him. How long would it be before men came down to check the damage? What if he were found here? He needed to act fast.
“Erin?” His voice echoed around the chamber.
“Oh. Who is it?” A weak female voice sounded ten feet away.
Massey’s heart leaped. “Erin? I’ve come for you. It’sMassey.”
“Massey?” She didn’t sound as if she knew him, but perhaps she suffered shock.
He crawled toward her voice. “I’m here, love.”
She whimpered. “Get me oot.”
He reached out and felt hair. He groped about and found her head and shoulders. Her body lay covered in rubble.
“I’ll dig ye free.” He moved rocks and muddy gravel off her body. She wasn’t entirely buried. “How badly are ye wounded, dearest?”
“Who are you?” Her voice was a whimper.
“It’s Massey, come to take ye hame, Erin. Will ye gang awa with me?”
“I—of course, but I’m caught.”
He dug with all the speed and energy he could muster. “I’ll have ye clear.”
“Help, help. . .” Others begged his aid, but Massey focused on his one true love. Time was short. Another collapse could happen, or authorities might come to inspect.
Erin wriggled as he freed her from rock. He found the chain on her ankle and felt along its rusty links with his crushed and bleeding fingertips.
“I—will I die?” Her breath came in gasps.
“I dinnae think so, I’ve found nae breaks nor gashes.” He dared hope he might carry her to freedom. It would be a long journey to the surface. “I must break your chain.”
“How?”
Massey bit his tongue. “I hae my dirk.” He drew the blade. He felt the links one by one. The loop closest to her leg shackle felt thin, rusted by exposure to moisture over time. He inserted the tip of his weapon into the link. He had to hold the chain taut with his boot, but he twisted the blade and the link popped and gave way.
“Ye did it?” Her voice was shrill, higher pitched than he remembered. The dreadful experience of the mine must have mortified her. No wonder Tira called her the faintest cloud.
“Aye, love.” He slid his dirk back in its sheath, his heart glad. “Come, I ken you’re hurt, but we must fly.”
He picked her up. She was cold, and had lost weight, reduced to a ghastly shell of herself. How could he find his way out? Instinct, he hoped. He always kept a good sense of direction. With some difficulty, he found the passage. The way became easier.
Up. He must press upward. Massey groped his way. Soon he came to the last batch of slaves he had helped feed.
“How bad is it?” they asked him.
“Plenty bad.” He paused to catch his breath.
The prisoners pestered him with questions, but he didn’t reply. He continued to grope his way along the hall.
A couple of times, he had to ask directions. The prisoners seemed peeved that he was free and they were not. They likely assumed he had escaped from bonds. He didn’t explain himself but continued on. Though light, Erin weighed him down. They had to stop and rest.
“The air is different now.” Erin’s words seemed drowsy.
Massey paused. “Aye. We’re nearly there. I smell the woods.”
A light flickered in the distance. Massey’s pulse quickened. Someone approached with a torch, still more than a hundred yards off. He flattened himself against the side of the tunnel behind a stone pillar and pulled Erin against him.
“How much damage do you think there was?” A deep Cothric voice boomed in the passage.
“Hard to say.”
Massey held his breath as a dozen Cothric men, no doubt mine engineers, walked past with torches. Two huge Wallans lumbered after them with shovels.
Once the procession turned a corner, Massey took advantage of the last flickers of torchlight and dashed for the surface. When he reached the entrance, clutching Erin before him, he saw two guards. The men faced outward, complacent after allowing passage to the engineers. Though it was night, the outside world looked dazzling bright to his light-starved eyes.
How could he get past the guards? He felt weary to the bone. Even if he surprised them from behind, could he hope to overpower them? The struggle would become known and a hundred Cothric warriors from Clan Cobb would hound him down and corner him.
“Guards, we need to enter.” A strong female voice pierced the stillness. Massey stared at a torch approaching from the clearing. He willed his eyes away, the light would blind him.
“And who are you?” One of the guards, roughly twice Massey’s size, shifted his weight and turned to confront the new arrivals.
“I am Chelsea, ye’ve seen me aboot, I’m sure. This is my uncle Quinn, ye ken him.”
“Quinn, what is the meaning of this?” The guard rapped his spear shaft on the ground. “Let the engineers assess the mine and see if it’s safe.”
“I lost a man doon there.” Quinn sounded wary. “I need tae find him.”
A diversion. Surely Tira had told Chelsea he was on his way out. She would have seen his cloud and Erin’s approaching. But could he slip past the guards? Were they distracted enough? His love felt like a great stone in his arms.
The guard on the left appeared to be the leader. “I’m not letting you in.” He squared his shoulders to block Quinn.
Chelsea stepped up to the guard. “Look me in the eye, man. Ah, yes, I remember you. Flanaghan, is it? I ken your heart, ye are ambitious. Ye wish to join the Hammer League. But it is not a certainty.”
“Woman, look away, divert your eye.” Flanaghan turned his head. “Flame it all, I’ve heard of you and your powers, you dirty vixen.”
“Dirty?” She continued to stare at him. “I’ll you show you filth, it’s in your heart, I saw it. I saw your innards, your memories, your intentions. I beheld just now what ye’ve done tae many women, and what ye wish tae do to hundreds more, oh there are no secrets, dirty man.”
“Back off, witch!” The second guard found his voice and lowered his spear toward her.
“Oh, you?” She spun on him, her eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “And ye’re a murderer, I see death and slaughter in your soul, though ye’ve never killed yet.”
Massey took a deep breath. This was his chance. Chelsea engaged both guards in dispute. He eased past their backs and crept a dozen paces to the edge of the wood, where he lay Erin in the tall grass.
“Ye’re safe.” The whispered voice by his knee caused him to whirl in shock.
“Tira. Wee bit. Ye startled me.”
“Sorry it is I am. Lie doon. Watch Chelsea and Quinn.”
Massey flopped in the grass and rolled into a position where he could watch the proceedings with the guards.
“Woman, be gone.” Flanaghan’s voice thundered across the clearing.
“I’ll go, then. But be warned.” Her low voice held a sharper edge than Massey’s dirk. “If ye want any chance of living tae an old age, ye must kill the man who will otherwise kill ye. And he is close at hand.”
Flanaghan’s head made a slow pivot toward the other guard. “Oh?”
“No!” The smaller guard dropped his spear and put up his hands. “She lies.”
Quinn chuckled. “The twain of ye shall be watching each ither from here on.” He touched Chelsea’s arm. “Let’s be going.”
Tira nudged Massey’s shoulder. “Bring the lady, we must get her to safety.”
Aching all over, Massey got to his knees and picked up Erin. He followed Tira’s shadowy form through the trees to a tent.
“This is where Chelsea lives. She’ll be along soon.” Tira opened the flap so Massey could take Erin in. He laid her on a pad of wool.
He wished to lie down beside his love, but he needed water. He crawled out of the tent and faced Tira. “Have ye drink here?”
“Aye.” She found a flask and gave it to him. He drank all the contents.
Tira cleared her throat. “Ye’re not right, Massey.”
“Shizaylah, what do ye mean?” The wee thing irritated him sometimes.
“Ye ought tae be grieving.”
“Grieving, why? I rescued Erin.”
Tira gasped. “No, ye dinna.”
Chills wriggled down his arms. “What are ye saying, wee bit?”
“Ye dinna ken? Erin died in the mine while ye were doon there.”
“What?” He grabbed Tira by her scrawny little shoulders. “I brought her oot.”
“You—brought a different woman oot.”
Massey squeezed Tira’s shoulders until she flinched with pain. “She answered to Erin. She said that was her name.” He released his trembling cousin. “But—she’s too small, it’s—she’s too light. I dinnae even see her face.”
Tira hissed in a breath. “Here’s a torch, look at her.”
Massey lit the torch with his flint striker. The first thing he saw was Tira’s face, her eyes blinking against the sudden light. He opened the tent flap and crawled inside. The injured woman saw the light and stared at him, unrecognizing.
“Nay.” Massey looked away. “Ye’re not her. Ye’re nae Erin.”
“I am Erin, but who are you?”
Massey grunted in anguished disbelief. “Your name is truly Erin, then? But you’re not my Erin. I rescued you because—” A sob in his throat surprised him.
“Aye, there was anither Erin.” Her voice squeaked. “I’m sure she perished in the cave-in. She was nearly dead already.”
“No.” Massey thrashed his way out of the tent and threw the torch on the ground in disgust. “Tira, why hae ye done this tae me?” He grabbed her forearms and clenched them in his fists.
“Ow, Massey, let me go. I did ye nae harm, I tried everything. I’m not the Almighty, for shame. You’re hurting me!”
Shocked by his actions, he released her. “I must go.” He stood and pivoted toward the forest. He found himself face to face with another woman, her features hidden in the dark.
“Tira, pick up the torch.” The low tone could only belong to one woman—Chelsea.
Massey winced as the torchlight illuminated the Tooran’s face. Chelsea’s eyes danced with little flames. “If ye want any chance of freedom, ye’ll need tae lose your anger, man. There’s death in your eye, murder of the worst kind. Go now, intae the wild, consider your ways, and calm yourself. If ye can gain control, I need ye to return in three days, and bear the lass awa.”
“Tira?” Massey wiped his brow.
“No. I’ll see that she’s escorted back to her hame. I speak of Erin, the girl ye recovered. She canna stay here, for if they find her, they’ll know she escaped, and will drag her back again in chains.”
Massey wrenched his gaze away from Chelsea’s piercing eyes and glanced down at Tira. The fright in his cousin’s eyes cut him to the core. What had he done? The wee bit feared him with a loathsome dread. He hiked his eyes back up to Chelsea’s. “What if I dinnae come back?”
She bored her terrible eyes into his soul. “Then I’ll ken ye’re the beast I fear ye are. If ye’re tae have any chance of not losing yourself, ye must take care of the maid. She is your responsibility now. If ye’ll nae do that, man, I see a bleak future for ye, and no mistaking.”
Massey’s innards boiled. “Well then. Give me the three days, and we’ll see. I—can mak’ no promises.”
“But Massey.” Tira sobbed.
“What, then?”
“Ye promised ye’d find my parents.”
“Ye did promise.” Chelsea grabbed his forearm. “Ye must come back and take Erin to safety, and then ye must go to Rachnaboorn.”
“Break your hand off me.” Massey shook free of the Tooran woman’s grip and stalked off into the woods. His pulse thumped throughout his body. The last thing he heard was a whimper from the wee bit. But whether of grief, fear, or relief, he couldn’t discern.
James S. Davis 