Tales of the Archer: A Corthan Companion Page 11

  Reid’s voice softened toward the end. The room was quiet except for the lazy crackling of the fire. Maura was silent. Her eyes were closed with a dampness to her lashes that he might have regretted except for the contented curl of her lips. Having no more words for such a day, he rose as quietly as possible and turned toward the window. When he opened the shutters and reached up to climb out, he heard a sleepy whisper behind him.

  “I have it, you know,” she said.

  He turned around. Her half-open eyes watched him with a hint of challenge.

  “The Trembling? Yes, I know,” he said sadly, not wanting to think about it. He turned back to the bed, pulled the blanket up under her chin, and kissed her head.

  “No,” she said, taking his hand and twining her fingers in his. “I can hear them.”

  He stared at her in shocked silence, sure he had misheard her.

  She looked almost ashamed as she studied their fingers. “I know… about your mother.”

  He dropped to his knees and felt the torrent of tears inside him begging to be let out. “Your mother promised not to tell you yet.”

  She shook her head. “She didn’t tell me. Brigga did.”

  Reid froze. What did she mean?

  Maura took a steadying breath. “She says to thank you for tonight’s tale. It was always one of her favorites.” Tears ran down her cheeks, gathering on her chin and dripping onto their clasped hands. “She loves you very much.”

  A chill curled under his collar as he looked at the shadows around the room. Then Maura drew his head to her shoulder and the tears that had begged to be freed tumbled over his beard to her skin. Even as he took solace in her company, there was no doubt in his mind now that Maura must take her place among the three.

  CHAPTER 17

  Two moons rose and set, time enough for prayers to be sung, condolences offered and gifts laid around Brigga’s bier. The air of the house, redolent with moon vine blooms and cedar, clung to Reid saturating him with its heavy perfume. The scent followed him when he broke tradition and left off mourning to go to Maura’s window. But he knew his story-telling nights were numbered; she was recovering well.

  Neither had mentioned what she’d revealed to him, though it whirled around in his mind like so many other things these days. Memories resurfaced with bittersweet nostalgia: old sorrows and tender moments. But the future which had always seemed benign was now uncertain, even frightening, in his mother’s absence.

  Tarhill had grown even more querulous. The old man had shed no tears beyond those first hard hours, hiding his sorrow instead behind a cloud of alcoholic anger. Only Maclan seemed able to reach him. The eldest brother, even debilitated as he was, shouldered the responsibilities of elder male as easily as he had taken to the bow, ensuring that everything possible was done to honor his mother’s memory.

  When the day came to bid his mother a final farewell, Reid stood inside her family’s barrow with his father and brothers. There was no Tarhill barrow here; the Ceru did not inter their dead. Together the four men sang the funeral dirge, Tarhill’s hoarse voice more sob than song. When they were done, Reid felt a chill breeze brush his cheek and knew it for what it was.

  When they returned to the sunshine, Maura was watching him closely. She stood with her family, Gilland with them, one possessive arm resting familiarly across her stiff shoulders. Reid hadn’t seen his rival since the trading party had brought the sickness back. Gilland looked haggard and angry. Reid guessed things weren’t going well with the rogue.

  As the others turned to go to the feast, Reid noticed for the first time the totem that stood outside the barrow door. He’d always mistaken it for a tree; its paint was faded to the color of bleached wood. He stood a moment in wonder. The very top was a carved owl with wings outstretched, the symbol of Brigga’s father’s family. Below that, an elk stared down at him with its wide kind eyes. The symbol of the Ceru. Its horns swept up to meet the owl’s wings, catching the sun in their circle. Below that, to Reid’s surprise, stood a bear on its hind legs, front paws tucked demurely to its belly—the very image of Borran from the marker at the stream. Tears pricked at his eyes. His mother had been a Bear girl after all. Which meant that although he was Ceru by Tarhill’s blood, he belonged with Bear Clan, too.

  As the crowd dispersed and they made their way back to the village, Reid watched Maura leave with Gilland to follow the group of Seal men going to bury their own recently passed brethren. Bradan had set aside a place for them. The Seal Clan had lost many, and Reid’s heart went out to them so far from their home and families.

  Tarhill headed straight for the hall and the dark ales of late spring while most of the clan gathered in the open area for the first time in over a week. Aedan and Gwenna stood near Reid, lending silent support. The sickness was abating and folk felt safe enough to gather. The children played tag in the open area, racing around the well, the fire pit, and the scattered benches as their mothers watched them and gossiped. But to Reid, the village was emptier than before.

  Maclan pushed a bow at Reid. “You boys up for a hunt? It won’t be a feast without it.”

  “Always,” Aedan said.

  Reid too was eager for a run through the pines. “What about Connor?”

  “He’s got a keg, two cups, and Tarhill. Besides, we won’t be long.” He winked and set out up the slopes. The deer had grown bold with the clan so quiet and it wasn’t long before they had scored a large buck. Carrying the carcass on a pole between them, Aedan and Reid followed Maclan home.

  They were almost back to the hall when Reid heard the screams. Before the first echo faded, Maclan took off at a run. Reid and Aedan dropped the carcass and pelted after him weaving their way through the press of villagers headed in the other direction yelling something about a bear.

  The rogue, Reid thought. The rogue had finally injured someone. But that didn’t explain the panic.

  He caught up with Maclan at the edge of the village center. Sliding to a halt, Reid could only stare in horror at the chaos before them. The rogue bear stood in the open area, its huge black lips curled back and head swinging dangerously side to side. Its paws rested on the splintered relic of a bench as it roared at the crowd of people. Villagers pressed back against the hall and other buildings. Afraid to take their eyes off the marauder, women gripped their children to them with wide eyes and white knuckles. At least one man’s sleeve was torn and bloody as he and a few others brandished whatever they could get their hands on to scare the beast off.

  “I warned that stupid, selfish bastard,” Maclan growled and readied his bow. “Why isn’t that thing hobbled?” Just as he raised his bow, Gilland and his Seal men raced into the clearing.

  “Stop!” he yelled at Maclan, trying to place himself between the clansmen and the bear. Angered by his shout, the rogue heaved itself up on hind legs and roared in fury.

  “Get out of the way!” Maclan shouted, taking aim. Reid unslung his bow and readied an arrow. It would take more than one to drop the creature. Aedan did the same.

  “Get the poles!” Gilland shouted at his men, keeping himself in the line of fire. “I can do this. Let me try.”

  “I’ll shoot you if you don’t move,” Mac said. “I swear it.”

  Agitated, the bear lunged at the nearest clansman. It splintered the wooden bench the man was brandishing with a single swipe of its paw.

  “Hey, beastie!” Aedan shouted, stepping forward. He loosed an arrow that struck the dirt at the beast’s feet. It whirled with a roar giving the man time to scurry away.

  “If you’re going to shoot, kill it!” Mac shouted, reaching out to shove Gilland out of the way.

  Just as Gilland turned, fists clenched and ready to fight, his men arrived with their long sturdy poles. But there were fewer of them than before. They circled the beast trying to corral it.

  “There aren’t enough men,” Reid said to Gilland. “You’ll never get it back to the pens.” But Gilland wasn’t listening. He stepped carefully towa
rd the bear, his hands low and a sing-song melody lilting to its now-pricked ears. The bear listened, calming slightly and Reid actually thought Gil might pull it off.

  Then a small head poked out from behind the stone well. It was Ruari. He was less than two strides from the giant creature. He crept out from his hiding place and made his careful way toward the broken bench that now lay behind the rogue.

  “Ruari, get out of there!” Reid shouted.

  “Shut up,” Gilland hissed as the rogue growled, shaking his muzzle threateningly at Reid.

  But instead of retreating, Ruari hurried to the bench, reached under the wood, and dragged out his bear doll. Its edges were tattered and stuffing dangled from its torn belly. Clamping it to his chest, he wept over the damage, forgetting the danger right before him.

  Hearing him, the rogue whirled and lashed out with a paw. But Maura was already there, having dashed across the clearing the moment the boy had gone for the bench. She scooped him up in one arm without stopping, sidestepped the claws by a hair, and raced to the far side of the well. A strip of her skirt dangled from the bear’s claws. Without thinking, Reid had almost reached the well by the time she stopped to rearrange Ruari more securely on her hip, eyeing the bear with fearful caution.

  “Stop!” Gilland called. “Don’t move!” He slid sideways trying to get the beast’s attention. Ruari wept loudly over the state of his doll agitating the rogue further.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Reid saw Maclan and Aedan shift positions, bows drawn. Surely, they didn’t think to shoot it with Gilland standing so close. The beast would kill him.

  Gilland started with the humming again, but the bear was in no mood for it. Feeling pressed for time, Gilland tried to close the distance, tried to keep the creature’s focus on him. Distracted by the commotion, the beast snarled bouncing its front end up and down in agitation.

  “Will you shut him up!” Gilland reprimanded Maura, his frustration obvious, nerves taut as bowstrings.

  Without Gilland’s calming whispers, the rogue’s patience snapped. It took two steps and swung at Gilland with a massive paw. Catching Gil unawares, the beast knocked him down, sending him sprawling into the stones of the well with a yelp. Blood welled up through the tears in Gilland’s sleeve. The bear reached out to drag him back under its claws. Maclan’s arrow struck the thick of its neck making the beast roar and turning it to him. Not deep enough for a killing shot, the pain only angered the bear.

  Forgetting Gilland, the rogue lunged for Maclan as he tried to nock a second arrow. Its jaws closed on the bow inches from Mac’s hand, splintering the wood like kindling. Gilland’s men stood around dazed, not sure what to do. They had no weapons except their poles.

  Realizing he was as dull-witted as they, Reid raised his bow. Then a rock bounced off the hard angle of the bear’s back. With a grunt, Maura heaved another. The bear only half-turned, surrounded as it was by greater dangers.

  Mac grabbed a pole from the nearest handler as Aedan fired the shot that finally decided things. It caught the bear in its flank, sinking deep. The rogue howled murderously and heaved to standing, swinging at Aedan with both huge front feet. It knocked Aedan’s bow to the ground and Maclan lunged, driving the pole into its tender flank with all his strength before the beast could fall upon Aedan. The bear dropped to all fours, whirled with surprising speed, and grabbed the pole in its teeth. Tearing the pole from Mac’s hands, it reached out and raked him from neck to hip with long razor claws. Mac crumpled to the ground, screaming in pain.

  Before the rogue could grab Maclan from the ground, Aedan and Reid both stepped forward trapping the bear between them with shouts and gestures. It backed away from Mac, far more concerned with new threats than the writhing man on the ground. Blood oozed from the arrow in its flank. Wounded and dangerous as it was, Reid realized there could be no reprieve now. But Reid was far more concerned about the blood pooling in the dirt under Mac.

  He had little time for such worries as the bear roared its defiance and turned on Aedan. Ignoring the handlers’ poles, it lunged with claws and teeth. Aedan was unarmed.

  Sure of his course, Reid fired. His arrow struck the rogue in its meaty shoulder, deeper than Maclan’s, deep enough to make it forgot about Aedan.

  “Stop!” Gilland said. When he finally found his feet, he grabbed a pole from a nearby handler and stepped closer trying to direct the rogue away from the fight. But the animal was blind to his efforts. It batted down his pole, snapping it in two, and lunged at him. Gil scrambled backward awkwardly. He would have been dead if Maura hadn’t struck the rogue in the forehead with another well-placed rock.

  The bear shook its head, roaring indignantly. Its black-bead eyes quickly found the source of his pain and he lumbered toward her. Maura put Ruari down behind her. “Go,” she said shoving at his shoulder. “Go to Volla.”

  But Ruari didn’t budge; his little body quaked with fear.

  “Run!” she yelled, turning to drag him after her. He tottered on wobbling legs. Then Maura tripped over her torn skirt and ended up face down in the dirt.

  The bear picked up speed.

  Reid was already there, hooking his bow on one shoulder. He scooped Ruari up and turned. Finding a pale-faced Connor standing by the nearest building, he shouted to him.

  “Con! Catch!” Reid tossed the toddler to his brother, much as they had so many times in fun. Reid didn’t watch Connor lunge forward to catch the boy. He turned to step over Maura and face the bear, slipping the bow to his hand and reaching for an arrow.

  “Get clear,” he shouted, as she scrambled backward in the dirt. “Go!” he screamed, desperate for her to be away. The only thought in his mind was that he had to stop the bear.

  That was when time slowed to a crawl. He noticed the rippling of long white fur as the beast rushed him, though each step seemed to take minutes. His hand went for an arrow. The fletchings snagged on each other. There was no time. He pulled the tangled arrows from his quarrel and laid them both against the string.

  Fly straight, he prayed as he lifted the bow. Please, fly true.

  His heart pounded out what felt like a slow march though surely it beat like a hare’s. Each leap of the lumbering beast seemed to last a lifetime, giving Reid time to draw the string to his chin.

  Patience. He settled his shoulders. There would be no time for mistakes.

  The beast leapt another stride forward.

  Calm. There was no trembling in his hands though he could have counted the whiskers on its chin had he wished.

  The next leap of the bear brought it within sword range if only he’d had one. The ground beneath his boots quivered with the thump of its feet. He breathed out, slowly. The rogue gathered on its haunches and leapt, one paw raised to bash his head and the black maw gaping for his neck.

  That moment would forever be suspended in Reid’s mind. Black tongue, white fangs, and roaring in his ears.

  In that dangling moment, his fingers released the arrows without him realizing it. It was the soft slow twang of the sinew that told him of their flight. That and the sharp sting as the extra fletching sliced his cheek.

  Then a ton of soft fur and hard muscle slammed into his chest, sending him to the ground and forcing the breath from his lungs. His head snapped back and, blinded by the bright sun, he waited for tearing claws and teeth. The only sound he heard was the coarse desperate wailing of his father and the pounding of his own heart.

  The attack didn’t come. He tried to breathe; his lungs refused to work. Then the weight across his body shifted. Sudden cool darkness covered his face and he opened his eyes to a familiar profile and two tufted braids.

  “Hold on,” Maura’s words were calm. “Almost there.”

  Reid flailed for breath like a beached salmon. Then the weight was gone and strong hands helped him sit up. His lungs still refused to work as he leaned over his knees, gasping.

  “C’mon breathe,” Connor said with a sharp slap between his shoulders. The tightness rel
eased and Reid drew in delicious air, lying back down in the dirt.

  “You and your fool stories,” Maura scolded, “who the hell do you think you are?”

  “You’re okay,” Reid rasped, taking her head in his hands and drawing her lips down to kiss her soundly on the mouth. “I thought I was going to lose you,” he whispered, letting her escape the kiss and pushing her hair back from her face.

  “Me too,” she said, a gentle hand on his cheek.

  She pulled him back to sitting and he looked cautiously at the mound of white fur next to him. The bear was dead. One arrow had caught the jugular just at the angle of the throat; the other had gone through the roof of its mouth.

  “Maclan?” Reid asked, letting Connor and Maura help him to his feet. Leaning on them, he walked to where his brother lay on the dark-stained ground. Tarhill kneeled by him, his angular shoulders quaking with tears or curses, Reid couldn’t tell which. Someone had covered Maclan with a rough blanket that had already soaked through. Blood oozed from a long slice that ran from his ear to his collar. His eyes stared sightlessly at the sky as his chest heaved in a desperate attempt to live. Connor dropped to his knees, his hands on Maclan’s chest trying to rouse him. As Reid got close, his father turned on him.

  “Get away, you bastard!”

  Shocked Reid stumbled backward. “What?”

  “You! You did this!” Tarhill’s throat was raw, his voice a raspy shout.

  “No, I…”

  “It’s your fault.”

  “The bear…”

  Tarhill stood up, his whole body shaking with rage and sorrow. “That bear wouldn’t have been here if you hadn’t tried to take Maura from her rightful duties.” Tarhill cuffed Reid’s head hard. Then the old man kicked at him with a drunken boot, almost falling over with the effort. Reid could only watch from a distance as Tarhill turned and crumpled to the ground next to Connor.