Blade of Fortriu (11 page)
Authors: Juliet Marillier
Ana could hear the high, gasping sound
of her own breathing. She could feel the thunderous drumming of her heart. For a moment she stood paralyzed by the terrible finality of what had happened. Then she looped the horse’s reins over a branch and, hitching the hem of her skirt up into her girdle, ran back down the path. The water had obliterated the river’s old boundaries. It surged around tree trunks, it coursed through thickets and
splashed over rocky outcrops. The things it carried made a new peril: logs came hurtling down to smack into the trees that still held fast against the flood, and loose boulders rolled haphazardly in the powerful current. She couldn’t see anyone. Not anyone. Out in the middle, caught on a protrusion, something small and bright moved crazily in the swirling water: a scrap of Creisa’s multicolored shawl.
of her own breathing. She could feel the thunderous drumming of her heart. For a moment she stood paralyzed by the terrible finality of what had happened. Then she looped the horse’s reins over a branch and, hitching the hem of her skirt up into her girdle, ran back down the path. The water had obliterated the river’s old boundaries. It surged around tree trunks, it coursed through thickets and
splashed over rocky outcrops. The things it carried made a new peril: logs came hurtling down to smack into the trees that still held fast against the flood, and loose boulders rolled haphazardly in the powerful current. She couldn’t see anyone. Not anyone. Out in the middle, caught on a protrusion, something small and bright moved crazily in the swirling water: a scrap of Creisa’s multicolored shawl.
She couldn’t go on without a search, unlikely as it was to bear fruit. The banks were a nightmare, all crumbling earth and shifting stones, slippery foliage and snapping branches. Ana picked a way downstream, counting landmarks as she went: here a solitary oak on the hillside above, here a white rock in the shape of a goat, here a deep scar gouged in the earth where a stream had made its own contribution
to the devastation. She called, her voice feeble and lonely above the triumphant song of the river: “Faolan! Wrad! Creisa! Is anybody there?” She wouldn’t think of where she was; of those men with arrows; of being all alone, cold, wet, with no supplies and little idea of the way. She would search until she had just time to get back to the ford and find the horse before dark. She wouldn’t
think beyond that.
to the devastation. She called, her voice feeble and lonely above the triumphant song of the river: “Faolan! Wrad! Creisa! Is anybody there?” She wouldn’t think of where she was; of those men with arrows; of being all alone, cold, wet, with no supplies and little idea of the way. She would search until she had just time to get back to the ford and find the horse before dark. She wouldn’t
think beyond that.
Time ceased to have any meaning. She found a way where there seemed none. She ignored the scratches and bruises inflicted by thorny, broken bush or jagged stone. Her throat ached from shouting; tears bathed her face and made her nose run. She went on until, ahead, there loomed an obstacle there would be no passing. The swollen river plunged down in a white, foaming fall, and
to either side high rock walls made a formidable barrier. There was no point in attempting a climb. What she sought would be found on the riverbank or not at all. If anyone had been sucked into that whirling chaos of white water, if anyone had lived so long, they had journeyed now beyond her reach. It was time to turn back.
to either side high rock walls made a formidable barrier. There was no point in attempting a climb. What she sought would be found on the riverbank or not at all. If anyone had been sucked into that whirling chaos of white water, if anyone had lived so long, they had journeyed now beyond her reach. It was time to turn back.
The knowledge of defeat was overwhelming. Ana sat down on a rock, staring
blindly at the river. If she had not fainted, if Faolan had not allowed her a day’s rest, they would have crossed safely. Creisa would be alive, and Wrad and Kinet and all those young men. They had died because of her. Because she was weak. And Faolan, who had crossed safely, who could have lived, had died because he cared about his men. He had waited for them, and the river had borne him away.
His devotion to duty had cost him his life, and it had saved hers.
blindly at the river. If she had not fainted, if Faolan had not allowed her a day’s rest, they would have crossed safely. Creisa would be alive, and Wrad and Kinet and all those young men. They had died because of her. Because she was weak. And Faolan, who had crossed safely, who could have lived, had died because he cared about his men. He had waited for them, and the river had borne him away.
His devotion to duty had cost him his life, and it had saved hers.
No choice now: she must go back. There was nothing more she could do here. Grimly, Ana began to consider the practicalities. Faolan’s horse wore saddlebags; perhaps there were some basic supplies there. She was still bleeding. She’d need to rip up her shift, wet as it was, to use for rags. Everything had been on the pack pony:
her bags, her personal items, the clothing she had packed for the wedding, the little things she had embroidered, over the years, against the time when she might have children of her own. All gone. All swept away.
her bags, her personal items, the clothing she had packed for the wedding, the little things she had embroidered, over the years, against the time when she might have children of her own. All gone. All swept away.
“Ana, go,” she ordered herself, sniffing and wiping the tears from her cheeks. She rose shakily to her feet, and at that moment the crow flew across, so close to her face that she flinched
back with a gasp. It winged away down to the water’s edge, calling a harsh summons, and as she stared after it, Ana saw what she had not noticed before as she scrambled her tortuous way along the river’s flank. There was something half-submerged amid a jumble of flotsam caught against jagged rocks. The river made a frothing surge around this protrusion, as if angry that anything should think
to hold fast against it. On the riverbank, a great tree that was half-toppled by the flood leaned out toward the rocky islet, maintaining a precarious hold on the earth. Beneath it the water had scoured the bank away. Here, a twisting mass of roots was half-drowned in the swirling water. More debris had been washed against them, snapped-off branches, broken bushes, sticks and leaves. Ana looked
out again toward the rocks. Almost under them, she could see something dark in the water: a man’s tunic, sodden and stained. And something pale: a drained, half-conscious face. A hand gripping, gripping a wedged branch for dear life against the violent pull of the current.
back with a gasp. It winged away down to the water’s edge, calling a harsh summons, and as she stared after it, Ana saw what she had not noticed before as she scrambled her tortuous way along the river’s flank. There was something half-submerged amid a jumble of flotsam caught against jagged rocks. The river made a frothing surge around this protrusion, as if angry that anything should think
to hold fast against it. On the riverbank, a great tree that was half-toppled by the flood leaned out toward the rocky islet, maintaining a precarious hold on the earth. Beneath it the water had scoured the bank away. Here, a twisting mass of roots was half-drowned in the swirling water. More debris had been washed against them, snapped-off branches, broken bushes, sticks and leaves. Ana looked
out again toward the rocks. Almost under them, she could see something dark in the water: a man’s tunic, sodden and stained. And something pale: a drained, half-conscious face. A hand gripping, gripping a wedged branch for dear life against the violent pull of the current.
She ran, stumbling on the stones, heart in her mouth. Faolan was alive. He was holding on. Out of the nightmare, there was
still something to be salvaged.
still something to be salvaged.
The bird perched in the upper branches of the leaning tree, its eyes on the man in the water. Ana scrambled down below the angled trunk and edged along the slippery, disintegrating bank, her head awhirl. The place where Faolan’s desperate hand clutched onto that length of branch was twice her own body’s length out into the swirling water; she could only reach him
by wading in herself. It was deep; he had obviously not been able to touch bottom with his feet and get out that way. The moment his fingers released their grip he would be gone. There were more rocks downstream of him; he would likely be dashed to pieces on these before he had time to drown. The water surged around him, tugging at his clothing, ripping at his hair. His eyes were closed, his face
sheet-white. The jaw was set tight; the hand clawed grimly around the branch. If she called out, would she startle him? Would he let go? Above her, the bird cried shrilly, and Faolan opened his eyes.
by wading in herself. It was deep; he had obviously not been able to touch bottom with his feet and get out that way. The moment his fingers released their grip he would be gone. There were more rocks downstream of him; he would likely be dashed to pieces on these before he had time to drown. The water surged around him, tugging at his clothing, ripping at his hair. His eyes were closed, his face
sheet-white. The jaw was set tight; the hand clawed grimly around the branch. If she called out, would she startle him? Would he let go? Above her, the bird cried shrilly, and Faolan opened his eyes.
“Faolan, I’m here on the bank! I can reach you!” Ana shouted with false confidence. “Just hold on!” She cast her eyes over what was to hand, something, anything with which she might bridge that gap.
There was a jumble of items washed up under the muddy overhang, where the river had scooped out the bank leaving a hollow full of frothy, eddying water: branches, roots, small bushes, dead things that she did not want to examine. And … yes! A piece of wood that had once been part of a shed or a barn or a house; shaped wood, a strong plank perhaps a handspan wide. She thought it might be long enough.
If she could wedge one end up between the roots that still held fast in the crumbling bank, and move the other out to form a kind of bridge to the place where he was, she had at least some chance of getting out there to help him. She saw in her mind how she would reach down her arms and grasp his; how the moment he loosed his grip to hold on to her, the force of the water would topple the two
of them. It wouldn’t work. She could not hold him against the current, nor would he have the strength to scramble up on his own even if she could. Right now Faolan looked even weaker than she; she thought she could see his fingers slipping, his eyes starting to glaze and roll back into unconsciousness. The plank would be strong enough if she could get it in the right place. But nothing was stronger
than the river …
There was a jumble of items washed up under the muddy overhang, where the river had scooped out the bank leaving a hollow full of frothy, eddying water: branches, roots, small bushes, dead things that she did not want to examine. And … yes! A piece of wood that had once been part of a shed or a barn or a house; shaped wood, a strong plank perhaps a handspan wide. She thought it might be long enough.
If she could wedge one end up between the roots that still held fast in the crumbling bank, and move the other out to form a kind of bridge to the place where he was, she had at least some chance of getting out there to help him. She saw in her mind how she would reach down her arms and grasp his; how the moment he loosed his grip to hold on to her, the force of the water would topple the two
of them. It wouldn’t work. She could not hold him against the current, nor would he have the strength to scramble up on his own even if she could. Right now Faolan looked even weaker than she; she thought she could see his fingers slipping, his eyes starting to glaze and roll back into unconsciousness. The plank would be strong enough if she could get it in the right place. But nothing was stronger
than the river …
She had it. They must use that destructive current to help them. She had to lay her bridge over to the rocks downstream of Faolan. If only she could do that, the pressure of the water would hold him firm against the wood while she hauled him up. She scanned the river once more, her heart in her mouth lest, in the instant while her attention was elsewhere, he should disappear
quietly below the water’s surface, gone without a word. The image came, the picture of how it could go wrong. She did not allow it to linger.
quietly below the water’s surface, gone without a word. The image came, the picture of how it could go wrong. She did not allow it to linger.
“Faolan!” she called, pitching her voice to be heard above the rushing water.
He was too exhausted to speak; his head moved in an attempt at a nod.
“Don’t move!” she yelled, knowing how foolish that sounded. “I’m coming out to get you!”
Easy to say.
The plank was heavy; she could not believe how heavy. Balancing in the shallows, she came perilously close to slipping into deep water before she succeeded in lifting and turning it. Sliding the end between the higher roots by the trunk, getting the angle right so it would hold, left her arms and shoulders fiery with pain. There, it was done. Now the other end; she must swing the wood around, keep
it out of the water, keep it away from Faolan’s head at all costs …
The plank was heavy; she could not believe how heavy. Balancing in the shallows, she came perilously close to slipping into deep water before she succeeded in lifting and turning it. Sliding the end between the higher roots by the trunk, getting the angle right so it would hold, left her arms and shoulders fiery with pain. There, it was done. Now the other end; she must swing the wood around, keep
it out of the water, keep it away from Faolan’s head at all costs …
“Ah!” Ana gasped as her foot slid in the mud and she went down on one knee, jarring her hip against the wood. The clutch of the river was terrifying; her heart pounded. She fought her way back to her feet, gripped the plank again and maneuvered it until the far end rested with what she hoped was reasonable security between the
smaller rocks about which the water seethed and foamed not far below Faolan’s position. She tested the makeshift bridge. It wobbled, but held.
smaller rocks about which the water seethed and foamed not far below Faolan’s position. She tested the makeshift bridge. It wobbled, but held.
“I’m coming out now!”
Rain was still falling. Everything was wet. She clambered up onto the plank, hands clenched around the sides, skirt hitched as high as it would go, and crawled out from the bank. The wood was barely clear of the water, and her weight
dipped the plank lower the farther she crept. The current teased at her, pulling, and she felt her heart pounding fit to burst. She tried not to look down. Behind her she could sense things shifting and groaning and creaking under the strain; she did not think this would hold among the tree roots for long. A little farther, a little more, hand, knee, hand, knee … Her heart was a drum now, beating
a music of sheer terror. Still, somewhere deep inside her, a fierce will burned. She would save him. She would do this.
dipped the plank lower the farther she crept. The current teased at her, pulling, and she felt her heart pounding fit to burst. She tried not to look down. Behind her she could sense things shifting and groaning and creaking under the strain; she did not think this would hold among the tree roots for long. A little farther, a little more, hand, knee, hand, knee … Her heart was a drum now, beating
a music of sheer terror. Still, somewhere deep inside her, a fierce will burned. She would save him. She would do this.
She was there. Perched perilously on the far end of her bridge, the water surging around her, she was not far downstream of Faolan. His face was barely clear of the water; he looked half drowned already. How could she ask him to release his grip? He would likely be swept straight
under her plank and away down the river. Her rescue seemed doomed from the start. She would not think of that. There was only one chance, and if she did not take it soon there would be no chance at all.
under her plank and away down the river. Her rescue seemed doomed from the start. She would not think of that. There was only one chance, and if she did not take it soon there would be no chance at all.
“Faolan,” she called briskly, “listen to me! I’m just downstream here, two arm’s lengths away from you. I have a length of planking across the water from the bank. Don’t let go yet. If you can
get to the plank and hold on, I’ll be able to haul you up. Wait for my count. Can you use your left arm at all?”
get to the plank and hold on, I’ll be able to haul you up. Wait for my count. Can you use your left arm at all?”
The wounded arm moved sluggishly in the water, the hand came up, fingers blanched and wrinkled, to grasp feebly at the roots.
She needed to keep the instructions simple. “Good. You’ll have to be quick. Be ready to grab on with both hands. Never mind if it hurts. You’ll have to help
me all you can.”
me all you can.”
“You … fall …” His voice was a thread.
“Don’t be silly!” She teetered as she struggled for a better balance; the bridge provided the narrowest of purchases, and there was nothing else to hold on to. She stuck one foot into a crack between the rocks, under water, and balanced with her stomach on the wood, leaving both arms free. The water coursed on every side. “Now, when I say,
you’re going to take one deep breath and let go, then grab with both hands. If you can stretch out your arms as you come it’s going to be easier. Do you understand?”
you’re going to take one deep breath and let go, then grab with both hands. If you can stretch out your arms as you come it’s going to be easier. Do you understand?”
A flicker across the blanched features; she had to take that as a yes.
“Good. I’m going to count to three.” Her breath was coming as if she had run a race. The water roiled around her; she was more than half submerged. “One, two,
three, go!”
three, go!”
He let go. An instant later his body smacked into the plank, and his arm came up to hook on. Ana snatched and held; it was a battle, herself against the river, with the prize a man’s life. She prayed, a silent, screaming cry to the Flamekeeper, straight from the heart. Her arms felt fit to spring from their sockets; her leg was ready to snap where it was jammed between the rocks.
She held on. It was a moment that seemed to last forever. She hauled, and felt Faolan’s desperate effort to help himself with his final, ebbing strength. It seemed as if he might be swept beneath the makeshift bridge, for the swirling water washed over his head as he sought to get both arms around the wood. Ana held him by whatever she could, a fold of cloth, a handful of hair, her grip shifting frantically
as he moved, and then he was pulling himself along the bridge, seeking a foothold among the rocks and debris of the smaller islet, a tenuous refuge that was crumbling now even as Ana took him by the arm and somehow heaved him up beside her. He sprawled across the plank, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. Ana’s own breath was coming in wheezing gasps; she felt the warmth of tears on her
cheeks. Her back hurt. Her legs were a mass of bloody cuts. Her shoulders were aching and her arms felt numb. Above, the light was starting to fade from a sky already gloomy with clouds.
She held on. It was a moment that seemed to last forever. She hauled, and felt Faolan’s desperate effort to help himself with his final, ebbing strength. It seemed as if he might be swept beneath the makeshift bridge, for the swirling water washed over his head as he sought to get both arms around the wood. Ana held him by whatever she could, a fold of cloth, a handful of hair, her grip shifting frantically
as he moved, and then he was pulling himself along the bridge, seeking a foothold among the rocks and debris of the smaller islet, a tenuous refuge that was crumbling now even as Ana took him by the arm and somehow heaved him up beside her. He sprawled across the plank, his eyes closed, his chest heaving. Ana’s own breath was coming in wheezing gasps; she felt the warmth of tears on her
cheeks. Her back hurt. Her legs were a mass of bloody cuts. Her shoulders were aching and her arms felt numb. Above, the light was starting to fade from a sky already gloomy with clouds.
“Faolan!”
He lay limp, hands open in the water, held only by his own body weight and her weakening grip. Fresh terror arose in Ana. If he fainted now they were as good as lost.
“Faolan, wake up!”
He did not
respond. Close by, something cracked and subsided. A rivulet ran across his body.
respond. Close by, something cracked and subsided. A rivulet ran across his body.
“Faolan!” Ana reached over and slapped him hard on the cheek. “Wake up immediately! You’re on duty, remember? What about the mission?”
A feeble groan; a slight stirring. Her heart bled for him even as she summoned her most regal tone. “Come on, Faolan! It’s nearly dark. I need you!”
They crept back across the
fragile bridge, Faolan going first, Ana behind, goading him to keep moving. Faolan’s greater weight made the plank bow ominously low into the water, but it held firm. When they set foot on the mud of the scoured-out bank, he fell to his knees. Ana hauled him up, setting his good arm around her shoulders. Above them, the tree now leaned toward the river at an impossible angle. It greeted its impending
doom with a creaking, groaning song of anguish. Ana heard the sound of wings; sensed rather than saw the crow as it arose from this tenuous perch and flew away. Its mission, if such it had been, was complete. Ana wished she could say the same for her own.
fragile bridge, Faolan going first, Ana behind, goading him to keep moving. Faolan’s greater weight made the plank bow ominously low into the water, but it held firm. When they set foot on the mud of the scoured-out bank, he fell to his knees. Ana hauled him up, setting his good arm around her shoulders. Above them, the tree now leaned toward the river at an impossible angle. It greeted its impending
doom with a creaking, groaning song of anguish. Ana heard the sound of wings; sensed rather than saw the crow as it arose from this tenuous perch and flew away. Its mission, if such it had been, was complete. Ana wished she could say the same for her own.
Other books
Pregnant with a Royal Baby! by Susan Meier
Argos by Simpson, Phillip
Turning Thirty-Twelve by Sandy James
The Knight of Sticks and Straw by Terry Deary
Midnight Lady by Jenny Oldfield
Wringer by Jerry Spinelli
A Change for the Better? by Drury, Stephanie
Thomas Quick by Råstam, Hannes
Underground Rivers by Mike French
Archetype by Waters, M. D.