Challenge of the clans (4 page)

Bodhmall looked toward the wicker screen and allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Then she

rose to fill a bowl with more of the medicinal broth, for Muime would surely have need of it now. But as she stooped over the caldron, lowering the ladle toward the surface of the broth, she stiffened, staring down. For there, within the boiling liquid and the rising steam, strange, wavering shapes were beginning to appear.

Liath appeared fi-om behind the wicker screen, beaming with exuberance.

"A boy!" she announced joyfiilly. "As pink and fat as I've ever seen, and as fair as his mother!"

She stopped then, noting the peculiar, fi-ozen position of the older woman.

"Bodhmall?" she said in puzzlement. "What is it?"

"Hush, woman," the other commanded. She was trying to concentrate. This was not the first time in her life that she had experienced such a phenomenon as this. She knew she had to focus her mind and will the image clear.

Slowly it did become clearer, like the rippling waters of a pond calming to produce a mirror image. The vague forms grew sharper, taking on color and sohdity and depth and, finally, movement. And suddenly she found herself looking upon a scene of savage battle. It was nearly ended. Many bodies littered the field, their steaming crimson blood bright upon the fi-osty sod. Other men were running, escaping away into fog-cloaked woods.

Then came a sight more dreadful: the head of Cumhal MacTredhom, white-eyed and mouth gaping, dangling fi*om a horse's bridle by its own long hair.

On this the vision faded, replaced again by the steam and swirling waters of the caldron.

Bodhmall straightened slowly, the ladle and bowl forgotten in her hands as she mused upon what she had seen. There was no sense of shock in her. To one who had tended warriors of the Fian as long as she, such grim sights were familiar ones. Her hard and practical mind was fiilly occupied with the impfications of the event she had witnessed.

For she had no doubts of the truth of her vision.

Always before they had proven true. And this one meant that they would have to move very quickly.

She turned toward Liath, who still stood watching her with some concern.

"Is Muirne awake?" she snapped.

"Why, yes," Liath answered, surprised by the other's curtness.

Dropping the utensils, Bodhmall moved quickly past the nurse and around the screen. Beyond she found Muirne propped up against a mound of sleeping rugs, cradling the newborn in her arms. He was asleep, his tiny face nearly lost in a mass of linen.

Muirne was staring down raptly at the baby, but looked up as the gaunt woman entered and smiled brightly. This smile quickly faded, however, as she saw the chill expression on the other's face. Some premonition that something had happened filled her as she asked fearfully: "Bodhmall, what has happened?"

Bodhmall knelt by the bed. "There is no way to make this gentle news," she said bluntly. "Cumhal is dead. His company was attacked by the Clan na Morna. The rest of his warriors have been killed or scattered."

The girl's face was drained of its warm flush and she seemed to shrink back, wilting like a flower touched by winter's chill.

"Cumhal!" she said. "Oh, my Cumhal!"

Bodhmall leaned closer. "There is no time for sorrow now, Muirne," she said sharply. "It is the child you must be thinking of "

The harsh reality in these words recalled the girl's sense. She looked down at the sleeping infant, then back to Bodhmall, a new terror filling her eyes.

"Of course," she said. "The ones who killed Cumhal will not let any son of his survive to carry on a blood feud. What can we do?"

"We must leave here quickly," the gaunt woman said. "My brother has a large cart. He can carry us away safely."

"No!" Muirne said with a new firmness. She drew herself up and set her young face with a woman's deter-

; mination. "It is I they will hunt for. I cannot have him i with me!"

"What are you saying?" Bodhmall asked. "That you and Liath must take my son to safety. You must hide him away and see that all I have of Cumhal lives!"

The families of the defeated Clan na Baiscne warriors streamed out from the ring fort and its surrounding cluster of huts. Some riding or in carts but most afoot, they fled into a surrounding countryside turned white by a sudden, rapidly thickening snowfall.

At the fortress gates sat a heavy four-wheeled wagon behind a team of aging draft horses. A scrawny and craggy-faced old man held its reins, gloomily watching as Liath and Bodhmall finished loading bundles of clothing and food into the back.

Muirne stood near them, the infant in her arms. When they had finished the loading and were ready to depart, she prepared her child for his journey. Care-fiilly, tenderly she pulled the wrapping blanket tightly around him against the cold. Awake, wide-eyed but quiet, he watched her. His tiny, pale face was almost lost among the thick clothes that bundled him. A few stray whisps of his fine, blond hair showed about his head, the curling strands a glowing, almost silver-white, like his mother's.

She finished her arranging and just stood, holding him, looking down at that peaceful face, untouched by the sufferings of the hostile world he had been brought into. She cursed the violence that would part them. Anguish nearly overwhelmed her as the images of the life they would have had flashed through her mind. The experience of his first words and his first steps would be lost to her. There would be no playing together in the sun-warmed meadows, no watching his glowing wonder at a butterfly, a rainbow, a budding flower. It would not be her arms which hugged him close to calm his fears at the howling of a winter gale. All these images of a future she had looked to only yesterday were whirled away now hke the snowflakes in the gusting wind. Now

she was looking upon the face of her only child for what might be the final time.

"Your father is lost to us both, my fair, my only son," she told him softly. "And without him, theres not another sorrow greater in the world to me than knowing ril not feel your warmth against me or hear your voice or see your smile. But I will have a joy in knowing that you live, and that must be enough."

His glowing gray eyes stared up into hers fixedly, as if he listened and understood. She found herself unable to say more. Controlling her emotions with a great effort, she pulled the blankets tightly around him a last time, folded down a flap to shield his face, and put him into the arms of Liath.

"iVe named him Demna," she told the nurse, whose round face streamed with tears. Then she turned to Bodhmall. "Take him into the fastness of Slieve Bladhma. Into the deepest glens. They are the lands of my own people. No one will find you there."

"And what will you do?" the gaunt woman asked.

"I will lead the hunters in another way," Muime said with resolve. "They must never know of you or of Demna." She gazed searchingly into Bodhmall's eyes and her voice took on a pleading note. "Please, keep him safely. And see that he is happy. Don't let what killed his father destroy him too."

"I will do what must be done," Bodhmall said earnestly. "Good fortune go with you, Muime."

With that, she and Liath climbed into the cart and settled in its back. Bodhmall signaled its driver and he urged the team forward, along the snow-blanketed roadway.

Muime stood at the gateway and watched them move away until they had faded into the screen of white. Tears welled in her eyes, slid down her cheeks, and blended with the snowflakes melting there.

The door of the liss shattered as it was driven inward. The party of warriors, weapons ready, shoul-

dered into the room, accompanied by a heavy swirl of snow.

Aed led them, a thick pad of linen soaked with red-black blood now tied across his wound. His pain made him impatient. His frustration enraged him. He kicked over the abandoned caldron upon the burnt-out fire and swung around, scanning the shadowy interior. His warriors moved about, poking into the comers with their blades and spears, tearing down tapestries and wicker walls.

"No one here," said Conan, peering under the pallet in Muime's alcove.

"You noticed that, did you?" his brother shot back. "Where did they go?"

"They must have left here before us," Conan said.

Aed gave him a withering look. "Your briUiance astounds me! By the Bloody Raven, how did they know we were coming?"

He walked back toward the door. The night was fully on them now, the winds rising, sending the snow in scouring blasts across the yard, piling it in drifts against the inside of the walls.

"We have to find her," he said fiercely. "She can't escape." He looked back at the others. "Every man must go out. Scour every thicket and cave."

Conan moved up behind him, looking out into the storm. "What, go out in that?" he said complainingly. "Well not find anyone's track in that. We'll only be frozen ourselves to try it!"

Aed wheeled on him, his voice low and savage. "I don't care. We will hunt her down no matter how long it takes. It's begun now, Conan. Don't you understand? It's begun and, like it or not, we have to finish it!"

The snow had ended but the wind was still sharp, wailing through the trees, tearing at those in the cart as it moved on into the heart of the forest called Slieve Bladhma.

The brother of Bodhmall struggled at the reins, using whip and curses to force the weary animals ahead

through the banks of snow. He was a skinny crow of a man, big-beaked and sharp-eyed. His voice, too, was that of a crow as he cawed his complaints to his sister.

"It's a carpenter I am, not a warrior. I must be mad to bring you out here in this night to this cursed place."

"We had to bring the child away," Bodhmall told him brusquely. "You were the only one I could trust to doit.;

"There's another thing as well!" he went on. "Well all be dead if weVe caught with Cumhal's son. It's not for me to take a risk Hke that. Tm not of the Fian."

"You are of the Baiscne clan and your bonds should be enough to make you help," she pointed out. "No more talk, now. Keep your eyes on the way!"

He was forced to keep a closer watch on their path, for the woods became ever denser as they moved inward, with tree trunks, brush, and the furry boughs of evergreens brushing against the sides of the wagon. But this ended suddenly as they came into a small open valley along a narrow stream that cut a black sinuous hne through the smooth field of white.

In the center of this glen, near to the stream, sat a round thatched house, unfortified.

"Thank Danu!" Bodhmall said wholeheartedly. "Brother, take us there!"

The wagon pulled up before the house. It was dark. No smoke rose fi*om its smoke hole. She climbed down and peered in through its doorless entrance. It was a tiny dwelling, single-roomed, wattle-sided, and in poor repair, the clay dropping fi*om its walls in chunks, its thatch festooned with cobwebs, its floor empty of furniture. Wind whistled in through the chinks and snow had filtered down through the smoke hole. Still, it was shelter.

"Take the child inside," she ordered Liath as she moved back to the cart. "I'll bring in some food and coverings. Use blankets to seal the door and cover the holes."

Liath obeyed as Bodhmall began to pull bundles and baskets fi*om the wagon. But she paused as she

noted her brother still holding the reins and staring glumly at her activities.

"Don't be sitting there and watching," she told him curtly. She pulled a woodsman's ax from the back and tossed it to him. "Cut some wood! We'll need a fire, and quickly!"

He caught the ax and looked at it with distaste. His eyes rose to her. "iVe never liked being at your command, you know, Sister," he said coldly. "Just because it was you who had the healin' and the seein' powers, it was you who served the chieftains," He threw the ax down into the snow. "Well, that's ended. "

"What are you saying?" she demanded.

"I'm saying I've done all I mean to. You plan to stay here and hide from the Sons of Morna. Well, I don't. I'm leaving you."

"You can't!" she protested. "What if you're caught! You might tell them where we are."

"They'll not find me, " he said. "They'll not even be looking for me."

"But you know how you are when you've had too much of the drink," she reminded him. "You might speak of us. Brother, it's too great a risk you're taking."

"There's little you can do about it, " he said, smiling insolently over his new independence. "You can't leave here yourself. I'm free of you and your orderin."

She saw that he meant to go and sighed. "All right," she told him in a resigned voice. "I can't stop you. But you might at least help me take out these other things fi*om the wagon. It'll speed your going."

"I will do that, ' he said and climbed down from the seat.

As he began lift:ing the rest of the baskets and piles of clothing from the back, Bodhmall set down her own armftil and stooped to lift the ax from the snow.

"You might leave us this as well," she said. "We'll be needing it to cut our own firewood now."

"Take it and welcome. It's a httle enough price to be rid of you."

He leaned down to lift another basket from the cart. As he did, Bodhmall stepped up close behind him.

In a single, savage stroke, backed by all the strength in her sinex^y body, she buried the broad ax deep in her brother's back.

His head snapped back. He gasped, then sagged forward, tumbling limply into the snow.

Bodhmall heard a terrified shriek behind her and turned to see Liath in the doorway of the hut, the baby in her arms, staring with wide eyes at the 3cwful scene.

"What have you done?" she cried. "He is your brother!"

"He meant to leave us. He might have betrayed us,** she answered simply, and then her voice assumed its brisk, commanding tones. "Never mind him, woman. Get that child inside. Do you want it to fi-eeze? Keep it warm. Ill get a fire started soon!"

As Liath disapi>eared obediently into the hut again, Bodhmall jerked the ax fi*ee of the fallen man's body.

"Sorry, Brother," she told him grimly. "I could take no risks. The life of this boy is too precious. Someday hell be ready to take Cumhal's place!