The Boar Stone: Book Three of the Dalriada Trilogy (66 page)

‘See?’ Minna cried, holding out a pot to Cahir. ‘This, I could have given you for your heart!’ She threw it to the floor where it rolled under a chair, spilling liquid over the boards. ‘And this, for your blood …’ Holding his hollowed eyes, she flung a tall bottle down so it shattered into shards of green glass around her feet. ‘And this … and this!’ Containers of all sizes broke against the bed-screen and the floor, until her shins were cut and bleeding, and she turned to tearing leaves and twigs from her clothing and hair.

And all the while Cahir flinched but said nothing, merely watching her with feverish eyes. Only when she snatched up a shard of glass and it sliced her fingers did he break, with a grunt of pain pushing himself to grab her flailing hand. She struggled and then sank against him, crying, ‘You have betrayed me!’

‘Ah …’ He clutched her weakly to his chest. ‘I did not know I would give it all away … that it would burn out. It felt so right … so strong.’ His breath rasped inwards. ‘Forgive me,
a stór. Forgive me.’

Now
she heard the irregular thundering of his heart, when it did not matter any more; now she felt the heat of his fever. Abruptly she grew still, burying her head in his shoulder, the blood from her finger smearing his tunic.

His shaking hand cupped her head. ‘You raised me up … for the people …’

‘No!’ The bitterness of her part in this choked her. ‘
Our child—
’

‘Has life … and he will hold my lands as I cannot myself …’ He cradled her as best he could while she wept, endlessly. ‘Look at me,’ the whisper came. ‘Look at me with your sight.’

‘Never again!’

He coughed, clasped her tighter. ‘You must see … what I feel.’

Unwillingly, Minna’s gaze travelled over his brows and high cheekbones, hollowed beneath, and at last met his eyes. Despite the sickness they still held a glimmer of the light, and it was not fire now but a peace beyond grief. ‘In the night the gods spoke …’ he wheezed. ‘I have fulfilled my fate … and few men can say that.’ He stroked wet hair from her face. ‘Try to feel it …
try
.’

But Minna felt only as if she had died.

Chapter 63

T
he days blurred into one as the life gradually leached from Cahir’s body, leaving darkness in Minna’s heart. So much was spoken between them, whispers and murmurs exchanged in the lamplit bed as she sat against the wall with him cradled between her legs. But eventually even that faded to silence.

After a long, deep night where no moon rose, Cahir struggled awake. On a stool by the bed, Minna had fallen into a stupor over his hand, and when she raised her head at his movement his skin was wet, for she would only weep in sleep.

‘
A stór
,’ he coughed, and his eyes were luminous, reflecting the starlight in that Other place. ‘The pain is worse now.’ He had not let her dose him with anything, for he wanted his wits, to speak to her and his daughters and his men. ‘Take me … to the place we lay at Beltaine.’ Her hand contracted in instinctive denial, but he clung to it, his gaze unwavering. ‘I want to be in the woods, on the earth … not here in shadow and smoke.’

She sat, feeling the heartbeats of her own life counting down until they would surely stop. But the sweetness in his ashen face pierced her. ‘I saw our love …’ He smiled dreamily. ‘Such a fire … swift and bright … burns quickly, too. It is the way.’

She stared down, the dried tears stiffening her cheeks. And despite her vow to remain open to him, her ravaged soul took refuge in coldness; an emptiness where she did not have to feel.

The litter, carried by Cahir’s trusted warriors, moved along the rocky path out of the dun through an utterly silent crowd. People had come from every house and field, and Fintan and Lonán emerged from the smithy with Keeva, her black eyes on Minna’s face.

As the litter passed, every man, woman and child knelt to give homage to their fallen king.

Walking at the head of the bier with a weeping Finola and Orla behind her, Minna thought distantly that never in her time in Alba had she heard silence like this. Noise was the mark of these exuberant people, but on this crowd lay the silence of the mountains. It echoed through her hollow heart.

They reached the Beltaine glade when morning sun was slanting between the white birch trees and pooling in the hollow where she first gave herself to him. The men followed a little stream through high stands of bracken, and rested the litter down. The flowers had gone, and berries were showing on the elder trees. As he sank into the ground, the dell grew hushed, with no breath of wind or birdsong.

Cahir spoke to Finola and Orla alone, holding them as they threw themselves across him, his face spasming at their storm of tears. Then it was the turn of his men. Cahir grasped Finbar wrist to wrist. ‘The lady’s child will be a boy,’ he wheezed. ‘And I name him my heir. You and Góban are to share his regency between you, and hold Dunadd safe for him.’

Grizzled Finbar, his face ashen, said something Minna could not hear and fervently kissed his king’s hand. With haunted expressions the other men – Gobán, Fergal, Mellan and Ardal – came one by one and did the same. Then all retreated back up to the border of the birch trees that circled the dell, the girls following, Orla trying to be brave, holding her sister.

All strength gone, Minna sank to her knees at Cahir’s head and cradled her hands around his temples. There it struck her with force, as the priestess in her spoke, though she didn’t want to hear.
The three faces of the Goddess.

In this same hollow she had been the Maiden of flowers, and here the Mother, swelling with Cahir’s child. But on this day she would also be the Crone, the herald of winter. She had taken Cahir through the cycle of the Goddess, from birth to fertility to death – and it was because of this that she knew she was facing nothing less than the right order of the world. But that didn’t help the girl in her, and her desperate love for him.

When Cahir’s eyes at last flickered open again, they were shimmering forest pools, holding the secrets of the earth and the joy of the sky. His breath rattled. ‘
A stór
.’ His gaze focused with terrible intensity on her. ‘You have to do something for me. The … last thing.’ Minna bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. His eyes closed briefly in pain. ‘I need to know … all will be well with my people.’

A stone dropped into her breast.

‘I need you to see for me.’

‘No. I … I cannot—’

‘I need you to see for me so I can let go.’

‘Think what you ask!’ she cried, and turned her cheek away. How could she look at a future without him? A keening rose, clawing its way out of her, and she wondered wildly if she could go in his stead, or simply lie down and slip away with him between the worlds.

In that moment, she became aware of the hand on her shoulder, and someone standing behind her.

Her eyes sprang open, and she could see in the two worlds at once again, just as on the rowan-tree mountain. Now the light that touched every living thing – leaves, tree-trunks, grasses – did not come from the sun alone. The veils had become so thin here that the Otherworld glow was surrounding them.

Rhiann said,
You must see for him; open your heart and feel your grief, honour it. I will be here with you.

‘No,’ she moaned, her soul writhing, trying to escape pain.

Cahir was breathing more shallowly now. ‘Tell me,’ he said again.

You must see for him.

‘I am dying inside …’ Minna gasped. ‘I cannot think …’

Daughter. We are all here with you. Open your heart, for if you do not feel you will lose it all.

The warmth from Rhiann’s hand penetrated her chilled flesh, and she hovered on the threshold for an endless moment.
Surrender
, her own inner voice whispered. He needed her, trusted her.

Finally she sank forward and rested her lips against Cahir’s mouth, closing her eyes. And she saw for him, as the world held its breath.

‘The … the boy I carry will be king at Dunadd, a great King of Dalriada after you, and the regents will hold us safe until he comes of age,’ she whispered. Beneath her, Cahir stirred with a sigh. Silence fell again, as the images flitted past Minna’s spirit-eye. ‘Your alliance has struck a blow that will weaken the pillars of the Empire. The Romans are already banished from Alba – but
your son
will see them leave all Britannia.’

His chest fluttered. ‘The … Picts …?’

Minna gathered the visions into understanding. ‘Through Nessa’s son there will be peace between Pictland and Dalriada for many years, and then as many years of bitter war. But after this bloody birthing, the two peoples will join under a single king who will be crowned here at Dunadd, as heir of both Pictland and Dalriada. That king will be descended from you, Cahir. And because of that, for every wave of invasion that comes ever after, the Source of Alba will live on, and what makes this land its own is a flame that will never be quenched.’

Cahir’s body sank deeper into the earth, his chest rising and falling more quietly as he rested in those moments between speaking. Minna smoothed his still-warm skin with quivering fingers, knowing the life in him was fading. And something in her cracked and her heart cried out denial like a child, as the light around her fractured.

Daughter
, Rhiann said.
This is the greatest lesson of the priestess. Feel it.

Then she understood. A healer can pour light into an ailing body, but each person has a fate that is their own. A seer bows in humility not only to the gods, but to that soul’s choice.

But how bitter a lesson! She fought with it, tears choking her, until Rhiann rested a gentle hand on her nape.

Minna dipped her face over Cahir’s and opened her eyes. Framed by his dark lashes, his irises were golden lamps now, glowing with the peace that flowed into her from Rhiann’s hand. Flanked by them both, her mother and her husband, she was held and she could breathe.

‘Can you see it?’ Cahir whispered.

‘Yes,’ she said shakily. ‘And you?’

In answer, he gave her a smile of great tenderness. ‘Make him a good man … and give him my sword.’

And Minna felt the Source in him gathering, readying itself to overflow into the life of the dell, the trees, the hills. In answer, she sensed the ancient death-song for a king rising from within her.

The first notes poured from her mouth, achingly sweet, with a keen of sorrow like a curlew’s cry. It was a chant about strength and sacrifice, and love for the people, and it was beautiful. But Minna’s grief sharpened, and when she saw how intently Cahir listened even as his face grew bloodless, she suddenly faltered. Her voice cracked into nothing, and the song died.

There was only the briefest of pauses before Rhiann took up the song in a spirit voice low and rich, and a moment later other voices joined her.

Through tears, Minna gazed around at the women now circling the edge of the clearing behind the warriors. Their indistinct figures stood as straight as the birches, blurred with light. The hollow rang with their song, sending it back from the slopes so it entered Minna’s flesh, and she felt strength coursing through her for the first time in days. It rose from the soil, the bones of the earth, the roots of the mountains. Her whole body vibrated and she opened her mouth once more and the song came again, more powerful this time. It wove a cradle of light about Cahir. It came to carry her through unbearable sorrow.

Cahir could see the spirit women now, for his eyes roamed around with wonder as one by one the singers fell silent, until there was only Minna and Rhiann. And then, only Minna’s sweet voice, rising and falling.

The light in Cahir grew brighter now, surging like a fountain, and then, in a great rush, it burst free and filled the entire clearing like a cup running over. Minna cried out as she felt him pass right through her soul.

Up flowed his living flame, out through the crown of the trees to join with the sky, and she was held in his joy as he had held her body in pleasure.
There is only love
, she heard him say, all the strength returned to his voice.
And you will always know me, mo chridhe.

My heart.

Cahir’s presence faded, as slowly the cool shadows of Thisworld gathered in again. Minna’s cheeks were wet when at last she stirred and looked down.

On the dewy grass lay Cahir son of Conor. He looked at rest, the lines of sickness gone, the pain of life erased. He was beautiful, with his dark hair all about his face, his lashes soft fringes on his clear skin.

She felt Rhiann touch her cheek, and looked up at last into her luminous, violet eyes, shining with sorrow and joy.
I lost loved ones, and though I knew they still lived it did not soften the grief. For grief is only an honouring for the love you bore them. Do not hinder it.

So at last Minna abandoned all need to be a healer or seer, and, giving no thought to the warriors watching, she left her solemn place at Cahir’s head. She lay by his side and curled around him like a baby, the dell cradling them both.