Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (23 page)

“
Where did you say you were leading us?” asked
Odhrán.

“
Ráth Faolchú, which
is…somewhere a
round here,”
replied Eiladyr, scratching the back of his head. “If this fog was not so damned thick, I would be able to
find
my
way through…
”

Odhrán paused, holding his hand out for them all to stop.

Shiovra
watched the Milidh man carefully as he took a few slow steps around them, then reach a hand out and ran his fingers along the rough bark of a tree. “What are you…?” she began, her voice trailing off as he
motioned
for silence.

Crouching down, he brushed his
fingers lightly over the ground
and then
titled his head
slightly,
listening.
Abruptly straightening, Odhrán began walking to their right. “This way.”

The priestess quickly followed. “How can you be sure?” she asked.

Odhrán did not turn back and replied simply,
“
I trained there years ago.”

Eiladyr brushed past
Shiovra
, catching pace with Odhrán. “I remember you…” he remarked. “It has been over two years since we met, but you found me and brought me to Ráth Faolchú when I had nowhere else to go.
Even though I did not understand the language of Éire then, you helped me.
”

The Milidh man nodded. “
I understood how it felt
.”

Shiovra
rubbed her wounded hand as she followed the two men,
Daire
keeping pace beside her. She had never thought of how it must have been for Odhrán when he came to Éire, a strange land with a language unknown to him. And to have been a child at the time.
Shiovra
wondered if, perhaps, he had been as frightened coming to Éire as she had been with the Milidh’s arrival.

She did not have the opportunity, though, to dwell further into her thoughts as a
sudden chill raced up
Shiovra
’s spine. She
stopped abruptly, clenching her hand at her chest. The cold of the fog
licked at her skin, sending shivers through her body.

Daire
, noticing she no long walked beside her, paused and turned.
“
Shiovra
?”

Shiovra
lo
oked
at the surrounding trees
.
At first she saw nothing to warrant the cold feeling that gripped her. Then she saw it, the unnatural shift of shadows. She could feel their eyes on her; watching, waiting.
“Huntsmen,” she breathed
, taking a step back closer to
Daire
. “They are closing in around us.”

“What?!” shouted Eiladyr, drawing his blade.

“Be quiet!” hissed Odhrán,
taking hold of both his daggers
.

“
Daire
, give me your bow,” ordered
Shiovra
.

He looked at her in question, but obeyed nonetheless. Stringing the bow, he handed it to the woman.

Pulling an arrow from
Daire
’s quiver,
Shiovra
knocked the arrow ready and waited.
She could not shake the feeling of eyes upon her, filling her with a sense of fear. Taking slow breaths,
Shiovra
tried to calm the beating of her heart.

“Listen,” whispered Odhrán
’s voice beside her ear
, warm against her skin.

Nodding, she closed her eyes and tried to focus.
The forest remained
silent; the fog gro
w
ing
thicker, colde
r.

“Where are they?”
Daire
asked softly
from her left.

“All around us,” replied
Odhrán
’s low voice
. “They use the fog to their advantage
.”

“S
urvivors of Caher Dearg?”
Daire
asked.

“Quite,” warned Odhrán harshly.

A branch snapped to
Shiovra
’s right.
Opening her eyes, s
he turned towards it and let loose her arrow. It whistled through the fog and silence followed. “Where are th
ey?” she muttered under her breath
.

“There!” Odhrán shouted, pointing westward.

Shiovra
let loose another arrow.

Silence persisted.

Eiladyr swore under his breath.

The fog parted briefly as a bird cried out in warning, flying past them
.

Shiovra
spun to where the bird had come from.
An ar
row screamed through the air, landing
at her
feet
. She stumbled back in surprise
and was caught by Odhrán, who
held onto her for a moment. She could see the huntsmen now. Their filthy faces smirking with malice. Despite the distance that separated them,
Shiovra
could smell them; the horrible reek of unwashed bodies and garments assaulting her nose. Their hair was unkempt and filthy.

Odhrán suddenly
push
ed her towards Eiladyr
.
“Get her to the village
!” he ordered.
“We will hold them off.”

Shiovra
made to protest but
Eiladyr tugged her along
before the words could leave her lips
.
Glancing over her shoulder as Eiladyr pulled her away, she found
Daire
and Odhrán
had already been lost in the fog. Biting her lip, she looked down at the bow and single arrow she still carried in her hand
s, hesitating
.

“What are you doing?” demanded Eiladyr, grabbing her arm. “We need to go!”

Shiovra
meet his pleading gaze, before shouts carried by the wind caught her attention. She felt Eiladyr’s hands come to rest on her shoulders.

“We cannot be too far from the village,” he said in a calmer voice.
“Once we reach it, w
e can send help.”

Nodding in defeat,
Shiovra
turned
away from the voices. “Dana watch over them,” she whispered, then followed Eiladyr deeper into the fog.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Meara
continued to urge her men in the search for the priestess and her guardians
, but she had not expected to find what she did. Lying on the ground at her feet were the
lifeless, bloodied bodies of several huntsmen. Crouching down beside one, she held a cloth to her nose as she looked it over. The wounds were still fresh, so whoever the huntsmen had faced were not far ahead.

“
Meara
!” called Ainnle’s voice.

Pulled from her thoughts, she
glanced up.

Ainnle wa
lked towards her holding an arrow in his fist
. “W
e found this not too far away
,” he said, handing it to
Meara
.

She looked at the arrow, taking not
e of the
fletching
colors
and make of the tip as well as the carving along the shaft. “This is one of
Daire
’s
,” she murmured softly
, rising to her feet
. “They may still be alive.”

Ainnle nodded.

Meara
’s hand tightened around the shaft. “He’d
better
still be alive,” she murmured under her breath. “Gather whatever weapons may be of use and leave the bodies to the hounds.”

“Aye.”

Crossing her arms, she looked around that the dead huntsmen. There were no arrow wounds on the men. Though
Daire
knew the use of a sword, his skills were still weak due to his strong favor of the bow.
And f
rom the brutality of the wounds,
Meara
knew whoever had dealt them was
not only highly skilled, but also
a very dangerous man.
She could only hope that the huntsmen had fallen to one she could call ally.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The
morning
air was warm and muggy as is drifted past a tall slim man standing in the doorway of a dimly lit cottage.
The Fomorii man’s
white hair had been cropped fairly short, but remained long enough for a few stray locks to fall into his closed eyes. A long, pale gray cloak lay draped over his shoulders and reached to the ground.

A soft rustle came from his left
, quickly followed by a breathless
question, “My Lord Caillte?”

“Aye?” asked the cloaked man with a deep voice, not bothering to turn to the approaching messenger.

“
Word has been received that
Caher Dearg
has fallen
.
”

“Hmm,” mused Caillte. Though he was not allied with Méav, he kept close watch on the woman for his lord
,
Ailill.
Méav posed a threat to Ailill’s power as well as his desire for Tara’s ruin. The fall of Caher Dearg was indeed promising to their plans.
“What of Méav?”

“She
is nowhere to be found
,” replied the man.

Caillte noticed the hesitation in the man’s voice. “And?”

“
And it was the High Priestess of Tara who brought Caher Dearg’s downfall,” answered the smooth voice of a woman.

He turned to find
Gráinne
approaching. The woman looked worse for the wear, her bright auburn hair wild about her face and her clothing torn and splattered with blood.

Gráinne
stopped before him, casting the messenger a cold glare. “And if it had not been for mother’s interference, I would have
had the girl in my grasp
,” she spat.

Caillte waved the messenger away, who bowed gratefully before scurrying off. “So Méav has decided to finally act
against Ailill’s plans?” he questioned.

The woman nodded. “Aye,” she replied. “Mother will pose a problem. Even with the loss of Caher Dearg, she still holds the power to wreak havoc on Lord Ailill’s plans.”

Turning away from the woman, Caillte walked back into the cottage,
Gráinne
following. “And how did it come to pass that you were in Caher Dearg?” he drawled slowly.

A smile played across
Gráinne
’s lips. “
It was brought to my attention that the priestess would be journeying to Dún Fiáin to seek aid in defending Tara
,” she purred, walking slowly around the Fomorii man. “
I knew mother might try and interfere with Lord Ailill’s plans, so I thought to capture
Shiovra
myself.
”

Caillte regarded the woman silently a moment.
He did not care for her much, often questioning her motives.
Reaching a hand ou
t, he grabbed hold of her hair at the base of her neck, tugging her head back roughly.
“And what of the huntsmen Méav held sway over?” he demanded.

Gráinne
met his gaze with excitement dancing in her eyes. “
Most lie dead
,” she
breathed, running her tongue enticingly over her lips. “
The
few
remaining
have decided to cast their allegiance with Lord Ailill and await your command, Lord Caillte.”

A smirk crossed his lips
as he noticed the woman’s breathing had quickened
.
Though he did not care for the woman, let alone trust her, Caillte did enjoy bedding her.
Tugging harder on her hair, he
brought
his mouth roughly down upon hers.
The woman made no protest, only pressed her body hungrily against his.
And with that simple act of consent, Caillte thrust the woman onto his bed and began disrobing.

61

6.
     
hidden

Shiovra
woke to
the soft murmur of voices talking quietly nearby.
Opening her eyes, she
looked up as
sunlight flitted down through rustling leaves
. For a moment, she lay upon the ground wondering whe
n she had fallen asleep
.
The warmth of the sun was shadowed as Eiladyr leaned over her
, placing a hand on her forehead
.

“You are finally awake
,” he said
.

“How long have I been asleep?”
Shiovra
asked quietly
, looking up at him
.

The man grinned.
“Not long, do not worry,” replied Eiladyr, leaning back.
“It is a little past midday.”

Shiovra
sat up suddenly. “The huntsmen…” she began.

“
We do not have to worry about them anymore
.
”

She turned at the sudden
at the sound of
Daire
’s voice.
He
sat a little off to he
r left, offering her a lopsided smile.
A wave of relief washed over
Shiovra
. “The huntsmen…are they…”

“All dead,” replied
Daire
. “Odhrán handled them.”

“We should get moving soon,” came Odhrán’s voice.

Shiovra
started at the Milidh
man
’s sudden appearance. He stepped out of the shadows as if he had been part of the trees themselves.
Her eyes trailed to the makeshift bandages and noted that fresh blood stained them. Judging by the
pain
ed look on his face, the blood had come from his reopened wound and not from the huntsmen.

There was a soft rustling behind them and Odhrán shifted into a protective stance, moving swiftly between
Shiovra
and the sound.

“We
ll, if it isn’t Odhrán
,”
called out
a voice.

The companions looked up to see a figure walking out of the shadows.

“Never thought I woul
d see your face again. Been a long time, old friend.” Light fell upon a
Neimidh
man
with
dark hair
that
fell in light curls to his shoulders. His eyes were a deep shade of green and his skin tanned. There were curling blue woad marks by his eyes and a fading scar a
cross his left cheek. H
e stood with his arms crossed
and a wide grin across his lips
.
 

“Good to see you again, Artis,” Odhrán said.

The man turned to Eiladyr. “Where have you been?”

“It is a long story,” replied Eiladyr. “But rig
ht now I would rather not talk about it.”

Artis grinned. “
Of course, there will be time for that later
. All right then, follow me.”
Turning, he began to walk away.

Standing,
Shiovra
glanced at Odhrán, who nodded in turn. Eiladyr and
Daire
had already begun to follow the man deeper into the forest.
With a sigh, she hurried to keep up, Odhrán following.

They did not walk far before they
approached what appeared to be a very large
and
impenetrable
overgrowth of trees, twisting vines, and prickly
bramble that stretch far
.

Shiovra
had never seen anything quite like it, the sheer size reminding her of a small village. She could hear a stream nearby, but could not see it. She expected it possibly even ran directly through the whole mess.

Artis paused before it and whistled a soft tune.

A
soft whistle drifted over the wind in reply.

Shiovra
started as a small mass of trees
and brush
directly before Artis began to shift as the door concealed
behind them
opened
.
Artis beckoned for them to enter and the priestess took a few cautious steps before pausing. She watched as Eiladyr eagerly entered with
Daire
following, but could not bring herself to move.

“Come,” urged Odhrán. “This is Ráth Faolchú.”

When she did not move, the Milidh man grabbed her hand gently and led her through the doorway.

Once she was inside, the hidden door swung shut. Within the seemingly impenetrable barrier of nature
was
instead a small village where
cottages
stood
nestled amongs
t
the
trees
.
The
stream
Shiovra
had heard flowed through the middle of the tiny village
, weaving around the cottages and trees.

“You shall be safe here,” Odhrán assured her
. “
Even Méav’s huntsmen do not know of this place.”

Artis looked
Shiovra
over,
and then
turned his attention of Odhrán.
“You seem to have
brought us a High Priestess this time, Odhrán
,” he
stated.

“The priestess journeys to Dún Fiáin,” said Odhrán.

Shiovra
took a step forward. “My name is
Shiovra
and this,” she gestured to
Daire
, “is my cousin,
Daire
.
”

Ar
tis nodded. “Welcome
to Ráth Faolchú,” he said warmly, giving them a slight bow. “
You all look a little worse for the wear. Come with me so that we can get your wounds cleaned and dressed
.”
Waving for them to follow, Artis led them to a small hut along the left side of the village.

Shiovra
was the first to enter, ducking through the low doorway. Stepping aside, she looked around the hut. Herbs hung from support posts to dry. Several c
lay jars sat upon a
wooden
table
beside neatly folded bandages
,
an empty basin,
mortar and pestle, and pitcher
. Dying embers glowed lightly in the hearth while a meek bed sat along the far wall
.

“Unfortunately, our healer is away at the moment,” Artis told them
.
“
I hope all that is needed is here…”

“Aye,” the priestess replied.
“Are you sure yo
ur healer will not
mind if I use their herbs?”

“No. I doubt he would object.”

Shiovra
nodded. “I thank you
.”
Looking over the various dried herbs, she selected a few and then went to the table. Placing them into the mortar, she began grinding them with the pestle until they were ground to her desire. Turning to the pitcher of water,
Shiovra
added a tiny bit of water, mixing it in to form a slightly thick paste.
Grabbing an empty basin, she poured water into it and grabbed a piece of cloth.

Turning to Odhrán, she gestured to the low bench sitting beside the table. “Let me tend to your wounds first.”

Nodding, the Milidh man sat down on the bench.

Sitting beside him, she
lifted th
e bottom of his
tunic
and
carefully
peeled away the makeshift bandage.
Biting her lip at the angry appearance of the wound, she dipped the cloth into the basin of water and began cleaning it. Glancing up briefly, she saw him flinch, but only once
.

Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, she dipped her fingers into the paste and worked it gently into the wound. The skin beneath her fingers was hot to touch, which worried
Shiovra
and she found her fingers lingering
.

“
Shiovra
?”

The priestess started at Odhrán’s low voice.
With a tight smile, she wrapped the wound with clean bandages. “It is not healing well. I want to keep an eye on it,
”
she told him, rising to her feet.

Nodding,
Odh
rán pulled his tunic back in place
.

Dumping the soiled water from the basin out the cottage door, she added fresh water and, taking up another cloth, began to gently remove the dried blood from
Daire
’s forehead
.
His wound was not as terrible as it had appeared once the blood was cleaned away. Once cleaned, she applied the paste and decided not to wrap it. 

Tilting her head,
Shiovra
carefully scrutinized him, searching for any hidden wounds she may have missed. Finding none, she turned to her own hand.

“Who gave you that?” asked Eiladyr, gesturing to her wound.

“Gráinne,” she replied as she washed the blood away, treating the wound and bin
d
ing it
.

The man did not press her further.

With a sigh,
Shiovra
studied the small
hut further. The placement of the herbs and such had a highly familiar feeling to it. Her suspicions were confirmed upon seeing a small cloth pouch sitting on the bed. She ran her fingers over the lightly embellished pattern sewn upon it, a small smile playing across her lips
. “Your healer is
Kieran, son of Dubheasa
,”
Shiovra
murmured,
looking up to meet Artis’ gaze
.

“Aye
, that he is. You have a good eye, priestess,” Artis said with a smile. “This is the village young Kieran trained at before becoming your shadow on Rúnda. Though his duties lie more with Rúnda now, he does return now and again.”
Running a hand through his hair,
he said, “You are all welcome to stay here for as long as you like. You could all use the rest.”

Shiovra
smiled. “I thank you. That is very generous,” she said.

Eiladyr rubbed the back of his neck.
“
Artis…w
hen the
time comes for the priestess to leave, I will be going with her
.”

Artis regarded him a moment, then nodded
. “
The choice is yours, though you will always be welcome here.” He clapped his hands together. “Now then, I will have a meal for all of you prepared
.
Eiladyr, take them to
your
cottage so that they might rest while they wait
. I shall see if some of the villagers can spare some clothing.”

Eiladyr
followed Artis from the hut
. “
Thank you.”

“Do not fret about it,”
Artis
told him
as he began to walk away, then paused. “Oh, and later I want you to tell me where you have been.”

Ei
ladyr grinned
. “Only if you share some of your winter mead!”

The man chuckled and waved in response.

Turning
back to the hut
, Eiladyr said enthusiastically,
“F
ollow me.” He led the companions from the hut
to the
far end of the shrouded village where a small cottage stood
covered with
thick vines. Inside,
the small cottage was surprisingly spacious despite its outward appearance. S
everal
wicker-work screens between support posts separated the beds along the far said of the cottage. A table with a low bench stood near the hearth while w
ood was piled by the door.

Eiladyr
sat down on the bench, leaning back against the table
. “After you found me and brought me here, Artis gave me this cottage so I could adjust to the village,” he said
. “
It took me a little over a year to learn the language enough where I could talk to anyone.” Chuckling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I still have problems at times, but I am learning.”

“You seem to be doing well,” Odhrán said, leaning against a support post.

Shiovra
sat
down on the edge of a bed with a sigh
, content to just rest and listen to the men talk.