Fire Arrow

NINE

Bog Maglu

Hanna opened her eyes. They were now mirror images of the sky, brilliant blue. Her face, though, was drawn and etched with pain. She lowered herself into a sitting position on the flat rock.

"You did that," Brie said in amazement.

Hanna did not reply.

"I thought you said you were not a wyll."

"I am not."

"Then...?"

"Weather making and unmaking is different from the wyll's hocus-pocus of trances and seeings," Hanna replied in a gruff voice. Then she got heavily to her feet, letting out a faint groan.

"Are you ill?" Brie asked, concerned.

"Headache," Hanna replied curdy. "Blinding thing. Comes from lightning. Either making it or getting rid of it."

"I see. Can I help?"

Hanna glowered at her. "Next time you can stay put until you are ready for a hike to Simla's Tor."

"I'm sorry." Brie pulled herself painfully to her feet.

Hanna grunted. "Just look at the pair of us. Well, I'd best check on the flock, then the dogs can bring them in. I'm hoping we lost none during the lightning storm."

Somehow they made it back. At the havotty Hanna immediately lit a fire and brewed some wood betony tea, her face screwed up with pain.

"Helps the headache," she muttered. She drank off a full cup and then sank into her pallet of straw. She was soon asleep.

***

"We've been having strange storms this summer," Hanna said as she sliced a loaf of brown bread. Brie sat by the hearth, stirring the mutton stew. "Either sudden wind squalls like the one you met in the mountains, or lightning only, with dozens of small bolts and no rain and very little thunder. There's not been much rain at all since early spring. Unusual for Dungal. Likely as not there'll be a big fire one of these days, things being as dry as they are."

"Have you always had weather magic?"

"Yes. Thought it was quite a splendid thing when I was young. But I quickly found out it was not without its price." She gestured at her head, her face still pale. "Interesting thing is, each kind of weather I make or unmake has its own distinctive aftereffect, none of them pleasant. Lightning causes headache. Bringing on rain gives me a bad cold. Making a day warm and sunny invariably brings on fever. At any rate, I don't use it much, the weather making and unmaking. Only in emergencies. Most of the time the weather does a fine job all on its own."

"Don't you get people coming to you, asking for rain for their crops and such?"

"Not many know, these days. I prefer it that way."

Brie spooned stew into their bowls. "Hanna," she began, "the pictures on the fire arrow, you called them story bands?"

Hanna nodded. "Each one, unraveled, tells a story of Dungal's past. Only a wyll, or a sorcerer, can unravel the bands."

"In the mountains, during the storm, I saw one unravel."

Hanna raised her eyebrows.

"I was ill, half-dead, probably hallucinating. It does not mean that I have draoicht," said Brie defensively. "At any rate, what I saw was a girl with fair hair on top of a seawall and the water rising."

"That would be Fionna. There are many tales of Fionna. She was queen not so very long ago, perhaps fifty years. One of our greatest queens, in truth." Hanna paused, looking thoughtful. "The story band must have been about the great flood."

"Do you know the story?"

Hanna gave a look of disdain. "Every Dungalan knows that story."

"Will you tell it to me?" Brie asked humbly.

Hanna slowly lit her pipe. "Fionna was the middle of three sisters; their mother was Queen Ilior. Dungal is traditionally ruled by a queen, though if there is none alive, as now, then a prince may rule. Golden-haired and beautiful, Fionna was the most headstrong of the three sisters. After her elder sister, she was next in line to be queen, but she was little interested in her royal heritage. As a child she was a wild one, always off somewhere getting into mischief. She had a particular fascination with the sea, loved to mess about in boats and was always pestering the fishermen. As is true of most with royal blood, she had draoicht."

"She was a wyll?"

"Not exactly. The royal draoicht is more like that of a Sea Dyak sorcerer."

"All these different kinds of magic; I don't know how you keep track of them all," Brie said with a smile.

Hanna ignored her, intent on her tale. "Fionna was just six years old when the bad rains came. It was during the dark months, and it seemed that it would never stop raining.

"Now, the royal seat, or Sedd, as we call it, lies on the coast. Sedd Brennhin. That part of Dungal, in the center of the country, consists mainly of low-lying flatlands, rich farmland. There is a network of dykes and sluice gates that protect Sedd Brennhin and the nearby town of Mira from high water.

"Fionna loved rain and storms, as she loved all manner of wild things, and no matter the weather she would roam the land and seaside by herself. That was why she was out that day when most were snugged up warm in their houses. The watchman who was supposed to patrol the dyke was asleep in his armchair, his feet soaking in a bucket of warm water, for he had a bad chest cold.

"All around the town of Mira and the royal Sedd the creeks were swollen, and the River Caldew had risen beyond the top of its banks.

"Fionna saw the first crack in the dyke. She watched in fear as the thin web of lines grew thicker and longer. She knew at once there was not time to run for help, and she was frightened. But Fionna remembered a time she had made the earth open up when she wanted to see where a busy mole had gotten to. She wondered if perhaps she could close the crack in the dyke the same way.

"She concentrated very hard and quite soon the crack closed. Her head ached, but she felt very pleased with herself. Then she noticed another crack snaking along the wall farther up. She concentrated again and it worked again, but cracks kept appearing, faster than she could close them. By then her head was pounding until she thought it would burst, like the dam, but she kept all her energies focused on the cracks.

"Water had begun spouting. Fionna felt panic rise in her. She was too young, she should never have tried; she should have run for help. But it was too late. She began to picture the dam giving way and all the water she could feel pressing against it on the other side would pour through and the village of Mira would be overwhelmed and all its villagers drowned. And Sedd Brennhin, even that could well be washed away, with all her family: sisters, mother, and father...

"Fionna took a very deep breath and put all of herself, body and spirit, into holding, building, strengthening the dam. Light exploded in her head and she felt herself very near death, but she held on. And then the dam was whole and strong and unbroken. Fionna let out a small sigh and collapsed at the foot of the dam.

"They found her there after the storm, half-dead and half-witted. They took her to the local Sea Dyak sorcerer. He brought all his healing power to bear. Worked over her for fourteen days and nights. But it still took her a full year to recover.

"All her hair fell out, they say. When it grew back it was pure white, the gold was gone. She stayed inside her room at Sedd Brennhin for one entire year. After that, she did not use draoicht. No one knew if it was because the effort of holding back the flood had drained it all out of her, or if she simply chose never to use it again."

Brie was silent. "What happened after? How did she become queen?"

They had finished their meal, and Hanna moved to the fire, removing a coal to light her pipe. She pressed the hot ember into the tobacco with a calloused thumb. A perfect smoke ring emerged from her mouth.

"Well, as I said before, Fionna was beautiful, too beautiful for anyone's good, even with her pure white hair. When she grew older it was the kind of beauty men make fools of themselves over, fighting each other and such nonsense. Fionna hated all that. Tried to hide her beauty, wore plain clothes, shawls half over her face, once she even cut her white hair close to the head like a man's. None of it did any good. Finally she got fed up and ran off. Disappeared for more than five years. No one knew where she went. Some guessed Eirren. Others thought she'd disguised herself and actually become a Traveler, roaming about Dungal.

"She never told anyone where she had been during those five years. When she returned she seemed to have settled down a bit. She was still beautiful, but she didn't have that same wild beauty. She took a Dungalan husband before too long. A fisherman. They had a son—a wild lad he turned out to be. No one could rein that one in."

"But when did she become queen?"

"Oh, that was later. Her mother ruled for many years, but then was taken by a fever that also took Fionna's older sister, so the crown fell to Fionna. She lived a long life and was said to have been more than one hundred years old when she died.

"When she got too old to rule, she handed the crown to her nephew Durwydd; her own son had long since disappeared, run away to sea and was presumed to be dead. She retired to a small fishing village up north."

Innumerable smoke circles were spinning among the rafters. Hanna watched them with an air of satisfaction.

"She was a great queen, revered by the people of Dungal. I'm afraid her nephew Durwydd takes after Fionna but little."

"How is that?"

"He's weak-minded, afraid to make decisions. This summer there've been problems with drought, and the fishing is poor. Prince Durwydd sits in Sedd Brennhin, wringing his hands and hoping the problems will go away." Frowning slightly, Hanna refilled her pipe. "Ah well, I suppose there, could be worse rulers. He is a good man at heart."

***

The following day as Brie made new arrows for her quiver and Hanna fed a bottle to a newly born lamb that had lost its mother, Hanna said, "When you were sick, Biri, you called out a name, several times."

"What name?" asked Brie.

"Collun."

"Oh." She colored slightly. "He is a friend."

"Is he also Wurme-killer?"

"You know of the wurme?"

"Even in Dungal, songs have been sung of Wurme-killer. Remember, the Isle of Thule is not so very far from the northern tip of Dungal. There is a strong current and whirlpool, called Corryvrecken, which keep Scathians from our shores. But we did not know if even the strongest whirlpool would hamper the progress of Naid should it have chosen to leave Thule." She paused. "There was also word of a woman warrior who rode with the son of Cuillean." Hanna was looking straight at Brie.

"It was Collun who killed the Wurme," Brie said. "And bears the scars."

Hanna was not listening. "You have come to Dungal bearing a fire arrow. I wonder..."

"What?"

"I do not know. Perhaps you have come here for something beyond your own vengeance."

Brie shifted in her chair, uncomfortable. She leaned over to set her bowl of porridge on the floor for Fara to finish, wondering if Hanna, like Collun, disapproved of her quest.

Fara finished the porridge and went to the hearth, where the dogs lay. Brie was surprised to see her stalk over to Jip. With the air of one bestowing a great favor, she settled beside the dog. Jip stirred, lifted an eyelid, then returned to sleep.

The day came when Brie could wait no longer. Hanna frowned, saying her leg needed more time to heal, but Brie shook her head. She said it was because she feared losing Bricriu's trail, but, in truth, she did not; she was certain she would find him in the bog with her father's killers.

Because Hanna was a Traveler, she had journeyed through the bog and its surrounding area and so was able to tell Brie what she would find there. She also told Brie of the powerful sorcerer, Yldir, who lived as a hermit at the center of the bog.

"I am half-inclined to journey with you," said Hanna reflectively. "I have always wanted to lay eyes on the sorcerer Yldir. But I cannot. The farmer Tharda will be coming at the end of the moon cycle with his two sons and their dogs to guide the flock back to his sheep farm. I must stay until then. Then I go to the coastal village Ardara."

"Where the fisherman Jacan lives."

"Yes. And though as Traveler I have no home, I have a soft spot for Ardara for it is where I spent part of my childhood."

"Hanna, if I should not..."—Brie paused—"make it to Ardara, will you bear the news of his daughter to Jacan?"

"I will. You have done well with your lessons," Hanna added with an approving look. "You are beginning to sound almost like a native Dungalan."

"You are a good teacher," replied Brie, pleased with the compliment.

"But as for going into Bog Maglu, well, I've known sheep with more sense than that."

"I must."

Hanna shrugged. "Then we may or we may not meet again."

Brie nodded, but she could not see beyond Bog Maglu. She suddenly reached over and hugged Hanna, surprising the older woman. "Thank you, Hanna," she said softly. The dogs wagged their tails wildly, licking Brie's face as she bent down to give them an affectionate farewell pat. Fara touched noses with both dogs with an air of queenly forbearance, then flicked her tail in Hanna's direction. Brie and the faol left the havotty.

***

Hanna had told Brie that Bog Maglu was not one bog but many, stretching many leagues across the lower belly of Dungal. At the heart of the vast bogland did lie a single bog, which was called Maglu, its many layered blanket of peat covering ancient waters. The standing stones called the stones of memory thrust out of the water at the very center of Maglu.

Brie had left the crutch Hanna carved for her at the havotty, and during the early days of her journey- her leg ached; by the end of a day's walking she was exhausted, with barely the energy to start a fire. But with each day her strength began to return, and by the time she came to the bogland she limped only slightly.

She came across an occasional sheep carcass, the flesh mostly gone and the bones bleaching white in the summer sun. But though she kept a vigilant eye out for gabha, she saw no one.

She had been traveling almost a fortnight when Brie noticed the ground beginning to change. At first it grew softer, spongier. Then damp patches started to appear. The farther she went the more waterlogged the ground became, until she was sinking to her ankles in a combination of water and mud. The terrain was flat, treeless.

Brie could not imagine a more forsaken place. There was no animal life; indeed, the only sign of life at all, aside from herself and Fara, were the midges, clouds of them hovering around her face. They did not bite but made a low humming sound that began to prey on Brie's already taut nerves.

In the Blue Stack Mountains, Brie had felt alone, but there had been life all around: soaring kestrels, small brown hares emerging from their holes, an occasional deer, vibrantly colored wildflowers, and stately pine trees. Here in the bogland was nothing but the reek of death and decay.

There was nowhere dry to sit, so she ate her meals crouching on the soggy ground, her boots almost completely submerged in water.

Nor was there anywhere dry enough to make camp, so Brie slept little, catching brief catnaps in that same crouching position. She was continually bedeviled by a thorned plant with black berries, which tore at her damp leggings, and she often blundered into deep patches of brackish water, once sinking all the way to her waist. Fara was able to stay on the bog's surface, barely dampening her paws.

One night Brie was startled by occasional flashes of light from will-o'-the-wisps—small clouds of bog gas that would spontaneously light, burn a few moments, and then disappear. Brie had seen will-o'-the-wisps back in Eirren, but never so many and on such eerie terrain. Fara made a game of leaping at them and once almost slid into a large pool of water.

By the time dawn came, Brie was covered with mud and her nerves were strung tight. In the pale light she spotted a small cluster of buildings some distance away. The hamlet of Muckish, she supposed. Hanna had told her of this small enclave of farmers who harvested the delicate yellow cymlu-berries that thrived in bogs. Brie heaved a sigh of relief. She had begun to doubt the possibility of ever coming across human habitation.

Fara, who had loped ahead, let out a sound. Wearily Brie squelched over to her and saw that the faol had found a raised wooden walkway. In one direction the walkway stretched ahead of them toward the buildings and in the other it snaked away to the north. Brie clambered up onto the track.

It was a great relief to be able to raise her legs without the bog sucking at each footfall. She was sorely tempted to curl up on the wooden planking and go to sleep, but she kept moving, her eyes fixed on the nearest building.

She stumbled to the small wooden door of the house, and before she could knock, it was opened by a gaunt woman in a berry-stained overall. The woman's eyes widened, but she silently guided Brie around to the back of the building, gesturing toward a wooden screen, behind which stood a tub filled with water. She spoke several sentences in Dungalan.

From her lessons with Hanna, Brie recognized the word for wash, and she gratefully began stripping off her mud-encrusted outer clothing.

"I do not speak your language well," Brie said.

The woman shook her head, indicating she did not understand Brie. She handed Brie a clean cloth with which to dry herself and then disappeared.

Sleepily Brie washed off as much of the mud as she could. Dressed in clean clothes from her pack, she emerged from behind the screen. The woman reappeared and gestured Brie into the house, where she was given a simple meal of bread and cheese, followed by a small bowl of cymlu-berries and cream. Brie had never tasted the fruit before and found it delicious. She used her halting Dungalan to express her pleasure in the meal as Fara leaped into Brie's lap and finished the cream at the bottom of the bowl.

When Brie had finished, the woman pointed to a pallet in a corner of the room. Brie crossed to it and, placing her quiver, bow, and pack next to her, was asleep almost as soon as her head reached the small woven pillow. Fara settled herself at Brie's shoulder.

When she woke, Brie saw that the woman's husband had returned. It turned out that he spoke a little Eirrenian, and using an awkward mixture of the two languages, Brie was able to convey her gratitude for their hospitality. Then she asked about Bricriu. The man nodded and described an abandoned hut some distance from the berry farmers that had been occupied by five men. They were Scathians, the man thought, and he said he had seen a man fitting Bricriu's description join them at the hut.

With barely suppressed excitement, Brie described her father's murderers, the three Scathians she sought. Though the berry farmer said he had not seen them up close, he said none of the men wore an eye-patch, but two of the Scathians roughly matched Brie's descriptions.

"We know not why they came here. But they did not bother us, and we did not bother them," the man said in broken Eirrenian.

"How long have they been here?"

"Many moon cycles. Five perhaps. But they are gone now. With the man with bad leg, they left."

Brie rose, her body tense. "When?"

"Two days maybe, they go."

"What direction?"

"To the center. To Maglu."

Shouldering her pack and quiver, Brie was already at the door when she remembered herself and tried to offer silver coins to the couple for their hospitality. But they would not take them.

Brie made her way on the wooden planking for some distance, passing through the farmholds of the berry farmers. Stretching on either side of her were vast tracts of brilliant yellow cymlu-berries floating in water. Brie could see the farmers wading through the berries in their black hip boots.

When the berry fields were behind her, Brie had to leave the walkway. She plunged regretfully back into the mud and water.

She knew Maglu when she came to it. It was different from the bogland she had been traveling through. This was a raised bog, with a carpet of peat and humus that floated on top of deep water. The mat of peat was thick, an arm's length deep in some places, and it easily supported a man's weight. Dwarf larch and spruce trees grew out of the mat, reaching no higher than Brie's shoulder. It was like a floating miniature forest.

Following Hanna's advice, Brie tied a blue scarf, the brightest bit of clothing she owned, to a cinnamon fern marking the place where she was entering the bog. As Brie stepped onto it, the mat tilted crazily, and when she walked between them the dwarf trees also tilted.

The bog stretched before her, a mosaic of trees, hillocks and hollows, ferns, sedges, mosses, and occasional pools of tea-colored water. She could dimly make out the shapes of the stones of memory in the distance, pushing their way up into the gray sky.

It was humid in the bog, and though the sun was not very hot, Brie quickly began to sweat. After her foot broke through the mat a few times, drenching her leg with bitter-cold water, she learned to recognize the signs of thin patches—standing pools of water and a lack of shrubs or trees.

When she had first entered Maglu, Brie had seen a few birds, a white-throated sparrow and a marsh hawk, but the deeper she journeyed, the less she saw of any kind of wildlife. The only sound she heard was the perpetual hum of midges and other insects.

***

The sorcerer Yldir was standing by the larger of the two stones of memory, his palm flat on the surface. She walked toward him, nervous. He was not as she had expected, wizened and elderly, but rather was erect and muscular, with broad powerful shoulders. He had long, burning copper hair tied back with a leather thong. As she drew closer, she saw his age on his face, not in lines or clefts, but in his eyes. They were brilliant and depthless and clear. Meeting his gaze was painful.

"Breo-Saight," he said, and his voice, too, surged with vitality. He somehow did not seem real to Brie. "Come. We will break bread. Then you will show me saeth-tan, the fire arrow."

Brie followed him meekly to a primitive one-room wooden hut. Indicating with a gesture that Brie should wait outside, Yldir stooped and entered the hut. He reappeared soon after with a thin loaf of bread.

"Missenbread," he explained. "Foul to the taste, but it strengthens." He sat cross-legged on the quaking mat, and Brie followed suit, facing him. Fara settled at Brie's side, alert. Yldir broke off a piece of the thin dry bread.

"The others are here. The time will come for meeting them."

Warily, Brie looked around her. It was late in the afternoon and a mist had come up, sending the dwarf trees into shadow against the murky sky.

"When I came here from the coast I sought quiet. The sea can be a noisy place. It teems with life. But there is life, too, in the bog. You have to look for it. Birth, decay, death—it is all here."

Brie sat before the Sea Dyak sorcerer, her legs crossed, eating bread that tasted of mold. Somewhere in the mist around them were perhaps six men, two of them her father's murderers, and yet she felt completely at ease, as though there were no other place she could be.

As she sat, chewing, all her senses became keener, and she was suddenly aware of the life of the bog. The bog turtle emerging from one hiding place and slowly making its way to another. The copper butterflies fluttering brown wings burnished with a purple gloss. There were damselflies and green frogs, spiders and bees and insect-eating plants that grew in abundance—butterwort and sundews—each carrying out the endless cycle of life, death, and decomposition.

Abruptly the Sea Dyak sorcerer spoke, seeking her eyes with his. "Your father was brave, but he made mistakes. They were not your mistakes. You were only one in Ramhar Forest, and it was necessary," he said, laying a powerful, broad hand on her arm, "that you live."

Brie blinked back sudden tears.

Then he said, "May I see the arrow?" -

Brie began to reach for her quiver, but the sorcerer held up his hand with a small shake of his head.

Brie looked past Yldir and saw a Scathian materialize out of the fog. He was tall and had a yellowish cast to his eyes: Brie recognized the Scathian who was part morg. Once more she heard the clang of swords, smelled the stench of blood as it soaked into the roots of the trees in Ramhar Forest. A dull pounding thudded in her ears.

"So," Yldir said, rising. "They are here."