"I don't understand."
"You will. At any rate, Medb knows what the Wurme did to her ancestor Cruachan. I cannot believe she would risk such a fate herself. It is my guess that she will use it as a threat, a show of force, and nothing more." But Collun thought the wizard did not sound convinced by his own words.
Crann was gazing into his cup of chicory. Then he set it down and reached into his cloak. He pulled out the leather map.
"Here, I want you to have this, spriosan."
Collun looked at the wizard, uncomprehending.
"I have little need of it," said Crann, "and if for any reason we should become separated..." Collun opened his mouth to protest, but Crann spoke quickly. "I do not foresee that happening, but humor me just the same."
Collun took the map.
Dawn was breaking by then, and the others awoke. After a hurried meal, they set out again. It was late in the afternoon when Brie rejoined them. She looked pale and exhausted.
"Morgs," Brie said. "Four of them. They are about a half day's lag behind us."
"No Scathians?" asked the wizard.
"Just morgs, and they are traveling at a leisurely pace."
Crann looked thoughtful. "Either they wait for reinforcements, or they have orders merely to follow us." He paused. "Morgs shun daylight. Unless these four are unusual, they will rest during the day and travel by night. I suggest we do the same so there can be no surprise attacks."
And that became the pattern of their northward journey—sleeping during the day and riding all night. Collun found he could not easily adjust to this.
He did, however, grow increasingly comfortable riding Fiain. They began to develop the wordless communication Ebba had spoken of, until at times Collun felt he understood Fiain's thoughts. And it was clear the Ellyl horse knew his, for only rarely did he need to guide Fiain with pressure from his knees.
Most often he and Fiain rode alongside Crann, while Gwynedd and Brie rode together at the front. Talisen brought up the rear, singing snatches of the songs he was composing.
Close to dawn on the fourth day of the journey, they crossed a stream that Crann identified as Trout Beck. They made camp not far from the stream, and the dawn meal consisted of fresh trout flavored with peppergrass. As they ate, Crann asked Talisen if he knew any songs of the Cailleach Beara, the Old Woman of Beara.
"I know one, but it is no favorite of mine," Talisen replied. "It is all about old age and loneliness. Although I do like the bit about the well," he added with a smile.
"Who is the Old Woman of Beara?" asked Collun.
"An old friend," said Crann, and his face held a softness Collun had not seen there before. "She was once well-known in Eirren. And at one time she lived near Trout Beck. Beara planted that apple orchard." The wizard gestured toward the beginning of a grove that stretched out of sight.
"You knew the Hag?" asked Talisen in some disbelief.
Crann smiled. "She was not called so when I knew her."
"Does she still live?"
The wizard nodded. "Though I lost track of her many, many years ago. In truth, she cannot die."
"She is immortal?"
"Not exactly, but she found a way of renewing herself. I never learned how. But there is a very old spell that enables a person to take his life out of his body and put it into a separate vessel. As long as that vessel remains safe, the person will live. I have long wondered if Beara found that spell. Her magic was powerful enough. Come, Talisen, let us hear your song of Beara. I am in the mood for memories."
Talisen wiped his fingers clean and took up his harp. The song was indeed sad, telling of all the lifetimes the Old Woman of Beara had lived through; the husbands she had watched grow old and die, one after the other; the children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren she had long ago buried and forgotten. Talisen paused.
"I told you it was gloomy," he said. "But here's the part about the well.
"Nine hazel trees spread their branches wide;
In clear water spotted salmon glide.
Past, present, and future to reveal,
When Beara the secrets will unseal."
Talisen broke off. "Is there indeed such a well, Crann?"
"There was," said Crann.
"What were its powers?"
"It revealed what was to come and what had already been. It could find that which was lost. It healed injuries. But it could also be very dangerous, if used improperly."
"Does the well still exist?" asked Talisen.
"I do not know. I heard long ago it had run dry. Now let us get some rest."
At first Collun slept deeply, but then he awoke and could not get back to sleep. The sky was overcast, obscuring the sun, but because it was daytime Collun could not shake his restlessness.
He got to his feet and stretched. His eyes fell on the apple orchard. He wondered if there were still good apples to be found. He took along an empty pack and headed for the grove.
There were hundreds of apples on the ground; many were rotten, but Collun found a few edible ones. He began to fill the pack, letting his thoughts drift. Nessa had had a great love of apples, especially roasted and slathered in butter, honey, and cinnamon. These apples were the kind that tasted best roasted.
At the foot of a tree Collun spotted a clump of comfrey. He remembered he was low on the herb and bent to pick some, when he suddenly heard a bird call out, "Peewit, peewit!" It was a cry of distress. He quickly turned, scanning the area. He saw a fluttering motion on the ground ten paces away. He moved toward the bird. It hopped away. Collun took another few steps and it hopped farther away from him. He tried to speak to it in soothing tones, but the bird kept moving out of his reach.
It was a bronze-green bird with a black throat and underbelly. It held its wing at an awkward angle, and Collun was afraid it was broken.
Collun was slightly out of breath from chasing the injured bird. He paused. He could not identify it. Its belly and "peewit" reminded him of the lapwing, but lapwings did not have golden eye markings.
Lapwing. A memory stirred in Collun. The deceitful lapwing. He suddenly laughed out loud.
The bird was a lapwing, a different species than the ones in Inkberrow perhaps, but like its southern relative it had been leading Collun on a merry chase. When he was young, he and Talisen had made a sport of finding and robbing birds' nests. They had never been able to find the lapwing's nest, until they had caught on to its tricks. The lapwing was a master of deception. It would feign injury to lure intruders away from its nest.
The lapwing must have realized Collun was on to him, for it suddenly flew up into the apple trees, its wing showing no sign of injury, and disappeared.
Collun retraced his steps, a grin on his face. Some fresh eggs for the evening meal would be a welcome treat. At first he doubted he'd be able to find where he'd been before the lapwing drew him away, but then he remembered the comfrey.
Sure enough, he spotted a nest in the tree right beside the one with the comfrey under it. After filling his wallet with comfrey, Collun shimmied up the trunk and took three of the six eggs, leaving some for the lapwing.
Nestled in among the eggs was a small apple. Collun idly wondered how it had gotten there, and because it was so perfect in shape and was a rich golden color, he pocketed the apple as well.
Once he was back on the ground he gazed up at the sky. Sunset was still far off. Yet he did not feel sleepy. He walked slowly among the apple trees, thinking again of Nessa. Eventually the orchard ended, and he emerged into a copse of trees. Spotting a slab of smooth rock in the midst of it, he sat down, removing Nessa's small book from his jersey pocket. He ran his fingers over the simple design tooled in the leather cover. Despite the fact they were being pursued by morgs and still did not know where Nessa was, Collun felt the first stirrings of optimism since leaving Aonarach. He knew it was because of Crann.