I had, in my blurting out concerning the Moon Shrine and her secret visits there, said nothing of Gathea, being too full of my own careless and disastrous action. If I could now reach the Wise Woman and her maid (they knew far more of the shrine than any of us, of that I was sure) there was a thin chance I might discover a trail to my cousin.
Nameless, kinless, I had no right to anything, even the sword I still wore. Garn had not taken that from me and I would keep it; perhaps I might still use it for a purpose which would—not redeem my betrayal—but at least aid Iynne.
Thus on foot I turned my back on the cliff and the people who followed Garn. Rather I moved seaward, planning to enter Tugness’s dale by the other way and find the Wise Woman. My helm with its House badge I left lying where it had fallen from my head at Garn’s blow, and with it my crossbow. Bare of head, empty of hands, staggering because my head rang, my eyes seeing sometimes two images of what lay before instead of one, I started downriver.
I spent the night on the shore. To a sea pool I crawled and bathed my aching face in water which stung like fire. One eye was swollen shut and the pain in my head was a pounding which made it hard for me to hold any thoughts—save one, that I must find the Wise Woman— or her maid—who knew most of the Moon Shrine and what power lay there.
I might well be a hunted man, once Garn found no trace of his daughter. Somehow I was sure that would be true—that there would be no trail left to follow among the rocks of the ridge. Yes, Garn’s hate and vengeance might flame high. Any one of my own clan who brought me down would have his favor. If I were to stay alive long enough to do Iynne any service I must take care. Save that my head let thoughts slip in and out crazily, and I kept rousing to find that I had fallen in the sand, or was creeping in a mindless way along where waves dashed up-ward to wet my face, bringing me to consciousness again.
Night and day, I caught at what strength I had to battle my way on. At times I thought I heard shouts behind me. Once I wheeled about, waiting to see the sword raised again to cut me down. But there were only the sea birds crying in the sky.
Somehow I found my way to that place where Tugness’s wains had turned from our road. There I leaned against a rock and fought for a clear head. To go openly into the dale was to court disaster at once. Though he was no friend to Garn—or rather because he was no friend to Garn—he would take pleasure in offering me up to any who had followed me. It would be a sweet morsel to roll upon the tongue for Tugness, that one of Lord Garn’s own close kin had played him false. An outlaw was fair Garne for any man, but I would be more valuable as a prisoner to be returned to shame those whose name I had once borne.
Thus I must use what craft remained in my aching head, such skill as I had, to avoid any of Tugness’s people and search out by stealth the Wise Woman. I could not even be sure whether she would give me aid, all I had was the knowledge that those of her calling did not always hold by kin and clan custom, and that she might, in her role of healer, take pity enough on me to point me in the direction whereby I might serve the lady of Garn’s House as I had not done in truth.
I do not know how I won into the dale. Some instinct stronger than my conscious self must have aided me. I was aware of fields, of a distant log-walled building or rather a cluster of three such—unless my eyes were again playing me false. I think that part of the day I lay within a cup of rocks unknowing, though I had a confused dream afterward of a black bird which swooped to peck sharply at my face so that the pain of his assault stung deep. But that may only have been a dream. It was deep dark of night when I awoke with a raging thirst, my skin as hot to the touch as if I were clothed in burning brands.
I kept close to the edge of the cliff, where the ridge rise was steeper even than it was in Garn’s land. A single thought held me to my path, that it was along here somewhere Gathea had found her way up, and perhaps so I might elude anyone on watch around the holding buildings and fields, and also come across some trace of a way to the Wise Woman’s place. For, remembering how she had held apart during our journeying, I was firm in the belief that she would not have become one of Tugness’s household.
After a while in the dark when I fell and rose again more times than I could count, that fever which possessed me was victor; I took a last stumble which brought me down with such force that it not only drove the breath out of me but also sent me into a dark which was not sleep but something deeper and less easy for body and mind.
Thus it was in the end that those whom I sought found me, for I awoke by unhappy degrees, seeming to fight that awakening, to look up into a low roofing of poles woven and tied together with dried vines so that the whole looked like a field which had been harvested and only the dead stalks left. From this dangled bunches of drying stems and leaves, fastened together to form a kind of upside down garden, autumn killed.
My head still ached dully; however that fire which had burnt into me was gone, though when I tried to raise my hand it obeyed me only slowly and I felt such a weakness as sent a small thrill of fear through me. Now I strove to turn my head. The ache became a piercing throb but I was able to see, yet only one-eyed. What I saw was that the bed place I occupied was against the wall of a hut which was far removed from the stout building of Garn’s keep. Nor were there more than stools to sit upon and the hearth, on which a small fire smouldered, was of stones dabbed with baked clay. More stones had been used to form standards for boards laid across to make shelves. There were crowded with more bundles of dried things, as well as a number of small clay jars and pots and boxes of wood.
The air was filled with many scents, some spicy and good, some strange and distasteful. On the fire a large metal pot sat three-legged, bubbling and giving out still another odor, which made my stomach suddenly feel as empty and aching as my head.
There was movement just beyond the range of my vision until I managed to turn my head a fraction again, to see, in the half gloom of the room (for the only light filtered through two very narrow slits in the walls and from a doorway), the Wise Woman. She glanced in my direction and then came directly to me, her hand touching my forehead where once more pain flashed and I must have flinched, though I tried to hold back all sign of what torment that lightest of contacts had caused me.
“The fever is broke.” Her voice was low but it somehow held a note close to that of Garn’s harshest voice. “That is good. Now—” She went to the fire, ladling out of the pot a dipper of dark liquid which she poured into a rudely fashioned clay cup, adding thereto some water from a bucket, then two or three pinches of dried stuff she took from her array of pots and boxes.
I saw that, though during our journey she had worn the decent robes of any clan woman, now her kirtle had been shed for a smocklike garment which came no farther than her knees. Below that she had breeches and the same soft hunters’ footgear I had worn on patrol.
She was back beside me, her arm beneath my head, lifting me up with an ease I had not thought a woman could manage, holding the still hot contents of the pannikin to my sore lips.
“Drink!” She ordered and I obeyed, as any child would obey the head of the house.
The stuff was bitter and hot, not what I might have chosen. Still I gulped it down, refusing to show any of my distaste for what I was sure was a healing brew. When I had the last of it and she would have risen, I managed to bring up my hand and tightened my fingers in the edge of her sleeve, keeping her by me while I spoke the truth, knowing that I must do this now that I was myself again in clearness of thought, for not to speak would be a second and perhaps worse betrayal.