‘If you like,’ he said.
‘What tribe do you come from?’
‘My friend is a Gael descended from Mael Duin himself. I am Croatan.’
The words were meaningless to Britha. Fachtna was running easily across the pebbled beach back towards them carrying Britha’s spear.
‘He is sidhe?’ Teardrop did not answer. ‘You were the two that came through the circle.’ It was more of an accusation than a question. Teardrop nodded. ‘Why do you want to kill Bress?’ There was only a small conflict in her voice. Her treacherous fledgling feelings for Bress were a paltry consideration compared to the plight of her people, but Teardrop’s eyes narrowed. I will have to watch him, she thought. He is clever.
‘Because even if this story had been long ago told, he does not belong here.’
‘That does not make any sense.’
‘He is unnatural to this place and means it ill. He is from elsewhere, and his magics were not made for this world.’
Britha gave this some consideration. He spoke in riddles but confirmed what she had thought.
‘Why are you dressed so strangely?’ she finally asked, more for the sake of something to say. Fachtna overheard as he returned and threw Britha her spear.
‘Because he likes to draw attention to himself,’ the warrior said. Teardrop gave his companion a weary look.
‘Bress has an army. Is there just the two of you, or are you scouts for a great army from the Otherworld?’
Fachtna looked at Teardrop, who just shrugged.
‘Teardrop is a powerful dryw and I am a mighty warrior.’
It was said in jest but Britha could tell he believed it as well.
‘You don’t look like a mighty warrior,’ she said. Teardrop laughed.
‘What?!’ Fachtna cried in mock outrage.
‘Even in training warriors get scars and wear them proudly,’ Britha told him.
‘Where I come from, the women train us to fight and they leave all kinds of wounds, but I have lain in the cauldron and that has made me whole again.’
Again Britha was not sure what he was talking about, but cauldrons with healing powers she could understand.
‘You will have to believe me that he is a good warrior,’ Teardrop said. ‘And very, very vain.’
‘Besides, we are three now,’ Fachtna said, grinning, sure of himself. Britha had decided that her earlier judgement of him was correct. He would annoy her.
‘Are we?’ she said scornfully.
‘Are you hungry?’ Teardrop asked with some concern.
Britha had been ignoring the sensation but she realised suddenly that Teardrop was right. She was hungry to the point of being in pain. She felt as if her skin was hanging off her bones.
They were like her, like her people, or at least Fachtna was. She studied both of them, their features bathed in red from the fire they had lit. The smell of roasting venison filled her nose and made her mouth water. Her stomach called to the meat. Fachtna had stripped off his armour and boots and gone into the wooded hills with just three casting spears. He had come back with a roe stag over his shoulders.
Britha had searched the crannogs for food and found some. She had eaten but it had not sated her hunger. The rest she had given to Teardrop, who had returned from the woods with mushrooms, some berries and herbs.
Britha had also found an iron-bladed sickle. It was pitted and rusted but she had scraped off the rust and honed the blade as best she could. When she had the time, she would do the ritual that would attune the sickle to her. Though she would not bathe this one in her blood.
They were like her people but too perfect. Meat filled out their shapes as if they had never known a harsh winter. There were few lines on their skin, though she was sure that Teardrop was older than Fachtna. Their teeth were straight and white, and they smelled like they had washed in a mountain burn just moments before. Their clothes and belongings were well made and showed little if any signs of wear. Life must be good in the Otherworld, she thought.
The deer could have fed many. Britha had thought it too much for the three of them, but they had torn into it ravenously. There would be little left for the wolves and the crows. Teardrop was cutting off the remaining meat and putting it into a leather bag. She could see that it contained salt.
‘That’s no way to salt meat,’ Britha said.
Teardrop just smiled. ‘We have a way.’
‘What did you see? When you ate of his flesh?’ Fachtna asked, spearing another piece of meat with his dirk and dipping it into the wooden bowl containing the preparation of wine and berries that Teardrop had made. Britha didn’t answer.
‘Those are dark magics,’ Teardrop said.
‘We can eat what we kill,’ Britha said haughtily, meeting Teardrop’s stare until he turned from her. Britha turned to Fachtna and stabbed her dirk point towards Teardrop. ‘I saw his real face, what he is.’
‘That is not my real face,’ Teardrop said quietly. ‘Only what I must be to serve…’ His voice trailed away. He sounded sad. Fachtna was watching him thoughtfully.
‘What are you then?’
This time Teardrop met her gaze unflinchingly.
‘Would you tell me all your ways, your secrets?’
This time it was Britha who looked away.
‘I felt the demon, burning in me, trying to consume me, make me a slave like all the others. I saw people who thought they were dead, who chose to be slaves and a dark man.’ Fachtna and Teardrop exchanged looks. Britha did not notice. Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘I saw my people caged, in the sea, and felt their fear and their pain as they died by fire…’
Fachtna was looking at her sympathetically.
Teardrop looked angry. ‘To come here…’ he muttered.
‘Was there anything else?’ Fachtna asked gently.
Britha’s head snapped around to look at him. She had disliked the sympathy in his voice. She was angry through her tears.
‘There was something under the water,’ she said. Fachtna and Teardrop exchanged looks. ‘What does it mean?’
‘We’re not sure,’ Teardrop said.
Britha could tell he was lying. If he was a dryw then he could lie for what he thought was the best. She ignored him and turned to stare at Fachtna. He felt like her stare was burrowing into his head. Good, Britha thought. They obviously had their own dryw and knew to obey them or face serious consequences.
‘We think that Bress has found an aspect of the sleeping goddess, the Mother to us all, and he seeks to pervert or corrupt her somehow,’ Fachtna told her.
‘And he will do this by offering those he has taken as sacrifice?’ Britha asked.
Fachtna nodded. Teardrop was not looking happy.
‘Will you swear by blood that you are here to stop this?’ she asked.
Fachtna did not answer. Instead he produced his finely wrought, silver-bladed dirk and drew a line in red across his palm with the blade.
‘Wait,’ Teardrop said, but he knew it was pointless.
Britha took her iron-bladed knife.
‘Use mine,’ Fachtna said. But it was too late. She had made a ragged gash in her hand. The leather tube that lay on top of Fachtna’s pile of armour seemed to move and make sounds as she did this.
‘Look, don’t…’ Teardrop started but Fachtna and Britha clasped hands.
‘This oath will bind,’ Britha warned him.
‘By my blood, I bind myself. I, Fachtna ap Duin, swear that I am here to stop Bress from corrupting the Muileartach and to kill Bress and his servant.’
Britha felt a flutter in her stomach when he said he meant to kill Bress.
‘Then I will travel with you to get my people back,’ Britha said. In the back of her head she heard a voice asking when she would learn to leave the Otherworld well enough alone. Britha looked into Fachtna’s eyes looking for falseness. All she found was desire. She let go of his bloody hand and walked down towards the small dark waves of the Black River lapping on the pebbles.