Although I’ve turned my back on the carnage, I can’t block out the sounds of ripping flesh and the occasional painful hiss from Orna or moan of satisfaction from the undead beasts. Even when I cover my ears with my hands, I hear them, or imagine I do.
After a while the others turn away from the sickening sight, one by one, ashen-faced, eyes filled with regret, stomachs turning. Even cruel Connla, who gave up on her before anybody else.
The only one who doesn’t turn away is Bran. The boy remains sitting where he awoke, watching silently, head tilted to one side, frowning curiously, as if he’s not entirely sure what’s happening and is waiting to see if this is a game with an unexpected, amusing finale.
Eventually, since I can’t bear it, I walk over, turn him around and sit beside him. I lean against the simple boy and keep him faced away from Orna, allowing her the humble dignity of dying in private.
FAMILY
We leave first thing in the morning, pausing only for Drust to set Orna’s remains aflame, so she can’t return to life as one of the undead. Often demons take the bodies of their victims with them. I think Lord Loss made the children leave Orna so her bones and last few scraps of flesh could further unnerve us.
We march in silence, all thoughts on Orna and how she went willingly to her monstrous death. Is her spirit with her children now in the Otherworld or is it doomed to wander this land for all time, lost and damned?
Even Drust is sombre, leaving the lessons for later, proof that in spite of his stern appearance, he too is human, with the same emotions as the rest of us.
The ground has been getting rockier the further west we proceed. Fewer trees, no fields of crops, not many animals, no raths or crannogs. But people live here, or did at one time, since there are remains of many dolmens and wedge tombs. Most of the dolmens have been knocked over, the stones scattered, the bones they housed burnt to ash. And the seals of the wedge tombs have been broken, either by demons or humans. If we were to go into the tombs, we’d find charred ash or the sleeping undead. I don’t think any of the dead in this land lie whole and in peace any more.
In the afternoon we come to a small village of beehive-shaped stone huts. It’s an old settlement, with only a crumbling short wall surrounding the perimeter. The huts are in poor condition, some fallen in on themselves. At first I think it’s a ghost village, all the people dead or fled. But then I spot smoke coming from a few of the huts and hear a woman shouting at a child. We look around at each other, surprised to find life in such a hostile, vulnerable environment.
“Humans or demons?” Fiachna asks.
“I’m not sure.” Drust sniffs the air. “There’s a scent of something inhuman, but…” He smells the air again, eyes narrow slits. “There are humans too. Peculiar.”
“Should we avoid it?” Goll asks.
Drust thinks a while, then shakes his head. “We need to rest. We’ve had little sleep recently. We must seek shelter.”
“But if there are demons…” Goll mutters.
Drust glances up at the sky. “It’s a long time until sunset. We should be safe. And I’m curious. I want to know what these people are doing here—and how they’ve avoided being butchered by the Demonata.”
There’s a narrow gateway into the village but we climb over the wall in case the entrance is set with traps. There are animals within, scraggly sheep and goats. They scatter when they see us, bleating loudly.
A boy sticks his head out of a hut, a sling in one hand. He starts to shout—he thinks some animal has entered the village and scared the sheep and goats. Then he sees us and his shout changes from one of anger to one of alarm. “Strangers!”
Within seconds two men, three women and three children—two girls and the boy—are in front of the huts, spears and crude swords to hand, facing us. We hold our ground, weapons raised defensively. Then Goll gives the order for us to lower our arms. He steps forward, right hand held palm up, and shouts a greeting.
One of the men meets Goll halfway, face creased with suspicion, eyeing us beadily. The pair have a quick, hushed conversation. At the end, Goll turns and nods us forward, while the man returns to his place among the others.
When we’re all together, Goll makes our introductions. The man who met him then tells us they’re the MacGrigor. His name is Torin. The other man’s Ert. The women are Aideen, Dara and Fand. We aren’t told the names of the children.
“They’re on a quest,” Torin says. He’s a short, muscular man, dark skinned. “They want to stop the demons.”
One of the women—Fand—laughs. “Just the eight of them?”
“One is all it takes,” Drust responds.
“We don’t have much respect for druids here,” Ert says, spitting into the dirt at Drust’s feet. “Your kind aren’t as powerful as you pretend to be. We had dealings with your lot before and they failed us.”
“Failed you in what way?” Drust asks with cold politeness.
“We’ll talk of that later,” Torin says, frowning at Ert. “For now you’re welcome. We won’t turn you away. However, we can’t feed you, so if you want to eat, you’ll have to hunt.” He squints at the sun. “I wouldn’t wait too long.”
The woman called Aideen points to a pair of huts near the wall, both in poor condition. “You can stay there,” she says. “You’ll be safe if you don’t wander.”
“We’ll call for you later,” the third woman—Dara—adds.
“Thank you,” I mutter when the men don’t respond.
“Our pleasure,” Aideen replies. She starts to turn away, then stops and stares at me. “Girl,” she commands, “come here.”
I step forward cautiously. Aideen reaches for me sharply and I draw back from her cracked nails, readying myself to bark a spell. She spreads her fingers to show she means no harm, then smiles crookedly. I stand still while she cups my chin and tilts my head back.
“What is it?” Torin asks.
“Her face…” Aideen murmurs, turning my chin towards Torin.
The man frowns. “She looks like… but she can’t… Girl! What’s your name? Where are you from?”
“Bec,” I tell him. “I’m from the rath of the MacConn.”
“Are you of them?” Torin asks. “Is your mother of the clan?”
“My mother’s dead,” I answer softly. “Nobody knows who she was or where she came from. She died not long after I was born.”
“Aednat’s child!” Aideen gasps, her fingers tightening on my chin. “She must be!” I tingle with shock when she says that. The face of my mother forms quickly in my mind and for the first time ever I have a name to go with it.
“You knew my mother!” I cry.
“She was my sister,” Aideen croaks.
“Then this is where I’m from? This was where my mother lived?” When Aideen nods wonderingly my head spins and my heart leaps. “Why did she leave?” I yell. “What happened? Who was my father? Is he still alive? Do you—”
“Enough!” Torin interrupts. He’s glaring at me—the news that I’m of his people hasn’t pleased him. “We must think on this. We’ll talk about it tonight.”
Then he heads back inside the large stone hut, waving at the others to follow, leaving us to stare at one another uncertainly and make our way to the smaller huts to set up camp for the night.
My head’s still spinning. I’d almost forgotten about the spirit of my mother beckoning me west, and the notion that maybe she wanted to help me unlock the secrets of my past. Inside I never really believed I’d discover the truth about my family—it was a childish dream. Yet here I am, in the most unlikely of places, suddenly confronted with her name and the promise of my history.
Aednat. As soon as Aideen said it I knew it was my mother. Maybe it’s the magic that makes me sure, but I think I would have known even if it had happened before my new power blossomed. But her name is all I know. Who was she? Why did she live in this wilderness with the others? And why leave her family to bear me in loneliness and die so far from home?