The Swordswoman

Prelude

Silhouetted by the setting sun, the sennachie lifted both arms toward the sky and addressed the gathering.

Long ago when I was younger, and most of you were not yet born, there was a need for great warriors in the world. Warfare burned the land of Alba from south to north and west to east; blood soured the rivers, and broken bones salted the fields. Flames from burning townships glimmered on every horizon while the soot of smoke caught in the throats of those men and women who survived the slaughter.

He looked over his audience, allowing the tension to grow, although he knew that they had heard this story a hundred times before.

It was the dearth of grace with all the sweetness of nature buried in terror's black grave and the wind singing a sad lament for the departed joys of life and hope.

The land screamed for peace.

After years of horror, when crows feasted on the corpses that lay unburied in the glens, kings and lords gathered to seek solace from the constant devastation. There were weeks and months of talk, while the piles of dead rose as high as the length of a spear from end to end of the land, until eventually the kings came to a decision.

Marriage would terminate the fighting between the Northmen and the people of Alba. The daughter of the King of Alba would marry the son of the Queen of the Norse, and the firstborn would rule both lands in perpetual peace. The warriors of the North and those of Alba would lay down their arms and take up the plough and fishing net instead. And the people of both realms agreed through mutual exhaustion. The kings and lords disbanded their forces and burned their battleships. Rather than immense armies fighting on land and fleets of dragon ships ravaging coasts and islands, the people became peace-loving. Olaf, prince of the Norse and Ellen, the princess of Alba met and married and, as is the way with nature, the princess became with child. As people grew used to the strange ways of peace, the princess blossomed and bloomed, and when her time was due, the royals and nobility gathered.

Midwives and wise women were summoned from Alba and the Northlands to attend the birth; lords and councillors met at in the royal palace in the shadow of the great white mountains of the North, and the nations held their breath to await their new ruler.

'It's a boy,' came the news and then: 'No, it's a girl.'

And then: 'It is both a boy and a girl: we have twins!'

And such was the confusion that not even the wisest of the wise women or the most experienced of the midwives could tell which of the two babies was the firstborn. They argued and debated and threw the bones to decide, until nature intervened and sent an eclipse that spread darkness across the world. When it cleared, the problem was solved, for the girl-child lay dead in her cot and the boy-child squalled in health and vitality.

There were some who said that the Daoine Sidhe, the People of Peace, the fairy-folk whose name should only be mentioned in a whisper, if at all, had spirited the real princess away. The people said the Daoine Sidhe had substituted a changeling in her place, but there are always some who blame the People of Peace for everything they wish had not happened.

With no rivals, the prince sat secure on his throne and spread peace around his twin kingdoms of Northland and Alba. He became the High King with Chiefs and Lords beneath him and since he took the throne, there has been no blood spilt in Alba or the Northlands.

The Sennachie lowered his hands exactly as the sun sunk beneath the horizon. Only the surge and suck of surf sweeping the shingle shore of the island known as Dachaigh spoiled the silence.

Sitting at the front of the audience, between her mother and old Oengus, Melcorka listened with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

The Sennachie allowed the peace of the night to settle upon them before he continued.

We must remember our past and respect those who guard the peace we all enjoy. Without that union, a red war would ravage the two kingdoms, dragon ships would reive the coasts, and we would taste blood in the sough of the breeze.

He lowered his hand, his face old and wise in the reflected light from the ochre-tinted horizon. A rising wind dragged darkness from the east as an owl called to its mate, the sound echoing eerily in the darkening bowl of night. The audience rose to return to their comforting hearths beside warm peat-fire-flames. They did not see the sennachie turn to the west or the salt tears that wept from his eyes. They did not hear his muttered words: God save Alba from the times that are to come. And if they had seen, they would not have understood, for they had not known the curse of war.

Chapter One

There had always been the ocean. It surrounded her, stretching as far as the hazed horizon in three directions: north, west and south. To the east, on a clear day, she could see a faint blue line that Mother had told her was another place called the Mainland of Alba. Someday, she promised herself, she would go to that other land and see what was there. Someday: but not today. Today was an ordinary day, a day for milking the cow, tending the hens and scouring the shore to see what gifts the sea had brought. She looked again, seeing the rough grassland and patches of heather dotted with the lichen-stained rocks that lay scattered all over Dachaigh, her home island.

High above, the blue abyss of the sky was cool with the promise of coming spring, fresh as the ever-mobile sea, decorated with frisky clouds blown by the ever-present breeze.

Melcorka mounted a grassy knoll and her gaze, as so often before, wandered to the east. Over there, on that side of the island, was the Forbidden Cave. It had been a temptation ever since Mother had banned her from even going close, and she had ventured there on three occasions. Each time, her mother had caught her before she got to the entrance.

'Some day,' she promised herself, 'someday I will see what is inside the cave and find out why it is forbidden.' But not today; today, other more urgent matters demanded her attention.

Lifting her skirt, Melcorka ran across the belt of sweet Machar grass that bordered the beach. There was usually some treasure to pick up: a strangely shaped shell or a length of driftwood that was invaluable on this nearly treeless island, or perhaps a strange fruit with a husky skin. As usual, she ran fast, enjoying the sensation of the wind in her hair and the shifting crunch of the shingle beneath her bare feet when she reached the beach. A shower of cool rain washed her face, seabirds swooped and screamed overhead, and the long sea-breakers exploded in a rhythmic frenzy around her. Life was good; life was as it had always been and always would be.

Melcorka stopped and frowned: that mound was new. It was on the high tide mark, with waves breaking silver around the oval lump of dark-green seaweed. It was no seal, no strayed animal of any sort; it was long and dark, with a drag mark where something had hauled itself out of the sea and up to the edge of the shingle. Now it lay there unmoving on her beach. For a second, Melcorka hesitated; she knew, somehow, that whatever this was, it would change her life. Then she stepped forward, slowly, lifted a stone to use as a weapon and approached the mound.

'Hello?' Melcorka heard the nervousness in her voice. She tried again. 'Hello?' A gust of wind whipped her words away. She took one step forward and then another. The mound was longer than her, the length of a fully grown man. She bent toward it and dragged away one of the trailing strands of seaweed. There was more underneath, and then more again. Melcorka worked on, uncoiling the seaweed until what lay beneath was visible.

It's only a man, Melcorka thought, as she stepped back. It's a naked man, lying on his face. She had a second look to ascertain if the man was fully naked, looked again out of interest's sake and came cautiously closer. 'Are you still alive?'

When the man did not answer, Melcorka reached down and shook his shoulder. There was no response, so she tried again with more force. 'You crawled from the sea, naked man, so you were alive when you arrived here.'

A sudden thought struck her, and she checked his feet and hands. They were all equipped with fingers and toes. 'So you're not a merman,' she told the silent body, 'so what are you? Who are you?' She ran her eyes over him. 'You're well-made, whoever you are, and scarred.' She noticed the long, healed wound that ran across the side of his ribs. 'Mother will know what to do with you.'

Lifting her skirt above her knees, Melcorka ran back home across the shingle and Machar, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that her discovery had not risen and run away. She ran through the open door. Her mother, Bearnas, was busy at the table.

'Mother! There's a man on the beach. He might be dead, but he may be alive. Come and see him.' She widened her eyes and lowered her voice. 'He's naked, Mother. He's all naked.'

Bearnas looked up from the cheese she had been making. 'Take me,' she said, touching the broken pewter cross that swung on its leather thong around her neck. Although her voice was soft as always, there was no disguising the disquiet in her eyes.

A couple of small crabs scuttled sideways as Bearnas approached the body. She looked down and pursed her lips at his scar. 'Help me take him to the house,' she said.

'He's all naked,' Melcorka pointed out. 'All of him.'

Her mother gave a small smile. 'So are you, under your clothes,' she reminded her daughter. 'The sight of a naked man will not hurt you. Now, take one of his arms.'

'He's heavy,' Melcorka said.

'We'll manage,' Bearnas told her. 'Now, lift!'

Melcorka glanced down at the man as they lifted him, felt the colour rush to her face and quickly looked away. The man's trailing feet left a drag-mark in the sand and rattled the shingle as they hauled him home. 'Who do you think he is, Mother?' she asked, when at last they lurched across the cottage threshold.

'He is a man,' Bearnas said, 'and a warrior by the look of him.' She glanced down at his body. 'He is well-muscled, but not muscle-bound like a stone mason or a farmer. He is lean and smooth and supple.' When she looked again, Melcorka thought she saw a gleam of interest in her eyes. 'That scar is too straight to be an accident. That is a sword slash, sure as death.'

'How do you know that, Mother? Have you seen a sword slash before?' Melcorka helped her mother place the warrior onto her bed. He lay there, face-up, unconscious, salt-stained and with sand embedded in various parts of his body. 'He's quite handsome, I suppose.' Melcorka could not control the direction of her gaze. What she saw was less embarrassing this time, and just as interesting.

'Do you think him handsome, Melcorka?' There was a smile in her mother's eyes. 'Well, just you keep your mind on other things. Have you no chores to do?'

'Yes, Mother.' Melcorka did not leave the room.

'Be off with you then,' Bearnas said.

'But I want to watch and see who he is…' Melcorka's protest ended abruptly as her mother swung a well- practised hand. 'I'm going, Mother, I'm going!'

It was two days before the castaway awoke. Two days during which Melcorka checked on him every hour and most of the population of the island just chanced to be passing and casually enquired about the naked man Melcorka had found. For those two days, Melcorka's household was the talk of Dachaigh. After the man had awakened, Melcorka's household became the centrepiece of the community.

'We've seen nothing like this since the old days,' Granny Rowan told Melcorka, as she perched on the three-legged stool beside the fire. 'Not since the days when your mother was a young woman, not much older than you are now.'

'What happened then?' Melcorka folded her skirt and balanced on the edge of the wooden bench that was already occupied by two men. 'Mother never tells me anything about the old days.'

'Best wait and ask her then.' Granny Rowan nodded her head, so her grey hair bounced. 'It's not my place to tell you anything that your mother doesn't want to share.' She lowered her voice. 'I heard you found him first.'

'Yes, Granny Rowan,' Melcorka agreed in a hushed whisper.

Granny Rowan glanced over to Bearnas. Her wink highlighted the wrinkles that Melcorka thought looked like the rings of a newly cut tree. 'What did you think? A naked man all to yourself… What did you do? Where did you look? What did you see?' Her cackle followed Melcorka as she fled to the other room in the house, where a crowd was gathered around the stranger, all discussing his provenance.

'Definitely a warrior.' Oengus waggled his grey beard. 'Look at the muscles on him, all toned to perfection.' He poked at the man's stomach with a stubby finger.

'I was looking at them,' Aele, his wife said with a smile and a sidelong look at Fino, her friend. They exchanged glances and laughed together at some secret memory.

Adeon, the potter, grinned and sipped at his horn of mead. 'Look at me, if you wish,' he said and posed to show his sagging physique at its unimpressive best.

'Maybe twenty years ago.' Fino laughed again. 'Or thirty!'

'More like forty,' Aele said, and everybody laughed.

Melcorka was first to hear the groan. 'Listen,' she said, but adults who are talking do not heed the words of a girl of twenty. The man moaned again. 'Listen!' Melcorka spoke louder than before. 'He's waking up!' She took hold of Bearnas' arm. 'Mother!'

The castaway groaned again and jerked upright in the bed. He looked around at the assembled, staring people. 'Where am I?' he asked. 'Where is this place?' His voice was hoarse.

As every adult began to babble an answer, Bearnas clapped her hands. 'Silence!' she commanded. 'This is my house, and I alone will speak!'

There was instant silence save for the stranger. He looked directly at Bearnas. 'Are you the queen here?'

'No, I am no queen. I am only the woman of the house.' Bearnas knelt beside the bed. 'My daughter found you on the beach two days past. We do not know who you are or how you came to be here.' She gestured to Melcorka. 'Bring water for our guest.'

'I am Baetan.' The man swallowed from the beaker Melcorka held to his lips. Pushing her away, Baetan tried to rise, winced, and bobbed his head in greeting. 'Well met, woman of the house. Please bring me the head of this place.'

'There is no head of this place. We do not need such things.'

'What is your name, woman of the house?' Baetan sat up higher. His light blue eyes darted from face to face in that crowded room.

'I am Bearnas,' Melcorka's mother said.

'Bearnas. That means bringer of victory. It is not a name for a farmer, or a woman.' Baetan slid out of bed, swayed and grabbed hold of the wall for support.

'It is the name I have,' Bearnas told him calmly, 'and you bring shame to my house by standing naked in front of my guests.'

Melcorka suddenly realised that she was not the only female in the room who stared at Baetan's body. She felt the colour rush to her face as she looked away.

The man paid no heed to Bearnas' strictures as he straightened up and faced her. 'I have heard that name. I know that name.' He took a deep breath. 'Are you related to the Bearnas? The Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas?' Baetan's voice was now strong.

Bearnas glanced at Melcorka before she replied, 'I am that woman.'

'You are not how I imagined,' Baetan said.

'I am how I am and who I am.' Bearnas' reply was cryptic.

'Then it is you I have come to see.' The man pushed himself away from the wall. 'I have a message for you.'

'Speak your message,' Bearnas said.

'They are back,' the man said simply.

The change in the atmosphere was sudden, passing from interest and slight amusement, to tension and, Melcorka thought, fear. 'Who is back?' she asked.

'Leave, Melcorka.' Bearnas seemed to realise that Melcorka was examining the man's nakedness with undisguised curiosity. 'You are too young yet.'

'I am twenty years old,' Melcorka reminded her.

'Oh, let the girl look.' Granny Rowan laughed. 'It will do her no harm to see what a man looks like.'

'It is not what she sees,' Bearnas said, 'it is what she might hear.'

Granny Rowan's cackle followed Melcorka through to the other room. 'You will remember the views,' she said.

Melcorka stood as close to the door as she could as the adults spoke. She heard the murmur of voices and a sudden hush, followed by her mother's raised voice. 'Melcorka! Move away from the door and pack your things. We are leaving Dachaigh.'

It was as quick as that. One minute Melcorka was settled in the home she had known all her life, and the next, her mother had decided they would leave.

'Where are we going?' Melcorka asked. 'Why are we going?'

'Don't ask, don't argue, just do as I tell you.' Bearnas opened the door and touched Melcorka's shoulder. 'All your young life you have wanted to travel, to see what lies beyond the confines of our small island. Well, my dear, now you are going to do just that.' Her smile lacked humour as her hazel eyes seemed to drive into Melcorka's soul. 'It is your destiny, Melcorka. It is your birthright.'

'What do you mean?' But Bearnas said no more and the day passed in a frenzy of packing and preparing.

'Bearnas!' Granny Rowan gestured to the window. 'Your friend is back.'

Melcorka heard the harsh call and then saw the sea-eagle land on the stunted, gnarled apple tree that stood outside the house. The bird sat still, with its head swivelling until it stared right inside the cottage window.

'Open the window, Melcorka.' Although Bearnas spoke quietly, there was complete authority in her voice.

The sea-eagle hopped inside, perched on the top of the bed, looked around the room and jumped on to Bearnas' outstretched arm.

'Welcome back, Bright- Eyes.' Bearnas tickled the bird's throat.

Melcorka shook her head. 'It's not a welcome back, Mother. We have never seen that eagle before.'

'The sea-eagle is my totem bird.' Bearnas seemed to be musing, so quiet were her words. 'Your bird is the oystercatcher, Melcorka. Watch for the oystercatcher, and follow where she leads. The oystercatcher will guide you to do what is best.'

'Mother…' Melcorka started, but Bearnas had left the room, taking the sea-eagle with her.

Granny Rowan watched her go. 'There will be a time when you are grateful for the flight of an eagle, Melcorka.' Her eyes were opaque. 'That time is not today.'

Somebody had found clothes for Baetan, so he stood in the far corner of the house wearing a linen leine, the ubiquitous shirt that everybody, male and female, wore. Baetan's leine strained to reach around his chest, while his loose tartan trousers barely extended past his knees.

'We need a boat,' Baetan said.

'Of course,' Bearnas agreed.

'We don't have a boat,' Melcorka started, until Granny Rowan put a hand on her shoulder.

'There are many things you don't yet know,' Granny Rowan said quietly. 'It's best if you hold your tongue and let the world reveal its wonders.'

'Where are we going?' Melcorka asked again. 'Are we going to Mainland Alba?'

'Better than that. We're going to see the king,' Bearnas told her, 'and that is as much as I know myself.'

'The king? Do you mean the Lord of the Isles?'

'No!' Bearnas' tone could have cracked granite. 'Not the Lord of the Isles. We are going to see the king himself!'

'We will need a boat,' Baetan persisted.

'We have a boat.' Bearnas ignored Melcorka's repeated headshake. 'Come this way.'

Seabirds screamed harsh greetings as Bearnas left the cottage where Melcorka had spent all her life and walked in a straight line, eastward over the rising moorland, toward the mid-morning sun. Melcorka followed, wondering. 'Mother…?'

'Don't ask, Melcorka.' Bearnas glanced to her right, where the sea-eagle circled.

A westerly wind whispered through the damp heather, a friendly hand on their back that pressed them onward. 'Mother, we are heading toward the Forbidden Cave.'

'Thank you, Melcorka.' Bearnas did not try and hide her sarcasm. Bright-Eyes landed on her shoulder as if it had never perched anywhere else.

A dip in the moor cracked into a gulley that deepened with every step, until they were descending along a narrow cut with walls of rock on both sides. A cave loomed ahead, ten feet high, black and cold. All her life, Melcorka had been warned not to enter this place, but now her mother strode in without looking to left or right.

'Mother…' After wanting desperately to explore the Forbidden Cave, now Melcorka hesitated. She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

A cloak of darkness wrapped around her, crisp, fresh and scented with salt. She peered ahead, listened to the confident padding of her mother's feet and the heavy tread of Baetan. She could identify each just by the sound of their footsteps, although she did not know how, or why.

'Here we are.' Even in the dark, Bearnas seemed to know exactly where she was. She stopped beside a niche in the wall and lifted out three rush torches. Striking a spark with two pieces of flint, she allowed the rushes to catch fire. Yellow light pooled around them. 'Hold that.' She handed one to Baetan. 'It's not far now.'

Melcorka heard the surge of water, and then the light from the torch was reflected from their left, and she realised they were walking along a rocky ledge with water gurgling beneath them. The sound of surf grew louder until it echoed around the cave. 'Where are we?'

'This cave extends from the side of the hill to a sea exit in the Eastern Cliffs,' Bearnas explained. 'Now, stand still and don't get in the way.' Bending down, she rolled back what Melcorka had thought was the wall of the cave. 'It's not magic, Melcorka, don't look so surprised! It's only a leather screen.'

There had been an occasional visit from storm-tossed fishing boats to Dachaigh, but the vessel that Bearnas revealed behind the screen was different to anything Melcorka had seen before. Both the stem and stern rose sharply, while the hull was narrow and made of shaped wooden planks, overlapping in clinker fashion. There were holes for six oars on each side and space amidships to fit a mast. At the bow, rising in an open-mouthed scream, a carved sea-eagle's head glared forward.

'What do you think, Melcorka?' Bearnas stepped back.

'It's huge!' Melcorka did not hide her surprise. 'But where did it come from?'

'We put it here before you were born,' Bearnas said. 'I did not want you to know about it until it was time.'

'Time for what, Mother?'

'Until it was time for you to leave the island… until it was time for you to meet the king… until it was time for you to become who you really are.' Bearnas slapped the hull of the boat. 'You like her?'

'Yes, indeed,' Melcorka said. 'But I know who I am. I am Melcorka, your daughter. Are we really going to meet the king?'

'She's a beauty, isn't she?' Bearnas ran her hand along the smooth line of the hull. 'We call her Wave Skimmer because that is exactly what she does.' When she looked at Melcorka, her eyes were level and calm. 'Yes, we are going to meet the king.'

'Why?' Melcorka asked.

'Baetan gave me some information that we have to pass on,' Bearnas said quietly. 'After that…' she shrugged, 'we'll see what happens.'

'What information did Baetan give you?' Melcorka asked.

'That was for me,' Bearnas said. 'If the king wishes you to know, he will tell you. Or if our situation alters, then you will know.'

'We might be better going to the Lord of the Isles,' old Oengus suggested.

'You know full well that we will not approach that man,' Bearnas snapped, 'and I will not hear his name again.' Her voice was as grim as Melcorka had ever heard it.

Multiple gleams of light reflecting on the water warned Melcorka that they were not alone. When she looked back, it seemed that most of the population of the island had followed them into the Forbidden Cave. Torchlight highlighted cheekbones and dark eye sockets, weather-tanned foreheads and the determined chins of men and women she had known all her life. Some carried bundles and casks, which they placed on the rocky shelf beside the boat.

'Mother – should we not see Donald of the Isles before we see the king?' Melcorka tried again.

'You should do what I tell you.' Bearnas emphasised her words with a stinging slap to Melcorka's rump.

Oengus shook his head and touched Melcorka on the shoulder. 'Best keep your tongue still, little girl,' he said.

'But why?'

'There is history there,' Oengus said quietly, 'old history.'

'But Mother…' Melcorka began.

'Enough!' When Bearnas lifted a single finger, Melcorka clamped her mouth shut.

'Let's get her launched,' Oengus said, and within minutes everybody had crowded round. 'Come on, Melcorka. You too!'

There were log rollers stacked between the boat and the wall of the cave, but even with them, Wave Skimmer was heavier that