| |
After Vere and Jiran had gone to bed, Foira told Elea and the others what had happened to Edgar, about the Harrow they’d encountered in the forest.
“Where is Edgar now?” Hanald asked.
“He’s with Armel, in the storage room,” Foira said. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for Vere and Jiran to find out about this.”
Elea nodded. “They wouldn’t respond well.”
“Can you and Armel find out more about the Harrow?” Hanald asked.
“Yes,” Foira said. “If it has the same name as the village, there should be something about it in the record. Focus on the hag, Armel and I will handle this one. Edgar is doing better already. I think he’ll be able to help us.” She went back into the storage room.
Elea worried all night. What was going to happen to Edgar? What was the Harrow? The next morning Foira wasn’t at breakfast. Neither was Edgar or Armel.
“My master faced the hag before,” Vere said. “I think it’s time you know what happened. She calls herself Fidelma.” He was telling them this now? If he’d known more about the hag, why hadn’t he said so before? “My master could not defeat her. He died of his wounds from the hag after sending her to sleep.” He looked at each of them. “We’re going to end the hag. I will not leave Harrow until she is stopped, for the village and for my master.” He stood and headed for the door.
The rest of them moved to follow. Foira came back out of the storage room and handed a small cloth wrapped bundle to Hanald.
“Wrap this around your leg,” Foira said. “It will help.”
Hanald looked about to protest, then nodded.
Foira was good at poultices. She’d learned from her mother. Elea noticed Hanald looked exhausted, like he hadn’t slept well. As the mercenaries split up into the village, she saw he was still limping. Hopefully the poultice would help. Elea found Alger and Cavan walking near the center of the village, far from the forest.
“Hanald looks very tired,” Elea said.
Cavan sighed. “I noticed that too. He seemed to be having nightmares last night, but he wouldn’t talk about them this morning.”
“Do you think Fidelma could have caused them?” Alger asked.
Cavan frowned. “We don’t know enough about her. There’s no knowing what she can do.”
Later in the day, Hanald collapsed near the well. It was Belinda who got to him first. Elea helped Belinda get Hanald back to his feet. He looked even more exhausted than he had earlier. Alger and Cavan joined them on the way back to the inn. Elea glanced around, relieved to not see Jiran or Vere watching. At the inn they sat Hanald down at a table.
“What happened?” Belinda asked.
Hanald didn’t say anything for a long moment. “I was more tired than I thought I was.”
“What sort of nightmares were you having last night?” Alger asked.
Hanald sighed, seeming to avoid looking at the rest of them. “I’ve been having nightmares about the hag, about Fidelma, since we fought her. She taunts me in my sleep.”
“Did she touch you?” Foira asked.
Elea hadn’t seen Foira approach, but she and Armel joined them at the table.
Hanald frowned. “Yes, she did briefly touch my hand when we fought. Why?”
“Perhaps she created some sort of connection between the two of you,” Armel said. “All we know about her is that she is powerful and dangerous. Perhaps she is trying to weaken you, make you uncertain.”
Hanald avoided looking at any of them again. “Well it’s working.”
“I believe I could break the connection,” Armel said. “It is dangerous to you.”
Hanald looked at him. “How could you break it?”
Armel hesitated. “I cannot say. Please, do not mention this to Jiran or Vere.”
Hanald looked at the rest of the mercenaries. They all agreed not to mention it to the Clerics. Armel stood behind Hanald and put his hands on Hanald’s shoulders. Armel closed his eyes, whispering under his breath. Elea tried, but couldn’t make out what Armel was saying. He didn’t reveal what he truly looked like as a druid, or mention what he was to the mercenaries. When Armel stopped and let go of Hanald, Hanald’s shoulders relaxed.
“I’m not sure what you did, but something happened,” Hanald said. “It feels like a weight was lifted off my mind.”
“That was the hag’s connection to you,” Armel said. “It’s gone now. You should rest.”
“I have to get back to work-” Hanald said.
“We can keep watch just fine without you during the day,” Belinda said. “You need to be rested for tonight. I heard Vere telling Jiran we’re keeping watch again tonight. That’s when the hag comes out.”
Hanald must have been exhausted, he didn’t argue. He went down the hall to the rooms.
“How’s Edgar?” Elea asked Armel on the way out of the inn.
Armel frowned. “His wounds are healing faster than they should.”
“That’s not good?” Elea asked.
“No,” Armel said. “The Harrow did something to him. We need to find out what, but first we need to make sure his wounds heal properly.”
Vere hadn’t changed his mind about them keeping watch. After dinner, he told them they were going to search the forest in groups of two, then keep watch in the village. Vere was going to choose the groups. Elea was dreading who she might end up with, namely Jiran. And Vere did put the two of them together. Jiran looked about as happy about it as Elea was. The groups headed into the forest, splitting up. Alger looked uncomfortable, but went with Cavan into the forest.
The moons were even darker than they had been the night Fidelma had attacked Hanald. The crescents were only a thin line, barely letting off light. Hanald had looked well rested at dinner, and he hadn’t been limping as much when they left the inn. Elea and Jiran walked in silence for a long while. The forest was eerily quiet, other than the sound of the leaves crunching beneath their boots.
“Why did you become a Cleric?” Elea asked, not liking the silence, and she was curious.
“It wasn’t a choice,” Jiran said, still looking ahead of them. “I was given to the Temple when I was a child.”
“Your parents gave you to the Temple?” Elea hadn’t expected that.
Jiran looked at her, like her surprise was strange. “In Cymatis that is considered an honor.”
“And you’re from Atilis?” Elea asked. She’d heard him called Jiran of Atilis before, Atilis being the main city of the country of Cymatis.
“I was from a small village,” Jiran said. “All Clerics and Devouts are of Atilis once they join the Temple.” He sounded proud.
Elea was more certain than ever that Jiran truly believed he was doing the right thing. She wondered if that were the case for Vere, but doubted it. Vere couldn’t be a chosen and not know it, not if he were using the power the spirit had given him. Elea and Jiran didn’t say anything more. They didn’t come across the hag, or the missing children.
Elea started to feel tense after a while, the smells of the forest stronger than they should be. She tried hard to hold back her power as Ulvi’s chosen, not wanting Jiran to see. It was a long while before she felt less like she might attack if Jiran made any sudden moves. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange.
Back in the village, Vere sent them to keep watch around the village. Elea was walking along the edge of the forest when she heard shouting. She ran toward the sound. A woman stood out front her house, clutching her son close to her leg. He couldn’t have been more than seven. Vere was yelling at Jiran.
“You weren’t paying enough attention!” Vere said. “You should have seen the hag, she had to have walked right past you!”
The other mercenaries had arrived. Jiran was pale. He looked shaken, horrified. This wasn’t his fault. Elea liked Vere even less. She even felt a little sorry for Jiran, despite what he’d done to Garnet.
“What happened?” Hanald asked.
“My daughter was taken,” the woman said, her face streaked with tears. “The hag has taken Dena.”
“Did anyone see the hag?” Belinda asked.
The woman shook her head. So did the boy.
“How is she doing this?” Cavan asked.
“She was never seen when she took children in the past either,” Vere said. He still looked furious.
“What is your name?” Elea asked the woman, as gently as she could. She’d always been bad at this.
“Fran,” she said.
“You’re Edgar’s friend,” Elea said.
The woman looked surprised. “Yes, I sent a letter to Edgar. Is he with you?”
Elea hesitated. “He’s around somewhere.”
“How old is Dena?” Belinda asked.
“She’s five,” Fran said. She held the boy closer. “This is Sean. He’s seven.”
Vere frowned even harder. “The hag never takes those eight and older. Get the boy back inside. Stay close to him at night. We’ll get the girl back.”
Fran seemed reassured by this. She and Sean went back inside.
“What now?” Belinda asked.
Vere set off. “Now we make sure no other children are taken tonight.” He stopped and looked back at Jiran. “Go back to the inn.” He walked away.
Jiran was still pale, frowning hard.
“You can keep watch with me,” Elea said.
Jiran shook his head. “That was an order.” He headed for the inn.