“That’s why we need the vinegar,” I told him, eyeing him curiously. Did a man with no past have a mother? “The herbs are dried into the sponge. Very useful when you’re on the road. You know a bit about these things then?”
“Most of it I’ve long forgotten. It’s women’s work.”
“It could be useful to learn it again. For men who take such risks, it seems you have few resources to deal with your injuries.”
“It doesn’t happen much,” said Dog. “We’re the best. Mostly, we come out untouched. This, this was an accident, pure and simple.”
“His own fault,” agreed Gull. “Besides, you heard the chief. We’ve got our way of dealing with it. No passengers in this team.”
I shivered. “You’ve done this yourselves? Slit a man’s throat sooner than try to save him?”
Dog narrowed his yellow eyes at me. “Different world. Couldn’t expect you to understand. No place in the team if you’re hurt so bad you can’t do your work. No place to go outside the team. Chief’s right. Ask any of us. All of us. Put us in Evan’s place, and we’d be begging for the knife.”
I thought about this as I coaxed the smith to swallow a few drops squeezed from the little sponge.
“That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Maybe it’s part of the code, whatever that is. But then, why did you try to save this man’s life against your chief’s orders? Why not just finish it, as he would have done?”
They seemed reluctant to answer. I pressed the sponge in my hand, and a little more of the highly toxic mixture dribbled into Evan’s mouth. His eyelids closed. At last Gull spoke in an undertone.
“Different, you see. Evan’s a smith, not a fighter. Got a trade. Got a chance of a life outside, once he saves enough to take himself away. Right away, it’d have to be; Armorica, Gaul, across the sea. He’s got a woman waiting for him in Britain; he can up and go as soon as he has the silver for bribes to secure safe passage. There’s a price on his head, like all of us. Still, he’s got that hope.”
“Couldn’t tell the chief that,” said Snake in a murmur. “It was hard enough work, begging a couple of days for him. Hope you can do miracles, healer girl. You’ll need one.”
“My name’s Liadan,” I said, without thinking. “You can call me that; it’ll be easier for all of us. Now we’d better get started. Who’s doing the cutting?”
Gull looked at Dog, and Snake looked at Dog, and Dog eyed the lethal, toothed knife.
“Looks like it’ll have to be me,” he said.
“Size and strength aren’t all of it,” I cautioned. “You’ll need very good control as well. The cut must be neat and quick. And he’ll scream. This potion may be strong, but it’s not as strong as that.”
“I’ll do it.”
Nobody had heard the chief coming. It seemed that, good as his men were, he was better. I hoped he had not been listening for long. His cold, gray eyes swept once around the area, and then he stalked over and helped himself to the knife. Dog wore an expression of acute relief.
“You don’t escape so lightly,” I told him. “You seem to be the biggest, so you’d better hold onto his shoulders. Keep your hands well away from where the—from where this man is cutting. You two, take his legs. He may look unconscious, but he’ll feel the pain of this and its aftermath. When I tell you, you must use all your weight to hold him.”
They moved into position, well drilled in obeying orders.
“Have you ever done this before?” I asked the man with the knife.
“Precisely this, no. You are about to instruct me, no doubt.”
I made a quick decision not to lose my temper however arrogant his manner.
“I’ll take you through it step-by-step. When we start, you must do as I tell you straightaway. It will be much easier if you give me a name to use. I will not call you Chief.”
“Use what you will,” he said, brows raised. “We have no names here, save those you have heard.”
“There are tales about a man named Bran,” I said. “That name means raven. I will use that. Is the dagger heated? You must fetch it quickly when I tell you, Dog.”
“It’s ready.”
“Very well. Now, Bran, you see this point near the shoulder, where the bone is still whole?”
The man whom I had named after a legendary voyager gave a nod, his face tightlipped with disapproval.
“You must cut here to finish cleanly. Don’t let your knife slip down to this point, for the wound has no hope of healing if we leave fragments within. Concentrate on your job. Let the others hold him. I will cut back the flesh first with my small knife … . Where is my small knife?”
Gull reached down and extracted it from where he had stuck it in his boot.
“Thank you. I’ll start now.”
I wondered, later, how I could possibly have stayed in control. How I managed to sound calm and capable when my heart was racing at three times its usual pace, and my body was breaking out in a cold sweat, and I was filled with fear. Fear of failure. Fear of the consequences of failure, not just for the hapless Evan, but for myself as well. Nobody had spelled out exactly what would happen if I got this wrong, but I could imagine.
The first part was not so bad. Cut neatly through the layers, peel back the skin, as far as the place where somebody had tied a narrow, extremely tight strip of linen around the arm, just below the shoulder. My hands were soon red to the wrists. So far, so good. The smith twitched and trembled, but did not wake.
“All right,” I said. “Now you cut, Bran. Straight across here. Dog, hold tight. Keep him still. This must be quick.”
Perhaps the best assistant, at such times, is a man who has no understanding of human feelings, a man who can cut living bone as neatly and decisively as he would a plank of wood, a man whose face shows nothing as his victim jerks and thrashes suddenly, straining against the well-muscled arms that hold him, and lets out a shuddering moan straight from the depths of the gut.
“Sweet Christ,” breathed Snake, leaning his weight across the smith’s legs to keep him down. The horrible sawing noise went steadily on. The cut was as straight as a sword edge. By my side, Dog had his massive forearms planted one on the patient’s left arm, one across the upper chest.
“Careful, Dog,” I said. “He still needs to breathe.”
“I think he’s coming to.” Gull’s hands pressed heavily down on Evan’s right side. “Having trouble holding him still. Can’t you give him some more of the …?”
“No,” I said. “He’s had as much as he can safely take. We’re nearly done.” There was a truly horrible sound as the last shard of bone was severed, and the mangled remains of the limb fell to the ground. Across the pallet from me, Bran looked up. There was blood on him to the elbows, and his shirt front was spattered with crimson. I detected no change at all in his expression. His brows rose in silent question.
“Fetch the dagger from the fire.” Díancécht help me; I must do this part myself. I knew what would happen and steeled my will. Bran walked outside and returned with the weapon in his hand, hilt wrapped in a cloth, blade glowing as bright as a sword half forged. His eyes asked another question.
“No,” I said. “Give it to me. This part is my work. Untie the last binding there. There’ll be blood. Then come around and help Dog hold him down. He’ll scream. Hold on tight. Keep him still.”
The binding came off, and there was a flow of blood, but less than I expected. That was not a good sign, for it might signify the flesh was already dying. Without a word I moved to the other side, and Bran took my place, ready to hold the smith as soon as he moved.
“Now,” I said, and touched the red-hot iron to the open wound. There was an unpleasant sizzling sound, and a sickening smell of roast meat. The smith screamed. It was a hideous banshee scream such as you might hear again and again in your dreams for years after. His whole body convulsed in agony, chest heaving, limbs thrashing, head and shoulders kept still only by the efforts of both Dog and Bran, who forced him
down, muscles bulging. Big, ugly Dog was as white as a wraith.
“Sweet Jesus,” muttered Snake.
“Sorry, not finished,” I said, blinking back tears, and I touched the dagger to the wound again, moving it firmly so the whole area would be sealed. Forced myself to keep it there long enough, as another shuddering scream filled the air of the small shelter. Took the hot iron away, finally, and stood there as the smith’s voice died down to a wheezing, gasping whimper. The four men relaxed their grip and straightened up slowly. I didn’t seem to be able to move. After a bit, Gull took the dagger from my hands and went outside with it, and Dog began quietly picking things up off the ground and dropping them into a bucket, and Snake took the little cup of vinegar and, at a nod from me, began to sponge it, a few drops at a time, between Evan’s swollen lips.
“I’m not going to ask where you learned that,” Bran commented. “Are you happy you put him through this? Still convinced you’re right?”
I looked up at him. His severe features with their strange half pattern blurred before my eyes, the feathered markings moving and twisting in the lamplight. I was aware, suddenly, of how weary I was.
“I stand by my decision,” I said faintly. “The time you have set me is too short. But I know I’m right.”
“You may not be so sure after six days in this camp,” he said ominously. “When you’ve seen a little more of the real world, you will learn that everyone is expendable. There are no exceptions, be it skillful smith or hardened warrior or little healer girl. You suffer and die and are soon forgotten. Life goes on regardless.”
I swallowed. The rock walls were moving around me.
“There will be people looking for me,” I whispered. “My uncle, my brother, my … They will be searching for me by now, and they have resources.”
“They will not find you.” His tone allowed for no doubt.
“What about the escort that traveled with me?” I was clutching at straws now, for I suspected they were all dead. “They cannot be far away. Someone must have seen what happened—someone will follow—”
My voice trailed away, and I put out a hand for balance as my vision filled with spinning stars.
“Sorry,” I mumbled foolishly, as if excusing myself from polite company. Suddenly there was a very firm grip on my arm, and I was propelled to the wooden stool and pushed unceremoniously onto it.
“Snake, leave that for now. He’s still breathing; he’ll keep. Fetch the girl clean clothes, if you can find anything small enough. A blanket, water for washing. Go down to the fire, get yourself food, and bring some for her when you come back. She’s little enough use at her best; she’ll be none at all if we let her starve.” He turned back to me. “First rule of combat: Only the most battle tested can function well on little food and less sleep. That comes only with long practice. You want to do your job properly, then prepare for it properly.”
I was far too tired to argue.
“You’ll get two guards tonight. One for outside; one to watch the smith while you sleep. Don’t let it make you complacent. You chose this task yourself, and you’re on your own after tonight.”
At last he was leaving. I closed my eyes, swaying with exhaustion where I sat. The smith lay quiet, for now.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
My eyes snapped open.
“This will have earned you a certain—respect—among the men. Make sure you don’t let it develop into anything more. Any of them who breaks the code will face the severest penalty. You’ll have enough on your conscience without that as well.”
“What would a man like you know about conscience?” I muttered, as he turned on his heel and walked away. If he heard me, he gave no sign of it.
It was a strange time. There are tales of men and women taken by the Fair Folk of a moonlight night in the woods, who journey into the Otherworld and experience a life so different that, on return, they scarcely know what is real and what a dream. The Painted Man and his motley bunch of followers were about as far from the visionary beings of the Otherworld as was imaginable, but still I felt removed utterly from my normal life; and although it may be hard to believe, while I dwelt there in the hidden encampment I did not spend much time thinking of my home or my parents or even of how Niamh was faring, all alone and sharing a stranger’s bed. There were moments when I grew chill with fear, remembering Eamonn’s tale. I recognized that my situation was perilous indeed. The guards Liam had sent with me had almost certainly been dispatched with ruthless efficiency. That was the way these men went about things. As for the code, it might protect me and it might not. In the end, my survival probably depended on whether the smith lived or died. But my father had told me once that fear is no winner of battles. I rolled up my sleeves and told myself I had no time for fits of the vapors. A man’s life was in the balance. Besides, I had something to prove and was determined to do it.
That first night and day they guarded me so closely it was like having a large, well-armed shadow always a step behind. I even had to remind them that women do have some bodily needs best attended to in private. We then developed a compromise whereby I could at least be out of sight briefly, provided I did not take too long and came straight back to where Dog, or Gull, or Snake would be waiting, weapon in hand. Nobody needed to point out to me the utter futility of any attempt to escape. They brought me food and water; they brought me a bucket so I could wash myself. Clad in someone’s old undershirt, which came down well below my knees, and a roomy sort of tunic with useful pockets here and there, I braided my hair severely down my back, out of the way, and got on with what had to be done. Carefully measured drafts for the pain; mixtures to be burned on the brazier, encouraging the ill humors to leave the body; dressings for the ugly burn, compresses for the brow. Much of the time I would simply sit by the pallet, holding Evan’s hand in mine, talking quietly or singing little songs as to a feverish child.
On the second night I was allowed out as far as the cooking fire. Dog walked by me through the encampment, where many small, temporary shelters were dotted between the trees and bushes, until we came to a cleared area where a hot, smokeless fire burned neatly between stones. Around it a number of men sat, stood, or leaned, scooping up their food from the small vessels most travelers carry somewhere in their packs. There was a smell of stewed rabbit. I was hungry enough not to be too particular and accepted a bowl shoved into my hands. It was quiet, save for the buzz of night crickets and the faint murmur of a bird as it fell asleep in the branches above.
“Here,” said Dog. He handed me a small spoon crafted of bone. It was none too clean. There were many eyes turned on me in the half darkness.
“Thank you,” I said, realizing I had been accorded a rare privilege. The others used their fingers to eat or maybe a hunk of hard bread. There was no laughter and little talk. Perhaps my presence stifled their conversation. Even when ale was poured and cups passed there was scarcely a sound. I finished my food; declined a second helping. Somebody offered me a cup of ale, and I took it.
“Did a good job,” someone said curtly.
“Nice piece of work,” agreed another. “Not easy. Seen it botched before. Man can bleed to death quicker than a—that’s to say, it’s a job that has to be done right.”
“Thank you,” I said gravely. I looked up at the circle of faces from where I sat on the bank near the fire. All of them kept a margin of three, four paces away from me. I wondered if this, too, were part of the code. They were a strangely assorted group, their bizarre polyglot speech indicating a multitude of origins and a long time spent together. Of them all, I thought, perhaps but two or three had had their birthplace here in Erin. “I had help,” I added. “I could not have performed such a task alone.”
One very tall man was studying me closely, a frown creasing his features. “Still,” he said after a while, “wouldn’t have been done at all, but for you. Right?”
I glanced around quickly, not wishing to get anyone into trouble. “Maybe,” I said, of
fhand.
“Got a chance now, hasn’t he?” the very tall man asked, leaning forward, long, skinny arms folded on bony knees. There was an expectant pause.
“A chance, yes,” I said carefully, “no more. I’ll do my best for him.”
There were a few nods. Then somebody made a subtle little sound, halfway between a hiss and a whistle, and suddenly they were all looking anywhere but at me.
“Here, Chief.” A bowl was passed, a full cup.
“It’s very quiet here,” I observed after a little while. “Do you not sing songs or tell tales of an evening after supper?”
Somebody gave a snort, instantly suppressed.
“Tales?” Dog was perplexed, scratching the bald side of his head. “We don’t know any tales.”
“You mean, like giants and monsters and mermaids?” asked the very tall, lanky fellow. I thought I detected a little spark of something in his eye.
“Those and others,” I said encouragingly. “There are also tales of heroes, and of great battles, and of voyages to distant and amazing lands. Many tales.”
“You know some of these tales?” asked the tall man.
“Shut your mouth, Spider,” someone hissed under his breath.
“Enough to tell a new one each night of the year and have some left over,” I said. “Would you like me to tell you one?”
There was a long pause, during which the men exchanged glances and shuffled their feet
“You’re here to do a job, not provide free entertainment.” There was no need for me to look up to know who spoke. “These men are not children.” Interesting, when this man addressed me, he used plain Irish, fluent and almost unaccented.
“Is telling a tale against the code?” I asked quietly.
“What about this Bran character?” Gull put in with no little courage. “I’ll wager there’s a tale or two about him. I’d like to hear one of those.”
“That is a very grand tale to be told over many nights,” I said. “I will not be here long enough to finish it. But there are plenty of others.”