Muse (Tales of Silver Downs Book 1) (23 page)

Bramble put her front paws on Rhiwallon's knees and leaned in to sniff her. I gently rested a hand on the top of Bramble's head and she leaned into my touch. At least she was unharmed.

"It was too much for Rhiwallon." I chose my words carefully. "More than she could handle. I think…" His face fell. I took a deep breath. "I think she's lost her mind."

"But she'll get better, won't she?" he asked, fiercely.

"I don't know, Owain. I'm not a healer, just a bard."

Owain crouched in front of Rhiwallon and wrapped his large hands around her tiny ones. "It's over, Rhiwallon," he said. "The beast is dead. It's all over."

Rhiwallon didn't move.

Owain released her hands and stood. His face showed remorse and guilt.

"This is my fault," he said. "I didn't protect her."

"It's not-"
 

He stopped me with an abrupt motion of his hand. "I'll look after her, Diarmuid. I won't let her down again."

"What do you mean?"

He nodded towards Rhiwallon. "What options does she have like this? Who would marry her? Nobody will take on a wife who can't look after his home and his sons."

"What do you intend?"

"I'll look after her till she comes back to herself. Then I'll handfast with her, if she'll have me. I can protect her, look after her. She'll never want for anything, I'll make sure of it."

"What about Maeve?" The words were out of my mouth before I thought twice.
 

Owain gave me a tight smile. "She's free to go her own way. Rhiwallon and me will start somewhere else. A new life together."

I looked back at Rhiwallon, so still and silent. This was more my fault than Owain's but it never would have occurred to me to offer to bind myself to her.

"We need to move on," I said. "The beast might have a mate."

Owain nodded and slung his pack and Rhiwallon's bow and quiver over his shoulders. Then he lifted Rhiwallon, cradling her as easily as if she weighed no more than a small child. She hung limply, like a broken doll.
 

I had avoided looking at the gaping hole at the end of the cavern until now. As we walked towards the opening, my heart was as heavy as the rocks surrounding us. No matter how bad our situation, whatever we faced next could be worse.

Where once I felt the shining spark of Diarmuid's life, somewhere in my breast, now there is nothing. For days, I have felt nothing.

I hardly know what to do. I am not myself. The thought that he might be dead fills my body with… with something I cannot name. My stomach clenches, my throat aches, and strangest of all, my eyes fill with liquid.
 

Emotions. I have never before experienced such a thing. Is this fear? Sadness? Grief? Horror? Diarmuid's tales speak of all these things but I do not know how to tell one from the other. My eyes burn when I think of Diarmuid and my hands tremble at the thought that he might be dead.
 

I sit alone in the living room of the house I inhabit. Its former inhabitants left when I announced I would live here. What else was I to do? I needed somewhere to live and this is a fine house. They needn't have left though. I think I would have welcomed their company. Perhaps I would not feel quite so alone had I some distraction from this constant fear that Diarmuid might be dead.

A companion is what I need. A diversion. If he is strong and handsome, even better. I do not want to dwell on the reason for these strange feelings. For I suspect I know what it is and I am not yet prepared to admit it, even to myself. So I shall choose a companion and he will come here to live with me. He will be a pleasant distraction from these feelings I do not know how to deal with.

The beast lay dead on the cavern floor and we walked away, albeit somewhat unsteadily. The smell of flowers and rotting leaves clung to the beast's body, the scent I had tracked to locate Rhiwallon. I wanted to tuck my tail between my legs and flatten my ears back against my head and run as fast as I could. Where to, it didn't matter, as long as it was far away from here.

Despite the fey companions of my younger years, most of my knowledge about their race came from ancient tales, and from the wisdom passed down from wise woman to apprentice. Although the tasks of the fey might seem unachievable, the laws of balance mean there must be a way for it to be completed, however unlikely. I clutched this thought tightly in my heart and prayed such ancient wisdom wasn't wrong. There had to be a way out of this place.

As we walked through yet another green-lit tunnel, I felt someone watching. I sniffed the air, searching for the watcher's scent, but the only odours I detected belonged to our party: sweat, the unmistakable stink of fear, and the dead beast, whose fetid insides coated Diarmuid and Rhiwallon. If the beast had a mate, I scented no trace of it nearby. Even the fey, whom I thought I had detected from time to time, were now absent. I had mostly come to trust that this body understood the world in a way my human brain never could. And right now, even thought I could identify no other scent, I knew we were not alone.

As we reached the opening, a new scent finally reached my nose and the fear that something terrible awaited us on the other side became overpowering. It smelled like the coals of a dead fire mixed with utter desperation and rotten eggs. Shudders wracked my body and my paws refused to move.

Diarmuid caressed the back of my head and, despite the ooze coating his fingers, I leaned into his hand. The warmth of his fingers soothed me somewhat and a tiniest bit of terror unwrapped itself from my heart.

"Come, Bramble," he said. "We have no choice."

I willed myself to move but my paws felt like they had sunk roots down through the rocky floor. Diarmuid scooped me up. This close to him, the stench of the dead beast was overwhelming and I gagged. He held me to his chest and I could feel his heart beating rapidly.
 

As we passed through the opening, I rested my head against Diarmuid's shoulder. In the safety of his arms, my terror decreased, although the sense of dread persisted, and as my heartbeat calmed, our two hearts beat together for a few moments. And I suddenly knew, deep in my soul, that he was the reason I was here.

How did I not see this earlier? My sense of smell had been useful in locating Rhiwallon but there was little else I could contribute to Diarmuid's quest. But he was part of some pattern the fey intended to weave in my life. Or perhaps I was meant as part of his pattern. No matter. The fey intended we be together and they were determined to ensure it happened. So determined they cared little what form I was in.
 

Before I could think further on this revelation, I realised I was hot. Not merely uncomfortably warm but so hot that my skin burned. Sweat dripped down my back and over my belly, leaving my hair damp. My mouth was dry and sticky but we had drunk the last of the water hours ago. As we reached the opening, the feeling of dread surged again. I whimpered and Diarmuid's arm tightened around me.

Ahead of us, Owain stopped, his large frame blocking my view.

"What is it?" Diarmuid whispered.
 

I tried hard not to tremble.

Owain stepped aside so we could see.

Another cavern, even larger than the last. Not far ahead of us, the floor dropped away into a yawning crevice, a smoky haze obscuring its depths. It stretched all the way across the cavern, an insurmountable obstacle between this side and the other.

If I could have spoken, I would have begged Diarmuid to never let me go, but he set me down on the rocky ground.
 

I chided myself. I was forgetting who I really was. I, Brigit, should not be intimidated by these events. My mother would be ashamed. I gave myself a good shake then strode forward. I peered down into the depths of the crevice, holding my breath for the stench smelled like eggs months past being usable. The crevice was exactly what it seemed from Diarmuid's arms: inconceivably deep, hot, and smoky. I stepped back from the edge and it was well I did, for a wave of heat surged up and blasted my face. I stumbled back, eyes and skin burning.

A massive tongue of fire shot up from the crevice and a low grumble shook the ground, throwing me off my feet.
 

"What is it?" Owain asked. His face was ruddy from the heat and his shirt was drenched in sweat. He clutched Rhiwallon's limp body to his chest and I wished it was me there instead of her.
 

"There are tales of such places," Diarmuid said, "where the ground parts and shakes, where fire and flames leap up from below. Sometimes, the fire pours out like ale flows from an overfilled mug."

Yet within the boundaries of the fey lands, things might not be what seemed. The heat on my face and the burning in my lungs seemed fierce and real but this might prove to be our exit if we trusted enough to ignore the illusion and walk over the chasm.

"What do we do?" Owain asked. "Can we go back?"

Diarmuid shook his head. "Not if I know anything about the fey's rules. If we don't continue, they might well snatch Rhiwallon away again. We have to keep moving forward and let the fey take us where they will."

The steam rising from the crevice shifted and we could finally see a rocky bridge. Its tenuous span passed from one edge of the gaping hole in the ground to the other, stretching right across the cavern. There was no visible means of support and it would likely crumble the moment someone stepped foot on it.

Diarmuid nodded towards it. "That's our way out."

The words from Titania's rhyme already ran through my mind.
One may pass the fiery depths and only once may go.

"A trap," Owain said.
 

Another ground tremor was accompanied by the rankness of rotting eggs. The stench wormed into my lungs and I felt like I was choking. Diarmuid held his hand over his nose.

"There's always a way through the tasks set by the fey," Diarmuid said. "We have to think."

"One may pass and only once," Owain said. "Clear enough. Go. We'll wait here."

Diarmuid glared at him. "Nobody is staying behind. We came in here together and we leave together. We just have to figure out what we're missing. There's a way out."

The answer seemed obvious to me. Owain could carry all of us. His presence was no accident any more than mine was. But how could I tell them? Owain would listen but not understand. Diarmuid would understand but not listen. My tail drooped.
 

 
Diarmuid's face showed determination. He was considering crossing the bridge with the intention of seeking help for the rest of us. Once he set foot on the bridge, it would be too late. If we didn't keep moving forward, the fey might well snatch Rhiwallon away again.

The ground trembled and grumbled.

My mind spun as I slunk after Diarmuid and Owain. I couldn't think of a single way I might convey the solution. I had to stop Diarmuid. I barked, short and sharp.

Diarmuid and Owain turned to look at me.

"What is it, girl?" Diarmuid asked, a distant look in his eyes.

Owain met my eyes. I held his gaze and he slowly nodded. "Bramble wants us to listen."

Diarmuid looked out at the bridge. "There's got to be another way around."

"Bramble knows it," Owain said.

"Huh?" Diarmuid shot him a puzzled look. "What? She's just—"

Owain cut him off, but I knew what Diarmuid had been about to say and my heart burned. "We need to listen to Bramble."

Diarmuid shook his head. "Owain, we don't have time for this. We've got one chance. There has to be another way across."
 

Owain still held my gaze and now he nodded at me. "Go on, Bramble."

Frustration mounting, I barked again. Why would the fey send me on this journey in such a useless form? Surely they foresaw this. They knew that at some point, I would desperately need to speak.

Diarmuid sighed. "I don't think now is the time-"

"Course now is the time." Owain's voice, although placid as ever, was underlaid with tension. "Bramble needs to tell us something and we need to listen."

Diarmuid opened his mouth to argue but Owain stood his ground.

"You're a bard," he said. "You must know tales where things like this happen."

"Things like what?"
 

"Folk trapped in other forms."

Diarmuid looked at him blankly and Owain motioned towards me. Diarmuid's mouth opened and closed. "She… I found her… She's just…"

My heart shattered into a million pieces. After all the time Diarmuid and I had spent together, all the secrets he had confided in me, he still had no idea. I had hoped that perhaps somewhere deep inside, he suspected there was more to me than there seemed. That he would understand once he finally let himself see.

Owain shrugged, adjusting his grip on Rhiwallon who still hung, unresponsive, in his arms. "P'rhaps I'm wrong. I'm just a simple man. Seems to me a bard would know more about these things than me."

Diarmuid eyed me closely and I met his gaze, not trying to hide the hurt flaring in my eyes. It wasn't like he would see it anyway. Owain would though. If his arms weren't full of Rhiwallon, he would have given me a comforting rub and some soft words. But it wasn't Owain I wanted to comfort me.

As Diarmuid looked me in the eyes — really looked at me for the first time — I saw his disbelief and yet also the tiniest spark of doubt. He was examining himself, wondering whether it was true, whether he might have missed some clue to my Otherworldly state. But mostly, he simply didn't believe. Eventually he shook his head.

"We don't have time for this," Diarmuid said, his tone conciliatory. "The longer we spend in here, the stronger Ida becomes. Whatever you think Bramble may or may not be, what we need to worry about right now is finding a way out of here."

The look Owain gave Diarmuid was the closest to disgust I had ever seen on him. Then he turned his back to Diarmuid and looked at me. "Tell us, Bramble."