Gathering dry sticks of hazel from the base of the tree, the woman piled them into a pyramid, struck a spark from two stones and blew life into the resulting tiny flame. She watched as the fire spread, adding twigs and dry wood until she built up a respectable blaze.
Nodding in satisfaction, the woman filled an iron pot filled it with burn-water and placed it on top of the now-roaring fire. Smoke coiled upwards, blue against an empty sky, aromatic in that deserted glen. When the water began to bubble, the woman took the earthenware vessel, untied the heather and dropped the white snake into the water, quickly placing a lid on top, with a large stone to hold it in place. Steam escaped from a tiny hole at the side, joining the smoke.
The woman sat down again, cross-legged, and waited with infinite patience until the fire died down. Only when the iron pot was sufficiently cool to touch did the woman lift the stone from the lid and remove the pot from the now-dead embers of the fire.
The snake had turned to soup, with the bones coiled around the interior of the pot. Without any hesitation, the woman drank the contents, with the overspill cascading down her front to form a little pool around her bare feet.
“Now I know!” she said as the wisdom of the white serpent exploded inside her head. “Now I know everything there is to know!” Dropping the pot, she began to laugh, with the sound of her voice echoing around the glen.
“Now I know everything!”
“Do you know who I am?” The dark figure rose from the ground, shapeless except for the two red eyes that glared at the woman.
“I know who you are.”
“Who?”
“You are the Cu-saeng,” the woman faced the darkness.
“Why do you not fear me?” The Cu-saeng's voice boomed inside the woman's head.
“Because you need me,” the woman said as the knowledge of the white serpent cascaded inside her head.
“Do you know what I desire?” the Cu-saeng asked, rising around the woman, a formless mass.
“You desire me to help Erik Egilsson.” The woman said. “You need me to take the enchanted sword from Melcorka Nic Bearnas of the Cenel Bearnas.”
“Go then, and do as I desire,” the Cu-saeng said.
The woman watched as the Cu-saeng dissolved back into the ground, smiled and walked toward the south.
Chapter Eleven
They stood on the slope of the triple hills of Eildon with Bradan's staff upright in the ground while three deer were watching them curiously. Whisking across the summits, a stiff wind blew ragged clouds eastward, toward the sea.
“How are the legs?” Bradan asked.
Melcorka tested them, thumping down first the left and then the right. “Strong enough,” she looked at the broad white scar that disfigured the outside of each thigh. “I do not wish to fight Erik again.”
“The fighting can wait,” Bradan said. “I am glad your legs are well. I suspect we have a lot of walking before us.”
“Have you had any ideas about the riddle?” Melcorka asked. “One within three beside the mirror of the moon, with the wisdom of the old drawing from sacred blood.” She shook her head, flicking her long dark hair around her neck. “It means nothing to me.”
“I have tried to dissect it,” Bradan said. “I think it's in two parts. The first is one within three beside the mirror of the moon, and the second is with the wisdom of the old drawing from sacred blood.”
“Shall we walk?” Melcorka asked.
“Not yet,” Bradan said. “Not until we know in which direction we should go.” He gave a twisted smile. “I'd hate to march two days north and find we should be heading south.”
Melcorka did not match Bradan's smile. “What do we do, then?”
“I once knew a wishing well near here.” Bradan said. “We will be safe there, with a rowan tree to guard us against the People of Peace.”
“If you think so,” Melcorka said as Bradan worried at her lack of spirit.
The well was as Bradan remembered it, two miles north of the Eildons, small and dark beside a rugged rowan tree. Around them, grass spread in a pleasant swathe of green, speckled with daisies, dandelions and buttercups, while bright butterflies floated free. A score of shaggy sheep grazed happily.
“Are you going to wish for an answer to the riddle?” Melcorka asked.
Bradan shook his head. “No. I'm going to stay close to the rowan tree and be thankful we got away from Elfhame. I only wish I knew how long we were there. Judging by the weather and the state of the country, it's spring, if not early summer.”
“We can ask that shepherd,” Melcorka gestured to a man who was herding his sheep with the aid of two black-and-white collie dogs.
Bradan gestured to the man. “Halloa there! Do you know what year it is?”
“What year is it?” The shepherd came closer, stroking his beard as if deep in thought. “The same year as it was yesterday,” he said, “and the same year as it will be tomorrow, but blessed if I know what number people say it is.”
Bradan nodded. “Aye; that”s a fair answer,” he said. “Is Mael Coluim still king of Alba?”
“King of Alba? There's a king, for sure, or maybe a queen, but I'm blessed if I know who it is. I don't speak to such people, you see, and they don't talk to me.”
Bradan tried again. “Do you remember a great battle down by Carham, near the Tweed?”
The shepherd stroked his beard again. “There have been many battles by Tweed. Which one were you meaning?”
“The one where King Mael Coluim defeated the Northumbrians,” Bradan fought to retain his patience.
“The one where a woman killed three Danish champions,” the shepherd was suddenly alert, nodding at Defender. “A woman with a sword like that.”
“That”s the battle,” Bradan said. “Could you tell me how long ago it was?”
“Six
