“Wash us?” Melcorka said. “I can step into the burn if that helps!”
“There is a proper procedure to these things,” Astrid said. “If you wish I could only wash Bradan and leave you to the grey men. I am sure you would enjoy floundering in the mist again.”
“You do what you need to do,” Bradan said, as Melcorka glowered at them both.
“I removed the curse, but the evil remains,” Astrid explained. “Unless I complete the ritual, you will remain vulnerable, and one sight of the grey men may again unhinge your minds.” She gave a small, bitter smile. “When people speak of evil demons and dragons and such like, they think of monsters that you can defeat with a blade. Evil does not come merely in a physical form; it inhabits the demons of doubt, confusion, distrust and depression. It enters your mind, so you do not know who you are or why you are here. That is the effect of a spell, of the evil eye, which is as potent as any fire-breathing monster.”
“We have experienced such evil,” Bradan said, “and I don't want any more, thank you!”
Astrid smiled. “I don't blame you, Bradan. Come on then. I need some sort of receptacle to put the water in.”
They found an old wooden bucket under a thicket of nettles, and as Melcorka watched, scowling, Astrid filled it by hand, scooping water from the burn and chanting an invocation to herself.
“Words are critical,” Astrid said. “Words have more power than the blade of any sword.”
“I will remember that next time I am in a battle with the Norsemen,” Melcorka said. “Rather than drawing Defender, I will shout at them, loudly.”
Having filled the bucket, Astrid looked at both Bradan and Melcorka. “Who is first? Who is not scared of cold water?”
“I will be first,” Melcorka stepped forward.
“Lie on the ground and remove your clothes,” Astrid spoke without emotion. When Melcorka obeyed, Astrid bathed her, chanting all the time. When she was finished, she nodded to Bradan. “You next, Bradan.”
Glancing at Melcorka, Bradan followed her example, lying with his eyes closed as Astrid took her time washing his body.
“That's you safe, Bradan!”
Dressing hastily, Bradan nodded his thanks. “I don't feel any different.”
“It's not how you feel that matters,” Astrid said. “It's how you are.” She smiled. “Now we'll see if I was successful.” She shook the bucket. “This is the water with which I washed you. I'm going to throw it against that rock,” Astrid pointed to a rounded white boulder. “Watch.” Stepping back, she tossed the water. For a moment, nothing happened, and then the boulder exploded into a hundred fragments.
“What in the name of the wee man?” Melcorka half drew Defender until she realised that Astrid was nodding her head in satisfaction.
“Good,” Astrid said. “That shows that I was successful. I removed the evil from you and threw it on to the rock. That's why it exploded.”
“Thank you, Astrid.” Bradan said.
“I'll collect a little more of this holy water,” Astrid dipped her flask into the burn, “in case we need it.”
Melcorka stamped her feet on the ground in impatience. “Are we going to move? I want to find this Dun Dreggan.”
“Over the pass then,” Astrid said, “without any mist this time.” Ignoring Melcorka”s glare, she stepped close to Bradan.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finleac looked upward, where the two ravens were circling against a bright sky. “These birds have been with us for days,” he said cheerfully.
The men and women at his back laughed with him. “They are making sure that we don't get lost,” a red-haired woman named Breana said.
“That may be true,” Finleac said. “I feel that we've been riding around these blasted hills for ever, Breana.”
“Yes, my lord,” Breana said. “And it has been such a tiresome journey.” She laughed again, tossing her hair over her right shoulder.
“I suppose there have been compensations,” Finleac said.
“You suppose!” Breana pouted. “I shall remind you of your supposition later, Lord Finleac, when you crave my company tonight.”
Finleac turned away, hiding his smile. “There are other women,” he said.
“Perhaps so, my good lord.” Breana rode close, brushing her thigh against Finleac's. “But none as good as I am.”
“Good?” Finleac barked his laughter. “I would never call you good, Breana. Skilled perhaps, agile certainly, but never good.”
“Would my lord prefer me any other way?” Breana asked.
“Your lord would prefer you any way you choose, as long as you remain skilled, agile and undoubtedly not good!” Finleac said, to the renewed laughter of the Picts behind him.
“As your lord pleases,” Breana said. “Are we stopping for the night soon?”
“Breana is desperate for your company, Finleac!” One of the male riders shouted, which encouraged a barrage of lewd remarks that had Finleac laughing nearly as loudly as Breana.
They camped beside a copse of elder trees near a small lochan, with granite heights frowning all around and black-headed gulls screaming at them. With sweet water for horses and humans and trout from the loch, they feasted that night before Breana dragged Finleac behind the trees.
“You are insatiable,” Finleac said.
“Are you complaining, my lord?”
“Come here, and I'll show you.” The trees provided a slightly more secluded spot away from the amused eyes of the company, although Breana's giggles and gasps told them all they needed to know. With their lord providing an example, other couples made similar arrangements, so it was a happy gathering as a harper played soft music that echoed around the walls of the corrie. After a while, they settled to slumber with only the ripples from the lochan as accompaniment.
“Finleac!” The name broke their exhausted sleep at midnight. “Finleac of Fidach!”
“What the devil?” Finleac pushed Breana away and rose, naked as a baby, from his blanket. “I am Finleac of Fidach! Who calls my name?”
“I do! The one you know as the Butcher!”
Finleac stepped to the shore of the lochan where the
