“Do you eat those right away?”
One fish escaped, wriggling and flopping on the beach. Lorcan jumped and tried to catch it, but it leapt from his fingers and into the water. Bran leapt back into the river after the escapee, splashing all of them with a wave. Lorcan shouted in complaint, and even Fingin chastised the eager hound.
In apology, Bran placed both his front paws on Lorcan’s shoulders and licked his face, making him laugh and scream for the dog to stop. However, Bran held him down and gave him a thorough licking. The boy earned a few shallow scratches, but his face glowed with delight.
When they settled, Fingin saw a bird flit by and had an idea. “Lorcan, have you ever held a b-b-bird?”
The boy shook his head, so Fingin said, “Come closer, wee blackbird. I won’t hurt you.” He held out his hand, sending a mental urging to the bird to alight upon it. The bird considered him at first, cocking his head back and forth. It flew to a closer branch and regarded the trio for a few more moments. After hopping to the ground, it drew closer every few moments, jumping in a zigzag until it remained just out of reach.
Lorcan froze, entranced by the sight.
“Remember to breathe, boy! Blackbird, will you come to my hand? We won’t harm you.”
The bird’s gaze flitted between him, Lorcan, and Bran. It hopped on Lorcan’s leg. The boy drew in his breath, and his eyes grew wide.
“Can the boy pet you, wee bird? Be gentle, Lorcan. Barely touch him.”
Lorcan reached out a hand with tentative eagerness. The bird allowed the touch, bobbing twice. “Do you have seed?”
Fingin shook his head. “No seed, but I might tomorrow.”
“It’s so soft and light! No weight at all. It’s like an air spirit.”
Fingin’s grandmother used to speak of the nature spirits. Spirits of the air, the water, the trees, all the wild things around them. “Perhaps that’s what he is. Have you ever seen an air spirit b-before?”
A strident voice cried out, “What are you doing! What devilry is this?”
Lorcan’s blissful smile turned to horror, and the bird flew away in an instant. Bran jumped up and growled, placing himself in front of both Lorcan and Fingin.
Aideen climbed down the stone steps to the beach. She grabbed Lorcan’s arm, ignoring Bran’s furious barking. “You’ll come home this instant, young man. I’ll have none of that pagan evil taught to my child! You’re not to touch my son again, do you understand? You will not speak to him, you will not seek him out, and you will not teach him your evil ways! Begone, devil! Out with you!”
She held up the small wooden fish on a string around her neck, a symbol of Fingin’s parents’ new religion.
“It wasn’t … evil! Just a b-b-bird! I s-s-s…” He swallowed, trying to get control of his voice. “I swear!”
“Stop! Do not swear at me, devil-man! And call off your hellhound. I’ll have none of you! Begone! I banish you!”
She dragged Lorcan up the hillside, though the boy sent an entreating look. Fingin dropped his gaze. He knew what happened next.
Next would be the grumblings, the rumblings of something terrible going on in his glade. Maybe a few villagers, maybe a mob. They’d come with their torches and their burly men, and force him to leave. The last time they’d almost caught him. Their angry voices and burning torches still haunted his dreams.
He’d learned his lesson as a child. Escape before it got to that point would be safer. No amount of argument, as forced and horrible as his voice delivered it, had ever before changed their minds. He’d vowed to stop trying after the last time.
Once again, he’d have to find a new home, a new place to sleep.
With sullen steps and weary bones, he gathered his catch, dragged all his things up to his hut, and packed his meager belongings.
Chapter Four
The fishing net took the most room in his bag. Three blankets, the few tools he had accumulated, dried fish, two spare léinte, some pottery, his cooking pot, and his twine took up the rest of the space. Even that little would be heavy enough after the first day of traveling, in his experience. At least Bran would keep him company on his journey this time.
Bran jumped all around the small hut, excited, and anxious at the same time.
“Where will we go? Will we travel far? Will we meet other people? Will we be able to fish?”
“I’m not certain where we’re going, or how far we’ll travel. We’ll surely meet someone. I won’t settle anyplace I can’t fish.” Fingin considered the hound. “Would you like to choose which direction we start?”
Bran’s head popped up, and he glanced left, right, and left again. “Which is the best direction?”
“The best direction is away from here. Just don’t go that way.” Fingin pointed south. He’d come from the south when he moved here.
The dog woofed and shook his head, an action that moved down his body. He sniffed the air in several spots around the glade and finally chose a spot, opposite from the path to Lorcan’s home. “This smells like rabbit. Let’s go this way. The other way has badgers.”
Fingin grinned and patted Bran on the head. “Rabbits sound better. Lead the way, trusty hound!”
He reveled in the familiar freedom of being on the road, but at the same time, the dread of the unknown crowded against his mind. They had enough food for three days, no
