“Come on, little man,” said Donnan, ushering the child out after the woman Kaetha assumed was his mother. He looked to be about seven at most. The quiet woman stared at the burnt door as she walked out, her dark eyes wide.
As she ran, Kaetha glanced over her shoulder, smiling at the sight of the women and the boy, running free from their cramped prison, into the open grass, through the fresh, blowing wind, into the cover of the forest.
The woman with the boy spat. “I never want to set my eyes on Doocot again,” she said. “We’ll find a new home, lad. You wait and see.”
The rain from earlier was still trickling through branches and dripping from leaves and she stopped when she splashed into a puddle, plunging her hand in the water for some momentary relief from the pain but it swiftly grew hot again. However, despite the pain and the wave of tiredness that came over her from her use of magic, she felt elation rippling through her. They had succeeded. They had saved these innocent people from death.
Through a cluster of criss-crossing branches, she saw a dim light. Our fire’s closer than I thought. Then the light shifted in the darkness. She froze. It’s coming towards us.
“Get down – everyone! Down!” she breathed, flattening herself to the ground.
“Ma,” squeaked the boy.
“Shh.”
Kaetha’s heart beat harder and harder in her chest. There was a swishing of leaves close by. She saw now that it was a torch ahead, brightly blinking as it passed tree trunks, creeping closer. She gripped Donnan’s sleeve. Torchlight reflected in his eyes, his skin brightening in its amber glow.
A chill flooded through her as she saw that they were surrounded by many cloaked figures. Some carried torches, all had their faces hidden under their hoods, swords glinting at their sides.
TWENTY TWO
The Silent Ones
One of the cloaked men pulled back his hood, revealing a hard-angled face, half of which was marked with a strange tattoo which reached up across one side of his bald head. It might have depicted tree branches, antlers or a bear’s claw marks. She couldn’t tell which. In Morwena’s old Edonian tales, a person with a tattooed face was likely to be a great warrior. She looked again at the sword at his side and knew that there was no point in trying to fight. Neither, surrounded as they were, would they get far if they tried to flee.
Flickering torchlight fought against the shadows as they were led through the forest. Tam was out there, surely not far away. Yet, if she called out for him to help, Mairi might come too. She didn’t want to risk her being captured or anyone she cared about getting hurt if it came to a fight.
“Where are you taking us?” she asked.
No reply.
“Why don’t you speak?”
Silence.
“For God’s sake!”
The only response she got from him was a frown.
She trudged through the darkness as if in a strange dream, thistles scratching her ankles, branches jabbing at her like spears, all the time a hand gripping her shoulder, leading her on and on.
“Don’t worry lad. We’ll be alright,” she heard the woman from Doocot saying to her son. Kaetha was impressed by how convincing she sounded.
Eventually a torch was raised up ahead of them and they came to a stop. Flickering light cast jagged shadows high before them, revealing a wall of rock. Several cloaked figures gathered before it, including the bald man. Perhaps it was the flickering of the torch but Kaetha thought that patches of light and shadow were shifting oddly, as if the rock were moving. Clunking and scraping sounds cut through the stillness.
“Did you see that?” said Donnan. She shared a confused look with him before someone prodded and pushed her between the shoulder blades.
“Stop it. Alright. We’re walking on,” she said. Only when she was up close to the rock did she see the entrance yawning before her. She shivered, certain it hadn’t looked like this a few moments ago. Her footsteps made a hollow tapping as she walked in and the air tasted stale. Torchlight danced up stone walls, stretching up the steep tunnel. Blisters rubbed sore on Kaetha’s feet as she climbed on and on for what felt like hours, led by the strange, silent people.
When air swirled fresh and cool against her face, she glimpsed a pale light ahead. Dawn had crept, cold and grey, over the Gormanaich Mountains. Her heart beat faster as she stepped from the tunnel, gazing at the soaring slopes and her stomach lurched at the sight of the sharp rocks which plunged down into the mist and shadow below.
They were ushered to a clear mountain stream. Kaetha caught water in her cupped her hands and drank thirstily. Then they were brought mules to ride on as the path which hugged the mountainside rose increasingly steeply. As they rode, a haze of mist clung damply on Kaetha’s skin, then, with a swirl of wind, the air cleared and the sight before her snatched away her power of speech.
Steps were carved in the grey rock ahead, branching into more staircases which led to covered walkways and exquisitely carved wooden doors, framed by stone pillars and arches. Arched windows were cut into the mountainside and walled platforms jutted out from it, holding arrays of colourful plants. Beautiful as all these signs of human habitation were, they were dwarfed by great images carved into the mountainside: sun, moon and stars; giant human figures; trees, birds, fish, and beasts, including mythical dragons and firebirds.
They walked up the central staircase to a set of doors as tall as her house in Braddon, doors which were carved with intricate symbols and which creaked open onto a cavernous room. She stepped
