Excerpt
Chapter One Winter was coming. Faolan saw its touch on the land as he traveled southward out of the province of Ulaid toward a place called Cloud Hill. In the mornings the grass was crisp with frost and a shroud of mist hung low over the hills, wrapping itself around barn and stable, cottage and byre. The fields held only stubble, among which crows made leisurely paths, exchanging occasional sharp comments. The skies were uniformly gray. So long absent from his homeland, he had forgotten the rain; how it came every day without fail, gently insistent, penetrating cloak and hat and boots so a wayfarer could never be entirely dry. He reached Cloud Hill in a fine, drenching drizzle. The tiny settlement huddled under the sudden rise of the hill, low stone huts clustered in a scattering of leafless rowans, geese gathered in the shelter of an outhouse with only half a roof, a larger hall standing square, with smoke struggling up from the thatch and a skinny gray dog skulking in the doorway. The rain became a downpour; Faolan decided it was time to put aside secrecy, and made for the entry. The dog rumbled a warning as he approached, and a man twitched aside the rough sacking that served as a door, peering out into the rain. The growl became a snarl; the man aimed a kick at the creature and it cringed back into the shadows. “Whats your business?” The tone was both surly and defensive. “Shelter from the rain, no more.” “Not from these parts, are you?” the man muttered as Faolan came in. “Hardly a day for traveling.” There was a small crowd within, gathered around a smoky hearth, ale cups in hand. The wet was an excuse, maybe, for a brief respite from the work of smithy or field. A circle of suspicious eyes greeted Faolan as he made his way toward the fire, his cloak dripping on the earthen floor. He could not tell if this was home or drinking hall; the atmosphere was hardly convivial. “Where are you headed?” asked the man who had let him in. “That depends.” Faolan sat down on a bench. “Whats the name of this place?” “What place are you looking for?” Hed need to take this carefully. Deords kin might be among these wary-looking folk, and he would not come right out with his bad news in public. “Im seeking a man named Deord,” he said. “Big fellow, broad shoulders; from over the water in Caitt territory. Im told he has kin in a region known as Cloud Hill.” Muttering and whispers. A cup of ale was slid across the table in Faolans direction; he took it gratefully. It had been a long days walking. “Whats Deord to such as you?” asked a tall, thin man with calloused hands. “Such as I?” Faolan kept his tone light. “What do you mean?” “Youve a look of someone,” the first man said. “Cant quite put my finger on it.” “Ive been away. Years. Deord and I share a past; we were guests in a certain place of incarceration. Youll know where I mean, perhaps. Theres a name associated with it, a name folk in these parts will be familiar with.” Another silence, then, but with a new feeling to it. The cup of ale was joined by a hunk of bread and a bowl of watery soup brought in by a woman from another chamber behind. She stopped to watch him drink it. “You and Deord, hm?” the first man said. “Hes not here, hasnt been these seven years or more. Not that there arent folk nearby would be wanting news of the man. By the Dagdas bollocks, that fellow was a fighter and a half. Built like a prize boar, and light as a dancer on his feet. When did you last see him, then? What did you say your name was?” Faolan thought of lying and decided it would make things too difficult later. “Faolan. Yours?” They introduced themselves. The spokesman, Brennan. The tall man, Conor. The woman, Oonagh, wife of Brennan. And others: Donal, Ultan, Aidan. Someone threw another log on the fire, and the ale jug went around again. “I saw Deord last summer,” Faolan said. “We met in Priteni lands.” He was hacked apart and died in my arms. He honored a vow and was slain for it. “A good man. If he has kin in these parts, Id welcome the chance to speak with them.” Brennan glanced at his wife. Conor exchanged looks with Ultan. The gathering was suddenly full of something unspoken. Aidan, a lad of sixteen or so, cleared his throat. “Were you really in Breakstone?” he asked in a whisper. “And you got out, just like him?” “Hush, lad,” said Brennan. “If youd your wits about you, youd know men dont like to speak of such things.” He addressed Faolan again. “You know Deord came back? Lasted from plowing to harvest; couldnt cope with it any longer. The time in there scars a man. Only the strongest make it out, and only the strongest of those pick up the pieces of what they had before. He came home and he left again. Where did he go? Whats he doing?” Sleeping a sleep of no dreams, and the forest creeping over to hide him. “Id best pass my news to the family first, thats if there is one,” Faolan said. “He mentioned a sister.” “You got the Breakstone mark?” someone asked in a rush. “Show us.” It was, Faolan supposed, necessary to prove he was not lying. He obliged by turning his head and lifting his hair to show the little star-shaped tattoo behind his right ear. “Just like Deords,” said the man called Ultan. “And yet theres a look about you that suggests captors rather than captives. You mentioned a name that goes with talk of Breakstone. Your face puts me in mind of that name; an influential one.” “Its like a basket of eggs or a creel of shellfish,” Faolan said smoothly. “Theres good ones and bad ones. Every family has both. I wasI am a good friend of Deords. The men who escape Breakstone Hollow are bonded for life. So, his sister? She married a local man, I understand?” He drained his cup. “This is uncommonly fine ale, Brennan.” Brennan favored him with a cautious smile. “My own brew. Deords sister is Anda. They live around the hill in a hut on its own. We dont see much of them. Her man, Dalach, is a farrier; follows the horse fairs. He might be away. You should find someone there. Its wet out; why dont you leave it till the morning? We can find you a pallet in a corner.” “Thank you,” Faolan said, taken aback that the mention of Deord and Breakstone had turned deep suspicion so quickly into welcome. “Id best be getting on.” “The offer stands,” said Brennan, glancing at his wife. “If you find you need a bed, theres one here. Its a fair walk ove