the raven queen by jules watson (excerpt)

8/7/2019 The Raven Queen by Jules Watson (Excerpt)

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The

Raven Queen


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CHAPTER 1

LEAFFALL

PUUUUUUUQ

CONNACHT

Maeve risked a glance behind her. By now her husbandwould know she had run. Were the clouds darker already

in the north? Dont be a fool. She heeled her horse over a ditch thatcut between banks of yellowing trees.

The stallions haunches plunged, his forelegs scrabbling.Maeve slammed into the saddle and clung on for all she wasworth, rubbing her chin on her shoulder. She might herself throweverything away, but she wouldnt let a manor a slip of thegroundtake it from her.

Dusk veiled the west of Erin by the time Maeves horse flewinto her fathers stronghold in Connacht. Ramparts of earthtopped with rows of stakes closed about her. Smoke leaked fromthatched roofs into the mist.

Cruachan.At the stables, Maeve leaped from her mount, Mealln, and

caught his foaming muzzle. Then she closed her eyes, her brow

on his. I am so sorry, a str. Woman and horse-breath mingled,and Meallns hide trembled beneath her palms. Rest now.

Maeve had been gone so long she didnt know the horse-boywho was gaping at her. Water him, please, she instructed the lad.


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I must see the king. And she bolted outside, her windblown hairflying.

At once she caught herself. Remember who you are. Drawingstraight, she picked her way along earthen paths between the lit-tle huts where the crafters lived, their mud walls damp with moss,their reed roofs sweeping the ground. Peoples chatter died as theystared at her mud-spattered trews and cloak, and the kilt of leatherstrips that covered her thighs, scored by branches and thorns.

Some of the crafters she knew, and their faces kindled whenthey recognized her. Lady, they stammered.

One of the weavers reached out gnarled hands that had oncebraided Maeves copper hair. Her eyes were milky. Is that you,child, back with us again?

Maeve touched her fingers, gentling her voice. Yes, Meara.But I must get to my father.

The noble houses that jostled for rank around the royal hallgaudy-painted, banners flyingwere nearly empty. The warriors

were no doubt huddled somewhere muttering about the king,Maeve guessed. The few older lords who were left stared at herwith narrowed eyes.

Her appearance in her old home often coincided with someupheaval, and men muttered that she brought trouble with her.Such troubles are not of my making. Maeve thrust that fierce thoughtat them with her chin, until they looked away.

The kings hall of Cruachan stood at the heart of Connachtlike a golden hill. A great ring of stone wall was topped by avast thatch roof that almost touched the ground, sweeping up toa carved crest hung with banners.

A circle of stakes around the doors held shields, racks ofantlers, and pennants of wolf-tails, now limp with rain. As Maeveapproached she smoothed her wild red hair, shielding her eyes

from the guards and sweeping past before they could stop her.The hall swallowed her, a cavern of oak pillars and thick furs

gleaming in the firelight. Flickering lamps picked out the glint ofshields and swords on the walls. A hint of strange herbs made

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Maeves nostrils flare. Yes, there was sickness here. The rumorsshe had heard were right.

Her heart thumped as she fumbled her hair into a braid withchilled fingers and pushed through the servants about the fire-pit.She clambered up the ladder to the sleeping floora ledge of oakplanks that ran inside the great roof. Beds nestled beneath theeaves, screened by wicker.

Hurrying to the kings chamber, Maeve charged into the backof her older brother Innel. Years of fighting and illness hadthinned the ranks of siblings until only these two remained.

Whipping around, Innel caught hold of her.Maeve stared over his shoulder at a spindly figure in a pool of

lamplight.Father?What the gods are you doing here? Innels arms were iron

bands, cutting off Maeves breath. Out, all of you! he growled atthe servants, who fled. Only then did he release her.

Maeve swayed. Her sire Eochaid had always been a stern oak

tree looming over her. Now he was a fallen trunk, his brancheswithered. The fiery hair hed bestowed upon her and Innel wasnow the hue of ash. And his face . . . The left side was melted likewax, and slack lips spun a thread of drool. One eye drooped, re-vealing a sliver of white.

Maeve had to make her throat move. When were you goingto tell me, brother?

Innels eyes were cold as he folded his brawny forearms. Swordscars webbed the corded muscles with silver. You seem to haveforgotten you are of the Ulaid now, sisterConors queen. You donot belong here.

Maeve got up. Her brother always stiffened his ruddy hair intospikes and wore his scars, broken nose, and butchered ears asbattle spoils. She must be wary, but she was also trapped. Her

husband King Conors famous Red Branch warriorsthe elitefighters of the Ulaid war-bandscould be coming already todrag her back to their fortress.

She curled her hand at her neck, hiding her pulse. For the

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safety of her people, she could not stay silent. I have run awayfrom Conor.

Innel grimaced and grabbed her wrist, pushing her against theslope of thatch. His breath reeked of ale. You stupid . . . willful . . .bitch.

Maeve arched a brow, breathless. Surely I cannot be all ofthose, brother. It takes sense to be willful, after all.

He growled, his grip biting. Father sealed the Ulaid alliancewith oathswithyou. Youll draw the wrath of Conor and his RedBranch upon us at the very moment he is weakened. Do you carenothing for our people?

I care only for them, which is why Ive come back! Shedragged herself free, rubbing at the welts he had left. I livedamong the Ulaid for two years. I know their heroes, their war-bands.Iknow the mind of Conor the cunning.

Innel paced, plucking at his ruddy moustache. We must handyou back to them without delay.

Maeves nostrils flared as she sought for her only weapon. Shecocked her head. So already you make Fathers decisions for him.You hover around his sickbed like a crow on a carcass.

Her brother clenched his fist.Maeve watched it, readying herself to duck.

Just then King Eochaid groaned, and his body stirred beneaththe coverlet of wolf fur. Fear darkened Innels face.

Ah, Maeve thought. She traced the bedpost with a shaking fin-ger. If Father is ill, other kinsmen will be gathering, as hungry as

you to rule. So you will send your thugs to drag me back to theUlaid now, leaving you here alone?

Innel scowled, knuckling his temple as if her words strainedhim. At last he stalked past her. You will soon be begging myfavor, sisterwhen I am king.

After he left, Maeve sank onto a stool at her fathers side andrested her brow in her hands. Her jerkin of toughened hide duginto her ribs, making it hard to breathe. What have you done? Butsometimes she had to act, or she felt she would burst open . . .

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A cracked wheeze. You . . . broke . . . my alliance?Maeve sprang straight. Eochaids good eye was blazing.Her gaze flew to his hand, and out of habit Maeve flinched.

Only then did she realize it still lay limp. Yes, Father.Conors warriors will fall upon us . . . battle and ruin . . . Spittle

gleamed on his lips. Traitor!Maeve was on her feet. Three times you married me off to

kings and princes, Father, and you broke two of those alliancesyourself. Just as I finally scrounged some scraps of peace. She gulpedthat down. Eochaid hated defiance but admired bravery. How towalk that line? She lifted her chin. None of them made war once

you returned their bride-gifts. They all had other women, andConor does, too. He is already betrothed to someone else, an or-phan girl he has raised as kin. He will soon have other wives . . .

You are his wife! You were given to him to seal our oaths, hisand mine.

A cow to be bartered away. She swallowed that, too.

You would not dare defy me if I was well, he slurred, with-ered fingers knotting the blanket. A raven, you are, come now topick over my bones.

Maeves nails dented her palms. No, she was merely desperate.And this close to himlistening to his labored breath, seeing hishelpless limbsshe could not think of anything save when hefirst made her feel this same way.

Paralyzed.Maeve turned from him, trying to fill her lungs. But she was

there again anyway, sixteen years ago . . . as if yesterday. The dayher father first gave her body away.

The firelit lodge of the aging King of Laigin, Ros Ruadh. Oncemore she tasted the sting of vomit in her throat, felt the drag ofrobes too heavy for a twelve-year-old. She heard the bracken

crackle as she cowered into the bed, too shocked to whimper;remembered the gleam of sweat on the Laigin kings brow as helabored over her, wheezing.

Maeves will had long ago conquered the pain. It was the

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invasion that was so hard to banish, the sense of her own brightself being ground away into nothing.

When she was sixteen, her father plucked her from the house-hold of the stern and indifferent Ros Ruadh, only to marry heragain to Diarmait, prince of Mumu.He pinned her with brute armsand a heavy belly, to make her writhe so he could strike her andstoke his lust.

She eventually found a way to make him leave her alone,though: claiming a say over her body by rutting with men of herchoosing, and many of them. She had to endure worse beatings atfirst, but finally Diarmaits rage turned to repulsion, as she hadhoped. He sought other wives and kept the alliance with Con-nacht in name only.

So again Maeve carved out a sliver of peace for herself, thistime for ten years. It was then her father went after his greatestprize yet: kinship with the Ulaid, the most powerful kingdom inErin. Two years ago Eochaid broke his oaths with Diarmait of

Mumu and she was sent away for a third time, to be Conorsqueen.

Of all her husbands, it turned out to be Conor, with his sar-donic smile and opaque eyes, his stiff body and dry, cool hands,who alone sought Maeves bed every night.

It was not she, though, that made him want to plow that field.At twenty-six when they wed, Maeve was already too old for his

tastes. Though graying and wrinkled himself, he liked freshmaids who had never been broken by another.

No . . . Conor wanted an alliance with Connacht, so his west-ern flanks would be protected. And more. In an ancient war, Con-nacht had taken the hill that was the sacred heart of Erin. Sincethen it was said that with their bodies, royal daughters of Connachtbestowed upon their mates the blessings of all the goddesses of

Erin.That was why Conor so fastidiously folded aside his embroi-

dered robes and lined his rings up on the dresser while his guardstied her wrists, taking no chances. And why, as he thrust atop her,

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he stared at the wall with such fierce determinationnot for her,but to possess Connachts sacred blood for himself.

Now she knew why.Maeve closed her eyes, blinked to clear them, and turning

around, sat by the bed. The movement made the lamp flame dip,and shadows reached for her. Father, she said in a low voice, Icame back because I heard you were sick, because I want to lookafter you.

So you will let me stay, and for once be Maeve alone. His little warrior,bold and fearless, who had once made Eochaid laugh withpride . . . before she grew breasts and he remembered that hecould use her for better ends.

No more marriages. No more bodies crushing her. No onebut her own self.

The kings good eye narrowed.Maeve took a breath. And I came back to bring you urgent

news of Conor mac Nessa. Maeve covered her fathers paralyzed

hand with her strong one. Conor does not want an alliance withConnacht.He wants to take us over.

Eochaid gargled in the back of his throat.Maeves knuckles went white. Thatis why I ran from him, to

tell you before it is too late!Eochaid struggled to wipe away his spittle with his other hand.

You heard him say this? What proof ?

Maeve hesitated. I heard . . . whispers, asides . . . remarks I didnot at first understand. But they have built a certainty within me.

He hissed under his breath, one side of his mouth pullingdown. So you know nothing.

Maeve clung to this lifeline. She had thought that if she couldlay some great triumph at his feet, he might free her and let herstay here at his right hand. Safe . . . at last. I know that Conor

wants to rule all of Erin.Know?She suppressed a shudder. I . . . feel it. Sense it. He wants to

rule everything. Her body had been conquered by Conor mac

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Nessa. His bones had caged hers. Of course her instincts sensedmore than anyone could ever know. And then, only days ago, shehad heard his whisper in the night . . . she was sure it was not adream . . . that he would wrench a son from her and use him tomake Connacht his own.

Men might use her, but not her child.Never again.Maeves belly cramped and she bit her lip. We must gather

fighters and attack before he doesBah. Eochaid struck her away. The four kingdoms have

stood for many ages; the gods hold this as sacred. We are well-defended, and Conor is powerful. It would be madness to attackhim without proof or reason. Unlessyou have just given him one.His lip curled. I did not ask you to spy, I sent you to be a queen tohim, to bind me to the Ulaid throne. And instead you insult him andrun away? I will pack you back off to him with no delay!

Maeve endured this torrent, but she would not endure Conor

mac Nessa again. One day he would come for Connachtherpeople, free and proudand she would be here to defend themwhen he did.

As Eochaid paused, wheezing, Maeve leaned her arms on thebed. She put her chin close to his on the pillow, like she did whenhe loved her like a son.

Before he sold her body to an old man.

She dropped her voice. If you order me back, Father, I willmake sure that all the bards of Erin sing of the heartless king whocrushed his loyal daughter, and so was punished by the gods. Herfinger shook as she pointed at his frozen legs. Can you survivethatwith your hold already weakened?

Wrath twisted Eochaids body up, rucking the blanket as hisface flushed. All at once his eyeball rolled back. Ah! Dagda and

Lugh . . . lords above . . . His gaze wandered across the roof-beams,suddenly untethered from all sense.

The hairs on Maeves neck rose.

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Her father chuckled, his eyelid twitching. Aye . . . my strength...my true blood. The one to come after me . . .

Maeves shoulders went rigid. What?Her fathers head tossed on the pillow. No . . . I . . .As Maeve gripped his arm, Eochaids good eye flared and

blinked. Sense gradually crept over it again, the pupil sharpening,the mists driven back.

I heard you. Maeve was breathing swiftly. I am the only onewith your courage, your strength! Set me in a place of honor be-side you!

A trusted adviser. Devoted daughter. Anything.With a stony face, Eochaid gathered the blankets and stared at

the roof. You speak madness because you think me mad. Youhave no allies or sword-brothers. You are nothing, a woman. Youhave no power.

Maeve stood, a knot gathering in her chest. You could giveme that.

Give me my own, so no one can hurt me ever again.Not even you.Eochaids bark of mirth turned to a coughing fit. Maeve did

not stir, and eventually Eochaid thumped his breast, wiping moredrool away. If you were truly mine, you would not need me togive you anything. His lips thinned. If Conor demands you back,I will tie you up and send you to him. If not . . . His eye darted

aside, and Maeve read a fear there that, for now, was greater thanConor of the Ulaid. For Eochaids seizure had struck a dangerousblow to his kingship.

I will keep you, for now. My kinsmen circle, waiting to snapme in two; waiting for my mind to falter along with my body. Youwill tell me everything they say. And if you amuse me, and feedme my slops, and bathe away my filth, I may keep you here even

longer.The bitterness was so sharp Maeve could taste it. Scraps, and

never more.

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PS

With heavy steps Maeve returned to the stable in the rain to un-saddle Mealln and shoulder her baggage. The dusk shadows hadgathered inside the round thatch building, with its two widedoors separated by a cluster of blackened oak posts. Her in-stincts flared when she saw her stallions ears turned back, but itwas too late.

So youve dragged yourself away from the old bastard at last?Maeve spun around, reaching for a blade she did not bear.

Conor never let her wear one . . . but gods, her hand itched for asword.

Her brother Innel was astride a mounting stone beside theother door, a dagger in his scarred hands. Frowning, he dug dirtfrom his broken nails with the blade, then leaned over to sharpenthe edge on the stone again.

Maeve decided to leave, then return later with someone she

knew. Innel would not hurt her horse, of that she was sure.Her brother was a heavy brute, but his warrior skills were

better-honed than that blade. Even as Maeve turned, his shoulderknocked her against the stable wall. Before she could twist away,his dagger hand thumped down beside her head, the other catch-ing her wrist as she struck at his belly.

Why are you here? he hissed. You think, after all this time,

you can be Fathers favorite again?Maeve could not stop the flare of her eyes. A strand of wet hair

was caught across her mouth.Innel laughed. His skin was ale-veined and thickened into

folds by the sun. Up close, the oil that curled his red hair smelledrancid. They were both born to be tall, with strong, sharp bones,but Innels had been overlaid with flesh from too much rich food

and mead. You stupid bitch.You really should think up some new curses, brother.Innels brows knitted, one dragged down by a ragged scar. He

had placed the knife along the wall, and now the cold tip brushed

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Maeves neck. She swallowed. Conor had kept a dagger like thatbeside her when he rutted, barely touching her throat, as if it wasnot really there.

You endanger us with this habit of running from your hus-bands, sister. Father will not stand for it again.

He broke my other marriage oaths himself.But you tried to run from Diarmait of Mumu once, I seem to

remember. That nearly cost us dear at the time.No one knew the reason for that flight but her father, Maeve,

and Diarmait himself. I went back to Diarmait, Maeve forcedpast the pain in her breast, and was a wife to him for many years.It was Father who took me away for the Ulaid

Then you should have stayed there! Instead, you risk ourkingdom and think Father will love you for this? If you have cometo lie, and plot, and take anything from me

Have a care, brother. Maeves voice was unsteady as she drewher heels together, pushing her back up the timber wall. I bring

Father important news of the Ulaid. She peeled the hair from herface, improvising wildly. That is why he made me wed Conorto spy on his Red Branch warriors.

Innel snorted, holes gaping in his grin where hed lost twoteeth. You mean spread your thighs for the Red Branch.

She turned her flaming cheek aside. It was our plan all along,mine and Fathers. So you will not harm me or that plan will be ru-

ined, and Father will blameyou for it.Innels smile flickered, but though his lip remained curled be-

neath his long moustache, he drew the knife away and sheathedit. Liar.

Her nostrils flared. Try him, then. But remember you are notthe only kinsman with a right to the throne. Others gather at hissickbed, lords with more allies than you. She bared her teeth. So

I wouldnt make any mistakes about my loyalties, and what pow-ersIhold.

It was a desperate throw that seemed to work.Innels mouth spasmed and he swung his hand. Maeve held

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rigid as he stopped short of her cheekbone, but he contentedhimself by pushing her temple with the heel of his palm, as if theywere still children. I will be watching, sister.

He lumbered away. Maeve did not move, though her bloodwas racing. Innel flexed his burly shoulders, his head swinging toeither side as he searched the darkness that gathered between thesquat houses, their roofs of thatch now dripping with rain.

He was afraid.They all were, for what might come now that Eochaids iron

grip was weakening.Maeve shouldered her pack and made her way to the womens

lodge beside the kings hall. There she sought out an older servingmaid who knew her from before. The little woman gripped herfingers with floury hands, touching her face and damp hair andmarveling that she had not changed. No one had taken Maevesbed-place yet, she told her.

Maeve climbed the stairs to the sleeping ledge beneath the

roof, shifting aside the piles of furs and baskets tossed on her mat-tress. The lumpy pad of bracken and linen was musty, but she didnot care.

Scraping a little hurdle of willow across for privacy, she threwdeerskins over the bed and, climbing in, drew a beaver fur overher. She settled on her back, groping either side for the mattressas if she was in a boat on a stormy sea.

She was alone.Her body could spread across the bed and meet no rigid flesh

or clenched muscles. No harsh breath would stir the darknessthat cradled her.

As her fingers reached the rails of the bed-box, and still thespace was hers, Maeves shoulders at last lowered. There, she lether breath out for the first time in days.

In years.

PS

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Later that night Maeve wrapped herself in furs and curled up onthe earthen ramparts around the mound of the warriors.

Despite the frost, the hall doors behind her were slightly ajar.A sliver of firelight spilled across the turf, along with shouts and aragged tune from bone flutes. The roar of warriors was pierced bythe shrieks and laughter of women.

Maeve sat with a rod-straight back, clasping her knees. As achild she often pretended she was a shield, arms bound aroundlegs like toughened hide to wood. One shield was not enoughnow, though, for Cruachan was a royal fort like no other in thefour kingdoms.

Mumu in the south was safe behind its mountains. The rocksof the Ulaid, in the North, yielded so much iron and gold thatConor had built the strongest war-band. In the east, Laiginboasted rich fields of barley and wheat. Close to the sea-routes,Laigin exchanged grain, furs, and hides for wine and other trea-sures from Gaul and the Middle Sea, and the other kingdoms re-

lied on that trade.Connacht in contrast was all pasture, soaked with marshes

and rivers, the meadows sprouting lush grass that fed the greatestcattle herds in Erin. It was rich in beef, hides, milk, butter, andhoney. These lowlands, though, were vulnerable.

Cruachan itself was built on an undefended plaina sacredplace where hundreds of barrows of the sdhe and the ancestors

were scattered over the turf. The ancient mounds were hallowed,and avoided by the living.

Tonight they were an ocean of darkness.But around them blazed life. Her peoples lives.Fires picked out the temples, kings hall, and warrior mound,

each surrounded by a ditch and bank with stakes marching alongthe top. The crafters and herders, however, lived in exposed huts

dotting the plain. Now Maeve yearned for a great fort on a hilllike Conor had at Emain Macha.

A place that was strong and high.

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She strained north toward the Ulaid. The wind brought downa flutter of dried leaves, rasping along the oak planks beneath her.The long dark would soon scour Erin down to bare trees andhills. There would be nowhere to hide.

A complex web of alliances bound the four kingdoms, spunfrom fear and mistrust. Though the young warriors boasted theirbravery with cattle-raids, there had been no great wars for many

years. Conors gold attracted the greatest warriors, but he knewthat if Mumu, Laigin, and Connacht ever banded together, eventhe Ulaid would fall. Of course, the others would not risk that,for fear one ofthem would then become all-powerful.

Such fragile alliances . . . and Maeve had just snapped one. Itwas either that or break in two herself.

She jumped at a querulous mew as something curled abouther legs. Her breath rushed out. So you are still here, my beauty.At first sight Maeve had been entranced by this odd striped crea-ture aboard a ship from the Middle Sea. Unlike hounds, Miu was

aloof and utterly uncontrollable.The cat had to be hers.At least you are happy to see me. Maeve caught the creature

to her chest, savoring the rare sense of a heartbeat next to herown. When Miu stiffened and twisted free, Maeve also tensed.Belatedly, she recognized one of her fathers warriors, Garvan,weaving along the rampart.

Heard you were back. Garvan hunkered down and propped ajug between his feet. Grasping Maeves head, he smacked their lipstogether.

Kissing him back, Maeve reached out and clouted him in thebelly.

Lughs balls! He rubbed his stomach. Do that again and Illempty my guts on your feet.

Charming. Maeve left her hand on his chest. Beneath a thatchof black hair, Garvan had a blunt, kind face, with a snub nosebroken like that of most warriorsand a mouth always ready to

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laugh. Below that he was far more interesting. At twenty-three, hismuscles were carved by swordplay, not slack like Conors.

Maeve was older than Garvan, but as a royal lady she hadbathed in milk, and plumped her skin with honey and Greek oils.The lines about her eyes were not deep, and her limbs were stilllithe from riding. I have not seen you for two years, and you think

you can bed me just like that? She prodded his chest.Weve never shared soft words, spitfire. Garvan belched, his

thumb drawing unsteady circles on her neck. So living amongthe Ulaid has weakened you, eh?

Balls to that! She smacked him again. Men always took fromher: Conor, Ros Ruadh, Diarmait. Her father. Now she would take,because pleasure could burn even this darkness away.

She spread her fist into soft fingers, stroking up Garvans neck.Encouraged, his hands dived inside her tunic and there paused.Maeve had always bound her breasts with linen to make it easy toride and throw a spear.

Garvan snorted. Still a battle to reach you, then, spitfire.I told you the Ulaid havent weakened me.Garvan clumsily unwound the strap, wafting freezing air

across her chest. Over his shoulder, Maeve faced the night, eyeswide open. Tell me which lords are circling, and what the mensay of my brother and father. Tell me everything.

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CHAPTER 2

LEAFBUD

PUUUUUUUQ

Run stumbled into the hollow and fell in the mud. Hecrooked his chin over his shoulder; he could no longer feel

the presence of the farm-lad who had led him here. His throatcramped in panic.

That sense of anothers spirit was all he had, now that he wasblind.

Run had felt the lads fear like a throb in the darkness aheadof him, all the way along the fringes of the marsh. At last it got thebetter of the child, and he fled from this ragged druid with the

blood-soaked cloth over his eyes. Far away . . .Run groped the pebbles, his mind wandering.The wisewomen on the islands used to whisper he was a stag,

not a man. They traced their fingers over his lithe flanks, tangledhis hair. Russet as a deer, they sang. The lords thought this fine formof his echoed a noble mind. They listened to him.

Run smiled, tasting fever-sweat. Now he made children run

away.Now the world was forever dark, the ground plunging with

every step. Thorns and branches always grasping at him from thatblackness, scoring his face and arms. Rocks striking his bones.

Run hung his head, water pooling between his fingers.These are the mere-lands, the frightened lad had stammered.Folk

get lost here and dont come back.

Swamps, lakes . . . yes, the heart of Connacht was wet. There iswater to sink into here. Run was aflame, the wounds in his eyesburning.

He made himself crawl on, groping through the sludge, nose

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thrust out to try and pierce the darkness. Yet every time he got hisfeet under him, he staggered and fell, until he gave up and couldonly belly his way over the mud. At last a vast quietness openedahead.

Lake-water glinted in his mind.There was no sound but the rustling of reeds. Run parted

them and fell to a sandy shore. There he stripped off his raggedtunic, the sweat running from his skin. He groped along until hefound some posts that arched a little jetty over the water.

His druid memories flared. People came here to give offeringsto the lake.

Now he would be an offering.When he reached the end of the jetty, the burning moved

from his eyes into Runs heart, and on his hands and knees hegagged on bile. He spat it out, but the gnawing remained. Whycould he not retch up guilt before he died?

I killed Lord Mulachs boy. I killed him.

The gods did not take him, though, when the burning pokerseared his eyes, so he knew their punishment must have been forhim to live. Could he force their hands now? The fire . . . his head . . .

His training could no longer control the pain.Drawing himself up, Run wondered in a daze whether to say

a prayer. But a gust of wind hit him, and he toppled. He plungedinto the blessed water.

He was flying, at last.Turning in darkness, he imagined sunlight shafting down and

cradling him in gold. He curled up like a babe, letting go of life,the relief pulling him deeper. Surrender. Salvation . . .

Something touched him.Fingers knotted his swirling hair, clasping his arms and legs.

They dragged Run back as he feebly struggled against them. At

last he broke into air and collapsed on the ground.The world spun as Run retched up gouts of brackish water.

The rest of his senses turned black as well, and then the voidclaimed him.

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PS

In the northern lands of the Ulaid, Levarcham hovered in theshadows of King Conors hall.

As the kings druid, she sat by him when he feasted chieftainsand traders. Tonight, though, the hall at Emain Macha had beengiven over to the Red Branch, the most highly skilled warriors inthe Ulaid war-bands.

All young fighters coveted a place in their sacred brother-hood, and the Red Branch had gathered from all over the Ulaidnow for a feast to initiate the new recruits. Elite they might be,but Red Branch bellowed, reeled about, and stunk of sweat andsword-grease like any other man. And still Levarcham couldntseem to leave.

A foreboding kept her here in the darkness beyond firelight.No one approached her. Her strange mingling of smooth,

watchful face and prematurely gray hair unsettled people, though

it was her limp they looked away from, this mark of the gods. Atforty, her hip deformity was paining her more each day, and thatswhat scared these brawny warriors.

The hall doors creaked open with a gust of icy air. There wassomething familiar about the man shouldering his way throughthe throng, with a plump woman behind him. Huddled into him-self, bowed headhe was no warrior. As the firelight caught

them, Levarcham came to attention. It was Fintan and Aiveen,Deirdres guardians.

Deirdre. An orphan maid betrothed to Conor since her birth,when the druids foretold that the girl would blossom into a rarebeauty.

Conors great desire. Conors prisoner.The king had taken the babe and hidden her in the woods to

be groomed as his bride, with only Fintan and Aiveen to raiseherand Levarcham to teach her. She was nearly eighteen, butlate-blooming, and Conor had not plucked her yet. No one wasmeant to ever leave her alone.

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My chick. Levarcham flew around the shadows to Conorscarved chair. Fintan was stammering an explanation to the king,and Aiveens eyes were terrified. Deirdre must be dead. Levar-cham groped for the back of Conors chair, winded.

She has disappeared, my lord, Fintan babbled. Run away. Hewrung scarred fingers together.

Levarcham could only see the gray braids snaking overConors shoulders. He had frozen. The silence drew out, the airstretched thin. What?

All the boisterous warriors turned at the slice of the kingsvoice. Levarchams mind hissed that this must not be revealed be-fore the fighting men and nobles. Deirdre had run away fromConor, and after his wife Queen Maeve ran from him, too. But itwas too late to stall Fintans tongue. She has been acting strangelyfor moons. And now shes just . . . gone.

No one noticed Aiveen scuttle to Levarcham in the shadowsand press something into her palm. Aiveens hand was icy.

Where is that wife of yours? The kings roar slammed intothe rafters. I want an account of this now !

Levarcham could only squeeze Aiveens arm. One of them wasgray, lean and severe, one plump and plain, but both wereDeirdres mothers. The druid managed to slink out the door asthe uproar grew behind her. The kings wrath turned into de-mands for horses, chariots, and weapons, and servants and war-

riors began scurrying around.Levarcham let the ruckus fade as she hobbled to her own

lodge and crouched by her fireside. She smoothed out the scrapof kidskin Aiveen had just given her. Deirdre had drawn uponit with charcoal.

It was a line of three blackbirds with a fourth hovering behind,wings spread. Levarcham had taught Deirdre to fashion birds

with great skill, and these could not be mistaken for ravens orcrows. They were blackbirds. Three singers with dark plumage . . .dark hair. Someone had ventured into the barren hills aroundDeirdres hiding place and helped her escape from King Conor.

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But who? Someone who could face down cold, storms, andwolves. Warriors. Three black-haired warriors. Famed singers.

There was only one family that fitted that description: Naisi,Ardan, and Ainnle, the three sons of Usnech. The fourth following ofher own will. Deirdre had broken from Conors cage after all.

She had run away with Naisi and his brothers.Levarchams sight clouded and her thumb caressed the char-

coal, smearing it. Sense compelled her to throw the kidskin intothe fire, but as she did, her heart reached to snatch it back. It wasthe last thing Deirdre had touched . . .

Sense won. No one must know how the girl had fled Conor.Levarcham knew him better than anyone. Last leaf-fall, after

Queen Maeve ran from him, Conor had stormed to the littlesteading in the woods to see Deirdre, seeking a balm for hiswrath. The blossoming beauty performed a swan dance for thebroken king, and that night Levarcham had watched Conorsmask at last slip.

All these moons she had not been willing to face what she sawbehind it, for it was primitive . . . savage.

An obsession so intense it turned his mind away from Maeveof Connacht altogether and fixed it upon Deirdre, as if the pos-session of hernay, her utter consumptionwould right everywrong and make him stronger than ever.

Now Levarcham saw his hungry face in the flames of her fire,

and clenched her fists in her lap. Deirdre must remain free, andnever fall into Conors hands again.

PS

A few days later King Conor summoned Levarcham.With leaden legs she climbed the stairs of his hall to his cham-

ber, an alcove sheltered by wicker screens. The chamber was al-most in shadow, a single lamp waving a feeble flame. The light wasenough, though, to root Levarcham to the spot.

Conor possessed a proud, bony face, with arched cheekbones

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and an elegant nose above thin lips. But his jowls and mouth werenow haggard, his rigid back slumped. The girl has taken refuge atAeds dun, to sever a betrothal she says was not of her own con-sent. She wishes to be released from her childhood betrothal tome. So what do you think, Oh learned one, of such a claim? Youknow the laws. Conor swung to her with feral eyes. Did you puther up to this?

Levarcham tried moistening her lips, but her tongue wasstuck. You know I had no forewarning.

Damn all that. Is what she says true?Levarcham was struggling to keep her wits afloat. Deirdre was

alive. A darker rush followed.Foolish maid! You wound such a king andthink no blows will be returned?

Woman, Conor hissed, answer me!Breathlessly, Levarcham relaxed her expression. Given her

unique birth, its possible. Of course, it is the elder druids youmust consult.

Her voice was calm, but Conor struck without warning. Hecrossed the room and gripped her jaw, forcing back her head.Did you know, he whispered, that she was stolen away by thatblack pup Naisi? Did you?

Levarcham kept still. She had never seen Conor lose his witsand lay hands upon a druid. The force of his wrath loosed strandsof graying hair that fell across his sunken cheek, and the sense in

his pale eyes had been shattered by something she now recognizedas humiliationa force greater than anger. You forget yourself,she gasped. He released her, and Levarcham rubbed her windpipe.

Conor spun about, gripping the edge of a low table. You toldme she would be pliant. Even if you were not there when the theftoccurred, still you bear the blame for this!

Hiding her wrath, Levarcham decided to divert him. As his

druid and talking-woman, she was meant to skewer the kingsfollies, remind him of generosity and wisdom. You say theftand steal, though everything points to Deirdre leaving of herown will. Even as she said it, Levarcham realized that Maeve of

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Connacht had chosen the same thing. Two women had left Conormac Nessa now, the most powerful king in Erin. And all his war-riors knew it, and all the other kingdoms soon would, too.

At that moment the lamp-wick burned through and the reedfell in the oil, sending out a bright flare. Only then did Levarchamsee what lay at Conors feet.

An Aegyptian chair of cedar had been torn apart. The legswere ripped off, the cushions shredded, feathers speckling thewood like lichen. The pieces that were left had been stamped onuntil they splintered.

Levarchams skin went cold.

PS

The Red Branch warrior Ferdia glanced at his friend Cchulainnsback.

The fort of the Ulaid chieftain Aed had fallen away behind the

green haze of budding trees, and Ferdia and his sword-brotherwere alone on the muddy track. They were in the Ulaid border-lands near Connacht to the west, and these dangerous hills werealmost deserted.

Clouds bore down on their heads, needling them with rain.Ferdia squinted through it, nudging his horse to catch up. Cchu-lainns own stallion was bound to his soul, and it was skittish now,

picking up his masters tension and tossing his head.Cchulainn had not said anything since they left Aeds strong-

hold. Naisi, his two brothers, and King Conors betrothedthegirl Deirdrehad all been sheltering with the old cattle-lord.Then someone tried to kill them on a deer-hunt, and one of Aedsnephews had died instead. Naisi and his brothers had fled withthe girl before Cchulainn and Ferdia could reach them.

Now Ferdia could see that Cchulainn was chewing hischeek. Ferdia waited, walking his horse beside his friend.

Cchulainn expelled a breath and struck his leather breast-plate. We were too late. We must get to Naisi and the boys before

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anyone else does. All these lies about their so-called betrayalitsmadness!

Ferdia grimaced. It was Conors greed in imprisoning the girlthat started all this. And his long-standingand unreasonable

jealousy of the three brothers that made them run as if guilty.We will not go home until we find them, Cchulainn mut-

tered, wiping rain from his face. I will not sleep in a bed whenthey are lying on the ground, cold and afraid!

His gray startled into a canter, and Ferdia kicked his ownhorse up, casting an eye about to see if there was anyone to over-hear. There were no woods, only brown fields that spread towardthe hills, the crops still slumbering beneath the wet soil.

It was vital that C gain his temper before facing the rest ofthe Red Branch. Not all the warriors loved the three brothers asFerdia and Cchulainn did. As for Conor . . . There was some-thing strange about this whole thing, black and twisted.

At that moment, Cchulainn bellowed and streaked ahead,

his fair hair streaming out from his leather helmet. Ferdia forgoteverything else, desperately heeling his horse. He and C hadtrained together, fought across Erin and Alba, and shared food,beds, and women. So Ferdia alone could feel the rise of Cchu-lainns sacred battle-rage as if it surged through his own body.

Cchulainn was the Champion of the Ulaid, the Hound ofCullen, the greatest warrior in Erin. Most of the time his blue

eyes were a calm sea, his bright, boyish face belying his twenty-five years. It was easy then to forget the divine rage he could sum-mon, the violent storm he unleashed in battle.

And that when he was exhausted like this, his control of thatfrenzy could falter.

Ferdia caught up, hauling his horse before C to make himstop. We dont know which way they went! Ferdia panted. Weve

been two days without sleep, and darkness falls. Let us camp.We can track them better in the morning.

Cchulainns scowl softened and gave way to a sigh. Hescrubbed his wet face on his shoulder.

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As they unpacked, the rain blew away. The dark was soonpushed back by glowing flames, a grove of oaks cocooning thetwo men. On the road, Ferdia did not have to share the Houndwith the king, the Red Branch, the adoring crowdsor Emer,Cchulainns wife.

Who did kill Aeds nephew, then? Head down, Cchulainnunrolled his bed of furs. They all say Connacht raiders, but Naisiwas their main target.

Raiders from Connacht would spear the nearest man, Ferdiaagreed, tugging a dry tunic over his head and ruffling his darkhair to dry it. Better they expunged this now, so neither betrayedthemselves in other company.

Hmm. Cchulainn gulped from a flask of ale.He didnt offer it to Ferdia, and Ferdia didnt reach for it. Name

someone the supreme warrior and every man with a swordwanted to take you down, so by habit Ferdia stayed clear-headedto cover Cs back.

The Hound swallowed, watching steam rising from their wetmantles. Do you think the king . . . ?

You saw his distress when he found out about the attack onNaisi. The Red Branch must not falter. Ferdia had been repeating thatto himself every day. Doubts must never come between RedBranch warriors, rumors must not spread. Conor wouldntbreak the honor vows by killing his own fighters.

But Conor is no warrior. The Hound picked at the wax capof the flask. He never took our oaths. And . . . how can we forgetthe rest? Cchulainn jumped to pace around the fire. The flamesturned his hair red and reflected in his eyes, so he looked like thehound after which he was named. At her birth, yes, the druidsspoke a prophecy over Deirdre that Erins greatest beauty wouldbring Erins greatest woe. But it was not the ruin only of the Ulaid

they foretold, Fer. It is the ruin of the Red Branch itself.A night breeze scraped the branches against each other, and

Ferdia brushed his neck with irritation. Uttering such wordsmade of them a spell, summoning the mischievous sdhe who

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roamed the dark woods. We fight that by keeping our sense,brother.

Tell that to Conor, who can halt this unraveling with onedeedby letting the girl go.

You tell him; youre his bloody champion. And his kin.Cchulainn cast a withering glance at Ferdia. I have. I may as

well be talking to a rock.Ferdia picked a stick from the pile, cracked it and threw it on

the flames. The fairest thing I can say about Conor is that he isclever. Clever men would not risk ruin by stooping to such a be-trayal.

Women make men lose their wits.Cchulainn would know; he had Emer. If the Champion of

the Ulaid had a fabled sword-arm, in all good bard tales he had tohave a fabled love as well. Ferdia looked down, his lip curling atthe hollow drop in his breast. Lughs balls, C. Conor would notknow love if it threw him to the ground, sat on him, and beat him

about the head! He flung a shard of wood at his friend.It hit Cs back and the Hound grinned, planting himself on

his bedroll. He dug out some dried deer meat. We need to findthose boys and hammer sense back into them and into the king.

Make it all fit together again.Ferdia watched the Hounds battle-scarred fingers tearing the

meat into shreds. C could forge anything he wanted with those

hands.They could bind or destroy with equal fervor.

PS

Run wheeled through a great darkness. At its heart was a tinyflame, and his awareness was tied to it by a thread. He was ex-

hausted by his endeavors to snap the thread so the flame could goout and he could be set free.

The light guttered. It was nearly gone.He was nearly gone.

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At once he was surrounded by an urgent whirl ofothers, vastand leaping flares of light, radiating white fire in all directions.These flames twisted themselves into intricate patterns, unwind-ing and then coiling up again, their movements too fast to follow.Living stars.

Their dance caught Run up and spun him away. And he for-got the little fire he had been trying to extinguish.

Then he was sinking through the lake again, the water now aluminous green.

A single star still hovered over him. It was formed of coloredrays, as when sunlight shines through a crystal. Run stared intothe water-star, and the star gazed back. For a moment it shim-mered into an elongated face: ears, chin, eyes, head, and limbsformed of streaming fire.

Then that fire moved closer and engulfed Run, as if he wasfalling into the sun.

So the last of the darkness receded.

Run solidified again to bones and flesh. Feather-light touchesbathed his ruined eyes. Those fingers were insubstantial, some-where between warmth and breath. A band settled over his browand a familiar scent tugged at him. Crushed herbs.

Waves of sound passed through him. Singing?A sweetness dribbled onto his tongue. Herbs, petals, honey . . .

the essence of earth soaking into his body. Its vitality spread

through his wasted flesh like water through tree-roots.Life coursed through him.Run gasped, and drew in a deep breath of his own will.

PS

Time passed, the days growing warmer. Run was comforted by

the cool weight of the poultice over his eyes. The nectar changedto berries, pressed between his cracked lips, followed by offeringsof bread crumbs and dabs of milk.

And then came a day unlike any other.

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Light filtered into Runs deadened mind. The poultice wasgone. There were blurs of green and white that moved with the

rustling above his head. He kept drifting through his haze, be-cause he knew he must be dreaming. And in this dream, heseemed to have eyes again.

The rippling shapes slowly resolved into pale blobs with darkspots. Faces. Eyes.

People.Runs druid mind stirred from slumber, for he was trained to

seek meaning in dreams. The strangers were small and slight, andwore deerskins. Dark hair fell to their shoulders, framing narrowfaces with eyes the brown of fallen leaves. Unintelligible soundsswirled about them, an echo of the music that had woundthrough his sleep for so long.

The brine of the lake prickled his nostrils, and Run shud-dered. He did not smell in dreams. He sent his awareness alonghis limbs. He distinctly felt the uneven clumps of bracken underhis back and thighs, and the furs brushing his naked chest. He wasawake.

Awake.Runs blood roared in his ears.

And he could see.

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the raven queen by jules watson (excerpt)

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