Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liadan’s group didencounter other survivors, shadowy figures that materialized out of the trees in small bands of two, three, or more. They came with their own terrible stories, tears, and hushed lamenting.
Ferghan gathered them in. Some of the other old men sought to soothe them, an impossible task. The rain passed, and far to the west, the sky brightened though ugly clouds still hung overhead.
West. Where Ardahl was. In battle.
Had he survived?
Wet to the skin, they shivered. The children wept until they cried themselves to sleep. Maeve remained near Liadan, always close at hand.
“Has anyone seen the chief’s wife?” someone asked. She spoke in a whisper. Sound carried, and they were mice hiding from an eagle.
No one had.
“There will be more groups o’ us,” Ferghan reiterated. “She and his wains may be there.”
Time passed. Liadan found herself sitting on a fallen tree, shivering so her teeth rattled, with Maeve still beside her.
“Come,” Ardahl’s mother said. “Ye can leave go of that sword now. Let’s see if you are hurt.”
“I canna.” Liadan’s hand remained fused to the hilt. Spots of blood, too thick to be chased by the rain, clung to the blade.
“Ye can. Here now, gi’ it to me.” Maeve attempted to pry the weapon from Liadan’s hand. Liadan would not release it. “Now, lamb,” Ardahl’s mother crooned. “At least lay it across your knees.”
Liadan did. It balanced there, winking at her in the glimmers of western light.
“Ye gave this sword to me.”
“I did,” Maeve confirmed.
“Whose is it?”
“That is Ardahl’s. He fights wi’ your brother’s, as ye know. That was left with me. I brought it awa’ when my hut burned. And when I heard—when I heard the screaming begin, I drew it out.”
Staring at the sword, Liadan said nothing. He had carried this at his side. His hand, like hers, had grasped the hilt.
Her heart tried to stir within her. Had he survived? Had he fallen? Did he exist yet beneath this same sky? She shut the thoughts down tight.
She could not let herself feel.
“Come now, let us see if you are hurt.”
“I am all right.”
“Ye are no’. There is blood on your clothing.”
Liadan looked down at herself in surprise. “Not mine. I do not think.”
“Aye, it is. Ferghan?” Maeve called softly. “Where is the healer?”
“Is she hurt bad?”
“Aye.”
“But I feel naught.”
Shefeltnaught.
