“Atholl. Stay,” he commanded. His dog sat next to Mairi, so he left them without looking back and crawled through a berry thicket, his bow catching on the branches but he was afraid to be too much in the open this close to the castle. He carefully threaded his way through another copse of trees, and edged toward the rim of the woods, moving from trunk to tree trunk, using them as shields.
He came down a small rise and over a rock outcrop where he could finally see the whole scene. Motionless in horror, he sagged against a tree, staring at something he could never imagine, before his knees gave out and he sank to the ground on his hands and knees. His breath was coming so fast he became light-headed. He crawled to the edge of a rocky rise and stared at the unbelievable scene below.
All was afire. The watch towers were gone. The drawbridge spanning the ditch was down and abandoned. No guard, none of his father’s men, though since his death many had gone back to their own families at his mother’s urging.
Flames flared from the high palisade built of huge, dense logs close to four times the height of a man. The logs had been carved to sharp points and stood as the first defenses past the ditch andsurrounded the whole of the motte, there to protect the inner buildings. The roof and upper parapet of the tall wooden hall was burning, and what structures hadn’t burned nearly to the ground inside the bailey were pluming up into the air in bright and deadly flames, sending huge clouds of black smoke into the air. He saw a few of the servants leaving the castle and running down the road, their arms filled with chickens and geese or other supplies.
On the west side of the hall was his brother running down the outside stairs of the burning building, pulling along their mother, her familiar dark green hooded cloak floating behind her as they ran. They reached the third story landing and Lyall watched in horror as her cloak caught fire, the flames fanning out behind her and creeping up her clothing. He shouted but they could not hear him.
Without thinking he leapt to his feet and jumped down to the soft ground below the rocks, pausing only to catch his balance, and then he ran as if the Devil were after him, toward the edge of the forest directly across from the castle cave. He looked quickly then burst out into the open and leapt into the ditch, where he hit hard and rolled down, his arm tangled in his bow and his quiver dug into his back. The stench of pitch and the oil used to burn down the wood wall was all around him. He scrambled up the side, clawing at the dirt and rocks and mud with his hands, ash swirling about him and smoke stinging his eyes.
Once inside the dank cave, he slowed down, his breath coming in pants and his chest tight from the harsh pitch. It was dark and growing darker with each step, until there was almost no light left from the small opening now far behind him. The air was smoky and his eyes teared. He reached the wooden ladder by rote and touch, and thought then of their father’s constant demands that they practice escape every fortnight, which he and Malcolm resented, tedious as it was to them, but now proved worthy beyond all possible thought.
The ladder rungs ended at a wooden trap door and hestopped and listened closely, then pushed it open a crack and scouted the back cellar doors of the ale room, the building closest to the main hall. He swiftly pulled himself up and out and closed the trap, then scrambled to the wall and moved stealthily to the arched door, which stood open, smoke billowing inside and flames just beginning to burn dangerously through the overhead rafters. He had expected to meet Malcolm and his mother by now, on their way to the caves.
Where were they? He shot out of the door and to the shadows on south wall of the hall, edging toward the corner where the outside stairs ended. He heard a pitiful sobbing. It came not from ‘round the corner, but from the burning stables.
Inside was an inferno, the stalls all open and empty, the stock gone, flames licking up the walls. His mother lay atop a sprawled form, his brother’s blue tunic sleeve showing beneath her and her cloak hood half-covering her head. The other half of the hood and some of the cloak was burned away; she was crying hysterically.
“Mother! Malcolm?“
She looked up, his beautiful mother. Half of her face was red and blistered, her eyes tearing and red and swollen. “Lyall!”
“Who did this?”
“They are gone. The cowards threatened all at the castle, then lit their fires and left. Come. Quickly! Help me. Help your brother.” She reached out blindly toward him. “I cannot see clearly. My skin is burning and there is ash in my eyes. Malcolm lies here and he speaks not. Help me waken him.” Her hands were on his brother’s chest. “He wanted to help me and thought ‘twould be quicker to ride with me to seek help for my injuries. He tried to mount your father’s horse and was thrown.”
The horse was nowhere to be seen.
“He has not spoken or come awake since he fell. Please son, help him. I dared not leave him.” Her voice caught and she was crying again. “Lyall. I cannot hear his breath.”
Lyall stared at Malcolm and took a long deep and shudderingbreath. He could tell by the angle of his brother’s neck he was dead. Around his broken neck, but lying in the dark muck of the stable was the precious golden cross Malcolm always wore, a gift from their father, who was given it by his father, passed from oldest son to oldest son for generations.
“Come, Mother,” he said gently and set his hand on her shoulder. “Where is everyone? The guards? The servants?”
“They all left. Ran for their lives after it was clear why those men came. Some tried to stay, but I told them to leave or they would be named traitors themselves. They dared not rise up against them. They came in the name of the king Lyall…your father has been accused of betraying the crown, and they hung the flag of treason at the gate, and then with torches and oil burned everything. But it is not possible, what they say.” She shook her head. “It is not. Ewane would never betray the king’s trust.”
The fire raged around them and a burning truss fell hard to the ground behind her, sparks flying upward and over them. His mother gasped and flinched, cowering on the stable floor. Hot ash flicked up into the air and spat painfully into his eyes. He groaned and wiped them, blinking. He knew he had to get her out of the building before all the rafters fell in. “Come. We must get out of here.”
“Not without Malcolm. Please. Take him first.”
“No one can save him. Not now.”
The wail that came from his mother was the worst sound he had ever heard.
“Mother, Mama…Please. Come. We must get out of here,” he said quietly, and he managed to lead her weeping form outside and across to the castle well, where he rested her hand on the rocks. “This is the well. Stay here. I will go back for Malcolm.”
She clung to his hand, still crying. “Who is this God? This God who takes all that I love?”
Oh Father, why hast Thou forsaken me?The words echoed in his head and he could not answer her, so he just pulled his handaway. What God? He thought angrily. He dropped his bow and quiver to the ground.
Two deep breaths and he ran back inside, arms up and fighting the ash and pieces of burning wood that came at him. Hot wind from the fire howled around him, and his eyes burned and teared. He grabbed his brother’s arms and dragged him out of the stable just before it all collapsed.
Outside, Lyall fell backwards to the ground, choking and coughing. His eyes felt gritty and his breath was shallow and uneven. Malcolm lay dead where he had dragged him, barely a foot away. The fire crackled and spit around him and he heard the crash of another building collapse. But worst yet was the sound of his mother’s pitiful crying.
Around him, his whole world melted into the flames. He stood and led his mother into the woods and farther still. He took Mairi and his mother all the way to the stream, where he used cool water to soothe her burns. He told them he would return, exacting a promise from Mairi to stay put, and assured them they would be safe with Atholl sitting between them. Then he left.
As he passed by the old yew tree, he did not touch the trunk again. The ability to believe in anything, especially foolish things such as luck and wishes and sacred places had left him.
