Chapter 5 #3
The chieftain’s visit troubled Lochran more than he cared to admit.
While he was accustomed to being consulted about matters such as possible hiding places on the island, he preferred not to get involved in his half-brothers’ personal lives.
Then again he’d always had a soft spot for Dorchad, who seemed as lonely as he was.
Senga, his lady màthair, had taught him to pay close attention and care for those around him. Since her blood had prevented his sire’s from making him into a heartless wretch, Lochran tried to carry on her teachings.
“You cannae labor as others do,” she’d told him when he asked why she’d chosen to train him as her apprentice.
“The birds, they dinnae care if you see them. Your kind hands and how tender you treat the wee things, ’tis more vital.
Always attend to and protect your birds, lad, and in turn they shall provide for you. ”
Senga had been a great favorite among the nobles, for her doves could be relied upon to fly long distances and deliver their important messages. She never spoke of his sire until the day Tair and the other sons of Rune came looking for him.
“Your sire never cared to meet him,” Lochran had heard his màthair tell his half-brothers. “He’s blind and useless to you. Leave him with me, for I shall look after him until they put me in the ground.”
“We both ken the truth you’ve kept from him,” Tair told her, his tone oddly gentle. “Permit him to meet those he may call on someday when he’s in need.”
Lochran pretended to know nothing about what he’d overheard, but when his mother later asked him if he wished to meet his half-brothers, he’d refused.
He’d then waited until Senga slept before leaving their cottage by the doocot and tracking Tair and a dozen other half-brothers to their camp in the woods.
“Why do you pester my lady màthair?” he demanded without greeting any of them. “I’m her only kin. Why should I leave her for more bastarts like me?”
“Senga must tell you that.” Tair studied his face for a moment. “You can see in the dark, but no’ during the day.”
“I keep watch at night and protect our birds.” He glanced at the other highlanders, all of whom shared his black hair and big muscles. “Why should you wish me join your clan? I’ve no desire to drink and brawl and hurt the innocent.”
“That I shall tell you when you come to us.” Tair handed him a scroll. “A map to the loch where we shall build a stronghold.”
Lochran turned and stalked back to the village, angry and yet intrigued enough to hold onto the scroll.
The MacRune left at dawn the next day, and Senga said nothing to him about his half-brothers for some weeks.
Then she unexpectedly brought it up as they sat together by the cottage hearth sipping brew on a snowy night.
“Those lads looked so much like you and your sire, ’twas unsettling,” Senga said. “I’ve made inquiries, and when the thaw comes, you should go to them.”
“I shallnae leave you,” Lochran protested.
His màthair gave him a sad smile. “You cannae see me in the daylight, or you would notice how yellow my skin and eyes grow. I can no longer eat much, and ’tis harder every morn to rise from my bed.”
He grabbed a lamp and brought it close to her face. “You’re wrong. The yellow, ’tis but a tan from summer.”
Senga took hold of his hand and pressed it to her hard, swollen belly. “My gut, ’tis full of rot. ’Tis what your brothers noticed when they came in the day.”
“We shall go to the magic folk,” Lochran said, falling to his knees. “They ken all manner of cures–”
“They cannae stop death when ’tis time, and mine’s come.” She stroked his hair with a gentle hand. “I’ve spoken to the headman about our doocot. He’ll see to our birds until he finds someone to replace me.”
“Dinnae leave me to strangers, Màthair,” he begged. “They’re dark and angry, and already I hate them.”
“You’re my lad, and so you shall learn to love them as your brothers,” Senga promised.
That terrible winter seemed to last forever for Lochran.
His màthair did not surrender to her sickness, but tried to spend as much time with him as she could.
She weakened by degrees, growing thinner each passing day.
Toward the end she lost the strength to rise from her bed, and could only sip a little broth or brew from a spoon.
The thaw came a week before Lochran buried her on a hill overlooking the doocot, and then learned that a young couple were traveling from the islands to take over caring for the birds. Senga’s cottage, which like the doves and their doocot belonged to their liege lord, would be their new home.
Lochran packed his things that night and left.
It took him a week to make his way on foot to Loch Caillte, walking at night and sleeping in trees during the day.
At last he reached the immense lake, and for a day sat in a tree listening to the sounds of his half-brothers building.
There were more voices than the number of men who had visited with Tair, so it seemed their sire had been quite free with strewing his cursed seed.
When darkness fell, Lochran removed his blindfold and climbed down to find a tall, lanky man sitting at the base of the oak. His tattoos glowed with strange copper-violet lights for a moment, just the same as Senga said Lochran’s eyes did when the sunlight faded away.
“You’re a big one,” the man said as he got to his feet. “I’m Cath, the eldest. Come, our laird, he’s waiting for you.”
“Your laird?” He almost laughed in his face. “We’re a mass of bastarts left behind by a killer. How can you name Tair your laird?”
“I didnae wish to rule the mass of bastarts,” Cath told him. “The laird needs your eyes.”
The tattooed man, whom Lochran later found out had agreed to serve as war master, took him across the dark waters in a small skiff painted black. When he walked up into the giant clearing where the others were building, he saw things he never would have believed were real.
“Welcome, Night Watch.” Tair waited until Cath bowed to him and left before he said, “I ken your lady màthair died. You’ve my sympathies.”
Lochran was not going to discuss Senga with the laird. “Why do you call me that eejit name?”
“Because if you choose to stay and join the clan, ’twill be your position.” The laird gestured toward the shore. “Come and walk with me, and I’ll tell you all.”
An hour later they returned to the building site, where Tair showed Lochran the temporary quarters they had built by erecting tents around what would become the garrison hall. He then took him to meet all the senior men, and introduced him as his third.
“When I sleep, Lochran shall serve in my stead,” Tair told them. “’Tis his keepe and clan to rule after sunset.”
“You’d make this soft-hearted weakling our Night Watch?” That came from Cath, the ominous-looking tattooed war master who had strange eyes. “’Tis clear he’s never held a blade.”
“I didnae ask for the position,” Lochran told him, although in his heart he wanted it.
“Among the MacRune, we fight for what we want.” The war master shouldered his way past several men, and came so close to Lochran their noses almost touched. “Shall you brace me for the honor of being our lord’s third?”
Lochran suspected he was being set up to learn a painful lesson, but they weren’t the only ones who could scheme. “If you permit me choose the weapons, aye, I shall brace you.”
Tair himself had drawn a circle in the earth beside the stronghold, and the MacRune gathered around as swords, cudgels and daggers were brought from the armory.
Lochran refused all the weapons and finally went in search of what he wanted, finding them being used as poles on which straw targets had been mounted.
He pulled two from the ground and tossed one to Cath.
“You wish fight with sticks?” the war master asked.
“Staves. ’Tis how the village men train their weakling sons to defend their homes, their livestock and their women. Our headman took pity on this weakling and trained him.” He went to the opposite side of the circle and waited. “Shall we begin?”
It had taken almost an hour for Lochran to prevail over the war master, whom he pinned to the ground with his bulk until the tattooed man finally conceded.
Both of them exhausted, battered and bleeding, they had clasped hands while taking the measure of each other, and then nodded in silent agreement.
Never again had Cath challenged Lochran to a fight.
Now he thought over and again about the way Dorchad had spoken during his visit. He never betrayed his emotions, but Lochran sensed he was in a state much like standing on a precipice and deciding whether to back away from the edge or jump.
“One hopes he doesnae jump into that wee healer’s arms,” he murmured, grimacing. “For she maynae ken what she invites by saving him from himself.”