Chapter 11 #2
Once the entire contents of the wagon were in the pot I bent down to start building the fire.
I stacked the smaller logs into a pyramid and filled the centre with dead leaves and wood shavings, remembering the way Belis had built her fires on the journey through Britain.
I concentrated hard on the structure, trying to make sure it wouldn’t collapse in on itself when the fire caught.
Belis crouched down next to me, turning over her kindling pouch in her hands. I waited for her to make adjustments.
“Not bad,” she said, surveying the pyramid. “Here.” She tossed me the pouch. “Set the spark.”
I caught the small leather bag in my hands and opened the drawstrings.
Inside was Belis’s fire steel and a chunk of flint, nestled in a pile of soft tinder.
I picked out a handful of the tinder and leaned over it.
The fire steel was about the length of my thumb, a rough rectangle of metal with an elegantly curved handle so the user could hold it while striking.
I gripped it in my left hand and took the flint in my right.
I struck the steel against the sharpest edge of the flint, the way I had seen Belis do. It sparked immediately but the tinder didn’t catch. I tried again, striking over and over. I ground my teeth in frustration.
“Here.” Belis put her hands over mine and moved them lower so that they were almost touching the pile of wood shavings. “Try now.”
I struck again and this time the tinder caught, a handful of sparks catching the edge of the soft fibres.
Belis picked it up, cupping it in her hands and blowing gently so that the orange pinpricks blossomed into flames.
When the fire had truly caught she slid it into the pyramid I had built and I leaned over to help her blow more air.
After a few minutes the rest of the kindling had caught and the thinner logs were beginning to glow orange and yellow.
“Nicely done,” Belis said, sitting back on her heels. “Did you put all the food in the cauldron?”
“All apart from the honey.” I looked around for the pot. “Hang on, the lid’s stuck.”
Belis held out her hand and I gave her the honey jar. She twisted it off with no discernible effort and handed it to me. I climbed back on the footstool to drizzle it into the cauldron, enjoying the sweet smell of it, the spirals of gold pouring into the pot.
“More water, too, I think,” I called down to her. Belis nodded and grabbed a pitcher from one of the trestle tables and filled it at the water barrel. I took it from her and poured the water on top of the pork, using a long ladle to stir it in.
“How does it look?” Belis asked, jumping to try and see over the side.
“Good.” I clambered down and handed her the ladle. “Besides, I don’t think that the quality of the food is that important, just whether we can get it to cook.”
Belis nodded and added a few more logs to the fire. It had built in the short time it had taken me to add the honey and the water and I could already feel the heat of it licking at my exposed hands and face.
I reached out to test the surface of the cauldron with the back of my hand. It was still cool. I glanced at Belis but decided to keep this to myself. The metal pot was thick, thick enough to take time to heat up. I would give it a while before I started worrying her.
An hour later as we sat tending to the fire I was trying not to panic.
Around us the preparations for the feast were ongoing.
Long strings of flowers were being hung between poles, low benches were carried in to serve as seating for the tables and in one corner of the field a small platform was being erected, a stage for the bards and players.
My face was hot from sitting so close to the flames and Belis had turned as red as her hair, but no matter how high we built the fire the cauldron wouldn’t heat. I tested the surface again and cast a worried look at Belis.
“Still nothing?” She wiped some of the sweat from her forehead. “Dammit, it’s never going to work.”
I moved away from the heat, trying to think clearly.
“The cauldron thinks we’re cowards,” Belis said, coming over to join me. “It will only cook for those it deems worthy, those it deems brave. We’ve been found wanting.”
“I can’t believe I’m getting judged by a lump of iron.” I glowered at the pot. “What would it know about bravery, it’s a cooking utensil! Arawn is just going to have to let us fight anyway, it’s not like he’s got any better options.”
“He could delay us. We’ll need Rhiannon with us if we’re going to make any progress and she’s sworn to him. Every day we wait, the chances of rescuing Cati are smaller. Besides, maybe it’s right,” muttered Belis.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I said maybe it’s right! I am a coward! I’m not worthy and the cauldron knows it.” She dropped her head into her hands. “The wrong daughter survived. Cati could do this in a heartbeat, she’s always been brave.”
I put a tentative hand on her shoulder, struggling to find the words to say.
“You’re a warrior, Belis, a veteran of the fiercest rebellion Rome has ever faced. How can you say you’re not brave? Think about everything you’ve told me!”
Belis remained slumped over. I swore under my breath and turned on my heel. I strode up to the cauldron and punched it in the side. It made a dull ringing sound where my fist hit the metal and I swore even more loudly at the impact on my wrist.
“You want bravery? Have this! And this!” I hit it again and again. It remained cool to the touch. “You want me to fight something else? I’ll do it! I’ll fight—” I scanned the field for someone who might impress the cauldron. “I’ll fight Arawn? That would be brave. Hey! Over here!”
Arawn didn’t look up from where he was hammering at the stage.
“Stop that,” said Belis, standing up. “You’re not going to fight Arawn.”
“Why not? A mighty warrior, challenged in single combat – how would that not be brave?”
“Because you’re not frightened of him.” She looked over to where the Lord of the Dead was now supervising a trio of lute players. “He might be powerful but he’s not cruel or unfair. He holds true to his oaths.”
“I could fight him anyway,” I suggested. “Just to check?”
She gave me a wan smile. “Bravery isn’t about fighting. It’s not about battles and killing and blood. It’s about being afraid, about being frightened, deep down in the marrow of your bones, and acting anyway.”
I frowned at her.
“Then what are you afraid of?” I asked.
“I—” She broke off. “I’m afraid I’ll fail and never get Cati back.”
“Well, there’s not much you can do about that that you aren’t already doing.” I tapped the side of the cauldron. Still cold. “Try again.”
“You try!” she snapped at me. I bit back a response and gave it some thought.
What was I afraid of? There were things I didn’t want to happen: I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to feel pain and I didn’t want to fail Belis. I remembered the feeling of fear when the Romans had caught us on the beach, the metallic taste of panic in my mouth.
“Ugh, I’m worried something bad could happen to Dormath without me.” I tugged at my collar, suddenly feeling warm. “I’m nervous that a human life might be too much for me, that I’m not strong enough.” I caught Belis’s eye and winked. “I’m afraid of getting more blisters.”
I turned back to the cauldron. “Did you hear that? Now cook the damn food!”
“Almost hard to believe that didn’t work,” said Belis, a smirk breaking through her frown.
“Feel free to try something else,” I said, bridling at her words.
“Very well.” She tucked her hair behind her ears.
I noticed her hands were shaking. “I was afraid to die. I was so terrified that I stole my sister’s life, tried to drag myself back from the brink by offering the most precious thing I could think of instead.
I sacrificed my sister but even that great evil didn’t stop the fear.
I’m more afraid than ever. I am afraid to live with the guilt.
That’s why I am here because I am too much of a coward to try and make my own way. ”
The fire crackled and spat as she spoke. I touched the smooth iron of the cauldron. It was a little warmer than before.
“That’s a start,” I said. “Anything else?”
“More?” Belis sighed. “What more is there to tell? And yet there are still more depths to my cowardice.”
“You have to face it,” I said, “to say it out loud.” Belis looked at me and there were tears in her eyes.
“I can’t say it,” she whispered. “I can’t watch you realise how worthless I truly am.”
“I could never think that.” I crouched down so that our faces were level. “Belis, whatever you have to say, whatever you’ve done, trust that I have seen worse. Trust that I cannot be shocked, that I will not forsake you.”
“I’m afraid,” Belis said, her voice so low I had to strain to hear.
“I am afraid that we will succeed. If we should bring Cati back I’ll have to face her as I tell her what I did to her.
Afraid that she will never forgive me. Isn’t that terrible?
A part of me would rather my sister died than that I should have to face the consequences of trying to kill her. ”
I was silent for a moment, trying to find words of comfort. I wanted to help her see what I saw, but the emotions were thick and heavy in my throat and I struggled to frame them.
“I can’t pretend I understand,” I said, slowly, “and that is certainly a cowardly thought. But, Belis, you are not beholden to it. You are afraid to fight but you go into battle anyway, girding yourself with love and duty to your sister. You gave your blood to the thorns; you walked through the maze. You do not let your fears guide you any more. You’re braver today than you were yesterday. Tomorrow you’ll be braver still.”
Belis was still, then she nodded. She stood, straightening to her full height. I placed a hand on the cauldron and the iron burned beneath my fingers.