"I am called Brie."
The woman frowned, then said Brie's name, but in her mouth it sounded like "Biri."
"No, it's Brie," the girl repeated.
"Biri," the older woman said again. She shrugged. "I shall call you Biri," she said.
They sat for a time in silence while Brie ate small bites of porridge. Then the woman said, "I saw a dead goat-man, not far from where I found you. Did you kill him?"
"Yes."
"With what?"
"An arrow."
The woman arched an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Brie thought of the split, burnt chest of the dead creature. Fara rubbed against Brie's shoulder and the girl absently fed the animal a fingerful of porridge, then another. Hanna watched.
"This is a faol? One of the Ellyl animals?" she asked.
"Yes."
"I had not known they could be tamed."
Fara's eyes went into slits, and she fastidiously began cleaning her whiskers of porridge.
"Fara is not tame. Is this your home?" asked Brie, to change the subject.
The woman shook her head. "This is a havotty. It is where we bring the sheep in the summer, to graze the flocks in the foothills."
"You are a shepherd?"
"No, a Traveler."
Brie gave a questioning look.
"A Traveler is a sort of gypsy, one with no set home. I range throughout Dungal, sheepherding in the summer, harvesting in the fall, and," she added with a slight smile, "during the dark months I am a teller of tales."
"I see." Her stomach comfortably full, Brie set the bowl down, and Fara licked it clean of porridge. "By chance, have you seen a man come out of the mountains, a ragged man with a bad leg?" Brie asked.
"I did see such a man, perhaps three days ago. It was from a distance. I noticed him because he was the first to come through in a long time. Except for a few goat-men. I expected him to stop for food or water, frail as he looked. But he did not. He was headed north."
"Toward Bog Maglu?"
Hanna arched her eyebrow again. "That direction, yes."
"How far a journey is it to Bog Maglu?" asked Brie.
"A distance. More than a week by horse."
"I see. And to Ardara from there?"
"The same, more or less. You go to Ardara?"
"Perhaps. I bear ill news for one who lives there."
"Who?"
"A fisherman named Jacan."
"I know Jacan. What news?"
"His daughter Rilla is dead. Killed by goat-men."
Hanna's face darkened. "This is ill news indeed." She refilled her pipe. "I have seen bands of gabha. Have even lost a sheep or two, and I thought it might be them. But I have not heard of them attacking people." She lit the tobacco with a worried frown. "There has been a mist over the stars to the north. I knew it boded ill for Dungal."
The older woman's eyes suddenly turned dark, almost black. Brie stared. "Are you a wyll?" she blurted out.
Hanna turned her black eyes toward Brie and gave a short laugh. "Not exactly, no," she said shortly. "Why do you ask about Bog Maglu?"
"I seek to go there."
"No one seeks to go to the bog."
"I am on the trail of a killer. More than one, I hope."
"This man you follow?"
Brie explained as briefly as she could about the traitor Bricriu and her belief he would lead to her father's killers.
Hanna's eyes seemed to grow darker yet as she listened. But she said nothing for a time. Then she rose and crossed to the hearth.
"At any rate, you will not be able to travel anywhere, not for a time."
She scraped what remained in the porridge pot into two rough wooden plates and set them on the floor for the two dogs.
***
Brie stayed at the havotty while she regained her strength. Hanna was gone a fair amount, moving the flocks around the grazing land of the foothills, accompanied by Jip and Maor, the Dungalan sheepdogs. But when she was at the havotty there was an ease between Brie and Hanna, almost a recognition, and a friendship grew between them. Hanna was taciturn, even gruff at times, but she had an active, seeking mind. She loved books, though her wandering life kept her from owning them. But she always took one book with her when she came out to the havotty at the beginning of the summer. By the end of the summer she had the book memorized. Consequently there were dozens of books, she said, in her mind that she could call up at will. These book stories were only a small part of the repertoire of stories Hanna held inside her; there were innumerable oral histories and tales picked up from all the places in Dungal to which she had traveled. There was a great demand for Travelers such as Hanna during the dark months, when the nights were long and much of the time was spent indoors.
Hanna asked Brie many questions about herself, and about Eirren. She was curious about Brie's great-grandmother, Seila, though Brie could tell her little.
In turn Brie asked Hanna about Dungal. She had a deep curiosity about the small kingdom so close to Eirren, yet so apart from it and so unknown. If her great-grandmother was from here, it meant that Brie herself perhaps had Dungalan blood.
Brie asked Hanna how she knew the Eirrenian language so well, and if this was true of all Dungalans. Hanna shook her head. "Travelers often do," she said, but did not elaborate.
"Would you teach me Dungalan?" Brie asked.
"If you wish."
And as they roasted meat or cut vegetables or baked bread together, Hanna began to teach Brie to speak Dungalan.
Hanna was a gifted wood-carver, something she did to pass the time while watching over the sheep. She fashioned a crutch for Brie, sturdy and quite beautiful, with the semblance of an ivy vine climbing the stem.
***
One morning while Hanna was out, Brie retrieved her quiver from the corner of the havotty where Hanna had placed it. Gingerly she removed the fire arrow. She had not looked at it since yanking it out of the goat-man, and there were still traces of charred skin and blood on it. Again she remembered the goat-man's chest splitting open and the smell and the flames.
The arrow felt cool and dull in her fingers, almost as if reproaching her for neglecting it so long. She carried it outside with a bowl of soapy water and a clean rag. As she washed away the blood and hair, the arrow, very faintly, began to hum against her fingers. Brie smiled. "You're welcome," she said, then looked around in embarrassment. Only Fara was nearby, lying in the sun with her eyes shut.
When the arrow was clean, Brie gazed closely at the picture bands. She found that by squinting she could just make out the one she had seen in the mountains, the one that had unraveled, showing the girl child with yellow hair and the seawall. But the rest were just as blurred as before.
"You're a fickle one, aren't you?" she said in a teasing voice.
"Talking to arrows now, eh?" Hanna said, crossing to Brie, her dogs at her heels and a bleating lamb in her arms.
Brie flushed slightly but retorted with a smile, "And this, coming from one who spends her days conversing with dogs and sheep..."
"That's a Dungalan arrow, isn't it?" Hanna said, setting down the lamb. She lifted one of its back legs and began to pry out a small stone that had lodged in the hoof.
"So I've been told."
"It wouldn't be the one killed the goat-man, would it?" Hanna said, glancing up from her task.
"It is."
The stone popped out and the lamb struggled out of Hanna's arms, bleating furiously. Jip quickly herded it back in the direction of the flock.
Hanna sat back on her heels. "May I?" she said, holding out her hand.
Without hesitating, Brie handed her the arrow.
"As I thought. Saeth-tan. Fire arrow," the older woman said softly.
Brie started, hearing Hanna say the name she herself had been calling the arrow. "What is a fire arrow?" she asked.
"Rare thing, never seen one myself, except a picture drawn in a book. Goldenhawk fletching, story bands, and the arrowhead made of black flint. How did you come to acquire a fire arrow?"
Brie explained about the wedding gift and Masha's last words. "The man I followed here sought to steal it from me."