"I shouldn't wonder. Fire arrows are extremely powerful."
Brie smiled wryly. "Indeed. And I've had the blistered fingers to show for it."
"Pardon me, Biri, but if all you've suffered are blistered fingers then either you are extraordinarily lucky or you yourself have something of draoicht in you."
Brie shook her head decisively. "I spoke of this with the wyll Aelwyn. I have no magic."
"No? You travel with an Ellyl animal; most would find that unusual."
"Fara and I are old friends."
"Perhaps the Dungalan Seila was a wyll, or had Ellyl blood."
Brie suddenly remembered the hatred her father had for Ellylon. Perhaps this was why he had disliked Seila so.
She said absently, "I thought I saw her in the mountains, when I lay near death. Her voice kept me alive. And she found the arrow for me when I thought it was lost. But she did not have silver eyes. At any rate, I have no draoicht." Brie's tone was final, signaling an end to the discussion.
***
Later that day, when Hanna had gone off with the dogs to check on the flock, Brie set about making a cord out of an old piece of leather Hanna had found for her. She had decided to string Rilla's panner and wear it as a necklace.
When she had finished whittling a hole at the top of the small disc, Brie stared at the image of the arrow. Were all the women of Dungal possessed of magic powers? she suddenly wondered. And if Brie's great-grandmother had indeed been some kind of wyll, then perhaps Brie herself did have a trace of draoicht thrumming along in her veins. The thought made her uneasy.
She slid the homemade necklace over her head, and the panner settled against her chest as if it belonged there.
***
On her eleventh day at the havotty, though she was still weak and her leg ached, Brie grew restless, frustrated by the forced inactivity. She decided to hike up to Simla's Tor, where Hanna had taken the sheep for the day.
Fara stalked along beside Brie, occasionally loping off to chase down an unsuspecting squirrel. The sun was warm on Brie's hair, and at first she felt good, glad to be doing something and pleased that her strength seemed to be coming back. She would be able to continue her journey soon.
But as the morning wore on, the uphill walk grew more difficult and she began to falter, leaning more and more heavily on the crutch Hanna had made. By the time she reached the tor, her breathing was labored and her face pale and clammy.
"That was a fool thing to do, to come so far," Hanna said, frowning at Brie, who had settled thankfully on a large, flat rock. The dog Jip bounded up to greet Brie, then backed away when he saw the faol. Fara had not yet decided to trust the two sheepdogs.
"I needed the exercise," Brie gasped.
Hanna only snorted. "Where's your skin bag?"
Brie felt at her side. "I forgot it," the girl replied shamefacedly.
"Here," Hanna said gruffly, thrusting her own at Brie. "Now, drink. And stay put."
The older woman moved away, shouting at Maor, who was enthusiastically redirecting a large sheep that had strayed too near an incline.
Brie made herself comfortable on her rock and watched Hanna and the two dogs move among the longhaired, black-faced mountain sheep. Like Brie, the animals seemed restless. She closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of barking, bleating, and Hanna's calling voice as they blended and wafted back to her on the warm wind. Brie dozed.
She woke to a flash of light. Confused, she gazed around. The sky had darkened and small splinters of lightning danced among the looming clouds. But there were only faint rumblings of thunder and no rain. Brie could not see Hanna or the dogs.
All of a sudden a small shaft of lightning knifed the air not twenty feet from Brie. She let out a cry and had started to her feet when another crackling dagger of light struck the ground on her other side. Startled, Brie was knocked off balance and she fell, landing on her injured leg. The jolt of pain stunned her and she rolled into a ball, cradling her leg with her arms.
Hanna appeared, at a run, and leaned over Brie. Flashes of white light continued to dance about them.
"Blasted summer storms," Hanna growled. "Can you walk?"
Brie nodded, but it was a struggle just to sit upright. All the sheep seemed to be bleating at once, making a deafening noise.
■ "Uffern!" Hanna exclaimed. Brie recognized the word as a particularly potent Dungalan expletive Hanna had taught her. The older woman's eyes were the color of the gray-black clouds above.
Brie tried to get to her feet. Suddenly Hanna put a restraining hand on Brie's shoulder, holding her in place. Then she closed her eyes and, standing very still, began to move her lips, though no sound emerged.
The flashes of lightning abruptly disappeared and, with an astonishing swiftness, the gray-black clouds rolled across the sky, fading in the distance and leaving bright blue skies in their wake.
NINE
Bog Maglu
Hanna opened her eyes. They were now mirror images of the sky, brilliant blue. Her face, though, was drawn and etched with pain. She lowered herself into a sitting position on the flat rock.
"You did that," Brie said in amazement.
Hanna did not reply.
"I thought you said you were not a wyll."
"I am not."
"Then...?"
"Weather making and unmaking is different from the wyll's hocus-pocus of trances and seeings," Hanna replied in a gruff voice. Then she got heavily to her feet, letting out a faint groan.
"Are you ill?" Brie asked, concerned.
"Headache," Hanna replied curdy. "Blinding thing. Comes from lightning. Either making it or getting rid of it."
"I see. Can I help?"
Hanna glowered at her. "Next time you can stay put until you are ready for a hike to Simla's Tor."
"I'm sorry." Brie pulled herself painfully to her feet.
Hanna grunted. "Just look at the pair of us. Well, I'd best check on the flock, then the dogs can bring them in. I'm hoping we lost none during the lightning storm."
Somehow they made it back. At the havotty Hanna immediately lit a fire and brewed some wood betony tea, her face screwed up with pain.
"Helps the headache," she muttered. She drank off a full cup and then sank into her pallet of straw. She was soon asleep.
***
"We've been having strange storms this summer," Hanna said as she sliced a loaf of brown bread. Brie sat by the hearth, stirring the mutton stew. "Either sudden wind squalls like the one you met in the mountains, or lightning only, with dozens of small bolts and no rain and very little thunder. There's not been much rain at all since early spring. Unusual for Dungal. Likely as not there'll be a big fire one of these days, things being as dry as they are."
"Have you always had weather magic?"
"Yes. Thought it was quite a splendid thing when I was young. But I quickly found out it was not without its price." She gestured at her head, her face still pale. "Interesting thing is, each kind of weather I make or unmake has its own distinctive aftereffect, none of them pleasant. Lightning causes headache. Bringing on rain gives me a bad cold. Making a day warm and sunny invariably brings on fever. At any rate, I don't use it much, the weather making and unmaking. Only in emergencies. Most of the time the weather does a fine job all on its own."
"Don't you get people coming to you, asking for rain for their crops and such?"
"Not many know, these days. I prefer it that way."
Brie spooned stew into their bowls. "Hanna," she began, "the pictures on the fire arrow, you called them story bands?"
Hanna nodded. "Each one, unraveled, tells a story of Dungal's past. Only a wyll, or a sorcerer, can unravel the bands."
"In the mountains, during the storm, I saw one unravel."
Hanna raised her eyebrows.
"I was ill, half-dead, probably hallucinating. It does not mean that I have draoicht," said Brie defensively. "At any rate, what I saw was a girl with fair hair on top of a seawall and the water rising."