Then, on an impulse, Brie looked Lom full in the face and for the first time saw his true feelings for her. She did not look away.
Lom was a kind man. Perhaps Hela could be their fishing boat, together. And perhaps she need not ever dream of yellow birds and bell towers again. Brie's feet spun and twirled and flew over the wooden deck.
It was dark now and the music slowed. The children ran for their jars of candle flies. The dancers moved forward, lining the rails of the boats. As a lone harper played, the children let loose the cannyll-pryf. Hundreds of the insects scattered, flying upward. They glowed like golden pearls hanging in the air, their lights pulsing on and off.
As Brie and Lom watched the candle flies dance in the night sky, Lom's large, warm hand enfolded Brie's, and she left it there. She was unaware of the knowing glances and the whispers that went around the circle of boats.
Brie loosed her hand from Lom's only when Hyslin appeared before her, bearing the arrow of binding. Brie gazed at it. Where the arrowhead would have been was the skeleton of a fish head, and the fletching had been worked in sea roses, with ribbons trailing from the ends.
Jacan brought Brie her bow from the hold, and she stood at the very tip of the prow. She nocked the ribboned, flowered arrow to her string. Fara, who had disappeared during the dancing, materialized suddenly at Brie's side. Brie glanced down at the sleek, wet head of the faol and smiled. Then she let fly. The arrow soared through the pulsing lights of the cannyll-pryf and cleaved the water almost directly in the center of the circle formed by the fishing boats.
As a cheer went up from the fisherfolk, Brie remembered Rilla's panner. An arrow flying over the water. Perhaps Hyslin was right, Brie thought. She plucked the panner from the bodice of her dress and peered at it. In the flickering light of the torches, she saw that what she had taken for the fire arrow might easily be the arrow from the binding ceremony, with candle flies flickering around it.
Brie closed her fingers around the panner. A candle fly brushed her cheek.
The music started up again and there was more dancing. Brie danced with Ferg and Jacan and a few of the other fishermen, but mostly she danced with Lom. Gradually, though, the ropes between boats were untied, and one by one the fishing boats began making their way back to shore. Snatches of song and laughter could be heard floating over the water.
Hyslin and Gwil departed in a small horse-drawn cart gaily decorated with seaweed, flowers, and ribbons. It took them to their new home, a cottage on Gwil's father's farmhold.
Brie stood with Lom on the shore watching the last few flickering candle flies and listening to the sounds of a fiddle coming from the few boats still anchored in the bay.
Lom turned to Brie with an earnest expression. "Biri, I—"
"Lom!" Lotte's voice came, sharp and nervous. She and Farmer Garmon rode up in their curricle. "Come, quickly."
"What is it?"
"Your father and I would speak with you," Lotte said loudly. Brie caught a glimpse of Farmer Garmon's face in the moonlight. He looked uncomfortable, his eyes fixed on the horse's reins.
Lom hesitated.
"It's news from your sister in Dungloe," Farmer Garmon said reluctantly after a nudge from Lotte.
"But cannot Biri...," Lom began.
"Go on, Lorn," said Brie. "I will meet you in the morning.
Reluctantly Lorn swung himself into the back of his parents' curricle and was soon out of sight.
Brie made her way home, Fara gliding alongside. Brie found herself humming a melody she had danced to on the Storm Petrel. When she arrived at the hut, she poured Fara a bowl of milk, then took out the fire arrow and sat on her pallet, still wearing the green dress. She held the arrow loosely in her hands. There was something different about the humming on her fingers tonight. It was urgent, like Lotte's voice through the darkness.
"What is it?" she said softly.
And suddenly she saw Sago. He lay on the beach, face-up, waves foaming around his spindly legs. His singing robe was crumpled, crusted with sand, and his eyes were closed.
Brie dropped the arrow, frightened. She had not been asleep or dreaming, and yet it was like one of her dreams. Could it be true? Was Sago hurt? She tried to remember when she had seen him last. She thought she remembered seeing him leave on his boat, Gor-gwynt, soon after Brie had shot the arrow of binding. Brie blinked. Her eyesight was blurred and her eyelids felt heated. Fara licked her hand. It took several minutes for her sight to clear.
Brie ran most of the way to Sago's mote, Fara alongside her. When the water came in sight, Brie spotted a small boat making its way north. She recognized the markings on the sail as those belonging to a fisherman who was one of the innkeeper's cronies. She did not remember seeing him or the innkeeper at the binding ceremony. Then the moon came out from behind some clouds, and Brie could make out three men in the boat: The innkeeper and the fisherman, and the third looked like the Traveler with the red lips. Almost reflexively Brie ducked into the cover of some bushes. Soon the boat rounded a bend and was out of sight.
When Brie arrived at Sago's mote, she found it deserted. She thought things looked out of place, but it was hard to tell in all the clutter. The seabirds were quiet up in their aerie. Brie went out onto the beach. The moon was obscured by a thick layer of clouds. She looked both ways down the coast, but could see little.
She went back into Sago's mote for a lantern. She lit it and began to run down the coast, Fara still at her side.
Brie ran and ran, slowing occasionally to catch her breath. A mist of rain started falling, growing heavier as she went. She told herself she was a fool, running on a wet night along the coast because of a briefly glimpsed picture in her head. Her green dress was soaked and slapped against her legs. She had not even stopped to put on her boots, and the thin leather dancing slippers grew sodden and slipped on her feet. Finally she kicked them off.
She and Fara had been running steadily for a long time when Brie spotted something white and shining on the shoreline. Fara reached it first.
It was Sago. As in Brie's vision, he lay on his back, but now the waves Were washing up over his shoulders. When they receded, Brie could see his legs like two pale bones sticking out from under his crumpled, waterlogged singing robe. Rain pelted his exposed face and limbs. For a moment she thought he was dead, but as she came up alongside him, she saw his eyes were open. They blinked. Fara let out a sound and a large wave came and crashed over them, knocking Brie off balance. The undertow was pulling Sago to the sea, but Brie grabbed one of his arms and pulled him onto dry sand.
She crouched next to him, peering anxiously at his wet, pale face. Fara made another low sound, and Sago blinked again. He attempted to whisper something through barely moving, cracked lips.
Brie saw that one of his hands was swollen to almost twice its normal size and was an ugly purple-yellow color.
"A stonefish. In my amhantar."
Brie could see Sago's amhantar nearby, its contents spilled out on the sand. The stonefish, dead, lay faceup, its flat staring eyes gazing at nothing.
"How did it happen?" Brie asked.
"Back at the mote. A visitor, a villager put it there. Afterward, they brought me here, in a boat." The whispery voice paused, then resumed. "Rig a jig, jig; three men in a gig." His cracked lips curved into something that was meant to be a smile.
Brie remembered the boat she had seen. Then she hurriedly put her hands at Sago's armpits and lifted. He weighed little more than a small child. Indeed, most of the weight came from his sodden singing robe. Carefully Brie cradled him in her arms, carrying him like a baby, and began the long walk back to the mote through the rain.