Contrary to what the mother of Solamh, Eòghann, Indulf and Trygve had prophesized, Tormod was hardly accommodating towards her.

  Finding him walking with Salmon, something that surprised her as the two men were bent together in discussion as Rhona walked a little ahead of them, she was far more subdued than either man.

  The other children and their parents preferred to ignore poor young Rhona, with the ordinarily commanding, obtuse lass now at a visible loss. It broke Kenna’s heart, for though she had not initially taken to the child, she had reminded her in some way of Daegan.

  A lass that she continued to struggle to find fault with, and for the reason that she was a reminder of the red-haired lass, she would always adore Rhona.

  Kenna neared them, letting others drift past her under the pretext of examining how all were and keeping spirits up, an act that greatly warmed her people’s hearts towards her. Even the Gormcruach appeared to appreciate the gesture, intermingling with the villagers more and more, with each passing day. A great many such as Arran preferred to ride his majestic war-steed to the rear of the troupe of traveling fugitives.

  Looking up as she neared them, or rather they neared where she stood by the side of the Thistle-road, basking in the light of the twin-suns and the cool-breeze. The fields all around her were tended only by local shepherds, and cow-herders and pig-herders, with the rolling hills idyllic save for the broken road that knifed through the countryside.

  There was not a single forest in sight, though the land was pickled with a great variety of trees visible here and there, all throughout the landscape around the road.

  The greenness of the fields was as good a reason for song and dance, as many felt tempted to do. For the first time in weeks, hope sprung fresh as the yellow and red lilies and roses that had blossomed throughout the fields.

  The people of Glasvhail were so blissful and joyous that they had almost forgotten, in her estimation their better judgement, and it would soon be time to remind them that there was still danger that lay ahead of them. The road that stretched greyly betwixt where they currently found themselves in the land of Fidach and those of Sgain was still long.

  Distracted by this thought, as she was by the emerald, yellow and red plains that could have enchanted even the most vile of the Dark Elves from centuries past. She for this reason forgot momentarily all about her mission towards the middle of the troupe, when Rhona took notice of her and cried out to her.

  “Kenna!” She cried out, with such enthusiasm that it brought everyone’s attention to the seamstress who leapt a few feet at the sight of the bright-face of the wee blonde lass. Pleased to see someone, for the first time in some time outside of her immediate circle of friends, happy to see her. “Why are you here? Did you come to visit us?”

  Feeling caught between her desire to remain aloof from Tormod, and his peculiar previously exuberant displays of affection for her, and her genuine pleasure to see Rhona, she lost her voice. It was momentary and one could have been excused for not taking notice of her show of hesitation.

  If it had been Cormac who had greeted her in so happy a manner, she knew then that in days past she might well have flown into a fury. Once again haunted by her own previous poor-comportment towards him, Kenna felt ashamed.

  It was her pride that had always caused her, the greatest pain.

  And yet, she could not bring herself to wholly desert it. This was the reason, she uttered a small lie, one that brought a swift smile to Rhona’s lips, and it was for this small display of joy that she caught herself thinking it a good lie. “Aye dear, I came to visit you in the hopes that you were getting on.”

  “I am, though- my feet constantly hurt and I want to go back home, is there any chance you could at last release us?” Rhona queried hopefully, with a small grimace to start with ere it became an expression as keen as the flowers all around them were beautiful.

  It was a terrible moment, with the first instinct of the seamstress being to promise to release Rhona and Tormod at once. They were well into the lands of Bj?rndun, and had no further reason to retain father and daughter as prisoners now.

  But just as she made to promise such a thing, she caught herself. The knowledge that those around her appeared suspicious at that moment and keen to retain their hostages made the words stick in her throat.

  “Ha!” Salmon snorted in response to Rhona’s question, as amused by it as he was a great deal that those around him said in recent days. With a snort as he walked between father and daughter, his bemused voice floating along on the wind. “Nay, she shan’t do such a thing for the same reason Conn could not help us; for she is every bit as helpless as him.”

  This jeer combined with the grimace on Kenna’s face as she looked away from the nobleman’s daughter was all the revelation, the lass needed to know the truth.

  With a curse that Kenna would never have tolerated Cormac to have uttered, she hurried away after proclaiming, “If you cannot help us, then go away Kenna! I hate you!”

  The words hurt, cutting into her heart as deeply as a dagger-blow might have. It was a terrible thing to say though she suspected it to be untrue. Cold and full of loathing Tormod turned away from her and hurried away, after his daughter who melted into the crowd of people.

  Tears in her eyes, Kenna swallowed them as best she could. She hated herself for her momentary weakness; it was at that moment that Salmon approached her. Scolding her for her display of weakness, even as he glared at those around him so as to chase them away, he pressed a kindly hand to her right shoulder as she walked with him. “Come now, you must be stronger than that if you wish to be our headwoman, it is hardly the first time you have heard those words. You are a mother, and children say such nonsense all too frequently.”

  “Mine did not,” Kenna confessed in a raw voice.

  Her words drew an open-mouthed stare from the old man, “What?”

  “Cormac never behaved so, he- he,” Now Kenna did feel some tears begin to escape her, ere she swallowed them along with the lump of grief that surfaced recently, every time she spoke or thought of her son. “He never behaved so poorly, he was simply distant after Murchadh disappeared…”

  “I see, but what of Daegan?” He asked visibly puzzled.

  “She had outbursts, but would never tell me she hated me. At times she said it to her father, but she was always swift to make peace with him.” Kenna informed him fighting to keep her breath and voice even.

  Shaking his head, Salmon almost laughed as he patted her shoulder clumsily so, “Amazing, simply amazing lassie, I have raised six children and countless grandchildren yet have never heard of them never having such outbursts. You are either the very most distant of mothers, or the finest to have ever lived.”

  The words stung though they were delivered lightly with his usual cackle, wherefore Kenna murmured as she turned her gaze away from his. “I suspect the former.”

  Salmon to her utter gratitude snorted derisively, yet he did not say anything more after that. In place of words, he walked quietly by her side for some time, until it was time for lunch and he was pulled away by his eldest daughter, to eat with her.

  *****

  When they heard of what had happened, Ainsley and Ida were sympathetic in marked contrast to Doada’s husband and Freygil. The two men were of a mind that it was weak to feel pity for the nobleman’s daughter, or for her to wish to make peace with Tormod.

  And while Ida told her, “Do not listen to them, they have simply never known a moment of compassion in their lives,” Kenna could nary disagree with the men. It was weak of her. Yet pity and compassion was what Cormac would have felt for the two, and he would have comported himself honourably towards them.

  “Cormac would have treated them better than I did,” Kenna found herself murmuring against her will, as she ignored the exasperated look that Freygil sent his wife, walking with the seamstress.

  “Aye, he would have.” Ida agreed.

  “It was what drew my Helga to him,” Ainsley muttered reluctantly, to the surprise of her husband’s successor. Seeing how she was gazing at her, the older widow added, “I may not think much of Cormac, for being so slothful but he does have a kind heart.”

  It was not much, but the words were nonetheless sincerely given. And for that, Kenna would always love the old woman, and always cherish her.

  *****

  In the days that followed they left the hills behind them along with the fields as surely as they had left the Firth of Thern behind, along with the sunnier days of spring. In place of the suns, they were greeted by dark stormy weather that chilled all to the bone, and left every soul miserable.

  Traveling for days in this sort of poor weather was but the prelude, to a much larger drama. One that was but the first link between the many sorrows that they were as yet unaware, of events involving Cormac and his friends, and their own tragedies.

  It began late one night, as they found shelter near the hills of Cailleach which loomed high near the Stony-River, which stretches out from the northern branch of the Firth of Thern. This river was so-named for how it was by its shores that the great Golem Sgain had once lived. Long before the First Wars of Darkness, and where he was said to have guarded the north from the Cyclops who were the first wave of conquerors to have come to the Lairdly-Isle.

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  It was said that just south of the southernmost branch of the river that the Golem had erected a large stone-wall. One that the Romalians on one of their few marches north of the Lion River had torn down until there was naught left, but the foundations. Or so it was claimed by a great many over the years, with the once-great walls by the time of our tale now nowhere to be found, though the name of the Stony-River had stuck.

  The hill upon which they settled though, was one known as the ‘Red-Hill’. How it gained this name, was because according to Arran, as he trotted his horse next to her, when it first arose on the horizon. “The hill is known as such due in part to the hue of the mount.”

  “In part?” Asked one of the children, Sian MacEanraig one of Eillidh’s friends.

  “Why else is it so named?” Thormvrain asked, from atop his pony an expression of polite curiosity on his face.

  “You have never heard the tale of Caera, Thormvrain?” Arran asked of his oldest friend, startled and bemused.

  “Nay, I have never visited this part of the country, as I have the west of Caledonia,” Thormvrain admitted with a small laugh.

  “You have visited the western isles?” This time it was Solamh who asked, with an eager look in his eyes, having by this time it appears, grown fond of the Dwarf who laughed a little.

  “Aye, though that was a few years ago,” He admitted, while Kenna felt a part of her begin to feel a little worried over the admiration the fisherman felt for the Dwarf. It appeared as though the same wanderlust, and desire for adventure that had taken Cormac and Daegan away, had recently infected the eldest of Freygil’s sons. Kenna was distracted though from sending him off on some errand farther along up the road, to go aid his shepherdess mother, by the Dwarf prompting the oldest of the human Gormcruach. “Do tell the tale, Arran as I am certain it is far more delightful, than the vast majority of your tales tend to be.”

  This last remark won him several sniggers, with even Kenna finding some humour in it. Arran gave a swift glare from the corner of his eyes, ere he began to recount the tale of Caera Red-Mane.

  *****

  “Caera Red-Mane was said to be the fairest of all maids, but it did happen that her father was a very brave and very foolish man who went away one day. Caera was to wait by the shore for many a years, until she had grown to adulthood. When she blossomed to full womanhood she did give chase, past Bhalkeld in the east to Rothshore there she found no trace of him.

  She did battle with a clan-laird and slew him. His kin swore vengeance, thus they gave chase, she slew a great many at which time she fled west-wards.

  In the Highlands she hid, thereupon the mountain she fought a monster of untold evil one that she did chase away from his home. He swore vengeance and she left for north of the Wend for more knowledge of her father.

  There she helped to wage war against the ‘Monster of the Highlands’ that had escaped her, but her efforts only precipitated the destruction of the clans she aided, until at last Caera returned south.

  Next she went to the western-isles, and thereupon the Blessed-Isle she slew an old hermit in a fit of anger, who sought to help free her of the curse placed upon her by the Monster. She fell asleep once more, and did bury him in an unmarked grave, taking notice of the chains that had bound this strange hermit to the cave-wall. When the monks came to give him food, they informed her he was a traveller and he had been chained there by a beast many years ago.

  Caera despairing of finding her father, returned home to find her mother had been cruelly slain by the northern-clans, and her sister sold away. Enraged, she went north to repay them for this cruelty, wherefore she returned south to build anew her life. Thereby the shore, she wed and cast away the Crimson-Sword that she was said to have had, and even birthed two children.

  The Bernicians came though, and they waged war and the King of the Pechs fought them off, and as he travelled past the shore he caught a glimpse of Caera and grew to desire her. She would not have him, and slew him in battle, for this she was declared an outlaw. It was only when the King’s son the new King hunted her that she came to recognise that he was her nephew.

  The man she had slain was her good-brother, and stricken by grief for this she sought to disappear into the wilderness with her children. But she was to ere this decision, slay the Monster who revealed to her that the hermit she had slain was her dearly beloved father, caught and chained to that wall by his own hand for some unnamed crime.

  Stricken by grief and realizing how cursed she was, Caera Red-Mane slew herself, after she slew the beast that had plagued her. It is said that the King found her, and though he despised her he at his mother’s insistence had her buried and a great mound raised. Her husband was buried next to her and her children adopted by her sister. In time her son became the Pechish King Talorcan III Red-Beard.

  He was also dubbed the ‘Red-Fury’ for his propensity to fly into great rages in battle, and he was said to have fought with the same wrath and skill that his mother of a thousand adventures could.” Arran recounted adding some time later that, “There were other battles and great deeds that Caera Red-Mane accomplished, for she battled against the renegade sorceress Sheenagh amongst others. Hers was a life full of heroism, and of tragedy.

  It is said she never felt herself properly redeemed, for she had failed to make peace with her beloved son and daughter. Both of whom found great loves, and led great lives, with Caera it is said at times still being seen in full battle-raiment, and a-horse. Riding out to the rescue of her line, and to do battle for the realm he forged that was to be renamed in latter days; Caledonia.”

  *****

  The tale was later retold to a number of the children, such as Rhona, who all giggled and cheered and wept as loudly as those told the tale while on the road. The sole difference being that it was the Salmon who told the story, doing so without any awareness that Arran had already told the tale whilst on the road.

  Occupying the land near to the south and east of the mountain, the people of Glasvhail began to relax pleased at the distance they had crossed. Sleepy, most began to drift off long before night had truly fallen. The vision of the suns dipping, as the clouds for the first time that day, separated and brightened.

  The storm at an end, so that the sight of the castle of the laird of Bj?rndun, high upon the horizon, looming out over the northern branch of the river Thern, this branch being known as the Narthern and was all that they saw. Dipped in orange and pink, it took on a definitively bright air that according to Salmon was most peculiar.

  Seated with the women and children up on the hill, with a few of the elders such as Salmon for company, the encampment had been organised more along Arran’s orders than Kenna’s own. She listened to the oldest fisherman of Glasvhail for a time, without much comment, just as the other women did.

  Most being too distracted by gossip, complaints of their men-folk, and talk of the road that lay ahead. Many others worried for their men, as they worked steadfastly upon passing about salted deer-meat, salted-cod, carrots, beans, corn and apples to all the children or elders.

  There was also cooked and smoked mutton, mixed with stew or simply fed in this simple cooked fashion, by the shepherds and shepherdesses. Many of whom complained of how their flocks had thinned in recent weeks. With some women venturing away from their cooking-fires to spread the food to those at the fringes of the camp, as was their duty, still others listened to Salmon’s tales.

  It was as he neared the end of his stories, revelling in his stew and cooked mutton that one of the children, one by the name of Rabbie shouted out impatiently. “We heard this tale earlier, give us a new one!”

  “Aye a new story,” Agreed another of the children.

  “Impossible, for the tale of this hill is not generally told in Glasvhail,” Salmon said with a frown, “Only a handful of northern and Highland merchants tell it.”

  Enjoying the feeling of a full belly, Kenna could no more race about than she could dance or cook anything further by this time. Having eaten as he told the tale, the seamstress observed the fisherman absently study the children with a piercing eye.

  “We heard it from Arran,” Eillidh exclaimed cheerily, from near to her mother who was absent-mindedly combing her hair with an old sheep-bone comb, brought with them on the journey from their home-town.

  “Arran? Which of these sell-swords is he? I must admit to not having had many interactions with those men,” Salmon murmured a hint of distrust in his voice, pulling at his long beard with an air of frustration.

  “He is their chieftain, Salmon,” The man’s own daughter explained as she dozed off next to her two daughters, and youngest son who was among those listening raptly to the old man.

  “What? Do you refer to the tall, old sell-sword with the long-beard and hair?”

  “Aye.”

  “I see,” Said the Salmon thoughtfully, there was an edge to his voice as he spoke, one that Kenna did not quite like, for it made her uneasy. “The familiar-looking one…”

  Disconcerted by this reaction on his part, Kenna it was who asked of him curiously, “Familiar-looking how?”

  “That I know not,” He retorted ere he frowned from where he sat on a tree stump before a fire, just to the left of her own atop the hill-peak, “I know only that he reminds me of something thirty-years ago.”

  “Thirty-years ago? Have you lost the last of your wits?” It was Simidh, who spoke now, the good-son of the Salmon, having arrived from the outer fringes to get food for him, as some of the men-folk needed to fetch for themselves their food.“How could someone or something from thirty years be at all relevant to our current predicament?”

  The response of the fisherman was almost prophetic, “If you think such things irrelevant due to a difference in thirty years, then I suppose that is the distance between your lack of wisdom and my intelligence, I must say I would not be surprised, if you never succeed in crossing that distance.”

  Simidh flushed scarlet and cursed beneath his breath, with many of the men feeling much the same bitterness ere they departed back for the outer fringes.

  *****

  It was later that night, when tragedy struck. Kenna having fallen asleep sooner rather than later, awakened to find the air so utterly chilled that she felt as though her bones might crack due to the cold.

  Staring up at the skies, having been asleep on her back, near the same fire as the children who had listened to Salmon’s story with such eagerness, Kenna wondered suddenly where the stars had gone. They were not in the heavens up above her, as they had been when she had fallen asleep.

  What also struck her as odd was how thick the air was filled, with a sense of terror. It was as though the air itself had been replaced, with the next notable fact was that she could hardly see past her arms. The fires had all been extinguished, but this still did not explain why it was so impossible to properly see past her arms.

  It was strange, she thought when she noticed how thick the darkness remained, as she studied the air and attempted to squint at all around her. She could hear the breathing and sleep-mutterings of those around her still, though they sounded fairly far away from her.

  Frightened, Kenna could hardly push herself to get up, to explore her surroundings or to re-ignite the fire.

  Shivering, she waited there on her back, mind frozen with mortal terror of what she knew to be near to her. It was not long before she heard a strange sound that served to further chill the blood beneath her veins; a strange hissing sound.

  Trembling, she glanced over to one side, stunned at the sight of what appeared to be a shadow moving through the darkness, cutting through it as a needle through the threads she always worked with.

  It was as she lay there, a prayer on her lips she came close to shrieking but found her voice frozen in her throat. So that all she could do was begin to slowly crawl away, hoping that it might not see her.

  As it trotted for it was a-horse, and almost appeared to flow between the sleeping bodies of those around her, sniffing and hissing, as it wove its way in search of someone.

  This was Kenna’s first introduction to the phantom-rider that had haunted Glasvhail.

  Crawling away, it was as she backed away from this horrible sight that did not notice it but she dirtied first her dress with the embers and cinders of the once-fire and elbowed shortly thereafter Eillidh. The little lass, small even for her age, groaned, whined and awoke at once only to let loose to the shock of the middle-aged woman a great shriek. Her cry pierced the night and the ears of those nearest her as she set eyes for the first time upon the nearby shadow.

  Hardly registering the deafening sound of the little lass’ scream, Kenna had the horrifying sensation of the shadow setting its sights upon her for the first time.

  “Kennnnaaaa,” It hissed or so it seemed to her.

  Kenna’s mouth worked open and closed, eyes wide and heart battering at her chest as the shadow drew its horrid sword from its scabbard.

  Another scream soon cut through the night, as that blade soon hewed through the air as easily as it did flesh.

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