‘It is a long-ago tale,’ said Rayga, ‘of a time when the Seidh walked among humans. There was a tribe living in these mountains who turned against the ways of the gods. The tribe was led by a woman. She was tall and haughty, and filled with ambition. She sought to dominate the other tribes, by war, assassination, and duplicity. One day an old shaman called upon the Morrigu – a powerful goddess – for aid. The Morrigu brought a plague upon the woman’s tribe. It killed everyone. Every man, woman, babe. All dead. Save for the queen herself. She walked among the dead, her ambitions in ashes. The Morrigu came to her there. “And now you must kill me,” said the queen, “for my people are gone and my heart is broken.” “No,” said the Morrigu, “you will live on.” And she changed the queen into an owl. For many years the queen-owl dwelt on the island. At nights her moaning could be heard for many miles. That is why it is called Sorrow Bird Lake.’
‘That is very sad,’ Chara had said.
‘All actions have consequences, child,’ Rayga told her.
‘Is the owl-queen still there?’
‘Perhaps. Or perhaps the Morrigu forgave her. I do not know.’
The two images of her grandmother merged in her mind, one bright and vibrant, with twinkling eyes and the sweetest of smiles, the other slack-jawed, spittle running down the twisted lips. Chara felt tears spill from her eyes, and she sat upon the hillside weeping.
It is so unfair, she thought, as the tears subsided. Why must life be so cruel? Had Rayga died when the stroke hit then all her loved ones would have remembered her as she was, bright and full of life and wisdom. Now all memories would be stained by the mewling, self-soiling creature she had become.
Chara wiped away the last of her tears, then stared down at her hands and arms, at the supple young skin. Rayga’s hands were dry and covered with liver spots. Once they too had been young and flawless. Chara shivered as the thought came to her that one day her own granddaughter might be sitting at the bedside while Chara herself was drooling and near death. Pushing such images from her mind she gazed out over Sorrow Bird Lake, the bright, shining water and the distant sunlit mountains.
She saw movement down near the lakeside, two men emerging from the trees and walking down to the water line. In that instant her heart soared, for one of them was Kaelin Ring. Scrambling to her feet she began to run down the slope – then stopped. Anger flared. He had left the Rigante lands in a storm, not waiting to say goodbye, or to offer her comfort for the tragedy that had befallen her grandmother. Chara sat down again as the clash of emotions raged on. Every day for the last month she had thought of him, recalling their walk together and the kiss they shared as they stood on the high pass overlooking the valley. Every night before she slept his face appeared in her mind. She wanted to run down the slope and throw her arms around him. She wanted to run down the slope and slap his face.
I will go down, she thought. And I will be cool and distant. I will not let him know the hurt he did to me.
Having a plan helped to settle her mind and she rose again and strolled down towards the lake. As she came closer she saw that the Dweller’s small boat was moored in the tiny bay on the island. Rayster and Kaelin were standing at the water’s edge talking. Kaelin heard her approach and turned. She was pleased to see the joy on his face as he saw her.
Ignoring him she moved to Rayster, linking her arm through his. ‘What brings you to the Dweller?’ she asked.
He disengaged her arm, but held to her hand. ‘Your father was wounded – not badly,’ he added swiftly. ‘He was attacked in the woods when he went to visit … a friend.’
‘I know about Magra,’ said Chara brightly, enjoying Rayster’s embarrassment. ‘What happened?’ She cast a sideways glance at Kaelin, and saw that his initial joy had vanished and his face had darkened with anger. Good, she thought.