The sound of the dog barking brought little Feargol Ustal running from the main house. ‘Will he catch the rabbit?’ the six-year-old asked Senlic.
‘No, son. Not a hope.’
‘Has he ever caught a rabbit?’
‘Not once in nine years of life. Doesn’t stop him trying, though.’
Senlic thought about it for a moment. ‘It’s not strictly true, come to think on it. He did bring a rabbit back to me once. It had been struck by a hawk, but had managed to get away. It had a wound on one of its hind legs. Patch picked it up and brought it to me. Carried it like a little puppy – ever so careful – then laid it at my feet.’
‘Did you eat it?’
‘Funnily enough we didn’t. I figured it had earned its life by escaping the hawk. So we kept it for a while, and fed it. The leg got better and I carried it back to the meadow and let it go.’
‘Why didn’t Patch kill it?’ asked the red-headed child.
‘Maybe he thought it deserved another chance at life. I don’t know. Can’t tell what a dog is thinking. You should have mittens on, boy. It’s rare cold today.’
Feargol stared off to the south. ‘I wish Uncle Kaelin had let me go to Eldacre,’ he said.
‘You still wearing that charm I gave you?’
‘Yes,’ said the boy happily, delving inside his coat and lifting out the small silver pendant.
‘And all the dreams have gone, yes?’
‘Yes, they have. It’s wonderful. How did it make them go away?’
Senlic shrugged. ‘It’s magic, lad. Don’t know how it works – only that it does. Do you still see pictures in your head?’
‘Sometimes,’ answered the boy, warily. ‘Maev says they are daydreams and of no . . .’ he struggled for the word, ‘condequinces,’ he said, at last.
‘Consequence,’ corrected Senlic. ‘It means importance. Maev is a person to listen to on most things. She’s a clever woman, hard and bright. She’s wrong on this, though, lad. I have the Sight too -or once I did. Tell me about the pictures.’
‘Aunt Chara says you should come in and have a hot drink. She says it will do you good.’
‘Aye, that’s true. We’ll go in together.’
Once inside Senlic struggled to remove his heavy topcoat. It wasn’t easy with a left arm he couldn’t lift. He saw Chara moving towards him and wanted to tell her to mind her business, but he was too tired, and her help was welcome. He sat at the breakfast table and sipped the hot, honeyed tisane she prepared for him. It had more than a dash of uisge in it, for which he was grateful. Feargol clambered on the seat beside him. ‘Tell me about the pictures,’ said Senlic.
‘I saw a man with golden hair in a pistol fight. He had his ear shot off,’ said Feargol.
‘What else?’
‘There’s a place with trees, big huge trees, bigger than any trees in the mountains. They are red. One of them has a trunk almost as big as this house.’
‘I think Maev is right about some of these visions,’ said Chara, with a smile. ‘Trees as big as houses. I have never heard the like.’
‘Across the ocean,’ said Senlic. ‘I saw them once in a dream. There were people living there, and their skins were like the trees, reddish brown.’
‘They have feathers in their hair and on their shirts,’ said Feargol.
‘That’s right, lad. What was really strange was that none of them had beards.’
‘You shouldn’t encourage the boy,’ said Chara. ‘Big trees and men without beards.’
‘It’s true,’ said Senlic. ‘By the Source, it is. I always thought that one day I would cross the ocean and walk those mountains. What else have you seen, boy?’
‘There’s a sad man who paints pictures. He sits alone all the time. I watched him paint a picture. It was like magic. He dipped his brush in dark paint and smeared it on the . . . square. Then he dipped another brush in white paint, and mixed some blue in it. Then he dabbed at the picture, and all the dark smears suddenly became mountains with snow on them. He’s very clever.’