It was nice to be out of the closet – so to speak. I’m not a very good liar and it felt right to be honest – I liked these people. OK, it would be nice if Fergal talked less and Araf talked more – but those were not big problems. I really liked Fergal. Underneath the laddish exterior I knew he had heart. Araf, on the other hand, was a tough nut to crack. I was beginning to realise that although he was the most taciturn man I had ever met, when he did say something, it was important. I had no problem placing my life in their hands.
Essa was my real dilemma. She was just the most wonderful girl I had ever met, but she was so hostile. If she had been like this when I first met her, I don’t think it would have bothered me so much. A beautiful woman who turns out to be a jerk, loses her beauty in my eyes, but Essa and I got along great at first. These days I flinched every time she scratched her nose. I watched the firelight dance on her face. No matter how cold she had been to me lately, I couldn’t help thinking how lovely she was. I don’t think I fell asleep looking at her but I kind of got hypnotised. I let the fire get low and didn’t snap out of it until Essa shot open her eyes.
‘What are you looking at?’
‘I was just thinking how nice you are – when you’re asleep.’
‘You have almost let the fire out. Did you close your eyes?’
‘No. But I will now. It’s your watch.’ I put my head down. It stung where the boar hoof had clipped my forehead, and I winced.
Essa picked up a twig, set fire to the end and brought it towards my face for light. ‘Let me clean that wound for you, it looks nasty.’
‘No thanks,’ I said, ‘I prefer not to be nursed by people who want me dead.’
I rolled over but sleep wouldn’t come. She was trying to be nice and I was mad at myself for being stubborn. I stewed over how I could have dealt with that better. Soon the stillness of the night and the crackle of the fire lulled me. Then I heard it. It might have been a dream but I don’t think so – just before I fell asleep I could have sworn I hear Essa whisper, ‘Thank you, Conor, for saving me from the boar.’
I awoke to the smell of bacon. Ah, it was all a dream, I thought to myself, I’m back home in my bedroom and Dad is cooking me breakfast, but instead of a face full of cotton I opened my eyes to a face full of grass. Araf had butchered the boar I had killed and was cooking ham steaks over the fire. Essa was not to be seen and Fergal was still asleep.
‘Good morning,’ I said, not expecting an answer and not getting one. I stood up and went over to Fergal and shook him on the shoulder to wake him. His Banshee blade popped out of his sleeve and stabbed the air in the exact place where my nose had been seconds before. I jumped back and grabbed my banta stick.
‘For crying out loud!’ I screamed. ‘You almost killed me with that thing.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Fergal said as he got up. Then he saw his blade was out. He cocked his wrist quickly and it disappeared up his sleeve. ‘I did it again, didn’t I?’
Araf nodded.
‘That’s it!’ I said. ‘From now on I wake you with a stick too.’
Essa returned. ‘What is all the noise?’
‘You have heard of sleepwalking? Well, Fergal was sleep-stabbing.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. Just be careful if you have to wake him up.’
We broke camp. I washed the dried blood off my head wound. It hurt like hell. I should have let Essa do it last night. I climbed into Acorn’s saddle unaided. I was quite proud of myself, even if no one seemed to notice. The inside of my legs howled in protest at the prospect of another day on horseback but it didn’t hurt as much as I expected.
The landscape was green and rolling, sprinkled with the odd tree here and there. The day was warm and pleasant. The Land was in the height of summer. It made me wonder how spectacular the autumn must be.
Since it seemed we weren’t being followed, we rode in pairs and talked freely. Essa had lightened up – a bit. She told me we were not taking the most direct route to the Reedlands, so as to avoid castles and villages. We would be travelling all day in the Eastlands – the so-called No-rune Lands – and tonight we would camp on the edge of the Hazellands.
‘The Hazellands?’ I said. ‘You mean my mother’s home?’
‘Yes. The shortest path is through Castle Cull.’
‘Castle Cull? You mean the Hall of Knowledge?’
‘Yes.’
‘Wasn’t it destroyed?’
‘It was, my father told me to avoid it, but I want to see …’
‘Where your brother died.’
Her head snapped around and she had a fierce look in her eyes. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Your father told me. I’m sorry – it must be awful to lose a brother.’
Her face softened. ‘He left to study at Cull when I was very young. He sent me a letter every week telling me all the gossip from the Hall of Knowledge. I so desperately wanted to study there when I grew up. He used to write quite a bit about your mother, he was very fond of her.’
‘Does anyone know what happened?’
‘No. Your grandfather Finn called a meeting of the Runelords. Ona was going to try to find out who (or what) destroyed Cull, but the night before the runecasting she died in her sleep.’
‘My father accused Cialtie of killing Ona.’
‘What did Cialtie say?’
‘He didn’t deny it.’
‘The more I hear about this uncle of yours – the less I like him.’
‘Well, I certainly took an instant dislike to him.’
‘I’ll leave it up to you, Conor, should we go to the Hall of Knowledge and see for ourselves?’
‘I think we should.’
She smiled. A weak smile, but a smile nonetheless, the first one I had seen on her face since the party.
Fergal yelled, ‘Cherries!’ and broke into a gallop.
Araf and Essa kicked into a gallop and Acorn followed suit, and I almost fell off his back. Once I got used to the terrifying speed I found that galloping was the smoothest ride of all. Acorn seemed to almost float in the air as I pumped my arms in rhythm to his bouncing head. Ahead, the others had stopped in front of an orchard of cherry trees. Acorn stopped next to them and I nearly went over his head again. (The riding part, I was getting good at – it was the stopping, turning and starting I was having trouble with.) Fergal reached up, picked a fruit and popped it in his mouth.
‘You didn’t ask permission,’ I said.
‘You don’t have to with cherries,’ Fergal mumbled, and then spat out a pip. ‘Cherries are the friendliest trees in The Land. They love getting picked. It’s like you are doing them a favour.’
As we walked our horses through the grove, the trees lowered their branches to us, and we picked and ate