Cleah: The Lost Fury Chronicles The Otherworld

THE OTHERWORLD

Cleah: The Lost Fury Chronicles

by

Brenda McCreight

Published by Brenda McCreight at Smashwords

Copyright @2010 Brenda McCreight

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Brenda McCreight at 229 Milton Street, Nanaimo BC Canada V9R 2K5.

ISBN: 978-9-9866657-0-7

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CLEAH: THE LOST FURY CHRONICLES 

THE OTHERWORLD 

Chapter One 

The Raid

    Cleah leaned against the rough stone wall and inhaled deeply. She liked the cool fragrance of the late spring clover and the dampening scent of the coming night. Exhausted from a long day of endless chores, Cleah plopped herself down on the damp ground, shifting her back until it rested against a patch of the moss growing in soft clumps on the slope of the crag. She was tired and grumpy, and her empty stomach rumbled in protest at the delayed evening meal, but Cleah’s reputation for being headstrong and stubborn was well deserved, and she refused to yield this stolen moment of rest even to assuage her own hunger.

    She played idly with a piece of her long, curly black hair that had fallen loose from one of her braids. None of the other slaves had her combination of sky blue eyes, olive skin, and night black hair. Most of the others had the familiar blend of green eyes and red hair, more common to this part of the Eire. Judging by the changes in her body the last year or two, Cleah determined she had seen about fifteen summers, but she was already taller than most of the grown women and some of the men.

    Get up there, girl, Ferlee snarled. The dark cavern of his toothless mouth gaped behind thin, twisted lips. The old man had materialized out of the evening shadows without warning and now he stood above Cleah, eyeing her like a perched raven about to swoop down on an unsuspecting field mouse.

      You have work to do. He reached over to swat at her with his dirty, gnarled hand, but old Ferlee’s aim was short and Cleah was on her feet and moving before he could reach her.

    I do my share, old man, she said over her shoulder. Can’t a girl have a moment’s rest? She headed toward the cookhouse, hoping to reach the safety of the women’s domain before Ferlee could catch up. Sometimes it was work he wanted from her, sometimes it was something more. So far, she had always managed to stay one step ahead of him.

    And don’t you be talking to me like that, if you know what’s good for you, Ferlee called, panting as he struggled to catch up with her quick strides. I have my eye on you. His legs were older and his pace was slower than Cleah’s, but his determination to catch her was fierce.

    Cleah took a wide step over a rock, her ankle twisting as her foot landed on loose pebbles. She lost her balance, stumbled and almost fell before she righted herself. Ferlee sped up and reached out his skinny arm, grabbing at her with claw-like fingers that dug painfully into her shoulder. Just as Cleah felt Ferlee’s breath through the worn woollen shift on her back, a stout figure appeared in the doorway.

    And I have mine on you! You old fiend. Stay away from that girl, or you’ll have me to answer to, Sibby shouted, shaking her thatch broom in Ferlee’s direction. Sibby was the head housekeeper, in charge of the cooking, the servants’ gardens and the small livestock. She was a distant relative of the Master’s family, early widowed, and this gave her an air of authority that was unquestioned by the household.

    Ferlee let go of Cleah with a rough shove. Don’t you threaten me, you old hag! he shouted. This one is worthless, she is. Sitting on her backside while others do the work!

    That’s enough from you, old man, Sibby stood her ground, broom in hand, glaring at Ferlee until he backed off, grumbling as he went to his evening chores in the goat shed.

    Cleah scooted past Sibby into the cookhouse. Thank you, Sibby, I thought he was going to be trouble, for sure. The familiar and pungent odours of the cookhouse surrounded Cleah like a warm cape. She picked up a bucket and poured the clear spring water into the large pot bubbling over the fire. The pot hissed at her and she jumped back quickly, but not before a few drops of steam splattered onto the back of her hand, making little red burn marks. He has a wife not even half his age, what does he want with us girls? She put the bucket down on the splintered wood floor and licked at her hand. There was no sign of blistering, and the pain was already losing its sharpness. Cleah reached for the flour bin under the counter and pulled it out, taking a fistful of the hand-pounded wheat and spreading it lightly on the round baking stone.

    That’s just the way of some men, Cleah, never enough for them. My own dear departed husband was like that. I did my wifely duties, but he was after every girl he saw just the same. It was his after chasing one of them that made me a widow, it was.

    Cleah pulled the wooden stool to the stone and began to shape the dough for tomorrow’s bread. Only this one task left to finish and she could fill herself with milk and the heel of today’s bread, and a perhaps a tasty slice of dried goat’s meat or leftover smoked trout, before she crawled into the warmth of her straw-filled pallet. But she was curious about what Sibby had just said.

    Please tell me what happened to him, Sibby, she said. I’m old enough to know, really I am.

    She squirmed under Sibby’s stare, impatiently waiting while the cook mentally sifted through the pros and cons before coming to a decision. She watched as Sibby walked awkwardly to the largest pot hanging beside the fire and settled herself down on the worn stool. The older woman leaned back and stretched her short, chubby legs out in front of her, as if the warmth of the fire would ease the pain in her ankles and calves. As much as she loved Sibby, Cleah secretly prayed that she would not end up with the same fate, worn out too young from a life time of never-ending hard work.

    All right, girl. It’s not as if there aren’t others that know. And you might as well hear it from me as from them that would add to the truth just for the joy of the story. The sad fact is, I caught him one too many times with the same girl. Sibby paused and nodded her head at Cleah.

    Your husband was unfaithful! Cleah couldn’t imagine anyone brave enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to cross Sibby.

      That’s right, that’s what he did, Sibby said. And that’s dangerous to a wife, that is. Lots of girls is one thing, and I had no objection to that being the way of men and goats alike. But the same girl every time means the first wife is on the way out. I hadn’t borne him an heir, so I couldn’t say as I blamed the man. Still, I couldn’t stand by and watch myself be put out of my own house by another. The family’s tongues would never have stopped wagging. She stirred the bubbling contents of the blackened pot and tasted the barley that would fill the breakfast bowls in the morning. The satisfied look on her face told Cleah that the grains were softening nicely, ensuring a hot breakfast for all.

    Cleah was intrigued by what Sibby had just said. Even though she had known the cook for more than half of her life, the death of Sibby’s husband had been shrouded in dark hints and mystery. How did this get him killed? she asked, eager to hear the rest of the story.

    I consulted with a forest fairy, I did, Sibby replied with a sigh and a shake of her head, and I traded my best comb for a spell to turn his affections back to me. It was a simple spell, at least I thought it was at the time. I gathered mushrooms that grew deep in the forest out back of our cottage, just like the fairy said. The mushrooms were boiled up with goat’s beard and sage and made into a drink. I’ll never know if the fairy tricked me, or if I added one too many hairs from the billy goat, but my dear husband drank the potion with his supper, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then fell over dead. Just like that, with no time for a farewell, or a ‘help me Sibby’.

    You killed your own husband? Sibby was a tough woman, but Cleah never suspected that she could kill someone.

    No, not I. Sibby looked shocked. It was the recipe the fairy gave me. Or it was the accident of me adding one too many billy goat hairs to the potion. Or it was his own guilt eating the life out of him for not treating me as I deserved, but it was not me and none has ever said it was. She tasted the barley again and nodded her satisfaction. It will be fully ready when the Master wakes. He can have that with your bread and it will set him off well for the day, yes it will.

    Cleah nodded her head in agreement about the fairy. Everyone knew that the fairy folk were a capricious lot and could just as easily give an innocent wife a recipe to kill as to cure. To seek the aid of the descendants of the Tuatha de Danaan was always dangerous, although widely practiced among the clans. Still, Cleah couldn’t help but wonder why a loving wife would risk the life of her husband by turning to a fairy for help. Surely there could have been another way. There were many solitary women who knew the ways of herbs and helped all who asked for nothing more than a bit of food. Sibby could have gone to one of these for help in keeping a straying husband closer to the home fires. But she knew better than to ask anything more. Sibby was a good woman, and she protected the female servants and slaves in the fortress, young and old, as best she could. But she was not one to be questioned or crossed. Even the wife of Lugh, the nobleman who owned Cleah, rarely intervened in Sibby’s rule over the care and feeding of the household.

    With the day’s duties finally over and the fish bones thrown to the kitchen cat, Cleah pulled her straw pallet beside the large fireplace in the cookhouse and lay down. It was early spring and the earth was warming beneath the floorboards under her pallet. Still, she pulled the sheepskin cover full over her shoulders, as much to shut out the world as to keep in the heat.

    She loved these moments, just before she fell asleep, when hints of memory would surround her like a cloak warmed by the fire. At these times, she knew she hadn’t always been alone, without family or a past. Sometimes as sleep called to her, she could find in her memory the face of a woman, soft and pretty, and with the same bright blue eyes that Cleah saw when she looked at her reflection in the back pond. The woman would hold out her welcoming arms, smiling at Cleah with a kindness that even Sibby did not show. And Cleah could remember the sweet smell of the woman, like fresh picked rosemary at the height of its summer growth, and she could remember the feel of the woman’s fine clothes as she pressed her cheek against them. But this night, sleep did not come fast enough, and Cleah was pulled back to her life as a slave, alone in the world, with no welcoming mother waiting to care for her, and the only scent of rosemary coming from the few stalks she had added to the straw before last winter’s first snow covered the ground.

    She wiped the silent tears from her eyes, and forced the door to her memories shut. Morning, as always, would come too soon.

    Wake up, girl, wake up. Sibby’s sharp voice pierced through Cleah’s dreams.

    Is it morning already? Cleah rubbed her eyes, but she couldn’t see the usual mist that filled the room just before the dawn. She paused, listening, What’s that noise? Her heart started to beat rapidly with fear at the distant but clear sounds of people screaming and animals bleating and howling.

    Get up, girl, there’s raiders at the front gates. Sibby breathed heavily and sweat ran down her brow. She was dressed in her night shift and leather leggings, with her heavy woollen bed shawl draped across her shoulders.

    Her eyes focused in the pre-dawn night, and Cleah could see Sibby standing by the vegetable bin grabbing at the contents. Fear was etched into the woman’s face. We’ve just got time to gather some food and run to the cellars before they get to this part of the fortress. The cellars ran deep throughout the grounds of the fortress, and were used mainly for storage, but all knew that they provided the only possible safety from raiders. Sibby started throwing cheese and bread into an apron; it was obvious to Cleah that she was expecting a siege.

    Cleah pulled her day dress over her shift and yanked on her rough leather leggings and shoes. The cellars were cold, and she did not intend to lose a toe to frost if they had to stay down there for a while. How did this happen? I’ve heard no rumors of invading armies, and the Master is not at war with anyone.

    Ferlee says it’s a betrayal, Sibby answered without stopping her tasks. The Master’s half brother has come to claim what is not rightfully his. His men are heavily armed and they’re burning the barns and cottages outside of the fortress, so he’s come to win a battle at any cost. The Master does not have the means to fight this. We can only hide and hope that help comes in time. Word has been sent to the neighboring clans, but that could take three or four days. Too late for us.

    Cleah quickly gathered what remained of the dried fruit she had picked and dried the summer before. There were few supplies left in any of the storehouses.

    Will the Mistress and the children be in the cellars? she asked. She liked the family and hoped for their safety. The son, Ronan, a boy of her own age, had been kind to her and the rest of the slaves, in the tradition of his father.

    Pray to the Goddess that they get to safety, girl. They deserve to be spared. But it takes an evil sort of man to betray his own brother, so don’t hold out hope. Here, she handed the baked clay milk jug to Cleah, scoop out some barley from the pot. The best we can do now is take care of ourselves, for they won’t go easy on the likes of the slaves and the women. If we’re caught, I’ll be killed soon enough, but you’ll be given to the men and then sold to a brothel, if you survive. We’d best be prepared to spend some time in hiding while this all gets sorted out.

    A shudder ran through Cleah, and Sibby reached out to put her calloused hands on her thin shoulders. Listen, girl, if we get separated, don’t look for me. Run as far and as fast as you can and don’t stop till you are out of reach of these fellows. If we survive, the Goddess will decide if we are to meet again.

    Cleah nodded as she helped Sibby pick up her apron of food. Sibby peered out the doorway, then motioned for Cleah to follow her. The raiders had yet to get to this side of the fortress. The two women moved cautiously through the back courtyard. The animals that were kept inside the fortress walls bellowed from fear. The sound of battle was loud and angry. The screams of wounded and dying men pierced the air. The smoke from the burning fires beyond the cookhouse wall told Cleah all she needed to know of the carnage that was happening in the main house of the fortress.

    The chickens, loosed from their pens, ran about the yard squawking and flapping their wings as if they expected their noise to help them take off in flight. Cleah kicked at the birds that ran across her path, sending one flying into the water trough. The pigs ran amok, biting at each other in their panic, while the goats, still tied inside their pen, bleated and kicked at the gate.

    The door to the back cellar was just beyond the smallest goat shed, and in the moonlight Cleah could see the outline of the rock that stood guard over the trap door. She had expected to see Ferlee and some of the others running in the same direction, but so far, they were alone in the yard.

    They reached the cellar opening and she dropped her food to the ground as she helped Sibby push at the large rock covering half the cellar lid.

    Where is the rest of the household? Cleah asked Sibby as they heaved at the unyielding rock.

    The men will be gone to fight with the Master, Sibby puffed out between pushes. The rock was heavy and wouldn’t move. This cellar cover had lain unused for several months, allowing the rock to settle heavily with the winter frosts. The lady’s maids and the other house servants will all be going for the front cellars with the family, but I didn’t have time to wake you and get us there.

    You came to the kitchen just for me? You could have been in safety already?

    I couldn’t leave you. Anyway, I thought we had more time than this or I wouldn’t have stopped for the food, Sibby said, pushing at the rock. There’s no time for a nice chat, girl. Put your hands to the rock and push. She grunted as she pushed with all her might against the stubborn rock.

    Cleah leaned down and pushed hard. The rock gave way, and they pushed aside the heavy trap door, revealing a dark hole in which the shape of the ladder could barely be seen. As her foot touched the top run, Cleah heard Sibby gasp and looked up to see several fierce-looking invaders lumbering heavily toward them. The invaders looked to be carrying short swords and cudgels, both weapons meant to kill.

    By the Goddess, they’re here already, Sibby cried. They’re coming fast, girl, they’ve seen us. Run!

    Cleah felt the cook’s hands pushing against her back, almost sending her to the ground. She looked up and the saw dark shapes getting closer. "Run, girl, run, and don’t look back.

    Cleah didn’t stop to protest. If she was to live, she knew she had no time to waste. She had to cross the back section of the yard and get up and over the steep crag so that she could disappear into the forest. She didn’t think where she might go from there,