Excerpt: NIGHTSHADE AND OAK by Molly O’Neill

Chapter 1

I had run a hundred leagues by the time the moon had risen. The night sky glittered above me as I paused at the eastern end of the Chalk, listening to the wind whistle along the escarpment. The dogs settled around me, flopping to the ground and panting loudly. I stretched, reaching up to the harvest moon so that all the vertebrae in my back seemed to pop apart. I dropped my arms and swung them around, bouncing on the balls of my bare feet.

The dogs formed a white fur carpet along the ground and the leader, Dormath, snuffled at the pockets of my tunic, hoping for a snack. I pulled them out to show him they were empty, and he yawned in disgust and plopped down next to me. I laughed, the wind catching the sound and whipping it away from me, down the slopes of the high Chalk towards the bloodstained grass of the valley below us.

I could feel them, the dead and the dying, out there in the darkness. Many had passed on swiftly, but some had lingered, lost and confused, not knowing the way. Any humans still living would be fleeing the battlefield, seeking out shelter in tents and around campfires. They feared the wandering souls of the fallen, the cold hands of ghosts both Roman and Briton creeping through the night. But I feared nothing, not even the dead. I was here for them.

Since I was called into being, many seasons past, I have guided untold numbers of exhausted souls, setting them on the path to Annwn, the afterworld. Most go easily, eager to find rest. Some fight, some curse, some threaten. They all go west in the end, for I am Mallt Y Nos, the Nightshade, Goddess of Death, and no soul on this island has ever escaped me. They go west, beyond the sinking sun, and none have ever returned to this mortal world.

I lingered a little longer on the hillside. Not because I dreaded the work ahead of me in the valley—blood worried me as little as water. No, I stayed because the night was beautiful, the wind was clear and cool, and the dead would wait for me. I had passed innumerable nights like this, perched up on the high places of the world, the dogs at my feet, the wind tugging at my clothes and rippling through my long black hair.

I dug my toes into the thin grass of the Chalk, enjoying the softness of the dusty rock.

Dormath shuffled a little closer to my side and I rested my hand on his back, stroking the pale, silky fur. The others pricked up their red ears, always alert for any special treatment their brother might be getting. I knew that they would already be smelling the blood on the battlefield—the iron and earth stench of it.

I heard a horn blowing in the distance, deep and eerie, and glimpsed huge, elongated shadows moving along the horizon. The Wild Hunt were abroad tonight. I strained my eyes but even my immortal sight couldn’t discern more than the vague feeling of their shapes against the sky. I knew Gwyn ap Nudd would be leading them home from the battle. There would be feasting at his court tonight, as there always was after the mortals battled. I flexed my toes again and stood up. I had a long night’s work ahead of me, but time moved differently with the Hunt. If I finished my task before dawn, I could run down the Wild Roads to wherever he and his queen had made camp and join in the celebrations. I wouldn’t mind spending a little time with the Hunt this evening, perhaps courting one or two of the beautiful and unkind fae.

I ruffled Dormath’s ears.

“Come on, boy, we’ve tarried long enough. There is much to do.”

He yawned again at me then stretched out luxuriously and barked at his fellows. They jumped up, yipping and yelping at each other and causing general confusion. I stepped through them, sniffing the air for the scent of souls and blood. I gazed out at the glittering plains and considered my approach.

I would go down to the south-eastern corner of the battlefield and wind my way west and north as I tended to the dead. I called to the dogs, and they fell silent, forming a long line at my side. I took one last breath of the clean Chalk air and took off down the hill at a sprint.

The world tilted around me as I ran, down steep slopes and sharp river gullies. I didn’t fall, I sprinted, each bound propelling me forward as I ran faster and faster. A human would have tripped, breaking an ankle at the least, a neck at worst, but my feet were sure. I felt the wind lift my hair and stream it behind me, rippling like a war banner.

The dogs trailed after me, baying as loud as Gwyn’s war horns with the joy of the Hunt. They galloped along, legs outstretched, trying to overtake me. I laughed for the joy of the chase and sped up, pulling away from them though they howled.

I reached the base of the Chalk and rocketed forward, finding my pace over the rolling fields, dodging between hedges and great spreading oaks. I felt cold stone beneath my feet as we passed over the new Roman road that pointed north and heard the claws of the dogs skittering on the stone slabs. We were close now, the iron stench of blood burning in my nostrils. I could feel the dogs’ energy change and sensed my own heartbeat quickening in my chest in anticipation. Then we were there and even the dogs pulled up in shock.

The field of battle was wide, tilted down towards the north from where I stood. I thought I recognised the place. A few weeks before it had been a meadow full of long grass and waist-high wildflowers. Now it was a marsh, the grass ripped up and the soil churned into a mire of mud and blood. Broken chariots were scattered across the fi eld, wheels still spinning in the wind.

Spears and javelins forested the ground, forming spiky clusters where once cornflowers had bloomed. The smell was terrible, blood and shit and sweat, all mixed in with smoke and the bitter reek of the earth. Bodies were strewn everywhere, still fresh enough to twitch. A few were Roman, their gleaming metal armour and proud crests of horsehair spattered with mud. Most of them were Britons, men and women both, dressed in woollen trousers and leather boots.

Moonlight glinted on golden torcs, silver earrings, red blood. There were thousands of them, tens of thousands. This was the end of the Firebrand’s rising, I thought to myself. The Romans had crushed the rebellious tribes of the Iceni and the Trinovantes, ground any hope of resistance into the dirt for a generation at least. That cheered me a little: the massacres at Londinium and Camulodunum had resulted in months of long nights for me. Tonight was the worst of it, but would be the last of those for years to come.

There was a mewling sound by my feet. I looked down. A Briton was half curled into a ball, cradling the bloody stump where his left hand had been. From the shield still clutched in his right I could see he was one of the Trinovantes, and I remembered all of his clan brothers and sisters that I had helped over the past thousand years. He turned to peer up at me and I saw he had lost half his face, the exposed eyeball swivelling in the night air. I crouched down and laid a hand on his cheek.

“Come,” I whispered, then strengthened my voice into a command. “Come.” I lifted my hand from his face and pulled. His soul came free easily and his body shuddered and fell still, now no more than so much cooling flesh. I cupped the silvery fragment of light that had been the man’s hopes and dreams, his shame and his fury, everything that had brought him here to die in this fi eld of ruined flowers. I lifted it to my mouth and blew. The breeze caught the soul and carried it up and away. I watched as it floated off, slow at first, but then the pull of the afterworld caught it, and it vanished from sight. I could still feel it as it drifted, fl owing westwards, riding the wind to Annwn.

An easy start. The man had wanted to be free of his agony but had not known how to let go. I clicked my tongue and the dogs fanned out around me in a wide arc. I whistled and they leapt forward, fae-quick, running in looping circles around the battlefield. Even all two dozen of them could not cover the whole space but they barked as they ran, snapping at the air. I sensed the lingering spirits drawing back from the edges of the carnage. Good. I had enough to do tonight without traipsing after some poor tribesman’s soul before it twisted itself into something dark and horrific and started eating his countrymen.

I squared my shoulders and set off across the field. On average only one in twenty or so dead or dying had trouble departing and needed my assistance, but when the slain were as numerous as this I had thousands to release. I passed quickly, trailing my long fingers over hideous wounds and shattered bones, helping the souls trapped by pain to find their way out of their bodies and into the cool night air. I had stopped noticing the foul smell of the slaughter, focusing only on my work.

A handful of the Roman casualties were also in need of my aid. I paused at the first of them and looked down. He looked no older than twenty and a bronze amulet dangled from his fingers, bloody from where he had tried to hold in his intestines. I trapped his soul in my hands and called for Dormath. He broke off from the loop and padded over to me, his jaws dripping with gore.

“That better have been from one of the horses,” I said to him sternly. He wagged his tail, and I decided not to check.

“Here, watch this for me,” I said, floating over the Roman’s soul. He bounced it off the top of his head and whined as I turned back to look for more.

Dormath shepherded the Roman souls in a separate group as I picked my way through the field, dashing around and preventing them from wandering. When I was satisfied I had found them all, I whistled to him again and he sat down, following the wispy shapes with a yellow-eyed gaze in case one dared make a break for it. I reached out and touched them. They were panicked, lost in a foreign land. I could tell these were soldiers who had not expected to die, they had not prepared themselves for death. I used a little of my magic to summon a breeze and lifted each of the souls onto it. Then I took a deep breath and pushed out, sending all of them south, back over the sea to the continent, to whatever afterlife they had believed in.

I watched them disappear then turned back. Dormath was rummaging in the ruins of a gilded chariot. I could tell from the way he was moving that he had found something else to eat. I sighed and went over. The owner of the chariot had apparently decided to take half a roasted chicken into the battle, presumably against the risk of feeling peckish as he rode down the legions. Dormath was wolfing it down as if he hadn’t eaten in days. I grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and tried to fish the chicken out.

“Give me that, you’ll choke on the bones!”

Dormath wriggled out of my grip and streaked away from me, rejoining his brothers as they ran endless circuits. A chicken leg dangled from his jaws. I considered going and catching him. I was the faster even if he was more agile, but there was still so much to do. I gave him the eye and turned back to my labour.

I soon gave up on my hopes of joining the Wild Hunt’s celebrations as it was becoming clear that I would be working all night, would struggle even to finish before the sun came up. I was as at ease in daylight as in the dark, but soon the humans would start to trickle back to the battlefield, looking to loot the bodies or search for loved ones. I disliked live humans; I had no business with them before they died, and the dogs were prone to chasing them.

The eastern sky was beginning to blush with the light of a red dawn by the time I had finished combing the battlefield. Crows and ravens were clustering in the trees to the west of me, waiting for the dogs and me to leave. They would have a feast ahead of them, I thought, there would be enough meat to stuff every bird south of the Pennines. The thought didn’t bother me, death would always lead to life. I straightened up from the last body, a pale-haired Iceni woman who had been split almost in half.

I sent her soul into the air and called the dogs to heel. They rushed at me, panting and wagging their tails. I bent down and patted them, enjoying how the doggish smell blocked out the stink of blood.

“Come on then, are we done? Ready to go again?” In my mind I was already planning out the next journey, intending to head north. Boudica’s rebellion had occupied so much of my time of late that I had been forced to neglect the northern and western lands and there were bound to be souls there who needed my help. I would run through the woods taking a more circuitous path than I would at night, in order to avoid settlements. I flexed my toes and bobbed up and down again. The sun was threatening to rise at any moment, so I put the battlefield to my back and set off.

I had barely reached the edge of the trees when I felt something. A soul in pain, near death but too tangled up in itself to die. I slowed and looked back at the dogs.

“One more, then.”

I followed the sense of anguish into the woods. The morning light was quickly blocked out by the leaves, and I found myself darting between the trees in almost total darkness. There was something else alongside the pain I was sensing, a kind of pressure, causing my ears to pop repeatedly as I approached. Dormath growled a little and I almost tripped over as he dashed in front of me, a pale blur in the gloom.

I moved closer and identified the cause of the pressure. It was magic. A strange kind of magic but magic nevertheless. I was used to my own power, and I knew well the enchantments and tricks of the fae, both high and low. This was different, imprecise and weak, though its meagre strength was building. It reminded me of the earth spells the druids had woven, using blood and tree sap to paint ancient symbols through which to channel their incantations. Ah! I knew it now. Witchcraft. I rarely saw witches or wizards; they almost never needed my assistance in finding the final path. I had heard of them, though, and I was surprised to find one whose power hadn’t been diminished by whatever was killing her.

It was nothing to worry me, though, so I kept going, crunching twigs and leaves under my feet. The magic was growing as I neared, building in my ears and in my nose. Dormath sneezed and growled again.

A small glade appeared in front of me, well grassed and open to the dawn sky above. The light was a pinkish gold, bathing the slender elm trees and making the beads of dew sparkle like quartz in granite. I searched for the dying witch. A tall woman sprawled at the base of one of the trees, her long red hair splayed out around her. I moved out into the open and sniffed but her soul had long since gone. There was a sharp intake of breath from the side of me and I turned.

There were two more women in the shadows, one stretched on the ground beneath a spreading oak, her hand pressed to a bloody wound in the front of her dress, the other, barely more than a girl, crouched by her head. I moved a little closer, tasting the agony and confusion of death on the air. I had not bothered to glamour myself or the dogs and I heard the dying woman’s breath catch in her throat. I waved to the dogs to stay back and knelt in front of her, reaching out a hand to touch her face. I noticed she was muttering something, her lips moving in a blur even as she stared at me.

I smiled at her, thinking she was probably praying. A calming habit for humans, though it didn’t make much difference to me. The other girl leaned forward just as I laid my hand on the dying woman’s forehead. I saw her open her mouth to protest, even as my palm brushed the skin.

There was a huge crash as the magic I had sensed exploded, ballooning out to encompass the three of us. I reached for the woman’s soul, but it pulled back at me, draining power through the channel I had opened. I wrenched my hand back and there was a great cracking sound. I smelled burned metal and salt as I was flung backwards, my body arcing through the air until I hit something solid, and then there was nothing but blackness.

Chapter 2

A human was groaning in pain somewhere close to me. They were making a terrible fuss; the sound was like an injured cow. I wished they would stop. There was some kind of problem with my head, and I needed to focus on it. I opened my mouth to tell them to be quiet when I realised the moaning was coming from me. This feeling in my head was… pain? It was different from the sympathetic agony I was used to sensing from the dying, sharper and more debilitating. I could barely focus my thoughts. They seemed blurred and slow.

I reached up a hand and felt a new bump on the back of my head. It was sore, sending fresh waves of discomfort through me when I poked at it. I prodded it again, just to confirm I wasn’t imagining it. I groaned again, without meaning to. No, it was definitely real. How strange, I had never injured myself before.

I cracked open my eyes and looked up. The sky was a very bright, very pale blue overhead, painted with long streaks of white clouds. Mid-morning at the very earliest. I must have been unconscious for a while. I tried to sit up, but my legs weren’t working the way they ought to and as I raised my head the throbbing got worse.

“Oh,” came a voice from my left and a figure appeared above me. It was definitely human and seemed strangely familiar. Coppery hair framed a face covered in a truly astonishing number of freckles that made the grey-green eyes now looking down at me seem even brighter by comparison. I frowned and the face tilted to one side.

“You’re awake, then? I thought you might be about to die.” The woman didn’t seem particularly bothered by the idea. “Here.” She shoved out a hand. I inspected it, noticing the skin on the back of her arms was just as freckled as her face, then knocked it aside and sat up, making a great effort to ignore the pain in my head. My vision blurred and I swayed, suddenly unable to make the world stay still around me. I pushed through the vertigo and forced my vision to sharpen.

I inspected my surroundings. I was in a small forest clearing, the ground covered in grass and studded with daisies. I couldn’t see my dogs anywhere, though that wasn’t unusual; they were prone to wandering. As I looked around, I spotted another woman, lying dead between meandering tree roots.

My memories slotted into place: the trapped soul, the two other women, the magic. I snapped back to the freckled woman, still kneeling beside me. I struggled to my feet, clutching onto the tree trunk to stay steady, and looked for the third human, the dying one. She was lying near where I had seen her last night, still and pale. The freckled woman grabbed for my arm, but I threw her off and stomped over to the side of the glade, eager to do my duty and then leave.

Or I tried to. I managed the first stride, but with my second I felt my foot land on something incredibly sharp. I wobbled and fell, clutching my injured foot. I inspected the sole, finding a scrape in the soft flesh, and looked around for the cause. It must be an enchanted dagger, a knife of obsidian, something powerful that should not be left lying around. There was a rather angular stone beside me, but I had never been hurt by something so paltry before.

“What is this?” I said aloud, massaging my foot. The freckled woman looked over at me, her face blank with confusion.

“Well, if you will insist on walking about barefoot, what do you expect?” Her tone was unsympathetic and more than a little rude.

I glared at her; humans were usually more polite when they addressed me. I still didn’t understand what had happened to my sole. I always went barefoot.

A mystery for later. Now I wanted to leave. I hauled myself up again and set off for the dying woman, walking more tentatively this time. There was still something not quite right; my balance seemed off, and I was taking shorter steps than usual. It seemed to take an age to reach her side, and my muscles felt stiff and sore. I bent down next to the third woman, no more than a girl really, reaching out to touch her cheek.

It was warm and smooth, strange for someone on the brink of death. I listened but I couldn’t hear her heartbeat, nor sense the condition of her spirit. Her chest was still and she wasn’t breathing. I slid my hand under her chin, feeling for a pulse.

“Don’t touch her,” said the freckled one behind me. I ignored her again. There was no pulse that I could feel. I pressed my finger a little deeper, wanting to check I was not mistaken.

Something grabbed my arm and yanked me away.

“I said, don’t touch my sister.” She had grabbed my wrist, holding it in an iron grip. I tried to shake her off , but all my writhing had no effect. I turned to look at her properly for the first time.

She was tall, towering over me, and I was taller than most humans. I could see the muscles wrapping around her arms like ivy. Tall and strong as she was, she shouldn’t have been able to pull me around like that. Something was wrong. I replayed my memories; the girl had been dying, brutally injured, I was sure of that. Now she was healed and not quite dead. It didn’t make any sense.

“Who are you?” asked the woman, still holding my arm. I summoned up all the dignity I had and glared at her.

“I am Mallt Y Nos, Mallt of the Night. The Nightshade. I am the Shepherd of the Dead and Dying. I have been easing souls to Annwn since your grandmother’s grandmother was a girl. I am darkness, I am endless. Now, would you kindly let go of my arm!”

Her mouth fell open, and she stared at me. Then she let go of my arm and laughed. Peals of laughter echoed off the trees as the freckled woman bent almost in half, leaning on her knees and wheezing.

“You, the Nightshade, I can’t, I can’t.” She broke off into further laughter. I rubbed my arm where she had gripped it, trying to soothe the circulation back.

“I am Mallt Nightshade,” I said, unhappily aware that my voice was a little reedier than normal. She looked up at me again then snorted.

“You should be careful taking her name like that, a chit like you. The real Mallt is not to be trifled with. My word, and I thought I’d never laugh again.”

“I am the real Mallt,” I insisted. She straightened up and looked at me, her eyes skimming up and down, levity vanished. I wondered if it had been more a release of stress than real mirth.

“Mallt of the Night is ancient and beautiful, a goddess of dark mercy,” she said, eyes stony. “She is said to be tall and slender as a young sapling, surrounded always by the Cwn Annwn, the hounds of hell. No disrespect to you, whoever you are, but you look like half the starved farm girls in Britain. You couldn’t walk two steps across the clearing without tripping. How would you run from mountain to moor to guide the souls of the dead?”

“Firstly, I don’t usually trip,” I said, ignoring the rest of her insulting talk. “Secondly, the dogs were around here somewhere, they’ve probably just wandered off.”

I pursed my lips to call them to me with my customary whistle, high and clear. It didn’t come out as loud as usual. I waited for the dogs to appear from the shadows and bound towards me, but there was nothing , and the freckled woman rolled her eyes and turned back to her sister. I followed her, looking around for my companions. At the woman’s feet lay a pile of fur.

“Dormath!” I yelped, falling to my knees. He rolled over and yipped at me, looking sleepy but otherwise unharmed. I felt a little of the panic subside, but where were the others?

“What have you done to the rest of them? There should be more,” I hissed, turning back to her. I rarely got angry but when I did fae lords had been known to turn tail and run. This woman didn’t so much as fl inch from my fury.

“I haven’t done anything to your stupid dogs. This one was here when I woke up. I haven’t even touched him.” She leaned over, peering at Dormath. “What breed is he? He looks big enough to be a wolf, but I’ve never seen one with that colouring. Pale fur, red ears, almost like…”

“I told you, he’s one of the Cwn Annwn, my hunting hounds.”

The woman glanced up at me again. “I could almost believe he was. But how can you be Mallt? You don’t look like much, you’re not even that tall.”

“I am tall,” I said, “you’re just a giant. Not a real giant, I mean, although you could be. You’re just taller than most humans. And I’m not human, can’t you tell? Doesn’t my face glow with ineffable beauty?”

The woman pressed her lips together, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She shook her head.

“No. I mean, not that you’re not, I mean I wouldn’t say ineffable.” She seemed to be floundering a little. “But I’m not that tall. I’m big for a woman but I’m not nearly a giant. Half the men in my tribe are taller than me. You’re just short.”

I sighed. “Look, pointed ears.” I tucked my hair back to show her. “Humans have sweet little round ears, no?”

She leaned forward. Her brows furrowed, like two ginger caterpillars inching together across her face.

“You have rounded ears,” she said, almost apologetically.

I frowned, reaching up to touch my ears. The slanted points at the top had gone, rounded down. They felt wrong. This was why I couldn’t hear that woman’s heartbeat. I could barely hear anything. Mysteries began to slot into place: my hearing was weakened, my sight, too. I couldn’t walk on sharp stones without pain, my strides seemed shorter.

I looked back at the freckled woman. I held out my arms, noting with horror how my tunic hung loosely where once it had fitted tightly.

“Something’s happened to me, I’m not me any more.” She nodded at me, still baffled by my reaction.

“What happened last night? I came to help. There was some kind of magic in the air.”

She looked uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Magic is forbidden to all but the druids. It would not be appropriate for a daughter of my house to…” She caught my eye and swallowed. “Yes, I was trying to help my sister. She was very grievously injured in the battle. I thought to heal her. My mother said it was a waste of time, that I should take poison with her rather than risk capture.”

A healing spell shouldn’t have had any eff ect on me, I thought, and from the glimpse I had caught of the injuries the night before it would have had to be incredibly strong to save her.

“Tell me exactly the spell you used,” I said. “Leave nothing out.”

She began to reel off the enchantment. It was in a very old dialect of Brittonic, old to her anyway. It wasn’t quite a spell of healing, more a compulsion. There was a crux in the words that I thought she might have misheard, that would change the effect to suck in life from others rather than encourage the body to heal itself. I replayed the dim memories again. She must have pulled at my own power rather than hers, through the channel I had opened to free her sister’s soul.

“Ah,” I said when she finished. “Well, you’re very lucky. That spell would have drained the life out of you to heal her. If I hadn’t interceded you’d have healed her and died yourself.”

She froze, stealing a look at her sister. I thought I detected a flash of guilt in her expression.

Probably some sort of survivor’s remorse. I’d seen it before among humans.

“Unfortunately for me,” I continued, “I appear to have lost my own power in her curing.”

“You seem very calm,” she ventured, taking a step closer to me. I backed away from her, turning so she could not see my face. If I had no power I was no longer me, no longer a goddess. I thought about my foot, my blurred vision. The answer loomed into my mind as inescapable as death itself. I was human.

Anger flooded through my body, red-hot and resentful.

“I am not calm,” I said, turning back to face her. “I am trying to restrain myself from murdering you. You have absolutely no idea what you’ve done, the souls that will suffer without me to guide them. It’s bad enough that this damned rebellion has distracted me from my regular work. I am already behind on my rounds, having been forced to spend my time on your battlefields. Now this.”

She recoiled a bit from my glare but not as much as I felt appropriate. Clod-brained mortal. I waved a hand in dismissal.

“Go, you have caused enough damage. Tend to your sister and leave me in peace. I must figure out how to undo your mess.”

My words would have banished any other human, ringing in their ears ’til their dying day, but this woman didn’t so much as flinch. My heart constricted as I heard how small and weak my voice sounded.

I sat back down on the stony ground and rested my head in my hands. There must be a way out of this. I needed to go to Annwn and consult with the lord of the afterworld. He might be able to restore me. How to get there, though? It was an hour’s run from here in my old body but somehow I doubted this mortal form could cover three hundred miles that fast. I could call on a friend. I had many old allies among the fae who would be willing to help. None of them lived in this particular part of the island, though, and without my power I could not call them here.

I noticed that the freckled woman was bent over her sister, trying to shake her awake.

“Cati, Cati, wake up!” she called, her strong hands gripping her sister’s shoulders. She shook her again, more forcefully this time, then tried to prise her eyelids open.

“Cati, please, you’re all healed now, wake up! You have to wake up. We have to go, we can’t stay here. The Romans will be coming for us.”

“Can you be quiet, mortal? I am trying to make a plan,” I snapped at her. She looked over at me and I could see tears starting to bud in her eyes.

“Cati won’t wake up. I don’t understand. You said she was healed.” Her voice cracked in pain.

I wasn’t going to be able to concentrate if she started blubbering and making a fuss. I sighed heavily and went over on still wobbly legs to see what the problem was. The girl, Cati presumably, looked in perfect health. I opened her mouth to see if there was a blockage. Nothing. There was a very faint heartbeat, slow and weak as a kitten’s. I took her hand and raised it above her face then dropped it, my lips thinning at the effort it took to lift it. Her arm flopped down without even a trace of resistance.

I glanced at the freckled woman. She looked back at me, hope battling despair. I peeled back the lids from Cati’s eyes. She had the same grey-green irises as her sister, the shade of pine needles after the first frost. Of more interest to me was the shape of her pupils. They were wide, blown-out black circles and did not contract at the daylight. That was not a good sign.

“Bad news, I am afraid.” I closed her eyes again and sat up. “Her body is healed but her soul has already gone. I must have dislodged it when I was trying to untangle her. She’s not going to wake up. Best thing to do is smother her. Her soul will be stuck at the gates of Annwn until her body dies.”

“What?” The freckled woman dragged her sister closer. “Don’t touch her, she looks fine.”

I shrugged and stood. “Suit yourself. You can sit here and watch her waste away if you like, but it will take months. Seems a little cruel to me but my work here is done.”

She dropped Cati and rose faster than I expected, seizing me by the front of my tunic. “You sent her soul to Annwn. Call it back, you made a mistake, call it back,” she hissed.

“Unhand me, wench. Do you know who you are assaulting?”

“Yes, yes, I know, and I do not care. Bring her back right now.”

I blinked at her, surprised at the strength with which she had grabbed me. Dormath growled and stood up.

“Now be reasonable,” I said. “Your sister, Cati, is it? She was going to die anyway. You may have slowed it a little with your spell but sooner or later it was going to start draining your life and you would have had to stop or die yourself. This has all been very upsetting, I’m sure, but you’re not the only one in the world who’s lost someone today. The Firebrand’s whole rebellious force is lying scattered on the field just east of these woods. I spent most of last night helping thousands who will be just as mourned. So let me go!”

“How do I get her soul back?” she asked, ignoring my words. “You said it wouldn’t have gone into Annwn yet. There must be a way to call it back before it does.”

I gave the matter some thought. A soul that had passed through the gates of Annwn could never return to their mortal body, but one who merely lingered there? It was possible, I supposed, though I had never heard of such a thing.

“Perhaps,” I said slowly, “though I could not order such a thing. My powers only extend to mortal Britain. Arawn would have to decide whether he would grant your request.”

“Arawn?”

“Lord of the Afterworld. King of Annwn,” I said, looking her up and down with all the immortal scorn I could muster. “Don’t you know anything?”

She bridled at that.

“You shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some half-witted peasant. I’m not.”

“Really?” I asked. “You’re doing an excellent impression of one so far. Who are you, then?”

She let go of me and straightened up.

“I am Beliscena of the Iceni, daughter of Oak. This is my younger sister, Catrisca. You may call me Princess Belis, or your highness.” She sounded surer of herself here and it took a great effort not to laugh at her petty little list of titles.

“I shall do no such thing. All mortals are alike to me, and I’m not interested in whichever insignificant names you’ve come up with. Iceni, hmm? Then your mother over there was… the one they called the Firebrand herself?” I paused. “Well, no matter, I must be off.”

“Off where?” Belis asked. I moved back and brushed my tunic down.

“To Annwn, not that it is any concern of yours. I need to go and undo your mistake, regain my powers, before every lost soul on the island becomes some hideous ghoul without my guidance to send them home. I don’t do this sort of work for fun, you know, nor out of the kindness of my heart. There are enough foul spirits lurking in Britain without human ghosts joining them.”

Belis brightened.

“Well, that’s perfect. It seems we have a common goal. You need to go to Annwn to get your powers back. I need to rescue Cati’s soul. We should go together.”

“Absolutely not,” I said immediately. “You will slow me down. Not to mention every legionary in the south will be hunting you. It’s a truly terrible plan. Listen to me: your sister is functionally dead. Let her go and head north. Seek shelter in the clans of the Highlands. The Romans will take a while to reach that far. Your family must have allies there, or at least those who would ally with their enemy’s enemy.”

Belis set her chin.

“I order you to assist me. I am Princess of the Iceni, you must obey me!”

I snorted. “Good luck with that, Princess. I might be stuck in this ridiculous human body for now but I’m under no illusions about the inherent nobility of your kind. Romans, Britons, you’re all the same to me. Mayflies fighting over dog scraps while you breed like rabbits.” I paused, having confused my metaphors. “What I mean is that you are barely a step above animals. Was that clear?”

Belis’s shoulders slumped and she glanced back at her sister. She suddenly looked very tired, as if all the fi re and fury that had sustained her had guttered out.

“Please, Mallt. I cannot abandon my sister. She is the only family I have left. It is my fault she’s like this, my failure. I will risk anything to retrieve her soul.” She looked at me again.

“Besides, I won’t slow you down. I’m fast and strong and I have a little magic. I can protect us. I’ve trained as a warrior almost my entire life. You probably don’t even have any money. I have. I can buy us supplies.”

I paused at that. I had never needed money before, trading in kind with the goblin pedlars whenever our paths crossed. It was a ridiculous notion that she had. I would be very surprised if Arawn let one of his charges go. He took his work seriously and Belis would have a difficult case to make. Then again, I didn’t need her to succeed, only for her to get me to Annwn. I had no idea if the human shape I had assumed really was mortal, if it could be damaged or killed, taking me with it. The idea of dying was not frightening to me; I had spent too much of my life helping others through it to fear it now. I wasn’t done with my life, though. I wanted more, greedy as it might be for an undying goddess to say such a thing.

“Are you sure you can protect me?” I asked appraisingly. “You didn’t do a very effective job with your sister.”

Belis visibly bit back a reply, grinding her teeth. After a moment she spoke. “I don’t see anyone else offering to help you.”

“Fine,” I said. “You can come with me to Annwn. If you get me there unharmed I’ll speak to Arawn for you, though I doubt I can persuade him of anything he doesn’t want to do.”

Belis grinned.

“Really? Oh, Mallt, I promise you won’t regret this.”

“I hope that I won’t. Now, collect your things. We have a long way to go and I’d rather not linger this close to your battlefield for any longer than we have to.”

She hurried to her sister’s side.

“Will Cati be all right without me?”

I considered the question. I didn’t know for sure, but I could make a reasonable estimate.

“She’s not quite alive, but neither is she dead. She’s some kind of in between,” I said. “Her body won’t need food or water until her soul returns. The bigger problem is whether anyone will find her.”

Belis crouched next to her sister, smoothing the hair back from her face. “This is a sacred place, full of old magic. It cannot be found easily.”

“I found it,” I said, then backtracked, realising this was unhelpful. “But I was following the trace of a dying soul. Most mortals probably couldn’t, unless they were led here or followed a trail. Humans, anyway. I make no promises on wolves or lynx.”

Belis nodded and bent to whisper something in her sister’s ear. I looked away, not wanting to overhear. I glanced down to where Dormath was prancing at my feet. The other dogs had vanished when I had been splintered from myself. Only Dormath, caught in the spell beside me, had become a mortal dog.

“I’ll leave my dog here,” I said to Belis. “He can watch over her. He’s run with the Wild Hunt enough times that wolves are common prey for him. She’ll be safe with him.”

Belis eyed Dormath suspiciously, not moving from her sister’s side.

“He won’t be a danger to her? I thought the Cwn Annwn hunted humans.”

“We hunt human souls,” I said, off ended at her tone, “to guide them to the next world, to keep this one safe. Dormath won’t touch your sister.”

Belis looked down at her sister then stood up. “All right, if you think it’s best.”

I lifted Dormath’s head towards me and looked into his big brown eyes. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, pup.” He pressed his face against mine and yipped. “The road’s no place for you. Guard the girl for me.” He looked off ended and stalked off, flopping down in the shade of the trees.

I turned, trying to ignore the prickling sensation in my eyes. Belis was standing behind me, holding a pair of boots in her hand.

“These are Cati’s.” She held them out to me. “They should fit you better than my mother’s. Gods know she won’t be needing them for a while. You can take my mother’s cloak, though, your tunic looks rather thin.’

I considered explaining to her that the fabric of my tunic was crafted by the finest fae weavers, that it was perfectly suited for running, being both strong and light, but in the end I took the boots from her and sat down to put them on. Belis gave me a pair of knobbly woollen socks. I pulled them on, then the boots, and she helped me with the laces. I felt blood rushing into my cheeks at the humiliation of being helped like a child and mumbled my thanks. She shrugged and helped me up. I took a test stroll around the clearing. Not too bad, though I still preferred to go barefoot.

I slung the cloak around my shoulders. It was warm and I immediately felt a little better. I had not recognised that I was cold. I would have to keep closer tabs on the demands of this human body. I looked up to see Belis hurrying around the clearing. She picked up a pair of leather bags from where they had been left underneath the trees and began filling them with items scattered in the grass. Most of what she packed seemed to be knives, but I also watched her gather a clinking pouch of coins, a handful of dried leaves and a few things from her mother’s pockets.

When she was done Belis came over to me and I stood up to meet her. The cloak slid from my shoulders and I caught it before it could fall. Belis reached out and pinned the cloak together. I looked down at my chest, admiring the golden brooch, carved into the shape of an oak leaf. A finer thing than I had expected to see in mortal hands.

“Another of my mother’s things,” Belis said. “A loan only. I want it back when we reach Annwn.”

I shrugged. It was a pretty thing but paltry when compared to the work of dwarven smiths.

She passed me one of the bags and I heaved it onto my back. It had looked light in her hands, but I could already feel the weight cutting a groove in my shoulders.

“Ready?” she asked. “Which way?”

I set my shoulders and turned so that the morning sun was warm on my back. “We go west.”