Bravely(6)

The stranger drew himself up. All the tentative bemusement had gone from his voice as he said, “I am not a bogle or a hobgoblin or a pooka or a brag. I am Feradach, and I am here to ruin DunBroch. I come where there is rot, and I dig it out so that the world can begin again. I ruin that which has fallen into stagnation to clear the way for new growth. I strip the ground and the bones down to new bare earth so the Cailleach can do her work of renewal. Do you understand?”

She did and she didn’t. The part of her that was tuned to the uncanny prickling of magic seemed to understand it perfectly. It was her more ordinary human side that couldn’t accept what he was saying. No one had threatened DunBroch in years. Danger was a thing Merida had to travel to find, not a thing that came to her home.

“DunBroch is rotten,” Feradach said.

“You’re—you’re mistaken.”

Feradach gestured over his shoulder. From where they were, DunBroch was just visible, silhouetted on the rocky outcrop. The night and the distance erased all its finer points, so all that was truly visible was its tattered banners, the sagging roofs, the crumbling battlements. She saw it through a stranger’s eyes. Through Feradach’s eyes. It looked like a ruin already.

“Ah, but that’s not the truth of it,” Merida protested uneasily. “It just needs a bit of love, is all. Dad’s said he’s going to work on those roofs once the weather’s good and warm, and Mum’ll fix the banners when the rains come and we can’t do any more planting outside. And anyway, that’s just a building. The people—well, the triplets are growing like horses. Leezie’s getting married. Those are big changes.”

“Change isn’t about getting taller or changing the roof over your head. Change happens in your heart, in your way of thinking, of moving in the world. And if it were present at DunBroch, I wouldn’t be called here. Moth to flame, osprey to water, salmon to birthplace; they have their nature, I have my nature.”

“You’re mistaken,” Merida said again.

“I cannot make mistakes.” He added, dismissively, “Anyway, look at you.”

“Me?”

“You’re the daughter of kings, the daughter of queens. Is this all you think you were made for?”

Merida sputtered, “I’ve been doing things for months! You have no idea—”

“Up to the shielings with the crofters. Reading with the sisters at Morventon. Riding with the mapmakers,” Feradach said. His tone was patient. “Yes, I know about all that. How are you any different than when you began? Before you left, you were a person who would do those things. Now that you are back, you are a person who has done those things. You would do them again. What mark has been left on your heart or in the world from the doing of them? You have been learning new skills and riding horses here and there for your entire life.” He shrugged. “Some storms make a lot of noise but move no rooftops.”

Merida opened her mouth. She closed it. It was the first time in her life anyone had ever said something like that to her. In fact, people were usually saying the opposite, that she was moving too fast, asking for things to shift too much.

“This country has lain fallow for too long now,” Feradach said. “It is time for a new generation to have its chance. Nothing can stop me now that I am here.”

They both looked at the dead, dead sapling between them. She wanted to deny all of it again, but hadn’t she just been thinking that she felt exactly the same as before she’d left?

Think, Merida, think. Use your wits.

There was a board game they played at DunBroch called Brandubh (a fun word to say out loud, Merida had always thought, the “a” like the “o” in glob, the “u” like the “oo” in oof, and the “bh” like a “v,” all together sort of rhyming with “pond-oove”). The goal in Brandubh was to take control of the tower to free the prisoners within. Usually this was done with some combination of soldier pieces, but sometimes one could take the risky strategy of attempting to win the favor of the Black Raven, the Brandubh, a piece that followed its own rules. It was difficult to employ, but once on the board, good luck to the other fellow.

DunBroch had a Brandubh set that at one point had been very splendid: squat ordinary soldier pieces that felt good in the palm, an agate Brandubh piece that was dark and impressively purple-brown, an even slate board carved intricately with the game-play movement directions. Elinor had told Merida once the set was a gift from a neighboring kingdom, and it did look like the sort of thing people would gift and other people would put on a high shelf so nothing bad happened to it. Only this one hadn’t been put on a high shelf, and so bad things had happened to it—one of the triplets had done some kind of rebellious picture-making on it with paints and chisels (Merida suspected it was Hubert; he was the only one with the guts for it). Now it was still playable, but only if you knew the rules quite well, which Merida did.

For a long time, she had been terrible at Brandubh. But then, all of a sudden, she had worked out how to unlock the Black Raven instead of trying to win the ordinary way. Each game, she felt a little prickling inside her just before she managed to fetch out the Brandubh. Then she’d just won all the time, until her family had banned her from playing entirely, which she felt was quite unfair.

Brandubh, Brandubh.

Standing on the edge of that pool looking at that uncertain god, Merida felt the same prickle as she felt just before she worked out how to call out the Brandubh. She knew the rules of this game. Feradach, something uncanny and powerful. Her, a mere mortal. She knew she was meant to be outwitted at this point, to go back home to the castle to die.