Beibhinn sat on the furs in the corner of Ruadhan's cell, thinking. Ruadhan was asleep in the far corner. 

He seemed to spend far too much time sleeping these days. Perhaps it was the warmer air, or the newfound comfort of the blankets...Sleep is good, she told herself, sleep brings healing... She herself didn't dare anything more than the occasional doze.

What was An Beitheach's game now? These last  few days had seen him strangely, eerily kind. In and out he had come during the daytime, enquiring as to their needs and wishes. He had tried to draw her into speech too, to find and discuss her interests and pleasures but she had remained obdurate.

More flies are caught with honey than vinegar. Whichever he tries, he shall not catch me.

Beibhinn leaned her head back against the stone of the wall, her eyes following the long slant of sunlight falling from the ceiling. There was a small inlet up there, but it was too far above for her to reach and too small to escape through even if she could get to it. Now though was the time to be searching for escape more than ever, when perhaps his mood of sweetness would cause him to withdraw some vigilance...

Or would it? That was the thing - one never knew.  

She had tried to converse with Meadhbh when she had come bringing food. Although she had never gotten anything from her about herself or her past, she had seemed to end an ear to Beibhinn's suggestions that she show her a way out. But two days ago was the last time Meadhbh had come. Since then, food had been left in the passage outside, and she had not seen who brought it.

She started from her thoughts as the door scraped over the stone floor. Though it came Meadhbh, so silently that her feet made not the slightest sound, nor did her dress even whisper. Beibhinn got to her feet.  

She has been painting her face, she thought as she looked at the other girl, and what a hames she has made of it too- what ghastly colours, and on only one eye.... 

With a quick glance around, Maedhbh came over closer, and Beibhinn realised with a shock that it was not paint.

"Are -" began Beibhinn, "Did - you hurt yourself?"

"I did not," replied Meadhbh in a whisper. 'How is he?" she added abruptly, pointing to Ruadhán as though she would change the subject.

"Much the same."

Meadhbh drew a length of soft fabric from inside her sleeve. "Do not worry about him," she said, "I shall care for him - if it remain within my power. Now," she continued, before Beibhinn could ask a question, "there are none about his morning and you must be gone. Let me tie your eyes so that if I am asked, I can say I showed you nothing."

"What do you mean?" said Beibhinn, frowning.

"Freedom," said Meabh, "escape. That which you want." she held up the cloth.

Beibhinn hesitated, her frown deepening.

"You do not trust me," said Meabh, her voice sharp with irritation, "Well let me say to you, that I may not be all I should be, but I am not a liar! Make your choice so, but you may not have this chance again."  

Beibhinn looked at her carefully - she was frightened. She would not be so if she were trying to deceive her, but only if she was about to cross an Beitheach.

"I trust you Meabh," she said. Closing her eyes she let the other girl bind the cloth about her face.

****

Maedhbh had walked her she knew not what ways, her feet stumbling on the uneven surfaces, trying hard not to flail a hand out to counter her blinded eyes. But she had not banged anything and now Beibhinn felt the air and ground growing warmer. In the distance came the faint sound of  birdsong. A soft draft brushed her face.

Meabh had not deceived her, she was almost out. Then away down the mountain in the daylight..there would be dwellings somewhere, she would find one, and a horse and away. Tomorrow - her breath came short at the very prospect - tomorrow she could be home.

Meadhbh stopped abruptly, pulling her up short.

"Playing games?" asked a voice. A too, too familiar voice.

Oh God no. Not again.

Meadhbh let go of Beibhinn's shoulders. She heard her run, her feet smacking off the stone, echoing and fading, she spun, raising a hand to rip the blindfold off and try to flee. He caught her shoulders and tugged it away for her.

"Running away again Vixen?" he smiled into her face, "You do make this interesting."

Beibhinn did not reply. She had nothing to say. The grip on her shoulders was as tight as a vice, and as she blinked against the light she realised they were still in some tunnel. Its walls pale golden. She could not get away anyway.

"I am sorry I did not give you enough lease to you, " said An Beitheach. His face did not show anger. Rather a frank kindliness, which was ghastly in itself. In the distance the birds still sang out in the free air.

"But I could not bring the sun in to you, could I?' he continued, "Forgive me. A wild thing must have air and green, and I have failed you there," he dropped the blindfold on scarf in the ground and caught up Beibhiin's hand, tugging it gently. "Come into the air Beibhinn, if that is what you wish for."

Strange manners...but so, there may yet be a chance. Some chance.

But she could not get away with his watching. That simple realisation folllowed fast on the first hope. Nonetheless, she could see how the land lay, where she was...anything... and besides, she was starved of openess and sky. She gave to the tugging on her hand and followed.

The tunnel dipped down low and then sunlight glowed green through a curtain of ivy and brambles. A small cliff fell away at their feet and then - the wide open heathery reaches of mountain. A lark sang beyond the edge of sight, lost somewhere up in that deep glowing blue.

Beibhinn winced as  pure sunlight hit her eyes for the first time in - she knew not how long. An Beitheach let go her hand and climbed swiftly down the cliff. Such a small cliff - little more than the height of a tall man, or maybe twice that, but enough to hinder an attack, and to allow it be hindered by just a single defender. Beibhinn drew a deep breath of the gorse sweet air, all the purer for not having An Beitheach in it.

"Come down!" he called from below, "Jump down Vixen, I will catch you," he held up his arms in proof. Beibhinnn shuddered at the prospect. She turned and scrambled quickly, if inelegantly, to the bottom.

"Still an independent spirit," smiled An Beitheach.

"Yes."

He caught up her hand again. She stiffened, about to draw away, but thought better of it. Better to go along with the sham perhaps. Better for Ruadhán and for her. And...what if it were that he were genuine? In spite of herself, a little warm feeling stole over her at the thought that perhaps - perhaps she could inspire love and devotion, just like the other girls who she heard of in stories Deirdre, Grainne, Niamh...she had always admired Niamh...

"Come now and let me show you," said An Beitheach, "This part of the mountain is the one I love most."

"I can see why," said Beibhinn.

Before them lay the glowing green bands of countryside and forest, deep peat brown bogs, far purple mountains rising up against blue and cloud speck white, like a taspestry hung from the heavens. The silver threads of rivers shot the whole through, glinting in the hazy afternoon light. They crossed the barer shoulder of mountain and followed a brown gash down, into a small smooth bottomed valley where a young stream flashed between white rocks.

All the warmth of summer lay here, where even the insects were too lazy to hum and the air was heavy with the scent of bracken and gorse.

An Beitheach sat them on the soft turf by the stream. A speckled fish hung motionless in the pool beneath them.  He smiled and let go Beibhinn's hand. She dew it back to herself.

 "There is no fairer pace than this," sighed An Beitheach, the sharp lines of his face softening as he leaned back and gazed up into the sky. "Ever since I was a little lad, this has been the part of my mountain that I reserved for myself. Myself alone, save for my friends."

Beibhinn watched the speckled fish take sudden fright and dart beween the rocks.

"I have lived here always, in this mountain," he continued, "I know it better than I have  ever known my mother's face. Yes, and love it better than my father's voice."

 In the far distance a bird called, like the mewling of a cat. Suddenly An Beitheach sat up straighter, "Vixen," he said, "Whatever you may do, never set your feet out here on this mountain in the night watches."

"Lest I fall in a bog?" said Beibhinn, in a tone without interest.

"I trust you know the sound and feel and smell of a bog," he said, "No. There are - others, who dwell upon this mountain, who love the darkness's far better than we. Do not cross them. Do not set eyes on them."

Beibhinn heard his tone and without looking knew that An Beitheach felt fear. Her neck prickled cold in the sunlight.

****

The bird's cries faded beyond the edge of hearing and heavy silence dropped over the gully again. An Beitheach plucked small purple flowers from the sward, turning them over in his fingers. Then sudden as a hawk, he leaned in, trying to place them amid Beibhinn's tangled curls. She pulled back, just as swift, raising her hand to stop him.

"No."  

An Beitheach laughed. Smiling playfully he tried to dodge around her hand, still with the flowers. Beibhinn got to her feet abruptly.

"Stop it." she said. "I am not a rush doll or your lover."

He dropped the flowers onto the turf, the smile dropping from his face as quickly. 

"Beibhinn," he said at last, raising his eyes to her. Deep dark eyes rimmed with long black lashes, "Why must you be so cold always?"

Beibhinn seated herself on a rock, out of reach. "Can you really not guess?" she said dryly.

"But I am trying," said An Beitheach, sitting up and facing her across the fallen flowers, "I act as I have been taught to act, as I have always acted. But you cannot say that I have not been trying...for ..." he dropped his eyes, "you."

Beibhinn's heart beat faster in spite of herself. "Why?" she said, and it came out softly.

An Beitheach did not reply. For some time he pulled at the coarse grass about him. Then he looked up at her again. Such a young face, alive with  spirit and feeling. "Change me Vixen," he said, "You know what I am like. You know I am rough and hard and quick of temper. But make me something else. Change me."

Beibhinn felt the blood rush to her face. Did her ears deceive her? No, he had really spoken. Really made that request of her.

A Dhia! What shall I say? What a chance! Can he really...? her hands shook, so she hid them in her skirt.

An Beitheach sat at her feet, waiting.

"I.." said Beibhinn at last, the words horase and strangled. "I would love to. There is nothing...I would love more sir, than that you would really...change the life you lead." 

An Beitheach sat up straighter and straighter at each word, like a puppy. 

"Nothing would give me more joy." said Beibhinn, "Truly. Believe my words."

"Vixen," whispered An Beitheach, his eyes lighting.

"But - I cannot." said Beibhinn hoarsely, and the light went out.

 "I cannot change you. I am not your rush doll," she continued quickly, " and you are not mine. You are free. Your will is free, you have reason  to direct it and you must use it. I cannot change you sir, but...you can change yourself, as you choose."

She could feel her whole self shaking, but added swiftly, though to speak the last words nearly choked her, "You know the good. I am sure you do. Choose it. Please, follow it. And...if you remain  free, then  - then find me and court me as you will!"

An Beitheach sat back on his heels, his face unreadable. His mind was working, she could see that much, but to what end, she could not guess. 

The thick sented air was cloying, choking...the sky too open and curious, it had heard everything, it would never give back what she had said. Slightly dizzy she got down from the rock. She smiled, nodded, receiving no acknowledgement from An Beitheach but she could stay no longer. Up the peaty path she scrambled, over heather and rock until the cool shade of the tunnels surrounded her again and she hurried on to bury herself alone in the mountain's heart.

****

On and on she went, following paths ever more familiar, until her face no longer burned, and her heart no longer hammered. Had she meant those words? Had she? She thought of that boy's face, beneath the harsh coating so radient with the promise of good. And then to mind came Ruadhan, all the stories she had heard from the families round the mountain, and the bruise coloured face of Maedhbh....

Suddenly she came out into a smaller chamber she had never entered before. A widening of the passage really, edged with those strange spikes of stone from the roof. Between the spikes were many many boxes, casks and pots of every size. And among them, moving, stacking, counting, was a young man with hair the colour of dirty sand.

"Beibhinn," he said as he turned, and his voice echoed far louder than he had actually spoken," "Where have you come from? "

"From outside. I was walking on the mountain."

Indeed?" Conn was incredulous.

"Not alone."

"Ah. You were with An Beitheach?"

"Oh now what do you think yourself?"

"Yes?" he had stopped his sorting and come over to talk.

"Well done." said Beibhinn archly.

"You never change!" snorted Conn,

"Nor do you!"

What does that mean?"

"Exactly what the words do."

"Still playing the banríon!"

"Oh, dún do bhéal!"

Beibhinn leaned up against one of the stone pillars and scowled at him, while the echoes continued to fight it out.

"Conn," she said as they died away and Conn showed no sign of setting them going again, "Do you ever miss home?"

"Mine or yours?"

"Mine and Ruadh's was always yours. Since your family took our Ferghal and ours took you."

"Conn shook his head. "I do not miss anything," he said, but he did not sound very certain.

"Not, said Beibhinn wistfully, "The hills above the fort, where the sheep are?"

He shook his head again.

"Or, do you remember - when you and Ruadhán tried to build a corracle on the lake?"

A sudden grin crossed Conn's face, "And it sank in the middle, and you thought we'd be drowned."

"I did truly. And then the horse racing  near the abbey that time you cut the saddle straps almost through, and all the lads were hopped off the ground in the first length?"

"I do!" Conn was laughing now, "that was a time and a half! Oh we were wicked!"

"You and Ruadh."

"And you - " suddenly Conn caught himself up on the brink of a story, as though he heard something.

Beibhinn stiffened, listening, but there was nothing but the bouncing echoes.

"Well, that is all well past." said Conn abruptly, his tone curt, "and I must work." He turned himself to moving the boxes again.

A trickle of fear crept through Beibhinn. She did not argue further, but turned and went onwards to find her way back to Ruadh.

Author's note:

Oh. my. gosh. That was a slog and a half to get through. I can only imagine what readinging it must have felt like! If you're still alive and not utterly ossified at this point - I commend you!

Hang on in there though, because the chapters are about to get more manageable, more lively and there's a turn a-coming right up.

Heidi. :)

Banríon: Queen

Dún do bhéal - shut your mouth.