Beibhinn woke abruptly from a sleep she never realised she'd taken, scrambling blearily up in terror and looking around. She was still in her cell. Still huddled by the door which had never opened. And though she was stiff and sore in a dozen places from the hard knobs of rocks in floor and wall that was all. Such harms she did not account trouble. 

Thank God. 

How had she come to be sleeping again? She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was a fool. Was it the air? The bread? The nagging thirst that pestered her mouth? She dug her knuckles into her eyes, trying to scrape off the weight that had hung over them ever since...since...Ailbhe. A thin shiver ran across her shoulders. 

What hour was it? The cave air pressed around her, almost sightless and there was no way to tell if it were day or night. For all she knew, judgement day may have passed and left her forgotten in its wake.

As her wits regathered themselves from the heavy mists of sleep they turned themselves once more to escape. First, her thoughts told her, find what the hour is. Then should there be few men about to see or trouble her she would seek out the ways through the mountain.

Ruadhán... the heavy weight of his fate added itself to her worries. Could she seek him? Could she find him? But the mountain was of fathomless depth and size...yet if she escaped and left him, she did not trust An Beitheach to have mercy. 

 Anger bubbled within her. Never. Never had she been without control of her fate. Always had she taken care to be beholdent to none, yet here she was beholdent to this man. And such a man! The desire to strike and fight seized her.

 Running her hands swiftly over the walls in the darkness she touched the door and pushed it wide. The passage lay in very dim light, hardly more than what was in her own cell. The torches nearby had burned themselves out. Good. The hour must be late indeed, that none had rekindled or replaced them.

Close to the wall, her bare feet making scant sound, she crept left and down the passage until a junction was before her. The passages lay straight and level, without slant or breath of air to tell her up from down. An uncharted region. 

Was this perhaps how the monks felt, when faced with the great Western Ocean? Then she would imitate them. Closing her eyes for just a moment, she then took down one of the remaining torches, and set her feet resolutely down the left passage, trusting the wearer of all paths to choose a path for her.

****

For time indeterminate Beibhinn followed the winding ways through the mountain. First with determination, then concern, then fighting fear. All tunnels were the same, the sound of her feet and breathing alone came to her, and though occasionally the trickle of running water reached her ears, never could she find or follow it.

And as her courage waned, so hunger and thirst began to press upon her mind.

Was this how her story ended? Not in glory but miserable loneliness?

Naomh Mhuire, She whispered, begged, Máthair Dé..

"Hi! Hoi! " she shouted aloud, raising echoes horrid to hear, bouncing down the passage like mocking spirits. But no human voice came with them.

Burning tallow dripped from the torch and struck the floor in a gem of golden fire, then burned out.

Fight on. She told herself. A favourite phrase of her fathers, and shifting her grasp of the torch she continued her wanderings.

Some time later the torch had started to gutter, its life nearly spent. She shouted once again. Once, twice, three times, each time the echoes bouncing and fading.

And then, then at the end when the noise had spread and spent itself amidst the rock the last echo came bringing "..bhínn...' No echo of her words was that! She ran up towards it and shouted again. And again it came at the end with "Beibhinn" Her name. Who it was she did not know. Nor in that moment did she care. But pursued the call and shouted and chased it again. 

Until at last as she hastened down a passage of deep shadowed walls, her torch fading, the voice called from near her right hand. "Beibhinn, Beibhinn! Stop!" and suddenly, no longer warped by echoes, she knew that it was the voice of Ruadhán.

Pausing, she lifted the torch, and saw in its sputtering light deep smooth sided hollows worn low in the wall, as though by rushing water in ages long past.

"Ruadhan" she hissed, barely breathing in the fear that all was but a trick of her mind.

"Mise" came a voice near her knees.

Lowering the torch, Beibhinn wriggled into the hollow. It dipped low, then opened, not high, but into a narrow, low chamber whose smooth polished walls gleamed wet in the flickering torchlight. In the shadows of the far wall a dark form hunched.

"Ruadhán!" Beibhinn exclaimed, starting forwards.

The form struggled more upright, metal clanked on stone.

 'Tchth!," they hissed through their teeth, squinting against even the weak light of the dying torch. "Beibhinn!" blinking rapidly the young man peered up at her as she went down on her knees beside him, "Where have you - Athair!" sudden hope, even joy animated his wan face, "Have they made an attack after all? "

"No," Beibhinn shook her head. And her lip as she spoke trembled in spite of herself.

"Then how did you come here?" asked Ruadhan. Beibhinn saw his face suddenly darken. He had realised.

"Sit up, " she said, pulling his arm so that he sat rather than lay against the wall, "And I shall tell you."

By the time Beinhinn was after recounting her story in full, the tears were running unbidden down her face. She had held them in check this last while, yet somehow Ruadhán's presence and his voice, were too painful signifiers of what was gone.

 "- and so I have sought some way to escape," she finished, "But I sought you too. And it seems one is impossible, and the other I cannot help."

 The last flames of the torch sputtered out, leaving but a faint glow around its head. Enough for her to see Ruadháms face set in stoney grimness. 

 "An Slíbhín. " he muttered between tight clenched teeth. "May the itch eat him. May it eat him and may he have no fingernails to scratch with. May - Beibhinn." he reached an arm out awkwardly and laid it about his sisters shoulders, and Beibhinn realised that even his hand was lacerated with wounds.

 "Cad a tharla duit?" she asked reaching up to touch it, and to her dismay, found that it was unnaturally warm and that Ruadhán caught his breath.

"Little to tell," he said, " and none that flatters my honor." Beibhinn did not smile, but looked at him steadily, intently, pushing him to go on and recount his story, however poor.

"We were returning from Caiseal, and An Beitheach's men attacked us from the woods of Cill Náile. Our men were well behind and so it was Gearoid and myself against them all. A bit stiff, even for us two. "

Beibhinn feigned a laugh, sniffling.

"And so I end up here, after being dragged through every path in the mountain with my eyes tied in bandages. It might," a bitter note crept into Ruadhán voice, "be of interest to you to learn who it was did a fair share of the dragging,"

Beibhinn looked up. "Who?"

"Our own foster brother," replied Ruadhán. "Conn Ó Cleirigh"

"Conn!" exclaimed Beibhinn. A flicker crossed her face, "Conn. I saw him. This morning, was it? But I scarce knew him. His hair has grown so long and he went so fast."

"'Tis Conn alright," said Ruadhaán, "Not enough for him to run away from battle, not enough to shame both his families, oh no. He must have been hiding up here with this fine band these last two years."

"I often wondered where he had gone," Beibhinn said. But her heart sank, stone like, with this realisation. The past years there had always been some small hope in her heart that her foster brother, though a coward it seemed, had lived decently somewhere unknowst to them. Now, evidently, he had not.

The discovery cast silence between herself and Ruadhen for some time

"How are you for food? " she asked after a time, "and for water?'

"Oh well enough. Well as needs be. They bring me some when the fancy takes them."

"Perhaps I could aid you -"

"No." Ruadhan turned to face her suddenly. The metal dragged on the stone and she saw a crease of pain cross his face. "No Beibhinn, you are to flee this place."

"But what of - they will kill you in retribution."

'There is nothing, nothing at all, that An Beitheach can do to me that can rival what he will do to you. Leave Beibhinn," His voice was stern. Ominous as the ringing iron of an unsheathed blade. "And gather everyone, and avenge us."

"But -" Beibhinn's voice wobbled and the tears began to trickle again over her still damp cheeks.

"Enough of that girl." said her brother, "Be assured I will not die unless I cannot resist it any longer. " he tried to smile, "Tough old hill goats, that is what we are. Dál gCaisseans. Now listen well to me: I remember that left of here we stepped in a river. Find it and follow it. There is a small chance that it finds its way out. But do not go down any holes that risk having no ending. You are not such a sionnach beag as can dig your way out." Beibhinn smiled.

"It's sorry I am that I know no more than this," said Ruadhán, "but find your way out and then I can tell you - seek out an Chlann Chinnéide who dwell sna Chnoice Áirde. I had dealings with The Ó Chinnéide in Caiseal, and he will help us. They gave their word back then,."

"And once you have wrested their word out of them, they keep it, is not that so?" said Beibhinn, trying a smile.

Ruadhán grimaced. "Indeed." he said "But to get their word out of them is the trouble! Still, they are with us now. Get to them Beibhinn, and even An Beitheach will have a time trying to outdo them in wits." Ruadhán gave her a push, "Go now."

Beibhinn stood, then turned, feeling black loneliness rise cold about her. "Ruadh -"

"Away with you Beibhinn," said Ruadhan, "And give no part to feelings that cannot be of help. "

Beibhinn jerked her head, "Slán tamall. Dia dhuit." she said.

"Dia is Mhuire dhuit," said Ruadhán, less sternly than his previous words had tried to be. "And left to the river."

Beibhinn nodded, and picking up the burnt remains of her torch, she ducked resolutely out into the blackness beyond.

****

The river she found by ear, now that her torch was gone and she proceeded in blackness like a horrid game, groping along the walls by touch, and many a bang, until a faint glow lightened the darkness. A glow which became a definite streak of light, and then a torch set alone on the wall, its fiery light glinting on a mountain stream that rushed through a stone gully. Beibhinn paused at the edge of the fresh dark water, suddenly in mind of the thirst that dried her mouth. Setting down her burnt out torch she knelt on the damp stone and drank from the stream, its taste faintly of the peat that cloaked the mountain's sides, somewhere on the outside.

"Good day Vixen,"

Beibhinn looked up, then scrambled to her feet, water scattering from her hands. Before her, just on the far side of the stream stood An Beitheach, appearing from the surrounding darkness without warning sound.

Beibhinn pushed down her racing, frightened thoughts, rushing like panicked horses, and beheld him steadily. He stood between her and the path she wished to pursue, and from whence had he come, so silently? Terror put her in mind of Ailbhe, and she would have looked round, but dared not take her eyes from him.

An Beitheach stepped across the stream in one stride and was beside her. She stiffened, barely restraining the wish to run. 

"Found you," he said, laying his hand lightly on her arm, as though in a game. 

Beibhinn tightened her fists, desperate to pull away, but afraid to please him with fear. He smiled. But there was nothing kindly in that smile.

"Wandering alone?" he said, "It displeases me when my guests do such. It is unpleasant to have to come across bodies in the dark,"

"Although I trust most you have put there yourself." said Beibhinn sourly.

A flicker passed over An Beitheach's handsome features, but his manner didn't change - yet. Beibhinn swallowed, forcing herself to stay breathing steadily. Being beside such a one was akin to standing by a bear or bull. Who might at any moment turn upon you.

"So you have been to see your brother," said An Beitheach, "I would that I could treat him better, but he chooses his own fate in word and will. My hospitality is strained by those who are ungracious," As he spoke, An Beitheach's own arm travelled up about her shoulders, encircling her.

"We did not ask your hospitality!," Beibhinn spat, twisting away. An Beitheach's grip on her arm tightened, pulling her back in towards him. Beibhinn braced her feet on the stone floor, wincing against the burning grip on her skin.

"Beibhinn, Beibhinn Uí Bhriain," he chided in a smooth, mocking tone, "What little you know of this world and its ways. But know this: many greater than you and your family stand up in my presence, and it is not to everyone that I extend my friendship. Those who are clever will stay with me."

"And those," said Beibhinn, "who are wise will flee."

An Beitheach jerked her arm, making her stumble, and such fear rushed into Beibhinn's mind as made her dizzy. But still she lifted her chin and glowered at him. An Beibheach returned the look, and nothing was to be heard but the rushing of the stream.

Then An Beitheach's lips curved upwards in a smile."It has been said, at least by those who love you, that you possess the six virtues," he said, "Wise? Beautiful? Pure? Musical?" he laughed, "But sadly lacking in pleasant speech. Come now."

Taking the torch from the bracket on the wall he set off up the passage, hauling Beibhinn in his wake, her arm so dragged that she felt it must come free, but digging her feet into the stone at every step.

****

They came presently back to the main ways, through the passages she had passed through earlier on in pursuit of freedom, and Beibhinn guessed that she was being taken back to her cell. Fear gripped her throat, for reasons other than merely that of imprisonment. She pulled back harder and harder as they approached, but was unable to lessen or break An Beitheach's hold. And the terror pressing down upon her heart pitched itself higher and higher in a silent wail to Heaven.

By the door of her cell they stopped abruptly, Beibhinn's dragged arm sagging down as the pull on it lessened.

"No fireside like your own fireside," laughed An Beitheach. The walk seemingly after lightening his mood. "Now little vixen," he caught her shoulders lightly and pulled her in "Know that I have rescued you from a long and painful death in those tunnels." he tilted his head and grinned, "Be grateful."

Beibhinn said nothing.

"In which case," An Beitheach continued, still grinning,"I shall state my price. A kiss."

Beibhinn stopped breathing, realising how helpless she was, so very very close and held so fast.

"Well?" said An Beitheach, "Come come vixen, just a little one. For now." And so saying he leaned forwards, his grip lessening on her shoulders. Beibhinn ducked. As she did her right arm came free, stiff and burning. She swung it high and struck him.

Struck him with all the force she had ever raised in a blow. Struck him for Ruadhán and herself and Athair and Gearóid; and the crack of it bounced away down the passages.

An Beitheach stumbled backwards, his face reddening from the blow, his mouth twitching, hands clenching. Then such curses came upon the air as Beibhin had never heard in her lifetime. Before she could run, An Beiheach had her by the collar. Shouldering the cell door open he hurled her inside, still spitting and raging incoherently. Beibhinn stumbled into the dark and the door slammed in her wake with a bang that might have split rock. She flung her weight against her side of it that instant, less perhaps her captor should change his mind. The door shook with a furious kick on the outside and more shouting, and she shook too, her eyes sweeping the darkness for somewhere that might be her hide and cover. But the footsteps stormed down the passage, clattering on the stone, and fainter they grew, until the mountain's silence swallowed them.

Author's note:

Rough though it be, I am rather pleased with this. T'wasn't the easiest the write!

If you enjoyed it please do gizza vote. And thanks for sticking around this far! (And bearing with my copious use of 'And's!)

With regards Irish usage:

* Cad a tharla duit? - What happened you?

* Dia dhuit - God be with you

* Dia 's Mhuire dhuit - God and Mary be with you

* Naomh Mhuire, Máthair Dé - Holy Mary, Mother of God

* Sionnach beag - little fox

* Slíbhín - an insult- a sly tricky person

Any spelling or grammar errors you may encounter are all mi owen wurk. (Since school I don't bother to write the language, only speak it.) Instances of inverted sentence structure are deliberate.

Dat's all folks! :)