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Once I was well inside the rath, the hill people seemed to lose interest in me. I was left alone to observe
my captors, who, aside from an occasional glance in my direction, and a dog that came to sniff my hands
and legs, appeared oblivious to my presence. I sat on the fur-covered pallet and tried to see what I might
discover about these people.
There were eight men and four women aside from the she-chief and the old woman; scattered among
them were five naked children whose ages were impossible to determine the adults looked like
children to me! All the adults wore woad-stained scars on their cheeks fhain marks, as I was to learn.
Distinctive spirals which, at the time of cutting, had the deep blue powder pressed into the wounds to
colour them for ever. Individuals of the same fhain the word means family tribe, or clan wore the
same marks.
I puzzled over who they might be. Not Picti though they used the woad, they were too small for
Painted People, who anyway would have killed me outright upon discovery. Neither were they members
of any of the hill tribes I knew about. Their habit of living underground marked them for a northern
people, but if so they were far south of their beloved moors.
These, I decided, could only be thebhean sidhe , the enchanted Hill Folk, as much feared for their
obscure ways and magic, as they were envied for their gold. Thebhean sidhe were rumoured to possess
great malevolent power, and even greater treasures of gold; both of which were employed in tormenting
the tallfolk, whom they delighted in sacrificing to their crude idols whenever they could catch them. And I
was their captive.
The clan settled for the night and one by one fell asleep. I pretended sleep, too, but stayed awake to be
ready to make my escape. When at last, judging from the sound of the snoring, everyone was sleeping
soundly and peacefully, I rose, crept from my pallet to the doorway and out into the night.
The mist had cleared and the night was ablaze with stars, cold and bright, the moon already set. The
surrounding hills showed as a solid black undulating mass against the deep blue of heaven. I breathed in
the mountain air and looked at the stars. Here all serious thought of escape vanished. I had only to look
at the jet-dark night to know that running in such darkness invited disaster. And even if I had been so
determined, on the wind I heard the bark of hunting wolves.
It came to me that this was why my captors had not bothered to restrain me in any way. If I were foolish
enough to tempt the wolves, so be it; I deserved my fate.
All the same, as I stood looking at the stars, I heard the rustle of the closing flap and turned to see
someone emerge from the rath. As I made no move, my companion came to stand near me and I saw
that it was the she-chief. She put her hand on my arm but lightly, as much to reassure herself that I was
still there as to remind me that I was a captive.
We stood together for a long time so close that I could feel the heat from her body. Neither of us spoke;
we had no words. But something in her touch gave me to understand that these people had some
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purpose for me. While not exactly an honoured guest, my presence was more than a passing curiosity.
After a while, she turned and pulled me with her back into the rath. I returned to my pallet, and she to
hers, and I closed my eyes and prayed that I would soon be reunited with my people.
What the hill-dwellers wanted with me I discovered soon after sunrise when Vrisa, chieftain of the
Amsaradh fhain their name for themselves; it means People of the Killing Bird, or Hawk Clan
took me out to their holy place on a nearby hilltop. The hill was the highest around and took some effort
to climb, but upon gaining the summit I saw a menhir, a single standing stone painted with blue spirals and
the representations of various birds and animals, most notably hawks and wolves.
In Her belt Vrisa wore a long, flat-bladed knife, polished and honed to mirror brightness. The man with
the bells Elac, as I would later discover kept his hand tight on my arm all the way up the hill, and
two of the others carried spears. The whole fhain made the trek up the hill, gathering round us as we
came to stand beside the menhir, humming softly, with a sound like wind through dry leaves.
A braided leather rope was produced and my wrists were bound tightly. My cloak was taken from me
and I was made to lie down on the sun side of the standing stone. They meant to sacrifice me; there was
no doubt about that, and judging from the bones scattered around the hilltop, I was not their first offering.
But, though this might seem boastful to some, I was more fearful of being left by my people, than having
my heart carved beating from my body. There was no hate, no deception or guile in these people. They
did not wish me harm in the least. And indeed, did not consider the sacrifice of my life any great harm at
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