The Pictish Child by Jane Yolen

Author:Jane Yolen
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media

Eleven

Single Combat

Ninia walked over to the burly warrior and pushed his tattooed hands away from his face. Then she put her own hands under his chin, lifted it, and said something so softly only he could hear.

“If she blows in his nostrils, I may have to honk,” said the dog.

“If you are not silent, I may have to kill you,” said Devil.

“If someone doesn’t explain what is happening,” Jennifer said, “I may have to scream.”

Gran held up a hand and they all quieted. “Clearly she recognizes him. King, father, brother, cousin …”

“Actually,” the horse said, moving out into the main part of the living room, but taking care not to step on Gran’s good carpet, “he is the high king’s war councillor.”

“And …” Gran said slowly.

“How do you know there is more, old woman?” the horse asked.

“There is always more in history,” Gran said. “It is only in a story that much is left out.”

“Besides,” Peter said to the horse, “she’s a witch. And a grandmother. It’s an unbeatable combination.”

“Ah.” The horse nodded. “I shall remember that.”

“Dinna make me angry, horse,” warned Gran. “You dinna want that.”

Devil nodded. “I will tell you all without threats, Grandmother. The man is first among the Pictish warriors. His name is Bridei mac Derlei, named for the great king of the Picts—Bridei mac Bili. But this one is more familiarly known to his clan as Bridei of the Ax and sometimes Bridei of the Long Scar.”

Jennifer’s right forefinger traced an imitation of that long scar down her own face, from forehead to chin. She wondered what weapon had made it.

At that moment Bridei of the Ax spotted the horse and stood, right hand held out rigid. He babbled in his outlandish tongue. Ninia put her hand on his arm to calm him, but he kept on going. Whatever he was saying, there was certainly a lot of it.

“Now what?” Gran asked. “What have ye left out this time, horse?” She raised a hand in warning.

“Only that we are old friends,” Devil said, “the Ax and I.”

“So ye said about the lass.” The dog looked disgusted, or perhaps he was amused. It was difficult to tell which, with his long muzzle. “And are ye personally acquainted with the entire Pictish race?”

“Only the southern Picts,” the horse said without a trace of irony. “They called me Night of Long Thunder.” He walked slowly and carefully over to Bridei of the Ax, avoiding a sofa on the left and a chess table on the right. Lowering his head, Devil waited till Bridei put out his hand. Then he nuzzled the man’s palm, blowing hotly into it.

“What an embarrassing display,” the dog said.

“I think it’s sort of sweet,” Jennifer told him. “Like his name.”

“Aye—ye would.” The dog sat down sullenly.

In a single swift and sudden movement, Bridei threw himself atop the horse. He grabbed up a fistful of Devil’s mane in his hand to use as a rein.

Except for a small series of tremors, like waves under the skin, Devil did not move.

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