The Mammoth Book of Historical Crime Fic - By Mike Ashley Page 0,52

was no glimmer of light in the sky. The snow-clouds hid the moon as well as the stars. Then, near at hand, came the eerie howl of a wolf and, so it seemed, another animal close by answered the cry. She peered forward, suddenly nervous. The cry started again, and was answered again. It was clear that this was no lone wolf, weak and banished from the pack. These sounds were of hunting wolves, which meant perhaps as many as ten. She knew that country folk were liable to exaggerate the stories of wolf attacks on livestock and on people. Tradition painted the wolves as the incarnation of evil and malevolence, and, while Fidelma knew more than most about woodcraft, she admitted to having respect for ancient tales. She swiftly pushed the door shut again and put the bar back in place, making certain that it was secure.

She stood for a moment in uncertainty. Finally she turned, to build up the fire again before sitting down in the chair and pulling the blanket around her for more warmth. Somehow she had no inclination to go to lay down on the bed of the absent occupants.

There were only two possibilities for what had occurred. She had either imagined things or they had been real. And if they were real, then there must be an explanation. She had not been imagining things. Of that, she was absolutely sure. She had heard voices, and she had heard the thuds that shook the cabin.

Even before the coming of Christianity, her people had implicit belief in the Otherworld. Gods and mortals could pass freely between the Otherworld and this world. The old religion was based on the unchanging nature of the elements of this visible world as well as the invisible Otherworld. They were part of one entity. Both worlds were without barriers for, although parallel, they were not mutually exclusive. Fidelma did not reject the concept for it was still a living faith in many parts of the country in spite of the changes put in place by the advocates of the New Faith. When a soul died in this world, it was reborn in the other, and when a soul died in the Otherworld, it was reborn in this. A constant interchange of souls was taking place. And yet, it was said that at midnight on one special day of the year, the Otherworld could be both seen and heard. She shook her head. She had been raised with reason – taught that only facts counted, that everything could be explained by logic if one had sufficient information to do so. Just because she did not have the information to make an explanation, it did not mean to say that an explanation did not exist.

In trying to analyse the matter, sleep stole up on her again.

She woke feeling stiff and uncomfortable. She stretched and eased her limbs before rising to her feet. A faint light was filtering through the snow-covered widow and she could her the distant clucking of chickens. It was past dawn. She took some wood and placed it on the dying fire. Then she found the bowl of cold water, its edges showing where it had begun to freeze. She had used it on the previous night. She splashed her face – used the items from her ciobhog, her comb-bag, to freshen herself – dressed, and looked for something to eat. The milk was cold and still drinkable. Feeling thus refreshed, she went to the door, unbarred it and looked out.

The gusting winds of the night had blown away the snow-clouds and, amazingly, the sky was azure with the pale sun hanging above the eastern peaks. The snow carpeted the mountains, lit in bright white and, seemingly, undisturbed. Everything seemed calm and peaceful. She made her way to the barn to attend to the animals. While she was feeding them, she turned her attention yet again to the mystery, and what she should do next. There was no choice but to ride on to Béal Átha Gabhann although it meant abandoning the animals. Also, if the occupants had come to mishap on the mountains and survived the night, it meant abandoning them too. But what else could she do alone? She was not even sure exactly where she was except that she must be somewhere in the Sliabh Eibhline mountain range, an area she did not know except for the main route through them which, with the snows of last