Free Daughter of Albion by Ilka Tampke Page A

his swelling lip.
    There was vividness around his skin, like spray from a waterfall. Our faces were close. He lifted his eyes. His gaze was a blow to my belly.
    â€˜What is your business here?’ I whispered.
    â€˜As yours. Taking drink.’ He winced with the movement of his lip.
    â€˜But the hook? The wound?’
    â€˜Unfortunate,’ he answered.
    â€˜But where are you from?’ I pressed. He was certainly a stranger to Cad.
    â€˜Surely that is my question to ask, Journeywoman.’
    â€˜Journeywoman?’ I gasped, laughing at his error. ‘Not I! Much as I would wish it were so.’
    He frowned. ‘Then where…?’ His question drifted into silence.
    As he stood in the knee-deep water, I saw the full height of him. His trousers were rough-made (he was no nobleman) and of a strangely patterned weave. A whistle, carved of bone, was strung on a plait of leather and wound around his narrow hips.
    â€˜Might I know your name at least?’ I asked, standing beside him.
    â€˜Taliesin.’
    A bard’s name. Or a magician’s. But he was too young to be either. Why did he not state his tribe or township?
    â€˜Yours?’ he asked.
    â€˜Ailia of Cad.’
    â€˜Ailia,’ he repeated. ‘Light.’
    â€˜Yes,’ I said, surprised. Few knew the meaning of my name.
    â€˜What is your skin?’ he said.
    Never had the question laid me so bare. ‘I…I am skin to the deer.’ It was a lie I had never told. Why could I not bear him to know me unskinned?
    â€˜I am skin to the salmon,’ he said.
    Cookmother’s skin. I looked away. Something in me had shifted with my lie. ‘If you walk with me a short while back to town,’ I said, distracting myself, ‘I can show this wound to my Cookmother. She will know how further to treat it.’
    â€˜I cannot come.’
    His firmness stopped me asking his reason. ‘Then perhaps we should meet again a day or so hence, that I might check it again,’ I said, relieved, at least, that he would not discover my untruth.
    He nodded hesitantly. ‘Come here again tomorrow and I shall show you my wound.’
    â€˜Here?’ I said. ‘Surely your home—?’
    â€˜Is too far,’ he said.
    I stared at him, then reached for his hand. ‘Let me help you out of the water.’
    â€˜No!’ he said, almost shouting.
    Startled, I dropped his hand.
    Neha barked. I was suddenly unsure of myself, uneasy with his strangeness. ‘Be very careful with your eating and drinking,’ I said as I wiped my knife on my skirt and put it back in my belt. ‘So you do not tax the wound unduly.’
    â€˜Good advice.’ He found my eye. ‘I won’t kiss you for thanks. It might tax the wound unduly.’
    My face burned as I stepped back onto the bank to repack my basket. I glanced about for his tunic and sandals, but saw neither. ‘In which direction do you walk?’ I asked over my shoulder.
    He did not answer.
    When I turned around, there was only Neha, barking at the river. I looked to the forest and called his name, but he was gone. Disappeared like the mist from the sunshine.

8
The Salmon of Knowledge
    Around the pool of wisdom grew nine hazel trees. Each tree dropped a nut into the water, and they were eaten by a salmon.

By this act, the salmon gained all the world’s knowledge.

Whoever first eats of the salmon’s flesh will, in turn,

gain all the world’s knowledge.
    I HAD SCARCELY walked through the kitchen doorway, when Cookmother thrust two steaming bowls of broth into my hands and bade me take them to the sleephouse.
    â€˜Llwyd is with her,’ she said. ‘And he was here earlier also, asking of you.’
    â€˜Of me?’
    â€˜Ay.’ Cookmother was bent over the cookpot, and I could not see her expression.
    â€˜For what purpose?’
    â€˜None that he was confessing to me.’
    Fraid’s daughter was