On the Edge of Darkness. Barbara Erskine
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to unlace her sandals.
Beneath her tunic Brid was naked. She stood for a second on the rock, her body a pale contrast to her tanned arms and legs, then she leaped into the water with a splash and a delighted shriek.
Adam stood still. He caught his breath. He had seen the baby sisters of his friends sometimes without their clothes when their mothers bathed them before the fire, and he had always averted his eyes, particularly avoiding looking at the shockingly naked slit between their legs. He was still seriously intending to be a doctor, but he had never seen an older girl or a woman without clothes before, and now he had seen for a short moment when she stood untroubled on the rock this slim girl, young woman; seen her small firm breasts, the dark fuzz of hair between her legs, the provocative curve of hip and buttock before she leaped into the water.
He had never before considered how old Brid was. About his own age, he assumed, but she was his friend, his pal. He had never thought of her for a single moment as being like the giggling girls in Pittenross or Dunkeld, but his body, to his extreme embarrassment, was reacting by itself.
He stood where he was, mortified, the water dripping in pools around his feet as Brid flung back her hair, which had come free of its clip, treading water near him. ‘Come, A-dam,’ she called. ‘Come in. Nice.’
He smiled uncertainly, his eyes on her breasts as the water cascaded over her shoulders. Dark strands of hair plastered her back and clung to her pale skin.
‘Come.’ She had realised suddenly the effect she was having on him and her smile became provocative. She ran her fingers over her body, resting them for a moment on the pert nipples before sweeping them down over her hips. ‘A-dam. Come.’ Her voice had deepened. It held command. He hesitated for only a moment longer.
The cold water brought him sharply to his senses. Spluttering, he struck out for the far side of the pool, dodged round her and ducked under the waterfall itself. The noise was deafening. He was totally enveloped in the icy torrent, encircled by it, deafened by it, stunned by it. He trod water immediately under the fall and raised his face, feeling the power of it thundering over him. It was choking him, stifling him, drowning him. Abruptly he lowered his head, ducking out of it, gasping desperately to regain his breath.
Brid swam over to him in alarm. ‘A-dam? Are you all right?’ She touched his arm, her fingers cold.
He pulled away and felt the firmness of her naked thigh against his underneath the water. He reacted as though he had been burned. With a yell he turned away and flailed towards the side of the pool. Pulling himself up onto the rock he lay there for a moment on his back, trying to catch his breath.
She was right behind him. ‘A-dam?’ She knelt over him, the water dripping from her breasts. ‘A-dam, what is wrong? Did the water go in you?’ She had one hand on his shoulder, the other on his belly, gentle, concerned. ‘Poor A-dam. You went under the falling water. Only the Lady goes there. She was cross with you.’
He opened his eyes. ‘There is no lady, Brid,’ he gasped. ‘Saying there is, is evil. Wicked. You will go to hell if you believe such things.’
‘Hell?’ She was kneeling beside him, looking puzzled now, her long wet hair modestly shrouding her breasts.
‘Hell. Hades. Inferno.’ Adam was sounding increasingly desperate. ‘Brid, you have heard of Our Lord? Of Jesus?’
‘Oh, Jesus.’ She smiled. ‘Columcille talked of Jesus. Broichan does not like that. Brude, the king, he likes Jesus.’
‘The king?’ Adam was frowning at this torrent of strange names. The sun was in his eyes now as he lay back on the baking rock, Brid a black silhouette above him. ‘You mean King George?’
‘King Brude,’ she said firmly. ‘The Lady punish you, A-dam. She make water go in you. You must give her a present. Say sorry.’
‘I am not going to say sorry to a heathen spirit!’ he said hotly. He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back, surprisingly strong. ‘A-dam, say sorry or she make you die.’
She had learned the word die when they had found a stag, its neck broken, at the foot of a cliff. To his surprise she had cried for it, her hands gently caressing the rough red-brown fur on its nose as it expired, its head in her arms. She was anything but gentle now.
‘She can’t make me die.’ A shiver sent goosepimples over his skin.
She nodded, her face transformed with such fury he felt a tremor of fear run through him. ‘She can. I serve the Lady, I know about her. I will kill you if she asks me to. She is very cross. You went in her special place. You must give her your piece of cake.’
Adam stared at her in horror. ‘I will not!’
‘You give her your piece of cake or she will make you die.’
‘Brid! You’re mad!’ He wondered for a split second as he said it if it were true. She was frightening him. There was a strange uncompromising look in her eyes which he had never seen before. A piece of cake was not going to appease some spirit in the water even if it did exist, which of course it didn’t. He tried to sit up again and this time she let him. She rose gracefully to her feet and stood before him. ‘A-dam, please. Give her a present.’ Her voice had assumed a new, deep resonance. ‘Anything. Give her your watch.’ She had never seen a watch before and was enchanted by it.
‘I will not.’ He tried to smile. ‘I’d rather she had the cake.’
‘Then give her cake.’ She was firm. She folded her arms.
His eyes had strayed to her breasts and he brought them back to her face with difficulty. ‘All right, if it makes you happy, I’ll throw away the piece of cake.’
‘Not throw away, A-dam. Give it to the Lady.’ She was implacable.
‘Brid –’
‘Give it, A-dam, or I will let her kill you.’ The authority in her voice made him stare at her in awe. From one moment to the next it seemed she had changed from a provocative child-woman to a raging virago, to someone with the authority of one of his teachers at school. Shaking his head, shocked and uncomfortable, he squatted down and meekly reached into his knapsack. He brought out the two remaining slices of cake and taking one he walked across to the pool. She watched in silence as he moved out to the place where she had stood and solemnly broke up the cake and let it fall through his fingers into the water.
‘There. Satisfied?’ He felt cheated; he had been looking forward to the cake. And he also felt guilty and afraid. Thanks to Brid he had made a sacrifice to some pagan gypsy god and in so doing endangered his immortal soul. He sat down on the rocks at the edge of the pool and wrapping his arms around his spindly shins he sank his chin on his knees.
She glanced at him. ‘A-dam?’ The anger had gone from her voice. This time it was soft. Hesitant. ‘A-dam? Why you cross?’
‘I’m not cross.’ He refused to look at her.
‘The Lady happy now. She eat her cake.’
He shuffled round slightly so that his back was towards her.
There was a small sigh. Then he heard the faint rustle of paper and looked round.
‘A-dam eat Brid’s cake.’ The last piece was being offered to him.
‘I don’t want it.’ Crossly he turned away from her again.
‘Please, A-dam.’ She sounded so mournful he was suddenly sorry. He turned. ‘I’ll have a little bit, then.’ He said it as though he were doing her a favour. He reached out and broke off the end of the slice from the piece lying in the paper cradled between her palms.
‘We share.’ She smiled. Sitting down on the rock beside him she broke the remains of the slice in two. Cramming her piece into her mouth she ate it with gusto. The sunlight was playing over her skin, warming it, soothing away the goosepimples where the wind had touched it with cold fingers. Adam looked away, concentrating as hard as he could on the cake