Dreamer's Pool

by Juliet Marillier

  I got down from my horse. The district did need a wise woman, and the lady had done nothing amiss, save possibly absent herself rather than engage in a conversation with me. ‘We’ve interrupted your labours,’ I said, giving the very big man a smile. ‘You’re doing a fine job with the thatching, that’s clear. And the rest of this – is it all your work? The place looks transformed.’

  The giant spoke. ‘What you said. About the cottage. Blackthorn can’t stay here without your say-so, is that the sum of it?’

  ‘My lord.’ Donagan looked about to explode.

  I ignored him. ‘That is the sum of it, yes; even a tumbledown ruin generally belongs to someone. All these lands are mine. But I didn’t say the wise woman couldn’t stay. Only that I would like to speak with her.’

  ‘You can speak to me.’

  ‘Not without a name, at least.’

  ‘Grim.’

  ‘And you are her servant?’ At the expression on his face, I added, ‘Brother? Husband?’

  He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Travelled here with her. Fixed the place up for her. I look after her. That enough for you?’ After what seemed to me a carefully judged pause, he added, ‘My lord?’

  ‘Thank you, Grim. You don’t expect Blackthorn back soon, then?’

  ‘She’s her own mistress. She’ll be back in her own time. My lord.’

  ‘You say you travelled here – where did you come from?’ If this Blackthorn was going to stay in the area and tend to my folk, I’d need to know at the very least that she could do a good job of it. If she’d left a position elsewhere, there must be a reason.

  ‘South.’

  I held his gaze, playing him at his own game.

  ‘Laigin,’ Grim added eventually. ‘I’ll tell Blackthorn you came by. You want to check on her, ask the folk she’s been tending to. They seem happy enough. My lord.’

  For him, this seemed a long speech. At the end of it he glanced, not too subtly, toward the ladder.

  ‘Thank you, Grim. You’ll be wanting to get on with your work.’

  A grunt.

  ‘Please ask Blackthorn to come to my house one day soon, at her convenience. There’s certainly a need for her services in the district. But best if the matter’s put on a more formal footing.’

  ‘Formal?’ His eyes narrowed again. He balled his hands into fists. Substantial fists. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Nothing you need concern yourself with.’

  ‘What does it mean, my lord?’

  Donagan took a step forward; I halted him with a gesture. ‘I like to be sure my folk are adequately compensated for their work, and that they carry out that work as well as they can. No more than that. It may also be useful to Blackthorn to know our procedures for airing grievances and settling disputes. A monthly open council, held on the day of full moon, which you are both welcome to attend.’

  Another grunt. Grim’s distrust was written all over his plain features.

  ‘You’re surprised that I take an interest in my people’s welfare?’ I asked. It was a wonder Blackthorn had found any work here at all, with this bristling mastiff on her front doorstep. But she’d been doing her job and doing it well, if the word in the settlement was correct.

  ‘You ask a lot of questions,’ Grim said. ‘My lord.’

  ‘That’s because I want to hear the answers.’

  ‘Never met a prince before. But the way I see it, too much power twists a man. Leads him down dark ways. No reason to trust you, my lord. What you’ve said is that you’ve got power over Blackthorn. You can turn her out of here when you like. Make her do your bidding. Her and me, we don’t like that.’

  ‘You can’t speak to the prince that way –’ began Donagan.

  ‘Ask Blackthorn to come and see me,’ I said, keeping calm. ‘Come with her if you wish. Not all princes are the same, Grim. If you mean well at Winterfalls, you’ll be treated well.’ I let my gaze run over the cottage again. ‘There should not only be work in these parts for your . . . companion, but for you too, I’m certain.’

  ‘I’ll tell her.’ Grim turned away, heading for the ladder. The set of his shoulders suggested an anger far deeper than his words had conveyed.

  Donagan seemed about to say something.

  ‘We’ll ride to Dreamer’s Pool,’ I told him, mounting my horse. ‘Sample the food and drink we were given. Then home.’

  We followed the little track that skirted the wood. The cottage and its surly minder were soon out of sight behind us. Not far along the track, another narrow way branched off under the trees, leading to the heart of Dreamer’s Wood, and this we followed. The place was as eerily quiet as ever. Even the birds seemed muted here, as if they dared not lift their voices. The only sounds were the gurgling song of the stream that ran alongside the path and the whisper of the wind in the trees.

  Folk said there were fey beings living in Dreamer’s Wood, though nobody had ever seen one. They said it was a place where remnants of an ancient past still lingered. It was no wonder people skirted the wood, entering only if they had to. The village folk feared what they did not understand. They feared magic, and the fey were known to be full of magic.

  As a child, I had wanted to believe every word of this. It had never occurred to me to fear Dreamer’s Wood. The place had drawn me, and when we had stayed at Winterfalls I had spent long mornings sitting in the mysterious shade, dreaming of old tales and hoping a fey being would appear and perhaps engage me in conversation. Later, when my father had appointed Donagan as my companion, I’d ceased those solitary vigils. Donagan had been tolerant for a boy of that age. But I had known he thought my fancies childish. Besides, I had never once seen more than hedgehogs and rabbits in the wood.

  The horses sensed something, no doubt of it. I felt the tension in Snow’s shoulders as she went forward, though she was obedient to my directions, as ever. Donagan’s Star twitched her tail and turned her head one way, then the other.

  ‘Can’t say it would be my first choice of a spot to sit down and enjoy a bite to eat,’ my companion said.

  ‘It’s quiet,’ I said. ‘And we might run into the elusive Blackthorn. Didn’t our friend Grim say she was gathering herbs?’

  ‘If she’s anything like her minder, she won’t take kindly to being run into. You should have corrected that fellow’s manners, at the very least. If you let folk speak to you like that, you’re in danger of losing their respect.’

  I glanced across at him. ‘With Grim, there was no respect to lose. If I learned anything about the man, apart from the obvious fact that he’s strong and able, it was that he doesn’t like being answerable to anyone. Did you see the way he was moving about on that roof? It made me wonder what he was before.’

  ‘Before what?’

  ‘Before he was this Blackthorn’s minder, or companion, or assistant.’

  ‘He’s surely hiding some kind of secret or he’d have been readier with his answers. His manner almost suggested he wanted you to turn the two of them out.’

  We reached the pool and dismounted, looping our reins over a branch. The horses did not drop their heads to drink or to crop at the long grass. The two of them stood still and silent, side by side.

  Donagan got the provisions out of his saddlebag and we sat down on the grassy bank to eat and drink. Deaman’s bread was very good; Iobhar’s mead washed it down well. Chewing with enjoyment, I noted the things I loved about this place, and imagined sitting here with Flidais by my side, sharing them with her. The stillness; the way Dreamer’s Pool had a kind of glow about it, not only the sunlight filtering down through the autumn canopy, but a light that seemed to come from within, from the water itself. The tiny insects that danced on the reflective surface of the pool. The neat curls of the ferns that fringed the water, the glinting droplets hanging there. The pebbles on the shore, smooth and shining, each different, each beau
tiful. The place was a poem in itself. She and I would come here with Bramble. We could pretend that this was our own private place where nobody could find us. Here, we could forget that one day I would be king of Dalriada, and that she would be queen. We could be no more than a pair of lovers enjoying each other’s company. My mind drifted further, and I drew it back sharply. I would not dishonour my sweetheart, even in my daydreams.

  ‘Let Aedan see this Blackthorn for you,’ Donagan offered. ‘It’s appropriate for your steward to deal with such matters. I’m taking it that all you want is to be sure she has the appropriate skills and experience, and that she and the fellow will look after the cottage. It sounds as if the people are happy with her.’

  ‘Donagan?’

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Whom would a young lady like Flidais want to attend her, supposing we were fortunate enough to be blessed with an infant? A court physician, or a wise woman like this Blackthorn?’

  Donagan gave me a sideways look. ‘Are you speaking of a confinement? You can hardly expect me to have any expertise in that. It’s a matter for women.’ After a moment he took pity on me and added, ‘I believe your mother would say you need not concern yourself with such things at this point, if at all. And she’d add that if you insisted your child be born at Winterfalls, and not at Cahercorcan, she would ensure the court physician took up residence here well in advance of the expected birth. As an alternative, you might engage your own physician, who would be permanently attached to your household.’

  ‘What do the women of the village do?’

  ‘Without the services of a midwife,’ Donagan said, ‘I imagine that they assist one another, and that some of them die. Their infants too. It’s unsurprising that they’ve embraced Blackthorn, unknown though she must have been to them.’

  With a sudden chill I realised my attempts to be the friend of my people had been sorely lacking. How could I have overlooked something so important?

  ‘Don’t look so stricken,’ Donagan said, packing up the remnants of our meal. ‘This woman’s here now, and as for your future wife, you have plenty of time to put arrangements in place. You’ll be able to ask Lady Flidais in person what she’d prefer. Though I suggest you do not do so the moment you see her; she might take that to indicate you are over-eager for the marital bed.’ I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, and saw him grin. ‘A joke, Oran. Only a joke.’

  ‘It is no laughing matter.’ I rose to my feet, gazing across the still waters of the pool to the trees beyond. I had glimpsed that sudden spot of red again, perhaps a scarf, perhaps a head of vibrant hair among the haze of greys and greens, perhaps a bright bird passing. It was gone now. Maybe Blackthorn liked visitors even less than her henchman did. ‘We’d best be on our way. I can’t imagine how I overlooked this. I must set it to rights without delay.’

  ‘If taking action on the matter will stop you from stamping around in a state of constant anxiety, it can be only good,’ observed my friend. ‘Shall we ride?’

  I would have written to my father as soon as we returned home. But a messenger had come during our absence, and there was a letter from Flidais. It had been carried north by a series of riders, and under the lady’s instructions it had been delivered not to court but directly to me. I left Donagan to help the groom with our horses and retreated to my bedchamber, wondering if a time might come when my sweetheart’s communications did not turn me into a shaking bundle of nerves, and considering whether that would be a good thing or a bad. I knew what my mother would say.

  I broke the seal, which was not Cadhan’s, and unrolled the parchment.

  To Oran, Prince of Dalriada

  I write this in some haste to let you know that I and my attendants are now safely across the border of Ulaid. We are enjoying a few days’ rest in the household of the local chieftain, Muadan. I have never travelled so far from home before, Oran, and I admit I find it deeply disconcerting. I feel somewhat set adrift, though folk have been very kind and have gone out of their way to make me welcome. I am glad that my maidservant Ciar is travelling with me, along with several women from my parents’ household. That means I am bringing a little of home with me, though I am so far away.

  I am anxious about the safety of my father and mother and of all our people. Riding away and leaving them felt wrong, though I know this was what my parents wanted.

  When I feel sad I remind myself that when I reach Winterfalls you will be there, and I think of sharing poems and songs and long walks in the woods, and that brings the smile back to my face. I will be pleased when this endless journey is over.

  Bramble is much disturbed; at night she burrows under her blankets and refuses to show so much as the tip of her nose. I think my little dog longs to reach Winterfalls as much as I do!

  My host, Lord Muadan, has offered the services of his messenger to bring this letter to you, which is most kind of him. I will seal and send it now. I hope that I will not be far behind it, dear Oran. Flidais of Cloud Hill

  My heart beat fast. She was in Ulaid! That meant only a matter of days before her party reached Winterfalls. Of course, she might decide to spend a while enjoying Muadan’s hospitality. The horses would need to be rested, or fresh mounts obtained. I recalled that Muadan loved to hunt, and kept a pack of wolfhounds for the purpose. Bramble would hardly be comfortable there.

  I bade myself be calm. I was the head of my own household; I was the heir to the Dalriadan throne. Such a man did not greet his intended bride in a lather of nervous sweat, with trembling hands and a mind wiped clean of rational thought. I must not let love make me foolish.

  I stood by the window looking out across my grazing fields, and made a list in my mind of what preparations still remained to be completed before my sweetheart’s arrival. The list was not very long – thanks in part to my enthusiasm, and in far greater part, I suspected, to the efficiency of my household, the place was all but ready. There was a riding horse to be brought down from Cahercorcan, a wedding gift to Flidais from my father. Some further improvements to the bathing arrangements were still to be made. And the matter of the wise woman. But Donagan was right, that was not truly urgent. This Blackthorn would present herself at my house in due course, as I’d requested, and I could have a word with her then.

  10

  ~BLACKTHORN~

  The day we’d moved into the cottage, I’d had to make a decision. The place had one main room with a hearth and a couple of shelf beds, and a falling-apart lean-to at the back. The only place for a healer to conduct her business was in that main room, and it was plain I’d be sleeping there as well. Which had left the question of Grim. I’d already told him, somewhat against my better judgement, that he could stay awhile and work on the repairs, since there was so much needing to be done on the place.

  I hadn’t wanted him leaping to any conclusions about what that might mean. Not that he’d ever suggested we might become any more than travelling companions. But he was a man, and my experience of men suggested I’d better make it quite clear where we stood. So, right at the start, I’d told him he’d be sleeping in the outhouse. It was a low structure of stone, separated from the cottage by a weed-choked garden patch. In fact the outhouse had survived the years better than the cottage itself, with its earthen floor reasonably dry. It only needed the cobwebs brushed away and a new door and shutters fitted. A few boards, a supply of fresh straw, a couple of blankets – it would be more comfortable than many places we’d slept in during our journey. Compared with Mathuin’s lockup it was a palace.

  At the time Grim had made no comment, simply taken his pack and his blankets out there and found some old sacking to hang across the doorway until he could get started on the work. The cottage had to come first. We’d found the place full of cold draughts. The chimney was blocked by the dried-out corpse of a blackbird, the roof leaked, the shutters were hanging broken or gone altogether, and the whole place stank of mould.

 
But that had changed quickly enough. Grim had put in long days on the repairs, making the place clean and comfortable. If he was not up a ladder or digging a hole or planting something, he was off bartering some of our small stock of coppers for tools or seeds or other supplies. The local folk started offering him work, helping to get a harvest in or dig a well. They paid him in coppers or food or other items we needed. But he never did more than a day or two for them; mostly he worked on the cottage. Grim wasn’t a man who gave much away, but as the place changed I saw him changing with it, walking straighter, holding his head higher, readier with a smile.

  I thought it likely the little house was more of a home now than it had ever been in the days of the last wise woman. Grim had lime-washed the outside and adorned the newly thatched roof with a row of fanciful straw creatures. He’d mended the broken furniture. He’d dug the garden and planted seeds. I’d added roots of this and that, which I’d gathered in the woods. Conmael had chosen the spot well; there was a good supply of herbs in season if a body knew where to look for them.

  Folk came to consult me, at first warily, then, as the word spread, with more confidence. People have a natural fear of a wise woman – the taint of magic hangs over my kind, a remnant of a time when we did more than prepare herbal remedies, strap up broken limbs and help women give birth. The need to see so many people and to stay courteous left me ill-tempered and weary at the end of the day. Grim was good at having a brew ready when I needed it.

  But the sleeping arrangements soon became a problem. Me in the cottage, him in the outhouse – it had sounded all right to me, for as long as he hung around. We’d been there some while when I got up in the night, went out the back to relieve myself and fell over Grim, who was rolled up in a blanket, sleeping across the cottage doorway. He woke with a start, apologised and headed off to the outhouse before I could say a word.

  The next morning he was up and working before I stirred. I didn’t ask him about the night before, and he didn’t mention it, but I knew him pretty well after our time locked up together, and I could tell something was bothering him. I could see the signs, though he was working hard not to show them. A clenching and unclenching of the fists; the pulse beating in his temple; his lips moving as if he were constantly having a conversation with himself. Signs I hadn’t seen for a long while. I didn’t want to think about what it meant. If he’d taken himself off after we escaped and gone his own way, I wouldn’t be needing to waste time worrying about him now. I had enough responsibilities with my promises to Conmael, my job to do and the effort of being pleasant to folk I cared nothing about. I didn’t need the big lump of a fellow weighing down my thoughts into the bargain.