A Dance with Fate

by Juliet Marillier

  “Well,” says Rowan.

  “Well,” I say. “A strange day. Thank you for your help. You should go and have some supper, and then rest. Will you check on True for me?” Rowan will understand that I must stay here; I cannot leave until this creature’s future is determined. It is nobody’s responsibility but mine.

  “I will, and if I am not satisfied I will come back and tell you. You also need supper and rest, Brocc.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about me. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  * * *

  * * *

  Rowan does not return, and nor do the small folk, who on a different occasion might have brought me supper. I sit by my fire a long while, getting up from time to time to peer through the hole in the sacking, reassuring myself that the creature is still breathing. I ponder various courses of action and find none of them satisfactory. When the moon is up, I lie down on my bed, but I cannot sleep. Every small sound from the box has my heart jolting with fright or concern or something else, though when I check, the creature is only stirring in its sleep, as if troubled by dark dreams.

  Late in the night it wakes, crying out. I feed it; it gobbles my offering enthusiastically. Afterward I sing it a little song, and at a certain point it starts a soft chirping. When I stop, it stops. When I pick up the tune again, it chirps again as if to sing along with me. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Something deeply magical is happening. This is not the Otherworld magic of charms and spells. It is the simple and powerful magic of trust. When I peer into the box, the creature is gazing up at me. Its eyes look more tranquil now. “Sleep time, small one,” I say, and close the sacking over the gap. There are enough worms and beetles left for breakfast, I think. And plenty more to be found in the forest. Perhaps I can raise this little one myself. Perhaps, treated kindly, even one of the Crow Folk can grow up healthy and calm and wise.

  Eventually I fall asleep. I wake at first light, taking a moment or two to remember that I am not alone in my hut; yes, that really did happen. I look over toward the box and freeze. The twine is undone. The sack is drawn right back. Where—? I glance wildly around, up to the rafters, into the dark corners, over to the stove with its banked-up fire. No sign. Nothing. The door is closed. With my hands up to shield my face from possible attack, I tiptoe toward the box and look down.

  The creature lies on the bedding, its fledgling wings spread wide as if in flight, its eyes glassy, its head at an impossible angle to its body. While I was sleeping on my pallet not two strides away, someone has entered my hut and broken its neck.

  11

  LIOBHAN

  There’s at least one gaping hole in the plan to get Dau safely back home. Seanan’s people haven’t brought a healer with them, and neither Fergus nor Jabir is able to accompany them all the way to Oakhill—each is required elsewhere. The closest thing Seanan has is me, but I’m the last person he’d want as nurse for his brother, even if he knew I was capable. And Dau would hate it. He’s gone silent in the way only a furiously angry person can. If I speak to him I may get a punch in the guts for my efforts. I thought I was helping. I am helping. Yes, putting my hand up to be an unpaid servant in what sounds like the worst household in the world is perhaps not the most sensible decision I’ve ever made. But why would Dau be angry? With me there, at least he’ll have a friend. He’ll have someone to watch over him, to make sure he’s safe. I’m trained for that. I resolve to treat this as another mission and to acquit myself as well as I possibly can.

  Illann and Brigid should be back with our possessions by the end of the day. They’ll bring the extra horses we need. Dusk and Fleetfoot are not part of the arrangement; they’ll be returned to their stables. We’ll have other mounts for the long ride to Oakhill, horses whose price is within the figure agreed on. I trust Illann to find a suitable animal for Dau. The fact is, Dau’s an excellent rider, far more capable than me, but a blind man needs a very particular kind of horse, one like Dusk that’s not only calm tempered but also quick to understand what the rider wants and needs. Can I ask to be the one who rides next to Dau? Seanan heard me speak at the meeting. He must have realized then that I have a mind of my own. It would be better if Dau asked him. But he won’t. He’s put up that invisible wall, the one that keeps everyone at a distance.

  It’s a very long day. The two groups tread a difficult line between ignoring each other and maintaining an awkward civility. Dau has retreated to the room where he was waiting earlier, muttering about a sore head. Jabir is with him. Cionnaola and Archu are talking to Fergus in one corner of the dining room. Seanan and his advisers are in another corner. Guards are stationed discreetly at various points around Hawthorn House, both inside and outside. I’m not sure exactly what the threat is supposed to be. Perhaps it’s me. Perhaps they expect me to bolt when their backs are turned. Or maybe it’s that substantial payment in silver that’s the issue—I assume it’s coming back on the boat with Illann and Brigid, who took one of our guards with them.

  I’ve been outside, walking. Not far; I’m not stupid. One of Seanan’s men tailed me all the way. I wished I could bring out my whistle and play a jig, just to startle him. Now I’m back, and since I can hardly march over and start telling Seanan how things are going to be, I need to talk to Archu. I’m still a Swan Island warrior. I intend to remain one, in thought and deed, while I get through what will be a testing year. So I’ll do the right thing and seek the elders’ approval for my self-appointed mission while I can. After tomorrow morning I won’t see any of the team for a very long time.

  I go over and sit down beside the three men. They stop talking. Archu manages a crooked smile, though they all look grim.

  “All right, Liobhan?” asks Cionnaola. “You surprised us. You’ll be sadly missed on the island.”

  A shocking thought comes to me. I hadn’t for a moment considered I might not be welcome back on Swan Island after what’s happened. I can only bear this time away if I know my spot will be waiting for me.

  “It will seem long,” Cionnaola says. “Interminable, probably. And difficult. But even as we regret that you’re leaving us, we’re relieved that Dau will have a friend and advocate in Oakhill.”

  “Keep up your physical training,” puts in Archu, who reads me very well. “Otherwise you’ll have a lot of work to do when you get back.” Perhaps I let out a relieved breath, for he adds, “You’ll always be one of us, Liobhan. I wish we could keep Dau, too, but it seems that’s not to be.”

  “About Dau. His brother hasn’t brought a healer. That seems quite an oversight. I do have some basic skills, as you know. If they’re not going to pick someone up on the way, I could at least keep an eye on Dau as we go. I could take some of Fergus’s preparations with me and administer them when he needs them. I’m not sure anyone else in the party will take much trouble over Dau’s welfare.” None of them comments. I go on. “I think I should ride alongside Dau. We’re used to each other. I know him well enough to see when he’s ill, or when he’s not coping.”

  “And will Dau welcome that?” Archu asks quietly. I don’t think Seanan and his party can hear us, but it’s wise to be careful.

  “I doubt he’ll welcome anything, even if he needs it,” says Fergus. “But Liobhan is his friend, and if he listens to anyone, it will be to her. Shall I speak to Master Seanan? Let him know that Liobhan is the daughter of a healer and can be useful to him on the journey if he entrusts this duty to her?”

  “Better coming from you than from Liobhan herself,” says Cionnaola. “Perhaps from you and me together, Fergus. Let’s see if Master Seanan is open to some polite persuasion. If I call you over, Liobhan, remember that your role right now is healer and nursemaid, not warrior or bard.”

  I grimace, then seat myself beside Archu, who offers me a cup of ale. We watch as the others approach Seanan’s party. A conversation starts, of which we hear little.

  “Liobhan,” says Archu in an
undertone. “About Dau. I don’t believe in miracles. But strange things happen, and the man’s sorely in need of hope. Once you’re on the way and when you have an opportunity, let him know you’re not the only one under instruction to keep up your physical skills. He may be blind, but if someone’s there to keep him safe he can run, he can climb, he can do the daily exercises you learned as trainees. Should his vision return, he’ll want to be ready to come back. Remind him how quickly a fine weapon loses its edge if it’s not maintained. He’s going to a chieftain’s household. His father will have all the facilities required. Dau just needs someone to keep an eye on him. If not a trainer, then a training companion.”

  I try to see it in my mind and fail. “That training companion isn’t going to be me. The bond servant. The lowest of the low. Did you see the way Seanan looked at me? In the eyes of that family I’ve got guilt written all over me. It just isn’t possible.”

  “Ah,” says Archu, and I know what’s coming next. “But that’s what we do on Swan Island. We make the impossible happen. You are one of us, Liobhan, and we expect no less of you.”

  I bow my head, partly in respect and gratitude, and partly to conceal the tears that have welled up in my eyes.

  “A brave decision,” he says. “I’m proud of you. Also somewhat horrified, but keep that to yourself. I see Cionnaola beckoning, and it won’t be me he wants. Remember who you are, Liobhan, both on the outside as you play your role, and inside, where only one of your own kind can see.” A pause, then he adds, “After this you’ll truly deserve Bran’s Blade. We’ll be keeping it safe for you.”

  I wonder, later, what Cionnaola and Fergus said to get Seanan’s agreement. I wonder if Dau’s brother has some kind of plan he’s not telling anyone. It feels too easy. I play my part as well as I can, keeping answers brief and courteous, not meeting Seanan’s eye for too long, playing down the skills I can offer while sounding—I hope—confident enough to be believed. When he says yes to my riding alongside Dau and taking on the responsibility of keeping him alive and well until we reach Oakhill, I’m too astonished to say a word. I manage a nod, then retreat. This is starting to feel like a bizarre dream. Fergus says he’ll put some useful items together for me and talk to me more after he’s done so. The healer’s bag will need to go on one of the packhorses. Cionnaola asks if he may speak to Seanan further concerning the agreement on my personal safety while at Oakhill. It’s quite clear I am not to be present for this conversation, though I wish I could hear it. As I depart I hear Cionnaola requesting, firmly but politely, that the terms be worked out in the presence of the two lawmen and that a written record be retained.

  * * *

  * * *

  It’s nearly dark and Illann’s back with our belongings. I find a private corner to check my bag, out of sight of anyone who might be too interested, and I’m glad I took that precaution since my two good knives, large and small, have been rolled skillfully in a night-robe and stuffed in between other items. Best that they stay there so Seanan’s people don’t decide to take them off me. My protective gear’s been included, which is a surprise. I don’t expect to be getting any combat practice at Oakhill. It’s more likely to be floor-scrubbing or ditch-digging. At least those activities will keep me strong. Whoever did the packing was thoughtful. They’ve included a roll of well-washed linen rags. I won’t be needing those until we’re settled, since my moon-bleeding finished only days ago. I wouldn’t want to have that complication on a ride with Seanan’s crew, though my comrades on the island—male and female alike—are understanding about these things. The two whistles I had at the Barn are now in this bag, wrapped in a silk shift. There’s no way I’m going a whole year without music. If Lord Scannal is so wealthy, I expect his household has its own band of entertainers. I wonder if a bond servant would be considered too lowly to join in, even if she was good at it.

  Some of my possessions are not here. There’s no staff. There’s no bow and quiver. That makes perfect sense; I can’t ride a horse, keep an eye on Dau, and carry either of those at the same time. Besides, they would mark me out too obviously as a fighter, and although Seanan knows that’s what I am, I bet he won’t want reminding of the fact. Stupid, really. I’d be more useful to him as a guard than anything else. I wonder if he treats his men-at-arms as cruelly as he treated young Dau? I wonder how he deals with his servants? But then, he’s not the chieftain, his father is. I’m not looking forward to meeting Lord Scannal.

  I pack everything back in. The bag is designed to go behind the saddle. That’s another bit of good thinking. Means I can be sure my possessions are safe as we go. Now I need to check Dau’s things.

  In the small chamber, Dau is lying on the pallet with his eyes closed. Not asleep: his fists are clenched. Jabir is packing a bag with vials and jars and packets of herbs. “For you to take,” he says. “I have spoken to Master Naithí. I told him these things must be carried carefully. They must be available to you whenever the party stops. Everything is labeled clearly. You will be limited in what you can prepare along the way, unless you stop at a house with a stillroom. This powder, taken in a cup of warm water, will help relieve pain. At night, enough to cover your thumbnail. That will aid sleep. By day, only a small pinch, since Dau has to ride.”

  “A man may be blind,” Dau observes in a drawl, “but that does not also render him deaf.”

  “Liobhan is the healer.” Jabir remains calm, as always. “My instructions are for her. For you to administer a dose to yourself would be most unwise.”

  There’s a silence, then Dau says, “Was that a joke, Jabir? I did not believe you capable of such a thing.”

  “This is no joking matter, my friend, as you well know. Liobhan, if time or place does not allow you to exercise your skills as you would wish, a cool, damp cloth on the brow, with those herbs you know to be effective, will give at least some relief. And if at any time you are seriously concerned for Dau you should make that known to Master Seanan, whatever your reservations.”

  I grimace, saying nothing.

  “Or to Master Naithí, who, I believe, may be more ready to listen.”

  “My father’s puppet,” says Dau, sitting up and opening his eyes. “Lackeys, all of them. What is the point?”

  I march over and sit down on the bed beside him. “Dau,” I say, “the point is to stand up and be strong. Not to let this beat you down. The point is to hold on to hope. It’s stupid to refuse help. All right, perhaps these remedies only relieve the pain and swelling for a short while. But perhaps they’re part of a long, slow healing. Jabir and Fergus have said they don’t understand your condition. So they don’t know if it’s permanent or not. Now listen. I’ve chosen to come with you, whether you like it or not. I may not be a skilled healer like Jabir, but I can help with this. How is it going to look if we have a fight every time I try to apply a compress or give you a dose? Do you want to provide cheap entertainment for our traveling companions? No. So stop doing this right now, will you?”

  I wait for him to point out that he’s the one whose future has been snatched away, the one whose brother is a monster, the one whose hope of recovery is so slight it’s cruel to speak of it. But he doesn’t.

  “You sound like a nursery maid scolding her disobedient charge, Liobhan,” he says. Can that possibly be the hint of a smile? “Don’t think to try that approach on my brother. He doesn’t respond well when provoked.” If it’s a smile, it’s a bitter one. “Jabir, I owe you an apology. You are a patient man.”

  Jabir gives a little bow, which Dau can’t see.

  “Dau, I just checked the bag they packed for me. Shall I go through yours, so you know what’s in it?”

  “If you want. I can guess. No sharp items, nothing I can hurt myself with. Nothing you wouldn’t give to a two-year-old child.”

  “They would surely return the weapons you brought with you when you came to Swan Island.” But they haven’t. Dau had a bea
utifully crafted sword, so well-balanced that using it felt like playing a fine instrument. It wasn’t a gaudy, showy thing, just perfectly made. It was given to him by his mentor, Garalt. And he had his own good bow, too, with a tooled leather quiver. Neither is here, and when I unpack the bag, nor are his knives. I tell him what’s here as I lift each item out. Clothing, mostly. Protective gear, the same as mine. A favorite cup. Right at the bottom, a strip of worn leather that looks like rubbish. I’m on the verge of discarding it when I see that it’s a collar. An old, worn dog collar. Stained dark here and there. Now I want to cry. “And this,” I say, putting it in Dau’s hands. I can’t look at him. “No sign of a sword or bow?” I ask, glancing at Jabir.

  “Nothing. But they may be elsewhere. Since neither of you travels as a warrior, perhaps Illann has kept them aside to be loaded onto the packhorse. You should ask him.”

  “Maybe.” Not the knives, though. They’d have been in the bag, as mine were. Unless Illann or Brigid feared Dau would use them on himself. “I’ll ask. Or rather, I’ll ask Cionnaola or Archu to ask. Shall I pack this up again, Dau?”

  He passes Snow’s collar to me, then wipes his eyes. “Who’d have thought it?” he says lightly. “These eyes are still perfectly good at shedding tears. Put this somewhere safe, will you?”

  “I will. Right at the bottom, wrapped in a handkerchief. Which is something you’ve always unfailingly produced when it was most needed.” I lay my hand over his for a moment. Only for a moment, or I’ll cry, too. Didn’t I just lecture him about being strong? “As for your weapons, I suppose your brother will want them returned, if not now then later. They’re valuable.”