“You may go now.” Broichan turned his back abruptly to stand staring at the cold hearth.
“Yes, my lord.” Tuala could hear the relief in Brenna’s voice; hand in hand, they moved to the door. Her own heart had not quieted. What she had understood was wrong, all wrong. She was being sent away and she was not allowed to tell Bridei. How could that be? She always told him everything.
“Leave the child here.”
Startled by the sudden command, Brenna dropped Tuala’s hand and, after a moment, bent to tuck a wayward curl behind the child’s ear and whisper, “Be good,” before vanishing all too quickly out the door, closing it behind her.
The chamber seemed all at once much bigger and much darker. The tall form of the druid loomed over Tuala like a shadow, like a wraith, like a fell sorcerer from one of Bridei’s tales. She could see the snake ring staring at her; its forked tongue was flickering in and out. She waited, hands behind her back so he would not see them shaking. After what seemed a very long time, Broichan turned toward her once more and came to seat himself on the bench nearby. She did not have to look up quite so far to meet his eyes. The druid’s grim expression had not changed.
“Speak up,” he said. “Do you understand any of what I’ve been talking about?”
Tuala’s mouth went abruptly dry; her tongue felt swollen and strange. She could not summon a single word. And she badly needed to use the privy, but there was no way she could ask him for leave. She managed a nod.
“Tell me.”
“I—I—” She just didn’t seem to be able to speak. It was like a spell, a muteness charm come over her at the worst possible moment.
Broichan sighed. “Black Crow protect me from infants,” he said. “Come now. I’ve heard you chattering often enough. I know you can speak sense and I know you can understand. Let me set this out for you simply. You’re going away, and if you are obedient to my wishes and do as Brenna tells you, then you may be, I stress may be, allowed to return to this house when the Midsummer visit is over. Ah, I see you do comprehend that; your eyes show it clearly. And it seems to matter to you. Of course, you view this as your home; there’s no other household the length and breadth of Fortriu would have taken you in.”
“Yes, my lord.” Her voice came out as a whisper, the sound of a breeze in dry grasses.
“Do you understand about Bridei’s education?”
A nod.
“I don’t think you do, not fully. My foster son cannot afford the encumbrance of little girls taking up his time and distracting his mind from the very real and very taxing path of preparation that lies before him. Increasingly, Bridei will be with other folk, either here at Pitnochie or elsewhere. If I believe at any stage that you are likely to get in his way, I will ensure your removal from my household on a swift and permanent basis. Is that understood?”
She was quivering all over now, gripped by something so strong she could barely contain it: anger or terror, maybe both. “Yes,” she said, for although she had not fully grasped the words, their meaning had lodged itself painfully in her heart.
“You are nothing to Bridei,” Broichan said. “His kindness won you safety for a time. That’s all it amounts to.”
She took a huge breath, clenched her fists behind her back. “Bridei is my family.” Her voice sounded very small in the big chamber. “I don’t tell lies to my family.”
Broichan shook his head gravely. “That is incorrect. If you have any family, they dwell out there, deep in the forest. Bridei is a good-hearted boy who took pity on you as he would on an orphaned lamb. He’s no kin to you.”
“He’s no kin to you!” Tuala burst out, hurt robbing her of caution.
Broichan waited a moment before speaking. “He is my foster son,” he said levelly. “Entrusted to me for reasons of which you can have no conception whatever.”
This had to be answered. “And I was entrusted to him,” Tuala whispered. He had better stop this soon and let her go or she would disgrace herself and leave a puddle on his floor, and then he really would believe she was an infant.
Broichan’s eyes narrowed.
“The moon left me here,” Tuala said. “Showed them the way, when they brought me. The moon woke Bridei up and helped him find me. The Shining One trusted him to look after me. I am his family. I am.” She bit her lip, fighting tears.
“Listen to me, Tuala.” It was the first time Broichan had used her name; she’d been starting to wonder if he had forgotten it. “Do you understand the word destiny?”
She nodded.
“Tell me what it means.”
“It’s in the tales,” Tuala said. “The ones Bridei tells me at bedtime. Destiny is the big things that happen. Battles and voyages, marriages and kingdoms. Fighting dragons. Finding treasure. Uncovering secrets.”
Broichan regarded her gravely; his eyes had lost some of their ferocity as she spoke. “I see Bridei has been assiduous in your education,” he said. His long hands were clasped in his lap now; Tuala saw the little silver snake lift its flat head, looking at her.
“I would like more education,” she ventured, encouraged by the fact that she had apparently managed to answer a question to his satisfaction. “About the stars and the tribes and all the things Bridei is learning. He can’t teach me everything, he’s too busy.”
The druid’s lips tightened. “For you, too much learning can only lead to unhappiness,” he said. “Whatever life awaits you, there can be no place in it for knowledge such as this. You’d best apply yourself to the domestic arts and hope for a good marriage. That can be arranged, when the time comes.”
Tuala was silent. Somewhere in his words was a terrible insult, but she could not untangle exactly what it was. The feeling of hurt, however, was unmistakable.
“Tuala,” the druid said, “come closer. Sit by me, here. You wonder, I suppose, why I speak of destiny. Child, you see Bridei as your friend, your playmate, for all he is in so many ways a young man, even at twelve years old, and you a mere babe. It is not a bad thing for a boy to feel compassion for the weak. Up to a point. It is a fine thing for a lad to be obedient to the ancient ways, to comply willingly with what he sees as a request from the Shining One. However, don’t think you’ve remained at Pitnochie because of Bridei’s wish that the household should give you shelter. You are here solely because, for now, I have chosen not to send you away. You are not one of us, and you never can be. Your fate rests entirely in my hands, Tuala. Never forget that. In my plans for the future, the only one who counts is Bridei. If you think you owe him a debt, if you want him to live his life in the best way possible, then you will do exactly as I tell you. Bridei has a destiny. It is up to me to ensure he is raised correctly; that nothing, and nobody, gets in the way of the future laid down for him.”
Tuala swallowed. “Then why am I still here?” she croaked, feeling bitterness lodge in her throat, making her speak when silence would surely be far safer. “If I’m so bad for him, why did you let me stay at all?”
“You’re not listening,” Broichan said. “There was a duty involved: the boy’s duty to the gods, as he saw it. In all such decisions one weighs the arguments and reaches a balance. I do not dismiss my foster son’s tale of how you came here; of the involvement of the Shining One. I accept his conviction that he carries some kind of obligation. Indeed, it would be dangerous to disregard that. All that you need to understand is that if you’re fond of the boy and want him to achieve all that he can, you will comply with my instructions. And my instructions, this time, are that you go away with Brenna for a while, and that you do not speak to Bridei of this. You do not raise any of these issues with him. He’ll come to a complete understanding of it all in due time.”
The little snake was moving across Broichan’s hand now; he did not seem to have noticed. The serpent was hissing, the miniature forked tongue extended from the tiny gaping mouth. Tuala placed her own open hand next to the druid’s much larger one and the serpent flowed across to coil itself neatly on her palm, green eyes gazi
ng up at her. It felt heavy for its size and carried the warmth of the druid’s body in its own. Tuala would have smiled at its grace, its self-contained perfection of form, but for the feeling like a cold stone lodged in her heart.
Broichan was looking at the snake now. His expression showed no surprise, but he said, “This, alone, demonstrates with startling clarity your Otherness. You have grown up amongst us, have believed yourself accepted, no doubt. But this is a druid’s household, child. What occurs here is no reflection of the conduct or attitudes of the world of men. As you grow older this will become ever clearer to you. It is very possible that Bridei, innocent as he was, did you no favors in taking you in that night. His act of compassion cut you off effectively from both worlds: the realm of your true kin, beyond the margin, and the world of mortal folk where you can never belong. In fact, his desire to provide you with shelter robbed you of any true home.”
“Oh, no!” Tuala sprang to her feet, and the little snake, startled, twined itself around her wrist, clinging. “Bridei would never do anything to hurt me! He would never do anything bad, he couldn’t!”
Broichan regarded her. He reached out a hand toward hers and the serpent moved again, gliding to his finger, circling around, forming itself back into a silver ring. The green enamel eyes stared, unwinking, at Tuala’s small, quivering form. “And you would never do anything to hurt him,” the druid said calmly. “You would not do anything to stand in his way, would you, Tuala? Do my bidding, then. Now and in the future. It is best for Bridei thus; best for all of us.”
Tuala stared at him in silence. For a little he had seemed almost friendly, like someone she could talk to, someone who would have interesting things to tell her. Now, abruptly, he was his old self again, and she felt as if she had been somehow tricked. Her fear returned, robbing her of speech.
“I need your promise,” Broichan said.
“Yes.” The word felt as if it were squeezed out of her, despite her efforts to keep it in. “I will go if you want. And I won’t tell Bridei.”
“Good. You have no choice, in fact.”
“But I won’t lie to him,” Tuala said, unable to help herself. “I don’t tell lies. Not to Bridei.”
Broichan smiled thinly. “Then you must be extremely careful of your words,” he said. “You know what will happen if you make an error, Tuala. Believe me, I do not possess my foster son’s degree of compassion. If I see an enemy, in whatever fair guise, I strike immediately and effectively before my foe has time to inflict any damage. Bridei has yet to learn the necessity of that.”
Tuala felt cold. He seemed to be saying she was bad; that she should not be Bridei’s friend. That was wrong. It was so wrong she could not understand how anyone could think it. Bridei was her best person in all the world. Hadn’t the Shining One herself sent Tuala here to be his family? She looked into Broichan’s hooded eyes and a shiver ran through her. “I’m not an enemy,” she whispered.
“Not yet,” said Broichan.
ALTHOUGH HE KNEW IT was unlikely, Bridei found himself anticipating an arrival such as occurred in the old tales, the guests riding up to Pitnochie in their rich clothes with men at arms and attendants and pack horses laden with belongings. He thought of banners, of gleaming weaponry, of silks and finery.
In the event, the four of them came severally, their arrivals days apart, and each with its own unique style. Donal had been testing Bridei’s skills in tracking, and had kept him out in the forest four days in a row from sunup to dusk. By the time the two of them returned to the house, legs aching with weariness and stomachs growling, Tuala was nowhere to be seen; long asleep, no doubt, and the opportunity for a story lost. It was probably just as well. Bridei doubted he could find the energy for the least tale. He’d have been asleep himself before the princess so much as glanced at the frog. A quick bite to eat and straight to bed was all he could manage; he was asleep before his head hit the straw pallet set beside Donal’s in the barn. Next morning the guests began to arrive at Pitnochie.
There was no grand appearance. What Broichan did, he did discreetly, with an eye to the protection of his privacy and the preservation of his own interests. First to come was a spare, wiry-looking man of middle years, with cropped, graying hair and a face on which responsibility had set many lines. His eyes, nonetheless, were full of life, keen with intelligence. The eyes were gray like the hair, and so was the man’s woolen robe: so much for silks and furs. He rode in with a pair of attendants, big, solid fellows, and all the baggage he brought was a couple of bundles tied behind his guards’ saddles. All three men were well armed; expensively armed. Bridei knew enough by now to recognize a good sword when he saw one and to appreciate a finely honed axe blade. Since the two guards were housed in the barn with Broichan’s men at arms, there was plenty of opportunity for comparison. The nobleman’s name was Aniel, and he was a councillor in the king’s household: Drust the Bull, that was, king of Fortriu. Bridei knew he should not ask too many questions, but it was hard to hold them back. There was so much he wanted to know.
At suppertime there was talk of the Gaels and the threat in the west. Bridei had studied this in considerable detail with his tutors; he had made maps in sand, with stones and twigs for markers, had imagined armies deployed up and down the Glen, had learned the nature of this enemy and the history of their destructive forays. The picture he bore in his mind, however, owed little to scholarship. Since he had seen their image in the Dark Mirror, Bridei had known them, not as a foe to be challenged and dealt with as one would any local raider, but as the force that sought to extinguish the spark in the heart of every loyal son of Fortriu. They were strong, cruel, and entirely without scruples. That long-ago day in the Vale of the Fallen they had killed wounded men, fleeing men, had mowed them down without mercy. The knowledge Bridei had been given in that place he would never forget.
Tuala was absent from supper and so was Brenna. Bridei observed this without surprise; Broichan considered Tuala too young to sit at table in such company, no doubt, and had sent her off to bed early with Brenna to keep her quiet. It was a pity, really. Tuala would have liked to listen, for Aniel was full of knowledge of the world and Tuala loved to learn about things. She would miss this, and she would miss her bedtime story yet again.
Broichan was at the head of the table. On his right hand was Aniel, and on his left Bridei, a challenging placement, since it meant every time Bridei glanced up from his meat he looked straight into those shrewd gray eyes. It was clear to him that he was being assessed, and he had the feeling this was going to happen four times over before the visit was concluded. Aniel’s two guards stood behind him, and one of them took a mouthful of each dish before his master ate. It was as well Ferat was occupied in the kitchen; he would have been deeply offended. As for Broichan, he merely raised his brows at this sign of distrust. Bridei remembered that his foster father had nearly died of poisoning once, and at a friend’s table. One had to accept that there were risks everywhere.
Next at the board were Erip and Wid, and below them Donal, Uven, and the rest of the men. Mara had taken pity on Ferat and, poker-faced, was helping carry platters in and out.
“I was fortunate to get here in time,” Aniel was saying. “My mission to Circinn was long and arduous, and the challenges were not all in the woeful state of the tracks nor in the vagaries of the weather. Those I have learned to expect and to deal with. It was the manner of my reception and the pigheadedness of my hosts that dragged it out. I’m not looking forward to my return to Caer Pridne, I have to say. A brief sojourn at Pitnochie is most welcome. I’m hoping to replenish my strength before I convey the bad news to the king.”
“So, Drust the Boar was immovable?” Wid asked through a mouthful of bread.
Aniel gave a wry smile. “Inflexible, yes, but not through any great strength of will. The man’s councillors do him a great disservice; they poison his mind with their false reporting, and thus ensure he stands firmly in the way of any reconciliation among our people.
He relies on the guidance of weasels. Perhaps, in his heart, there’s still a spark of true kingship, but he lacks the strength to nurture it himself, and so his advisers are able to twist the making of decisions to suit their own ends. It is no wonder the Christian faith has taken strong root in Circinn. The court is corrupt, the king vacillates, what wise women he had are banished, his druids dismissed. If any observance of the rituals still exists in that realm, and I have reason to believe it has not been entirely suppressed, then its observances are covert, secret.”
“Still, it does survive,” Wid said, extricating a scrap of meat from his beard. “Where a single coal glows beneath the ash, the right breeze can fan it to a flame.”
“One must ensure the fire does not go out completely,” Erip put in.
“As to that,” said Broichan, who had been silent for most of the meal, “there are certain strategies in place, as we know. A man watching here, another listening there. Folk who can traverse difficult terrain quickly and pass messages accurately. I’d like more. An ally in the Boar’s own household would be useful.”
“A spy in the stronghold of the Christian missionaries could be handy” ventured Donal. “Find out how they work, how they infiltrate and just who their friends are. Most of the clerics come from Erin, I’ve heard. I’d like to know if they have allies in Dalriada. We’d be squeezed on both sides, that way”
“Would the king in Circinn press for peace with the Gaels?” Bridei asked, unable to keep silent any longer.
Aniel regarded him. “Broichan assures me you understand that we speak freely here in a way that would be unthinkable outside the home of an old and trusted friend,” he said. “I wish very much that I could answer your question with an unequivocal no, Bridei. Drust the Boar has not governed Circinn as it deserves. A man who abandons the faith of his ancestors and lets his people turn their backs on all that is right is quite simply not to be trusted, whether he be a king or no.”
“Yet, unfortunately, we need him,” Broichan said. “At least, we need his fighting men. The chieftains of Circinn may have betrayed their oaths to the Flamekeeper, but they haven’t forgotten the importance of maintaining their complements of well-trained warriors. They must do that; their own southern borders are far from secure. Britons here, Angles there, every man and his dog wants a bite of our land, so it seems. To mount a full offensive against Dalriada our own king needs not just the forces of the north, but those of Circinn as well.”
The Dark Mirror Page 11