“IT IS AS well,” said Fola, “that these young women are only novices in the art. Had they seen all, as it appears the two of you have done, I would have a full scale revolt on my hands, Banmerren empty, the Shining One bitterly offended. What were you thinking of? Such secrets are forbidden even to the wisest among us; the Well of Shades is not a place where women tread. To expose these children thus . . . I’m almost without words, Kethra. As a servant of the goddess, a priestess of experience and dedication, it is unthinkable that you could make such an error of judgment, even if Tuala led you into it.”
Kethra’s lips were tight, her eyes red. “It wasn’t Tuala’s fault,” she said. “It was my idea. I pressed her to use her gift to this end.”
“The responsibility and the guilt must be shared equally between you,” Fola said, her dark gaze traveling from her chastened assistant to Tuala herself. The two of them stood before the wise woman in her small private sanctum, wilting under her disapproval. If Fola felt burdened by the role she had played in last night’s ritual, she gave little sign of it. Her back was straight, her features calm. The eyes, however, were chill. “It matters not at all which of you was the instigator and which the follower. It is of no account which is teacher and which student. You are both skilled and clever. Each of you possesses her own unique talents in this art. Each of you knows the ways of the Shining One and is open to her voice. Each of you is culpable. Each must live with the aftermath of her error.”
“You wish me to leave Banmerren.” Kethra’s voice was toneless. “I am no longer fit to teach; to spend my days in the goddess’s service.”
Fola sighed. Watching her through a haze of sorrow and confusion, Tuala noted the web of lines on the wise woman’s face, the discoloration of the skin about the eyes, and realized Fola was indeed old, perhaps almost as old as that druid, Uist, and beset by her own doubts. To deliver Morna thus to the gates of the fortress, to hand her over, to wait out the time of darkness on the shore in full awareness of what was unfolding there in the belly of the earth was a terrible thing indeed; only a woman faultlessly loyal to the gods’ will might carry it out, surely, and return to the normal pattern of her days with wits intact. They were strong, these holy ones, dauntingly strong. Tuala doubted she herself could ever be so obedient. Her every sense shrank from what had been done last night, even as she accepted its necessity.
“Tuala!”
Fola’s voice broke sharply into her thoughts.
“Yes, my lady?”
“I have not become a different person today merely because you have transgressed so foolishly. Call me by my name. You are one of us now. Or have I been wrong on that score? Perhaps I should take the events of last night as proof that I made a grievous error in admitting you to Banmerren. Your gift is dangerous. It tempts folk to seek knowledge beyond what is permitted. It is a tool for the ambitious; for those who crave power.” Kethra flinched before the wise woman’s glance. “You should not have agreed to this, Tuala, knowing what was in your command to summon to the scrying bowl.”
For part of what had occurred, at least, Tuala was truly sorry. Still, she could not summon the groveling apology that seemed to be expected.
“Speak up,” Fola said. “Kethra has named a suitable penalty for herself, and expressed regret. What have you to say?”
Tuala drew a deep breath. “We erred in trying this there, in the chamber where the girls were sleeping,” she said. “Although we never dreamed they would wake, that is no excuse, I know. You should not send Kethra away. She is a fine teacher. Her abilities would be best used here, in mending the harm that was done by ensuring the girls understand what they saw and how it links into the lore of the gods.”
There was a brief silence.
“I did not ask you to comment on Kethra’s situation,” Fola said.
“No, my—no, Fola.”
“There was something yet to come in your speech, I believe. You are sorry the girls were involved; I’m relieved to hear that, it is the least I would have expected from you. Is there a but to follow this expression of regret?”
Tuala gritted her teeth. The truth must be told here, even if it meant being sent away; even if it meant Bridei would come to Banmerren at full moon, and she would be gone. Gone. Where was there to go to?
“I cannot regret the act itself,” she said, and heard Kethra draw her breath in sharply. “It has always been my belief that the visions the Shining One reveals to me are those she wishes me to see for her own reasons. She grants them so I can find my way; so I can guide others. Sometimes it does seem that certain images come because I ask for them, because I want them, but I do not believe a human girl to be capable of drawing down sights the Shining One forbids. The goddess is too powerful to be thus deceived. What I see in the water sets out the pathway she determines for me, and for . . . others of my acquaintance. Even last night. She showed me that dark ritual because I needed to know it.”
“You horrify me, child. What of Kethra?”
Tuala hesitated. “I suppose it is the same for her; it was the Shining One who sent the vision, not myself, not Kethra. You spoke of power; of the misuse of gifts. This may have been some kind of lesson.”
Fola gave a grim smile. “Indeed. If that is so, it seems to me Kethra has learned from it and you have not, Tuala.”
“We are different, Kethra and I. The lesson to be learned is also different.”
“I see. I might point out to you that, although a human girl may not have the power to summon forbidden images to the seer’s eye, you are not, in fact, a human girl. Is it possible we are dealing here with matters darker still than we imagined?”
A strange feeling crept over Tuala, a separation, as if she stood there within the lamplit chamber and yet was set apart, behind an invisible margin. It was a chilling sensation of Otherness; of being entirely alone. “This was a vision of the Shining One,” she said in a whisper. “I know it. She has guided my steps since the day she brought me to Pitnochie as an infant. It is not she who brings darkness, but the one who demands of men such acts as we were shown in the vision; such acts as would break the stoutest heart and tear the strongest will in pieces.”
“Hush, child.” Fola’s voice shook; at last, the aftermath of Gateway could be seen in her eyes. “We do not give voice to these matters. Those images were not for women’s eyes, especially not an innocent young woman such as yourself. Why would the goddess choose to reveal such grim secrets to you? For what purpose?”
Tuala was mute. The truth was plain to her; it concerned Bridei, and she would not say it. The Shining One was playing a difficult game: giving Tuala the tools she needed to help the one she loved, then setting a high wall between them, a wall that was not merely the barrier of stone and earth that sheltered Banmerren, but a rampart of custom and expectation, history and protocol, far harder to breach. Perhaps what Fola said was true. Was last night’s vision a warped and twisted thing, conjured from that dark place that lay beyond and beneath the realm of the gods?
“This requires some thought,” Fola said. “Kethra, I will give consideration to your future. What has occurred must alter the path for you, one way or another. For now you will remain here. These children need guidance; they need explanations from those they can trust. This is your opportunity to prove to me that you are indeed trustworthy. Do not abuse it again, or you will walk from the gates of Banmerren and will not return. Go now.”
Kethra bowed stiffly. Her face was white; it was common knowledge that she had aspired, indeed expected, to govern Banmerren after Fola. Now she would be lucky to keep a place here at all. Tuala stood stock still while the tutor passed her, features rigid, and left the room.
“As for you,” Fola said in a slightly different tone, “you have shown a certain understanding, a certain compassion, as indeed did Kethra herself, and I thank the goddess each of you still possesses a little of her inner wisdom. You know I was not present at the Well of Shades; indeed, I had no desire at all to be there, no
r have I wished for that in all the long years Drust has enacted this ritual. The part I must play in it taxes me sorely. I envy Broichan’s strength and his certainty. Tuala, I don’t want an account of what you saw. I know what you were seeking. Did you find it?”
Tuala nodded, saying nothing.
“Tell me, then,” said the wise woman, sharp eyed for all her lack of sleep, “what part did Bridei play in this? Don’t look like that, child. Your expression is transparent; I know your mind. Did the young man look on in horror? Did he squeeze his eyes shut, not to see? Or was he a model of control, like his foster father? Tell me.”
“King Drust needed help, when it came to the . . . when they . . . Broichan couldn’t do it by himself, and the king was coughing and fighting for breath. Drust turned to certain men, his close kinsmen, I suppose they were, for that is the rule, as Wid told me . . . No other may touch the . . . no other may . . . The only one who would help was Bridei.” Tuala heard the softening of her own voice as she spoke his name, the perilous revelation of her secret feelings.
“I see,” Fola said, and there was a weight in her tone that made this a statement of great import; a recognition of momentous change.
“Bridei did it calmly and without hesitation. His face revealed nothing of what he felt.”
“Broichan was ever an apt teacher.” Fola sighed, and rested her chin on her hands. “I’m weary, Tuala; I should take Luthana’s good advice and rest awhile. You may go.”
“I—am I not to be punished, too?”
“Perhaps it is I who deserve chastisement, for thinking to cage you here,” Fola said quietly. “But yes, there must be a penalty of sorts; it was beyond folly to risk the girls so. You will no longer be housed in the tower. It’s unsuitable for winter anyway. Move your things downstairs; you’ll sleep with the other juniors in the communal room.”
Tuala felt the blood drain from her face. Not now, not yet; not before the full moon . . .” Oh no, please she began.
“You may go, Tuala.” The voice was very soft and utterly implacable. “Move your belongings today. And let Kethra mend what harm has been done; the students will accept her explanations more readily than any of yours, I daresay.”
“I—”
“Did you not hear me?”
At the look on Fola’s strong features, a look that showed, at last, all the anguish and exhaustion of yesterday and today, the guilt and responsibility of a lifetime of tomorrows, Tuala swallowed her protest and fled. Never mind rules. Never mind doors and locks and watchful tutors. At full moon he would come, and she would be waiting.
“ACCOUNT FOR YOURSELF,” Dreseida snapped. “And make it quick; I need to see Gartnait as soon as we’re done here. He’s not progressing as he should.
“He can’t, Mother.” Ferada stood in the women’s quarters at Caer Pridne, looking into her mother’s fierce eyes, eyes that reminded her of a stalking creature of the wild, with herself the quarry fixed in its sights. “You know Gartnait’s not a scholar. He simply can’t remember that kind of information. I don’t understand why you’re making him—”
“Then you’d better try harder, Ferada. I need your assistance with this. I need your complete loyalty. Have I mentioned that the chieftain of Fib approached your father on the question of an alliance? An alliance through marriage? What’s his name, Coltran, Celtane?”
“Cealtran.” Ferada supplied it grimly, a picture in her mind of the portly, red-nosed chieftain newly arrived at court. Cealtran’s belly wobbled when he walked, and his little eyes were sunk deep in folds of slick pale flesh. He was fifty if he was a day; Dreseida must be joking. “He’s old, Mother. He’s from the south. And he’s a Christian. Father would never—”
“As I’ve made abundantly clear to you, any such decision will be mine. Your father has assured me of that. There are other possibilities, of course, provided we don’t wait too long. Ana has uncles, not all wed. The queen has young kinsmen in Powys. And what about the chieftains of the Caitt? Plenty of possibilities, if all somewhat far from home. Now give me your accounting. You know how this works, Ferada. Do as I ask, don’t talk about it elsewhere, not to your father, not to your brothers, not to your friends, that’s if you’ve managed to unbend enough to make any, and you will indeed be granted choice in the matter of a husband. I don’t ask much, Daughter. Just a little information. Just a little play-acting. For a clever girl like you, it should be easy”
“Mother Gartnait, and all of this . . . what is it for? What is your purpose?”
“If you think answer that aloud you’re more of a fool than any daughter of mine should be,” Dreseida said. “This place is bristling with spies. One’s not safe even in one’s private quarters. There’s an election coming. Not quite yet, since Drust has surprised us all by clinging to life longer than anyone would have believed possible, but soon, very soon. I seek to use what little power I have, as a woman, to ensure a satisfactory result. No matter that I cannot vote. Men are remarkably malleable, Ferada. One simply needs to learn the techniques to mold them. Now tell me, what have you learned?”
“Not much. As I told you, there was little opportunity to speak to Bridei before I went back to Banmerren.”
“What about the girl, his sister? Any signs, messages? Does she talk about Bridei? About Broichan and his plans?”
“No, Mother. Tuala’s very quiet; she keeps her thoughts locked away.”
“I need more, Ferada. Think of Cealtran, just itching to set his hand in yours and bear you home to warm his bed. The fellow wants heirs. Lots of them.”
Ferada shuddered. “Tuala did send a message,” she said grimly. “Ana took it.”
“Ana told you? What message?”
Ferada shook her head. “Ana didn’t speak of it, but I saw. You did ask me to spy, after all. Tuala sent Bridei a little packet with a leaf and a stone in it. That was all.”
“And a ribbon.”
“I suppose it was tied up with a ribbon,” Ferada said, surprised. “How could you know that?”
Dreseida’s smile was thin-lipped, her eyes hard. “I’ve learned to observe. The young man wears a ribbon around his wrist, like a lady’s favor, yet it’s common knowledge among the men that Bridei never goes near the houses of pleasure, never grants a girl his attentions; some folk whisper that he prefers boys, but Gartnait tells me there’s no sign of that either. Bridei appears to be as chaste as a Christian monk. You’d think that in itself would be sufficient to make men doubt his suitability to act as the Flamekeeper’s worldly embodiment. One expects one’s king to be virile. I cannot imagine why anyone is taking him seriously as a candidate, but the word is that he has his followers. Of course, the boy was raised by Broichan, and that goes some way to explaining his oddity. He does wear the ribbon. It used to be an old scrap of a thing, but now it’s a new one, green-dyed silk. I’ve seen such a ribbon tying up a long plait belonging to a certain little wild creature of our acquaintance. It’s clear what it means. He regards the witch girl not as his sister, but as his sweetheart. You must learn to be alert for detail, Ferada, if you’re to be any use as an informant.”
Ferada pressed her lips together.
“The message,” her mother said. “What does it mean? A leaf, a stone? What sort of leaf?”
“How can that make any difference? An oak, I suppose; there’s a big oak tree outside Tuala’s tower room. It stretches all the way across to the outer wall.”
“Ah.”
“Mother, I—”
“What kind of stone? Small, I imagine. Black, white, gray? Smooth, rough, round, long?”
“I think it was white. Mother, I don’t like this. Why do you—”
“This is what you’ll do. Seek out Bridei. He talks to you, I’ve seen it; he likes your quickness. Be a woman for a change. Wear your blue gown and the silver clasp. He’ll be troubled after Gateway. If your father’s account of what occurred is accurate, the king set a heavy burden on his close kinsmen that night, and it appears to have been Bridei wh
o acquitted himself best of the three. You heard what happened.”
Ferada shivered. “Officially, no; but it is not possible to be deaf to the whispers. Ana and I knew that girl, Morna. We had spoken to her, broken bread with her. It changed the way I felt about Banmerren, and about Fola. It filled my mind with questions that have no answers.”
“That should make you a good companion for Bridei. As Broichan’s protege, he seems to think in questions. Find him; be a listening ear for him. Let him talk it out. Win his confidence. Get as close as you can; use all you have, Ferada. I’m seeking an opportunity here, and you can provide it for me.”
“What opportunity?”
“Later. All in due time.”
“Mother?”
“What is it? Make it quick; I told you, I’ve other matters to attend to.”
“It seems to me,” Ferada ventured, “that what happened at Gateway shows Bridei’s strength, his courage, his self-discipline. It shows he can be put forward as a strong candidate when the time comes. Some folk are saying this singled him out as the only possible choice; that Carnach may now throw in his lot with Bridei rather than stand himself.”
“What folk? Who is saying this?” Dreseida’s tone was a hiss.
“Perhaps it is not I who must learn to listen,” Ferada said, and an instant later her mother’s ringed hand struck her a sharp blow across the cheek, leaving a bloody welt. Dreseida regarded her daughter through narrowed eyes. Ferada, breathing fast, did not lift her hand to touch her face, to wipe away the blood.
“You think your brother a fool,” Dreseida said. “He could teach you much about loyalty. Don’t ever speak to me thus again. If you imagine I will let such insolence pass without retaliation, you’re clearly unable to envisage your own future. Make Bridei your friend. Be his confidante. In particular, I wish to know his movements; any ventures planned beyond the environs of Caer Pridne. Act soon, for time’s running out. And you’d better do something about your face or you’ll frighten the young man away. That would be most unfortunate for all of us.”
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