Eoin would not have cared if they never paid him.
He wondered why the king was seeking Jarred. How could Eoin’s enemy possibly have come to Maolmórdha’s attention? The sergeant’s claim that the man he hunted was accused of no ill deed might have been a ruse to lure the prey to the palace. Either Jarred had performed some virtuous act for which he was to be presented with a prize, or else he had committed some crime for which he was to be penalized. Of the two choices the latter seemed most likely, and if Jarred were owed some punishment, Eoin was eager to ensure he received his dues with all speed.
If I am to die, he thought, I would rather die in the marsh, not in the city. I want to see Lilith again, one more time. On his return to the Fairfield campsite that evening, he had informed his father and Tolpuddle that he would not stay a moment longer in the city. He gave no explanation.
“An unexpected decision,” said Earnán, “but I see you have a fine horse to ride. Perhaps you are eager to take it home.” When his son did not respond, he said, “Is all well? You seem troubled.”
“All is well, Áthair,” said Eoin. He wanted to say Gramercie, Áthair, for all you have done for me in my life. He wanted to say, You are most dear to me, and embrace his father. But that had never been the way between them. A gruff handshake, a slap on the shoulder—that was as close as they had ever been to an embrace. Eoin discovered he had stored up so many words for his father that it was impossible to choose where to begin. Therefore he uttered none of them.
He said, “Farewell.”
“Farewell,” said Earnán.
Thus it eventuated that Eoin was jogging down the winding road on a starry Thunder’s Day night with the trees arching above his head and occasional shrill bursts of wightish language in the roadside hedges to his left, while to his right the frogs were chanting in the slow-moving, silted channel of the Rushy Water.
As he progressed, abandoned to his musing, he began to feel as though a deafness, of which he had been previously unaware, was gradually lifting off him. A blunted drubbing tickled the backs of his ears. The noise intensified, until he realized a rider was overtaking from behind, hurtling down the road at a furious pace. He twisted around in his saddle.
The moon, three-quarters full, was sufficiently elevated above the treetops to illuminate the road in patches. Eoin, interested as to the cause of the rider’s haste, kept his eyes on him until he was close enough to be identified.
“Jovansson! Hey!”
Jarred had already spied him and slowed his sweating steed. “I stop for nothing,” he called breathlessly. “Ride alongside me, if you will.”
Eoin broke into a canter, parallel with Jarred, keeping pace. “Why the hurry?” he asked, although guilt and unease crawled like furtive snails in his vitals.
“The king’s men are looking for me,” panted Jarred. “I am glad to find you on the road to the marsh. I need your help, Mosswell. There has been bad blood between you and me in the past, but now I beg you to put our differences aside for Jewel’s sake.” At the mention of Jewel’s name, Eoin’s face and scalp prickled as if stung by a thousand and ten cold pins. “I must admit you into a secret known only to a few,” said Jarred. “I am the grandson of the sorcerer Jaravhor. The king believes I have the power to unlock the treasure of the Dome of Strang, but I feel that some kind of wickedness is stored in that fortress and will have no part in its unsealing.”
“And Jewel would weep for her father if the king’s men captured him,” said Eoin acerbically, not quite believing Jarred’s words, “so for her sake I must help you avoid them.”
“More than that,” said Jarred, too intent on his purpose to notice Eoin’s tone. “It is not only myself they are hunting. Jewel is also of Jaravhor’s blood. They would be after her as well, if they knew of her existence. It is a good thing that they do not know where I come from.”
The pins fell down around Eoin, stinging him from head to foot. He slumped forward in his saddle. For the space of nine heartbeats, he fought his rising gorge.
“Oh the Fates,” he croaked. “Oh, the Fates have mercy. What have I done?”
Jarred threw him a perplexed glance.
“It is too late!” gasped Eoin. “I have already betrayed you!”
The horses cantered. The moon glowed.
Then Jarred kicked his steed’s flanks, and the thoroughbred jumped forward. With a burst of amazing speed, horse and rider galloped ahead of Eoin and were soon lost to sight around a bend in the road.
Eoin went riding on, weeping aloud. His sobs rose to the moon like the howls of an animal in pain, and his anguish filled the night.
The same moon shone over the Great Marsh of Slievmordhu, where yellow leaves of willow and alder detached themselves from their twigs. Dreamily they wafted down to lie lightly on the water’s surface, floating like elfin boats. A sudden gust tore handfuls down, in wild throngs. Dry reeds knocked against each other.
In the house of Earnán Mosswell, Lilith jumped at the sound.
“Something is coming after us!” she cried.
At her side, her daughter said, “Mother, nothing is coming.”
Lilith ran and looked out the window. “Are you sure?”
“I am sure.” Anxiety wrote itself across Jewel’s young face. Lately her mother had become uncharacteristically agitated and timid, beset by fancies that unseen things were chasing her. It was difficult to convince her to rest.
Again Lilith started. “I hear something coming, coming to get us. We must flee!”
Jewel mixed up a potion Cuiva had left for Lilith. “Drink this, Mother; it will soothe you. In the morning I will fetch Cuiva to tend you.”
She sat by her mother’s bedside, stroking her brow until Lilith slept.
Jarred’s thoroughbred was a sprinter, unaccustomed to long distances. The Grïmnørsland horse was slower, but a stayer. Fourteen leagues farther down the road, Eoin caught up with Jarred.
At the top of a hill they paused momentarily and looked back, expecting to see a band of riders back down the road, black against the white mask of the moon. As yet, they saw nothing.
“They will not be far behind,” Jarred said to himself. Eoin was tight-lipped.
Through the night they rode.
The horses flagged, on the verge of exhaustion. When Jarred and Eoin came to an inn, they left the animals there, swapping them for fresh mounts. All through Love’s Day they pressed on, until as the sun was falling they looked back, and there, swarming over a distant hill, were the dark shapes of the horsemen they had dreaded to see.
The pursuers were catching up.
After a burst of full speed, Jarred and Eoin arrived at the gray stone tower guarding the northern entrance to the marsh.
“Ho, Lieutenant Goosecroft!” yelled Jarred. “Let down the drawbridge. I am pursued and my family is in danger!”
Lieutenant Goosecroft, who had already spied the travelers from a high window, asked no questions. He was a quick-thinking man and recognized the note of urgency in Jarred’s voice. The drawbridge was lowered with a squeal of cogs, and both riders galloped over.
“They are hot on our heels,” said Jarred, breathing rapidly as he dismounted from his lathered steed. “Raise the bridge!”
“It is already halfway up,” said Goosecroft.
Jarred said, “Hinder our pursuers for as long as possible. They are king’s men. ’Tis me they are after, and Jewel, if they knew she existed.”
“Jewel?” the captain said in astonishment.
“There is no time to explain,” Jarred wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “I must get her away from the marsh, and for that I need time.”
“We shall do what we can.”
“When they come, you must swear to them that I have no child.” Salt moisture glistered on Jarred’s face. He looked haggard, and his hair hung in tangles to his shoulders.
“We shall deny her existence. Furthermore, I will dispatch two men to spread the word throughout the marsh. We shall no
t be betraying her.”
At Goosecroft’s words, Eoin, who had also dismounted, shuddered with self-hatred.
The ribs of the two horses pumped like bellows. “Hide our mounts,” said Jarred to the watchmen. “We no longer need them. They cannot be ridden on the paths we are to take.” Two marshmen grasped the loops of the dangling reins. “Now farewell,” said Jarred.
“May Fortune smile upon you, Jovansson,” the watchmen called as Jarred and Eoin disappeared along the path that crossed the island of the watchtower.
They ran to the footbridge and causeway that would take them into the complicated network of marsh paths. Eoin led the way; having spent his life exploring the web of ways, he knew them as only a marshman could. They ran, they leaped. Sometimes they boarded the ferries left tied up to the banks for public use and rowed frantically, like overwound clockwork machinery. Other times, in their desperation, they swam.
All around, the marsh displayed the full glory of Autumn; swathes of red-gold leaves blew in curtains through the trees and drifted in tawny flotillas on the lakes. The water reflected captive images of fiery splendor. Sunlight fired off dewdrops, making them glitter like sequins. Yet Jarred and Eoin might have been moving through a landscape of ash and dust for all the joy they had of it. Men and women hailed them and waved, but they made no response.
Since Eoin’s confession of his betrayal, not a word had passed from one to the other. There had been neither time nor breath for conversation, and in any event, no phrases could be found to frame that which now loomed between them. Only one phenomenon eventually penetrated the dark thoughts of Eoin. An eerie lamenting and keening began to arise from some distance off, soon after they had set foot in the marsh, and as they plunged along their way it seemed to keep up with them. A weeper was heralding someone’s death.
As they drew near the Mosswell cottage, Jarred said, “I must get them both out of the marsh. Make ready a swift boat, while they pack some belongings. We shall go by the waterways, where land walkers will not find us.” Eoin nodded. A vise was squeezing his throat, constricting his voice box. He darted away to fetch a racing canoe.
Tralee barked joyously. A voice called a greeting to Jarred, and Odhrán Rushford was striding from the cottage doorway, the dog at his heels.
“It is well you have returned,” he said. “Lilith is no longer hale. Cuiva attends her now. Why, what’s amiss?” He had taken in Jarred’s harrowed demeanor and fell silent as Jarred entered the cottage with him, gently pushing aside his dog and the pet marsh upial, which had rushed to greet him. Lilith was lying on the pallet by the hearth. Alabaster-haired Cuiva and shadow-haired Jewel hovered at her side. When Lilith saw her husband, she sprang up and threw her arms around his neck.
“Oh, thank the powers you are back!” she cried. “Now all will be well!”
Jarred kissed her with utmost tenderness. “Hearken all,” he said gravely. He held out his hand to Jewel, who clasped it in her own. Thus they stood linked, those three, while Jarred briefly recounted what had passed, omitting Eoin’s part in it. Cuiva and Odhrán listened intently. “And so I plan to go by devious ways into Narngalis,” Jarred concluded. “Eoin is bringing a boat now. Throw together a bundle of necessary items and we shall be on our way directly. There is no time to lose. Already the king’s men must have reached the Northern Watchtower.”
“But Father, when shall we return?” asked Jewel.
Jarred bent his weary head down to hers. “Jewel,” he said, “we must never come back to the marsh. Never. Do you understand?” She nodded, dumbfounded, her eyes two blue shells glistening with sea spray. What he had told her was too much to comprehend all at once. “Here,” said Jarred, removing the white jewel from beneath his shirt, “this will make you smile. Keep it safe. We shall take it with us.” In Jewel’s hand the solitaire glittered like the heart of a star. She studied it in wonder. “Hide it away,” said Jarred quickly. “Now hasten. Collect what you need and we’ll be off.”
“I shall help you, Jewel,” offered Cuiva.
Lilith had remained unspeaking. Now she hugged her arms tightly to herself and began to sway.
“They’re after us,” she said, blank-eyed. “I hear them coming. We must flee.”
“Cry mercy!” Jarred exclaimed in consternation.
Cuiva drew him aside. “This has been her mode,” she explained. “It grows worse. My potions calm her but cannot shift the curse. The madness comes and goes. I fear your news of pursuers might exacerbate her condition.”
Jarred swore a savage curse. “When she pieced together the puzzle of hereditary madness, she forswore marriage and motherhood,” he said. “If not for me, she would never have become a wife and mother. I am the bringer of her anguish and doom.”
Astonished and distressed, the carlin cried, “Do not blame yourself!” But he had already turned away from her. He gathered his wife into his embrace.
“Á muirnín,” said Jarred, holding Lilith close and speaking as soothingly as he could, “Á muirnín, we shall find safety together.”
Lilith blinked, as if trying to peer through a haze. “Indeed we shall,” she said. “Forgive me. I shall pack my goods and chattels this very instant.” She vanished into another room.
Odhrán, peering between the open shutters, said, “Eoin comes with the canoe.” He took a step backward as the marsh upial shot past him and disappeared out of the window.
Mindful of future survival, Jarred had already gathered up his tinderbox, along with a hatchet and a coil of rope. Hastily, he stowed them in a leather bag. Odhrán added a spool of fishing line and another of snare wire. Followed by the dog, the men went outside and busied themselves with the vessel at the staithe while Cuiva quickly gathered together some preserved foodstuffs and helped Jewel choose what to include in her bundle.
Left alone, Lilith made for her warm cloak of brown frieze hanging on the wall. As she paused to unhook it, her ears seemed to catch the sound of footsteps stopping behind her an instant later.
They had sounded inhuman, as if made by some gigantic metal engine with feet, treading upon volcanic rock.
They had been moving fast.
At sunset, a band of twenty-five uniformed cavalrymen was being delayed at the Northern Watchtower. Two watchmen had already slipped away to broadcast warnings to all the marshfolk, triggering the efficient relay system they had developed for quietly spreading the alarm in the event of invasion or assault. Goosecroft and his remaining staff were valiantly placing a variety of manufactured impediments in the path of the king’s men.
“Who goes there?” Goosecroft shouted.
“I have told you, fellow!” the leader shouted back. “I am Captain Ó Labhrai of the Royal Slievmordhu Dragoons. We travel on the king’s business. A fellow named Jarred Jovansson is wanted in Cathair Rua, and we are here to extradite him from the marsh. In the name of the king, grant us entry.”
“What was that you said?”
“Are you deaf? Lower the drawbridge!”
“Proclaim your name and business.”
“Lower the drawbridge, or by Lord Doom, I’ll have you hanged!”
A commotion of squeaking wheels and rattling chains followed.
“The drawbridge is broken!” yelped the watchmen. A racket of hammering came from the tower.
“A plague on you, man! Sever the chains! Do anything, just get the cursed thing down!” bellowed the captain of the king’s soldiery.
“At once, sir!” the watchmen yelled. The hammering continued.
“Right, we’ll swim the horses across,” the captain said to his troops. “Forward!” His horse splashed into the moat. The cavalcade pressed close behind. Just as the foremost climbed out on the opposite bank, the drawbridge slammed down with a crash.
Jewel ran out of the cottage onto the landing stage. “My mother has gone!” she cried.
Jarred and Eoin abandoned the boat to Odhrán. Eoin ran indoors, calling Lilith’s name, but Jarred, levelheaded, said to his daughter,
“How long ago?”
“Not long. Cuiva and I heard her in Eolacha’s room. Then I thought I heard someone going out the back door, but I paid little heed, and just now we looked for her and she was not in the house. Cuiva is searching the islet.”
“I shall look for her at the cruinniú,” said Odhrán, and away he went.
Eoin flew out of the cottage. “I cannot find her,” he said. His voice rose, cracked and shrill.
“Stay here with Jewel,” Jarred said to him, speaking rapidly. “Finish putting her chattels together in a bundle and set her in the canoe, ready to depart. Lilith will have gone to Lizardback Ridge. I shall seek her there.”
“I shall accompany you!”
Jarred’s iron control snapped. He swore a violent oath and cried, “How dare you oppose me, you vile blackguard! After what you have done!”
Jewel’s face seemed carved from chalk as she glanced from one wrathful face to another. She thought Eoin was going to cry. Instead, he said tightly, “I will stay with Jewel.”
“Do not leave her. Protect her. It is the least you can do.” To his dog, Jarred said, “Tralee, stay here. Do not follow.” He bent down and kissed his daughter on her forehead before lightly speeding away. As the warmth of his mouth faded on her skin, it occurred to Jewel that she would never see him, or her mother, again. A terrible numbness settled over her, like a shield of ice.
The sobs of an eldritch weeper came seesawing down the breeze.
It had only been a minute or two, but it was enough for Lilith to gain a head start. Running from the footsteps in her head, she sped fleet-footed, in terror but with irrational purpose, past the shadowy Drowning Pool. She stepped nimbly on promenades of tremulous planks bordered by fishbone ferns, darted along slender embankments between the verdant spikes of water hawthorn. Mercurial pools transiently captured her fragile image as she passed.
The Iron Tree: Book One of The Crowthistle Chronicles Page 47