One's Own Shadow (The Siúil Book 2)

by Randall P. Fitzgerald

  “When we have finished with all this… if I live, I will read every one.” She said the words to Cosain, hoping he would hear somehow. “I will learn their lessons.”

  She turned away from the shelf and sighed. A sealed letter sat on a nightstand beside a small, simple bed. She looked at it with curious eyes. There was a silver necklace there. She had never seen it before. A hollow spiral of silver metal, pointed at one end and curved to a bulb shape at the other. It had not tarnished, so not silver. She touched it, putting a fingernail to the metal. Platinum. Such a rare and expensive thing. She looked at the paper. Black wax pressed with flat wood, not Cosain’s official seal. She picked it up.

  “To you?” Scaa asked.

  Óraithe shook her head. “I do not know.” She flipped the paper. It had no name. “Should I…?”

  “If you do not, no one ever will.”

  She pulled the wax apart and opened the letter. It began with her name.

  Óraithe,

  I know not whether you will ever find this paper, nor why I write these words upon it. I have been stern with you, as your mother had always said I ought to be and I fear, even now, that this letter betrays that all. She wished for you to live as she had not. To die old and happy and untouched by the cold world that she and your father could not ignore. She imagined that I could turn you from the nature they feared they had passed to you.

  It occurs to me now, as I sit here writing these words, that I have failed her. I have failed to keep you safe. And so, I am left with nothing.

  You are all in this world that gives me reason to move this wretched body from bed each morning. All that brings meaning to the life of an old man who the world has rightly forgotten.

  With your face in my mind, I know there is one last thing I can do. One last lesson. You always loved them, didn’t you, Óraithe? Though you pretended to protest.

  Magairlín, Síl. I’ve failed you both. Your girl was born to her ways. I wish you could have seen her.

  Óraithe. The necklace was your mother’s. Stolen from my shop years before you were born. She said I should give it to you when you were grown. I am stubborn in my age and would never admit such a thing, I fear, and so it has come to this.

  There is more I would say, but time draws short now.

  Take your lessons, my precious child, and do not shy from them. Neither mistrust them nor hesitate to use them. They will not fail you.

  I loved you as my own blood. I regret I never said the words from my own lips.

  I must go now.

  Cosain

  Óraithe sat on the bed, quietly re-reading the letter. Her heart ached, flushed full with a torrent of conflicted emotions. She hated the man for leaving such a horrible trap for her to find. She hated herself for not knowing. For what she’d forced of him. For so many things. She could not cry. Not for Cosain. He would not have wanted it. He’d have slapped the top of her head and told her that she would learn nothing from tears. And she’d have cursed him. For being an old man. For not understanding. For always being right.

  R

  Rianaire

  Rianaire had awoken feeling awful. Not a strange thing considering how much time she’d been spending in cups of ale and mead and wine and whatever else. The need to see herself free of the boredom of her travels and the bother of her station was ever present of late. She blamed the colleges and Síocháin’s ever souring attitude. Stoic as she was, there had been an edge to her since at least Spárálaí’s folly. Rianaire had made efforts to speak to her, to have her open herself about whatever it was that irked her so, at least subtly. It would come out in time she knew. And she hoped sooner than later. As prickly as Síocháin could be, her advice was without peer.

  A morning bath would help clear some of the clutter from her mind and some of the ache from her joints. Inney sat in a chair across from her but Síocháin was nowhere to be seen in the room.

  “What a lovely morning,” Rianaire groaned, moving to the edge of the bed. “Where is the light of my life?”

  “Am I so hard to see in this chair?” Inney stood. “She is away. More papers. The colleges wish to have every order written so that the new heads will have meaning in their positions.”

  “Of course. Paper crowns. Sturdy things.” Rianaire rubbed at her temples. “Well, shall we go and bathe?”

  Inney came and pulled her to her feet. The walk to the bath was a short one, but it still seemed to be more work than Rianaire felt was worth undertaking so soon after waking. She grumbled a few complaints but entered the bath and sat herself on the small stool. Inney came in a moment later, undressed.

  “You always stare at me.”

  “I stare at most beautiful things.” Rianaire rolled her head back as Inney came near, cloth in hand to wash her. “Some more than others.”

  Inney put a hand under her head and pushed it back up so that Rianaire looked at the wall ahead of her. “You are a strange woman.”

  “Am I?”

  Inney washed her softly, slowly. Rianaire closed her eyes, enjoying the feel of the warm cloth across her skin.

  “This skin has been a curse the whole of my life. And you look at me as though I am some precious flower. You are the only one who has ever… I cannot understand it.” She paused there, her hands stopping their work. “I do not dislike it.”

  Rianaire smiled, though Inney could not see it. A comfortable quiet came over the room. Inney leaned into Rianaire’s back and wrapped dainty arms around her. The sound of the door to the room outside closing pulled Inney away. A pair of moments passed, Inney keeping quietly to her work.

  Síocháin came in when she had undressed and stood in the doorway watching them without a word. No, that was not quite right, Rianaire noticed. She watched Inney.

  “Inney, I apologize. Might I speak with Rianaire privately?”

  Inney put a naked hand to Rianaire’s hand briefly before she stood. “Of course.” Her voice had hardened just the least bit. “I will wait outside.”

  Inney left them, passing Síocháin with a tight smile. Rianaire watched it all quietly, curiously.

  “Have you finally grown tired of sharing me after all this time, Síocháin? I should have known.” Her voice was playful, doubtful it would be met in kind but hoping.

  “You have made the satyr an official member of the court?”

  “I have.” Rianaire’s voice cooled, a part of her became sad. “What do you make of it?”

  Síocháin stayed at the far end of the room, standing still. Her eyes held so subtle an expression that no other soul would have seen the disgust in them.

  “Do you truly wish to hear it?” Her flat voice gave away none of the clues her eyes had. Rianaire nodded. “I hate having that goat so close to you. Her presence in the Bastion will be a disgrace.”

  Rianaire sighed deeply, all the weight of the morning returned. The response did not surprise her much. Síocháin likely spoke for the bulk of the elves in the province, if not all of them aside from Rianaire. There was profit in having a hippocamp so willing to help the elves understand their fight all the better. More profit than harm, Rianaire thought.

  “Do you not agree?” Síocháin said the words quietly, though in the same tone as always.

  “Agreement has nothing to do with my decision, Síocháin. I hold no love for the horsefolk, but there is value in Gadaí’s knowledge and her willingness to help us. If they are not all mindless beasts, then so much the better for us. But without Gadaí, so much the worse.”

  “Is it better? What could be for our betterment in consorting with a race who has sought to destroy us every season since the first books were written down? And we invite one to our home while they burn our cousins so many miles away?”

  Rianaire turned, facing Síocháin properly for the first time. “Cruelty without reason is a game for despots and monsters. I understan
d your hate and I do not disagree with your words, but I cannot ignore what Gadaí has shown herself to be simply because of the shape she takes.” She stood, taking a step toward the door and Síocháin. “Tolerate it as best you can. This business will be done in time and she will be off to someplace you can forget exists.”

  “And if I cannot? If I beg you to send her away?”

  Rianaire felt the icy spike of the division the question demanded. “Will you? Will you beg?”

  Síocháin stood quiet, though Rianaire waited for her answer. Rianaire came to her side, meaning to leave. Síocháin looked away.

  “I am sorry, love.” Rianaire looked at Síocháin then down at the tile beneath her feet. “I cannot indulge your stubborn pride in this, as much as it pains me. The cost is not one for me to pay.”

  “Stubborn pride.” Síocháin kept her eyes away from Rianaire’s. “A fine pair of words from you. Betraying your people to a murderous race of horses so none would ever confuse you for your mother.”

  Rianaire’s hand came across Síocháin’s face swiftly, the sound ringing in the bathroom. “There are steps too far, Síocháin. I mind where I put my feet. You may wish to do the same.”

  There was nothing to be said after that. Inney waited outside the bath, still naked but her skin pale and white and her mask in place. Rianaire nearly yelled at her for it but caught the words. She quietly moved to get dressed and Inney did the same. They left the room and made down the stairs for the main hall. Inney kept her quiet. The silence did Rianaire no favors. Anger and bitterness were hot in her heart. Síocháin had meant to hurt her and Rianaire did not wish to run from the feelings. If they were what Síocháin wanted her to feel, she would feel them.

  “Fires take her,” Rianaire muttered, walking briskly toward the yard. Inney kept herself quiet still. There was nowhere for Rianaire but her own mind and she could not douse it in spirits. Later, perhaps, but not so early. She could not afford to be useless with so much left to be done.

  Outside in the yard, there was shouting. The drills and training seemed to be constant, even carrying on into the night. Rianaire came to the edge of the landing and looked out on the cause of the noise. Gadaí was at the eastern side of the yard, speaking with three elves, dressed in no armor at all. Two with short swords at the ready and a third wielding a crossbow, short sword at the flat of his lower back. They were normally worn at the side.

  The three at the other side, Eala among them, wore things as was standard. Longer swords, leather armor. Gadaí had said they would be beginning practical drills soon. This must have been one of them.

  The yard was set up as a hall might be in a keep. Boxes stacked in spaced rows as columns and a pile of feed bags in front of Eala’s group. Some benches laid out through the middle. Gadaí whistled, signaling the start. Eala’s group immediately ducked behind the bags, waiting there. As they did the two with swords at the far end split to either side of the columns and began to run at speed down the hall.

  Eala stood, drawing a shot from the crossbowman. The flanking pair stopped dead, taking places behind the pillars. When the practice bolt thunked harmlessly off the stone wall at her back, she ordered her men around the front of the sandbags. The pair at the sides waited patiently as Eala put her men to a dead run. The crossbow was not yet reloaded, she hoped to be done with the ranged threat first, it seemed. Suddenly, she broke ranks, cutting to the side with one of her men, the third still making for the crossbowman. She came around the pillars and her enemy immediately retreated without hesitation. The far side attacker came to the center, trailing hot behind the single elf sent after the crossbow. He turned to face the person at his back. Eala shouted at him.

  “No! I said—”

  “Gah!” A practice bolt popped loud against his leather leggings and the flanker who trailed put a wooden sword to his neck.

  “Turn!” She called to her remaining ally.

  Both ran to the center, moving to the attacker who had taken their friend’s head. Another ready retreat.

  “Keep on him! Out of the center.”

  The other had regrouped with the crossbowman at the head of the field. Eala had spotted it. The enemy pair moved to the far side column. Eala pulled herself to a stop behind one of the columns, but her partner had not noticed any of the things she had. He rounded, squaring himself to the far end. When Eala did not appear beside him, he looked to his side, confused. No sooner than his eyes had met hers, a practice bolt slapped hard against his leather chestpiece. The man crumbled, wheezing. Eala froze in place, frustration plain on her face, even at Rianaire’s distance. She waited there. The attackers split the column while the crossbowman reloaded, sidestepping back to the center of the yard’s far end. Eala waited. Counting steps. Her face now stony and fierce.

  The two were on her entirely when she broke from the column, rounding toward the middle rather than the wall side. She moved as quickly as Rianaire had seen an elf do, pulling her wooden sword across the foe’s gut. She kept pace, ducking back behind a column as the thunk of the crossbow sounded. The bolt cracked off of the boxes and she pulled back to the center of the hall. A pair of benches had been laid across the far end. She leapt it as the crossbow clattered against the ground. The short-sword had not cleared its scabbard when she came down on her prey, pulling her own wooden sword across his neck. She began to turn when she felt a dull jab just below her right kidney. The third.

  Eala screamed in frustration and threw her sword against the wall. The girl paced back to the center of the yard, screaming and cursing. Gadaí approached her from behind.

  “It is only a tenth attempt, Eala. You must find calm.”

  “And if they are real lives?! Must I be calm then?” Her face was flushed red, desperate tears came down her face.

  “Yes. More, then.”

  Eala lost her words and her will to resist and simply cried. Gadaí put her arms around the girl, pulling her close. Rianaire shook her head, expecting the image in front of her eyes to change somehow.

  “You are capable. Strong. This face does not befit you. Calm, patient. Those will see you past high walls. Not this.”

  Eala calmed at the words and pushed herself away from Gadaí.

  “Again.”

  Gadaí nodded and turned. “To your places. Rotate roles.”

  Eala had not once looked up from the field in front of her to see Rianaire watching. She did not now. She moved her eyes across the field as though trying to understand it more deeply.

  “I doubt if she could lead a force of any size. But she has grown quickly,” Inney said. “Her mind for battle is a strong one.”

  Rianaire watched the field with passive eyes. “For battle, yes. But there are other ways she must grow to fill the role I have handed her. There are more things in war than battle. So many more.”

  The seams that held the world together appeared to stretch out in front of her, threatening to come apart. Though Rianaire forced the fabric back together in one place, two more threatened to snap. Her pride would not allow it. Not after Síocháin challenged her so. If the effort of it all aged her horribly or bored her near to death, she would do what she must, just to be right. She knew she was, after all. Delayed gratification, she thought. And what greater pleasure was there than to watch doubters admit their mistake?

  Rianaire left the yard behind, Inney in tow. Her mind was satisfied with the course she had decided on. She had thought on it enough, she decided. And besides, she was hungry.

  “Ah, this is all so exhausting. We will have lunch first, Inney. And wine.” She said, walking through the main hall of the Bastion. “And then the rest.”

  U

  Aile

  The first fleeting glimpses of the world around her came as barely remembered flashes with vast stretches of black between. Her eyes would not open when she demanded it, neither would her body move. She could feel the tinct
ures playing with her mind, holding her still when she wished to move, pulling concrete thoughts away from the edge of her reason. She could do nothing but live in a lake of darkness, hoping that poisons inside her would fade before she was killed by whoever had taken her. There was not coherence enough to feel anger at allowing herself to be taken, only the basest things. She stared upward, it felt, at nothing, waiting for the light to return again and show her another piece of the world around her. That was the beginning of escape. It was her nature to survive. She had made the tools of doing so near as natural. They were with her, clear as a cloudless sky, waiting to be put to use.

  She put together the scenery she had caught the three times her eyes had fed her brain precious pictures. The walls were stone, no windows. Bars. She remembered a feeling beneath her, too distinct to have still been in her leathers. But she was not naked. Some… thing. Wispy. She had seen the face of an elf, but it was twisted, blurred. The blackness passed as time unmarked. She felt the poisons weaken and prepared herself to do what she could.

  Aile’s eyes pulled open just the slightest bit. She could hear nothing, but through the blur she saw a light-skinned creature across from her, sitting on the floor. Her eyes cleared so slowly, but the shapes were coalescing to something. An elfchild. Bandaged across the face. Her body still did nothing she wished for it to do, but she was aware of it all. All the way to her feet. She thought the movements over and over, cycling from head to toe, hoping for something to give, something to cling to and strengthen. She could not feel her Fire, so flesh would have to do. It would be weak. She would need precision. So much the worse for her.

  Her eyes would not move in their sockets, but at least looked across at something of use to her. She hoped they were opened only narrowly, lest she rush a new tincture into her body. She could feel something, just the slightest bit. Her right arm. There was a cut in it. The pain was slight. She felt for it, grabbing the sensation as best she could as she kept her eyes focused on the elf with her. Her vision cleared a bit more. A girl elf. And bars. She was in a cell, it seemed. The elf crushed things idly with a mortar and pestle, her mouth moving constantly. Aile could not see who it was she spoke with. The door to her side was open. Likely too much to ask.