Den of Wolves

by Juliet Marillier

  Pretty ride. Woods are all shadows and light. Birds everywhere, all kinds, little peeping things and big ones with slow-beating wings. Creatures scampering around in the trees and in the grass. Place is full of life. Sort of spot where you’d find those wee folk, like the ones we met in Bann. Or even Conmael’s kind, the fey folk of the old tales. So much forest here, and it’s so tricky, they’d have no trouble hiding if they wanted. I look around for them as I go, but no sign. Not that Conmael gives you a warning before he pops up out of nowhere. Likes seeing folk jump, that’s my guess. Wonder if she’s right and he really has gone off somewhere. Wonder how it works, that world and our world. How do they fit together? Could be a man walks into a cave and finds himself somewhere he didn’t expect. Or takes a swim, dives under the water, comes up and everything’s changed. Heard a tale once, fellow walked into a mushroom circle and got taken off into a fey place, didn’t get home for a hundred years. Wife, children, grandchildren all dead and buried. Doesn’t bear thinking about.

  Ride takes about an hour. I come over a rise and there’s Wolf Glen, big stone house, double row of beeches, all grand enough for a prince. Which is funny when you think of it. Prince Oran’s house at Winterfalls is more ordinary than this one, and he’ll be king someday. Makes me wonder why this fellow would be wanting to build another house. Got a perfectly good one from what I can see.

  Someone’s been watching out for me, seems like. By the time I get to the courtyard there’s a groom waiting to take Sturdy off to the stables and another man telling me to wait. Seems the master of the house is going to show me the job himself. Ripple has a wander around and I wait and wait some more.

  Then here’s the fellow I spoke to in Winterfalls, Gormán’s his name, looking pleased to see me, and another man who I guess from his fine clothes is the master of the house. No smile from him. He looks like a man with a burden.

  ‘Grim,’ says Gormán. ‘You’re timely. This is Master Tóla. If you’ll walk with us, he will explain the job to you.’

  We walk, and the master of Wolf Glen asks me all sorts of questions, ones I’ve already answered for Gormán, but never mind. Can I work with stone? Can I work with wood? What building have I done before? Am I skilled at thatching? Can I work every day until the job’s finished even if it runs through till autumn?

  It’s a yes to most of that. I tell him what I’ve already told Gormán about not wanting to stay up here overnight but being happy to ride to and fro. And needing one of their horses, because Scannal has to have Sturdy for his cart. Remind him about not coming up when the weather’s bad. Can’t say about autumn, need to see the job first. What exactly is it he’s building?

  They show me, up around the far side of the house, past their barn and stables. A ruin of something. Master Tóla wants it rebuilt. A heartwood house, it’s called.

  I walk all around it. It’s biggish. It’s three times the size of our cottage, which is the only bit of building I’ve done more or less on my own, though I’ve helped with plenty of others. I’m guessing from the wreck of it that the walls were stone at the base. There’d be wooden posts and beams, maybe wattle and mud up top. What’s left here is mostly broken stone, rubble, a few rotten old bits of wood.

  ‘Doesn’t look too hard,’ I say. ‘You’d need a few helpers, though. What is it, a grand hall for councils and the like?’ Never heard of a heartwood house.

  ‘The purpose does not matter,’ says Master Tóla. ‘The significant part of this, the challenge, is the manner in which it is constructed. For the wooden parts of the house, every kind of timber in the forest must be used.’

  I don’t say a word. Getting used to strange things; must be living with Blackthorn does that.

  ‘There are rules for the laying of the stones; for the fashioning of the posts and beams; for the manner of thatching. Rules that must be adhered to in every particular.’

  Sounds as if he’s fussy. Maybe explains why the job didn’t get finished last time. Not sure I’m so keen to do it after all. Though the pay Gormán mentioned is a tidy sum, and I’ve got plans for how to use it, plans I’m not telling Blackthorn yet.

  ‘These rules,’ I say, ‘are they written down somewhere? Be easy to make a mistake. Who’s going to be in charge?’ Not him, the master, I’m guessing; doesn’t look like the kind of man who gets his hands dirty. And not Gormán, who’s told me already that he’ll only be helping out when he can.

  ‘Ah,’ says Master Tóla, meaning, I can guess, This is the bit we decided not to tell you before, in case you said no. ‘We have a man here by the name of Bardán. Odd sort of fellow. He’s been living wild; forgotten the ways of ordinary folk. But we need his help. Very few men know how to build a heartwood house. Bardán is one of them.’

  ‘Mm-hm,’ I say, waiting for more. Thinking, can’t be any odder than the things that have happened to Blackthorn and me since we came north together. Strange stuff follows us wherever we go.

  ‘Before I call him,’ the master says, ‘I need to make it clear that your work here will be not only assisting Bardán with the building work, but also keeping him under control.’ He looks me up and down, while I’m thinking I don’t like the sound of that at all.

  ‘I’m no guard,’ I say, though that’s not quite true. I’ve done guard duty for Prince Oran before. But that’s not the same as being someone’s minder. I’m thinking of Slammer and Tiny, Mathuin’s thugs from the lockup. Thinking I’m never ever going to let myself be like them. ‘That’s not the job I came here for.’

  ‘You’re a big strong man,’ says the master. ‘You’ll earn your pay by doing what Bardán tells you to do on the heartwood house. He’ll earn his keep at Wolf Glen by showing you how to do it. There’ll be a tidy extra sum for you if you make sure Bardán sticks to the rules we’ve given him. If you can’t agree to that, there is no job.’

  ‘Mm-hm,’ I say again. ‘And what rules are those?’

  They run through them: Bardán is not allowed to talk to anyone but me and the foresters, he’s not allowed anywhere near the main house, he has to sleep in a little hut out in the woods, he’s not allowed to leave Wolf Glen before the heartwood house is finished. I’m thinking, I hope you’re paying him well, but I don’t say it.

  ‘And you don’t talk to him about anything except the building,’ says Master Tóla. ‘Understood?’

  ‘Mm-hm. Who was building this before?’ They must’ve had someone who knew all these special rules about a heartwood house, back then. Not sure how long ago; a while, from the looks of things.

  ‘He was. Bardán. But he left with the job unfinished.’ It’s Gormán who tells me this; Master Tóla’s staring off into nowhere as if he’s forgotten me for the moment. ‘We have most of the wood saved from last time, in the barn.’

  ‘Something from every kind of tree.’

  ‘Something from every kind of tree. Even the ones you wouldn’t choose to build with if you had any common sense. But some of the bits are small. Doesn’t matter if they’re just tucked in somewhere, as long as they’re all there.’

  ‘Sounds odd. Why would you do it like that? Might mean the place wasn’t as strong as it could be. Or as weather-tight.’

  ‘Building it the right way brings good fortune,’ Gormán says. ‘But it has to be done just so.’

  ‘That’s him,’ says the master, and I see someone coming down from the forest, over the other side of the ruin. A man who might have walked right out of an old tale, he’s so shaggy and wild and strange. I wonder for a bit if he’s not a man at all but some uncanny thing, a troll or suchlike. Master Tóla turns back to me. ‘Will you do it?’ Sounding as if it matters a lot, me saying yes.

  ‘I might talk to him first. Get a better idea of the job.’

  The master’s mouth goes tight. Eyes not so warm now. ‘Don’t take too long over it. The pay’s better than you’ll get anywhere else. Use of a horse, a good one. Fr
eedom to come in and out, provided you don’t gossip about the work down in the settlement. We’d be wanting you to keep this to yourself, the same as Bardán.’

  ‘Is that right?’ I say, thinking their bags of silver don’t look so tempting now. Why would they want everything so secret? It’s only a house. Bardán’s close now; just on the other side of the ruin. Taking a good look at me. I give him a nod. ‘Quick chat, that’s all I need. Then I can give you an answer. If it doesn’t suit you to wait, maybe Gormán here can come down and let you know. Master Tóla,’ I add, trying to be polite.

  ‘Very well,’ he says. ‘Take your time.’ Thinking, I’m guessing, that if he’s too sharp about the rules I’ll change my mind about doing the work. ‘Gormán, I’ll be in my council chamber. Bring Grim down there when he’s made up his mind, will you?’

  A few things I learn really quick. First, Bardán’s not ready with his words. Second, he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to do the job. Doesn’t say so, not right out, but the look in his eye, the set of his shoulders, the way he talks, all that tells me he’s not happy at Wolf Glen. Third, he’s going to build the heartwood house anyway.

  Me, I’m wishing Gormán would take himself off so I can talk to the wild man without having to watch my words. But Gormán’s not going anywhere. If I’m here as Bardán’s minder, maybe the forester’s my minder, stopping me from asking the wrong questions. Happiest little building team in Erin, we’ll be.

  I walk around the ruin again, with Bardán next to me and Gormán behind.

  ‘Stones first?’ I ask. ‘How high? How many courses?’

  He shows me with his hands; hands that make it clear why he needs a helper for the building. Can’t tell how old the man is, could be my age, could be Gormán’s, could be anywhere in between. But those hands are crippled. They’re stiff and bent; they must hurt. Which means the man laying those stones is going to be me.

  ‘Stone on stone,’ Bardán says. ‘Stone on stone on stone.’ He shows me how high they’ll go – about up to his shoulder. ‘Posts set in. Oak. Ash. Beech.’

  ‘Wattle and mud up above?’ I ask, and he nods. Danu’s mercy. This is a poor sad wreck of a man. But he was a builder once. Wonder what happened, to twist up those strong hands? ‘How many couples for the roof?’

  ‘Nine,’ says Gormán from behind us. ‘Built steep.’

  Nine couples! That’s a tall place all right. ‘Thatch, yes?’ A man would need a good long ladder. And a head for heights.

  Bardán gives a grunt for yes.

  ‘Straw?’

  Another grunt.

  ‘You got the materials ready for that too?’

  ‘We’ll have them by the time you need them,’ says Gormán. ‘I doubt you’ll be thatching before the end of summer.’

  Cast my eye over the place again; try to see this heartwood house. I’m thinking Gormán’s right. It’ll take a long while to put together, even without the special touches. Not sure I want to be coming up here right through spring and summer and maybe into autumn.

  ‘What do you think?’ Gormán asks me. ‘Will you do it?’

  I look at the wild man, wondering what his story is. Wondering why they need all the rules. Something wrong here, has to be. ‘Why not get a whole team in?’ I ask. Anyone with any sense would do that. ‘Doesn’t need to be craftsmen, just strong lads who can learn quick and follow orders. Six or seven men, you could be all done by midsummer. Maybe earlier.’

  ‘Don’t suggest that to Master Tóla,’ Gormán says. ‘He wants it done with as few as possible. You, Bardán, and me or Conn to help you when our own work allows. Anything needing more men, we can ask some of our farm workers to lend a hand. Nobody from outside, except you. Never mind how long it takes. That’s the way he wants it done.’

  ‘What if that doesn’t suit me?’ I ask, though I’m starting to get a picture in my head of the thing finished, and it’s a pretty sight, standing tall and fine among the big trees. I could do a nice job with the thatching. Make a bit of a garden around the place if there’s time.

  ‘Then you don’t do the job,’ Gormán says. ‘And either way, you don’t talk about it when you go home. Understood?’

  ‘Mm-hm.’ If they don’t want me to talk, I won’t talk. Except to Blackthorn, but that’s different.

  ‘I think you’re the right man for this work,’ Gormán says now. ‘And I know Master Tóla does too. Folk speak very well of your abilities.’

  ‘Just, right through to autumn, that’s a long time. Every day.’ Not used to being away from Blackthorn so much. Could be hard. On the other hand, Blackthorn might like a rest from having me around all the time. And I do get to go home every night. Sleep under our own roof; know she’s there, close by.

  ‘The offer of accommodation here at Wolf Glen still stands.’

  ‘Suits me better to ride in and out. But thanks.’

  ‘The master might be prepared to pay more,’ Gormán says, ‘to be sure you’ll stay until this is finished. However long it takes.’

  Dagda’s bollocks. Master Tóla must have a lot of silver to throw around. He’s already offered me extra for keeping an eye on Bardán.

  ‘Gormán!’ There’s another man over by the barn, lanky young fellow, red-haired. ‘Give us a hand here, will you?’

  Gormán looks at me, looks at the wild man, hesitates.

  ‘Go on,’ I say. ‘I’ll just have a bit more of a look, then I’ll come and find you.’

  I’m guessing Gormán’s under orders not to leave me and the wild man on our own. Not until he knows if I’m staying. But he says, ‘All right. Don’t be long,’ and heads off.

  I walk around the ruin one more time. Bardán walks a step or two behind me, like a rough sort of shadow. Doesn’t say a word.

  ‘You all right with me doing the job?’ I ask after a while. Not up to him, of course. But it sounds like he’s the only one who knows how to build this thing. Be happier if he thought I was up to it. Pretty sure there’s going to be more to it than they’ve said so far.

  All I get is a grunt and a nod. Then Ripple comes over. She’s been exploring everywhere like a dog does, finding new smells. Now she sniffs Bardán’s leg. He’s got a pretty strong stink about him.

  ‘You like dogs?’ I ask. Trying to put him at his ease. Not that anyone would be easy here, with all the rules about not saying this and not saying that. ‘This one’s mine. Ripple, her name is. She’d be coming up with me most days. Long way for her. But she likes a run.’

  He reaches out to stroke her head with his stiff fingers. I see a flash of teeth in the bristling beard. Maybe a smile, maybe more of a grimace. Gone quick.

  I try again. Look around first, though I know there’s nobody close enough to hear. ‘Listen,’ I say. ‘This feels a bit odd. Not quite right. You sure you want to build the thing? You sure you want to work for this fellow?’ Could get me in trouble. But I’m not working for Master Tóla yet.

  Bardán looks right at me. Eyes like an animal’s when it’s trapped and wants to bolt, but can’t.

  ‘No need to be scared,’ I say, quiet-like. Think, once I’ve said it, that it could be a lie. No need to be scared of me, that’s true enough. Can’t say the same about Master Tóla or even Gormán, friendly as he is. Can’t think how to say what I want to say – that I’m not happy to do the job if this poor sod’s being forced into it for some reason. Got a feeling he’s not quite right in the head. Reminds me a bit of Dribbles, back in Mathuin’s lockup. Never said much, and when he did there wasn’t a lot of sense in it.

  ‘Got to finish,’ Bardán says. ‘Stone on stone. Wattle and mud. Nine couples. Every tree in the wood.’

  ‘For good luck, yes?’

  ‘That’s what they say.’ He smiles again, only this time I know he’s not happy, he’s angry. ‘An old tale. The heartwood house.’

  Seems he can pu
t his words together all right if he tries. Makes me wonder if it might be just that he hasn’t talked for a long time. Forgotten how, nearly. Where’s he come from? Where’s he been? In some place like that hellhole of Mathuin’s? ‘How long since you tackled the job last time?’ I ask.

  ‘Can’t say.’

  That’s all the answer I’m going to get. The man’s all closed up, and no wonder. Morrigan’s curse, think how it would be. A builder, a master builder from what they’ve said, and now he couldn’t even tap in a peg. Poor bastard.

  ‘You want me to help, Bardán?’

  ‘Need help,’ he says. ‘Got to finish.’

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘I’ll do it.’ Surprise myself, because I’d been thinking I’d tell Master Tóla I needed another day to make up my mind. Thinking I’d talk it over with Blackthorn first, things being so odd up here and all. But I look at the wild man’s sad face, smell his stinking body in its ragged clothes, and I remember Blackthorn helping a big lump of a man when he was out in the woods, in the dark, in the rain, running from his nightmares. ‘Grim,’ I say. ‘That’s my name.’

  Bardán nods. ‘Grim.’

  ‘I’d better go and have a word with Master Tóla,’ I say. ‘Find out what I need to bring with me. Find out about a horse.’ I look at the ruin again, thinking it’ll take a few days just to clear the spot. Hoping they’ve got the stones set away as well as the wood, because shaping stone for a great big house isn’t something I can do on my own.

  Down at the main house, I tell Master Tóla I’ll do the job. He doesn’t look as surprised as he should, seeing as the job is as odd as they come. I tell him I want my payment split into three parts. One to be paid now, or within a day or so, one when we’re ready to start on the roof, and the last one when it’s all finished. That does surprise him. Surprises even me. Though it shouldn’t, since we’ve been let down before, Blackthorn and me. But I’m not in the habit of telling folk what I want done.