Den of Wolves

by Juliet Marillier

  My moon-bleeding had started. That helped explain my touchy mood; the two often went together. For a long time, season after season, I had bled little and irregularly or not at all. I had wondered if fate’s blows had beaten out of me the capacity to conceive another child. For a while I had thought that would be a good thing. How could such a wretched, bitter creature ever be a proper mother? Now, a part of me was glad my body still held that possibility. Hard to accept, that gladness. It didn’t make much sense. Hadn’t I sworn to myself, after the heartbreak of losing Brennan, that I would never have another child? Hadn’t I sworn I would never love anyone again, since doing so would be like nailing my heart up on the wall and inviting folk to throw knives into it? Just as well, after all, that Grim wasn’t home. I might say something I would quickly regret. Just as well he hadn’t had the chance to see those words I’d written on the wax tablet. I would erase them now. As for what he had written for me, he would never know I’d copied every word onto a blank page of my notebook. His verse lay between a drawing of mistletoe and a set of instructions for brewing mead. Grim would not look there. He knew a wise woman’s book was private.

  Someone was riding across the fields from the settlement. A man in a hooded cloak. Two others coming behind. Not Prince Oran’s men, or I’d see his colours. Nobody I recognised from Winterfalls settlement or anywhere else nearby. The Swan Island men again, with their wretched questions? A pox on them! I left the window, put my cup down on the table, hugged my shawl around my shoulders. Why did I feel so cold? Why did the shadow of Mathuin hang over any stranger who knocked on my door? Go away, I willed them. Go somewhere else and leave me alone. Which was foolish. Hadn’t I been cursing Grim not long ago for doing precisely that?

  I heard them stop out the front, dismount, exchange a few words. I contemplated pretending I was not at home. If I stood where I was and kept completely quiet, maybe they would simply leave. Or maybe they wouldn’t, seeing as the fire was burning and the lamp was lit and there was a pungent smell of freshly chopped onions.

  Someone knocked. In my mind, Mathuin himself stood on my doorstep with a long knife in his hand. Not ready to plunge it in my heart; such a man would not deliver the merciful gift of a quick death. No, he’d want to draw things out as long as possible. Not only to punish me, but to enjoy the process every step of the way. In the end, of course, he would finish me. I simply had too much to tell.

  I picked up the iron poker. Gripped it, weighed it, considered how I would use it. I opened the door.

  A man stood there, cloaked against the rain. ‘Are you Mistress Blackthorn the healer?’ he asked, not bothering with pleasantries.

  The other two waited at a distance, with the three horses. It looked as if they weren’t planning to stop long.

  ‘Who’s asking?’

  ‘Master Tóla of Wolf Glen wants a word with you. If you’re Blackthorn.’

  I swallowed what came first to my lips: Can’t Master Tóla speak for himself? ‘I am Blackthorn,’ I said. Not the Swan Island men. Not Prince Oran’s retainers. And not Mathuin’s henchmen. I saw, now, that this was a master and two servants. One servant had knocked on the door. The other was holding the horses’ reins. And the third man, the one whose clothing was of better cloth, whose boots were less worn, whose tight jaw and cold eyes were unpromising, must be Tóla himself. Cara’s father. I wouldn’t have guessed; he looked nothing like her. What could he want with me?

  ‘If you’re looking for Cara,’ I said, ‘she’s not here today.’

  The well-dressed man stepped forward and indicated with a sharp gesture that the other two were to move back.

  ‘Mistress Blackthorn,’ he said, sounding incredulous, ‘am I to understand from those words that you have not yet heard that Cara was missing for most of yesterday, and was only found after an extensive search that went late into the night?’

  My jaw dropped. ‘I was in Longwater,’ I said. ‘I had no idea – is Cara all right? Is she safe?’ It was making a horrible kind of sense to me now. A rainy day, most of Prince Oran’s household off at court, Grim and me both away. A perfect opportunity for Cara to bolt for home, or so she must have thought. ‘Where did she go?’ Cara always swore she could find her way home from anywhere in the forest, and I had no reason to disbelieve her. ‘Where was she found?’

  ‘That is not your concern.’

  I met Master Tóla’s antagonistic stare as calmly as I could, trying not to take an instant dislike to the man. He had the air of a person who felt himself entitled to make rules for other folk, and to insist those rules be complied with. Flidais had told me he was distantly related to King Ruairi, which made him Oran’s kinsman too, and hers by marriage. But he was neither prince nor chieftain, only a landholder who happened to be rather wealthy. Maybe he thought I’d be easily intimidated.

  ‘Cara is a friend of mine,’ I said. ‘It’s natural for friends to enquire about each other’s welfare. She’s young. She’s been unhappy at Winterfalls. I imagine she was trying to get to Wolf Glen.’ Grim must have been part of the search; it explained, in part, why he had not come home.

  ‘My daughter’s behaviour can be somewhat erratic.’ Tóla had lowered his voice. ‘In many ways Cara is still a child. Mistress Blackthorn, it would be more appropriate for this conversation to take place behind closed doors.’ He glanced over at his companions.

  ‘I prefer it to take place out here.’ I did not want this man in my house. Something about him, that air of entitlement perhaps, reminded me of Mathuin. He set my teeth on edge. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll keep my voice down. So, Cara was missing, she’s been found and she’s safely back home. What was it you needed to ask me about?’

  He looked as if he wanted to slap me. ‘I had thought to question you about how she managed to walk away from the prince’s establishment unchecked. And about the long delay in informing me that she was unaccounted for. I’ve been led to believe that my daughter has been spending a great deal of time over here with you. That was hardly what I intended when I sent her to Winterfalls to stay. But as you were not here when she wandered off, in this particular instance you bear no responsibility for her behaviour. I did know you had been in Longwater. Your friend Grim apprised me of that fact.’

  ‘I see. I should make it clear to you, Master Tóla, that Cara is always escorted by a guard when she visits me, and usually by a female companion as well. When she comes here she occupies herself with various useful tasks. There is often another young woman, my assistant, with us. All perfectly appropriate. Cara is not the kind of girl who is content to while away the day with fine needlework and gossip.’ I waited a moment, then added, ‘Was that what you were hoping she would learn to do?’

  His cheeks flushed red. ‘That’s offensive, Mistress Blackthorn. I’m at your door to ask for your help, not listen to your sly insults. I want what is best for my daughter. I’m well aware that being among other folk is difficult for Cara. If she has made a friend of you, I would not lightly sever that tie. She will need it more than ever now.’

  There was a silence while I worked this out. I put it together with the fact that, on the day after Cara had been missing and then found, when it was still raining hard enough to make travel difficult and uncomfortable, if not impossible, her father was at Winterfalls with his guards and apparently heading back toward Wolf Glen. Without Cara. Why would she need my friendship more than ever if she was exactly where she wanted to be, back home at last?

  ‘Are you telling me you’ve left her at Prince Oran’s house again?’ My dismay and disapproval must have been all too obvious.

  ‘Your manner is not only blunt, it is discourteous,’ Tóla said. ‘Perhaps you learned that from your friend. The two of you are quick to speak out. You are all too ready to pass judgement on your betters.’

  Could he mean Grim? A man of very few words at the best of times? As for betters, I would restrain myself from making comment
on that ill-chosen word. If I were Cara I’d be running away from Wolf Glen, not to it. But I wouldn’t be doing the girl any favours if I made an enemy of her father. ‘Let me say it again, then, in terms less likely to offend. Is Cara back at Prince Oran’s house, Master Tóla? Will she be staying there for some time?’

  ‘I brought her down this morning. She will be staying indefinitely. Since neither Prince Oran nor his wife is there at present, I was able to speak only to the steward and one of Lady Flidais’s attendants. I made my position clear. There must be further restrictions on Cara’s movements. I cannot have her returning unannounced to Wolf Glen. Not until a . . . a certain project is completed.’ He narrowed his eyes at me. ‘Has Grim spoken to you of the work he is doing for me?’

  Ah. Best tread carefully. ‘Not much. I know it’s a big building job. Stone, wood, thatching. Something that will keep him busy a while.’ After a bit I added, ‘And it’s well paid.’

  Tóla nodded. It seemed I had given the right sort of answer. ‘I will be plain with you, Mistress Blackthorn. My daughter cannot return home until the building job you mention is finished. I have certain rather rough workers – I do not refer to Grim, you understand, but to others – whose services I require, and who must be housed at Wolf Glen. It would be inappropriate, even dangerous, for a young woman of Cara’s age and – sensitivity – to be there at the same time they are. That means a long stay at Winterfalls for her.’

  He waited, perhaps for me to ask questions. I had plenty: why couldn’t Cara’s aunt keep an eye on her? Why couldn’t she be restricted to the house and kitchen garden or similar while the workers were there? And anyway, wasn’t there only one rough worker at Wolf Glen – the wild man, Bardán? According to Grim, Tóla had stubbornly refused to hire extra men for the job even though it was obviously too much for two. Wasn’t it rather unfair, not to say inappropriate, for Tóla to expect the prince and Lady Flidais to accommodate his daughter under such odd circumstances, especially in view of the crisis in the south?

  I said none of this. Revealing that I knew anything more would get Grim into trouble. ‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I hope it will still be possible for Cara to visit me sometimes. With an appropriate escort, of course. You know – of course you must know how difficult she finds it to speak out among folk. Here in the cottage, with me and Emer – the young woman I mentioned – Cara has no problem finding words. It’s good for her to be able to speak freely.’

  ‘You judge me,’ Tóla said, wintry. ‘Once more you point out my failings as a father.’

  That shocked me. ‘Believe me, I do not make judgements so quickly.’ Remembering my first impression of the man, I wondered if that was quite true. ‘That would be most unwise. I’m saying only that Cara needs friends, and that she has friends here. I could have a word with her about the inadvisability of running away again, if you believe that would be helpful.’

  ‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn. I believe . . . I believe I overestimated what Cara would be able to cope with. She is . . . in many ways . . .’

  ‘A child, as you said before? She may appear so sometimes. I think perhaps she is not so much childlike as . . . unworldly.’

  His head went up sharply. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Unused to mingling with folk. Unable to pretend. A little too honest for certain company. No more than that.’ What had got him so wound up all of a sudden? ‘Those things are part of your daughter’s charm, Master Tóla. She is still very young. If you were to ask my advice, I would say, don’t push her too hard. Don’t test her beyond what she is ready for.’

  ‘That is none of your concern.’

  ‘Then I will say no more on the matter. Was there something you needed to ask me? Some reason you knocked on my door, beyond wanting to blame me for your daughter running away?’

  We stared at each other for a little. His lips were held tight over what were most likely angry words. I wished I was better at thinking before I spoke.

  ‘I shouldn’t –’

  ‘Believe me –’

  We spoke together, fell silent together. Then Tóla said, ‘Believe me, I act with only one thing in mind: Cara’s welfare. My daughter is very dear to me, Mistress Blackthorn. Dearer than anything in the world. Her mother was devoted to her. When my wife was on her deathbed, I promised her I would keep Cara safe. I will hold to that promise all my life, and if my actions offend some, so be it.’

  When he spoke like that, from the heart, it became possible to feel a small amount of sympathy for the man. His love for Cara sounded deep and sincere. It didn’t make him any less of an arrogant bully. ‘Your wife died when Cara was a baby, didn’t she?’

  ‘Cara was just under a year old when I lost Suanach, yes. My daughter does not remember her mother at all. But that loss has left its mark on her. Her wildness of character, her . . . her oddities of speech and behaviour must be largely down to growing up without her mother to guide and shape her development.’

  It was not for me to point out that the aunt, who had been there since early days according to Grim’s account, should have been entirely capable of taking the role of mother, especially if the child had been too small at the time of that loss to remember her real mother for long. In a well-to-do household like Tóla’s there would have been any number of maidservants willing to help with a baby girl.

  Something was nagging at my mind, something that did not quite fit. Something about babies, children, folk helping . . .

  ‘I’ve explained to Cara, this time, why I need her to stay away from home,’ Tóla said. ‘There is no need to keep that from her when you see her. I am happy for her to visit you here. Or, if you have the opportunity, for you to visit her at Prince Oran’s stronghold. I had thought to consult you in your capacity as a . . .’ He hesitated.

  ‘Healer?’

  ‘As a healer, yes.’ He was evidently more comfortable with that term than wise woman. Grim had told me what great faith Tóla placed in the protective qualities of the heartwood house. How he feared the consequences if the place was not completed. Hadn’t he blamed Bardán’s defection for the death of his wife? So, he was superstitious. Deeply so. Believed in the power of the uncanny. But was afraid of it, too, or he would not have shied away from calling me what I was – not only a worker with herbs and potions, a mender of broken bones and a helper to the ailing, but also a practitioner of what might be called hearth magic: minor spells and charms, a slight adjustment of what already existed, a little playing with the nature of things.

  ‘Do you require my services for yourself or for your daughter, Master Tóla?’

  ‘For myself – no, most certainly not.’ The notion seemed to shock him. ‘With Cara – if you could watch over her . . . If there were a . . . something protective . . . something she could carry with her . . .’

  ‘A charm, you mean?’

  The man was struggling for words, out of his depth. Not wanting to acknowledge the existence of such things, not openly at least. He was a mass of contradictions. And I was getting cold, standing outside in meagre shelter.

  ‘I could make something, yes. I’ll need to give it some thought. Ideally such an item would contain a contribution from each of those closest to the wearer. Cara herself might be asked to identify those people. Perhaps there is a garment or small item that belonged to her mother. Something from you. Something from anyone else she is fond of. She and I might make the charm together.’ I thought of Grim’s little wooden hedgehog. In the cottage, right behind us, there were several animals Cara herself had carved, each of them full of its own natural power. Created with love and good intent. Crafted with a knowledge of trees and the gifts they gave us. It came to me that Cara could already make her own magic.

  ‘We’d best be moving on.’ Tóla brought the conversation to an abrupt halt, gesturing to his servants. ‘If you could go ahead with that, I would be grateful. And I will pay, of course. I d
on’t want this discussed openly, Mistress Blackthorn, or spread abroad. That goes without saying.’

  I gave him a sort of half-nod. Grim and I had already gone far beyond Tóla’s restrictions on the sharing of information and I was certain we would again when I saw him next.

  The three men were mounting their horses.

  ‘Master Tóla?’

  From the saddle, already impatient to be gone, he looked down at me.

  ‘I had thought Grim might be home today,’ I said, already feeling foolish. ‘With the heavy rain, I mean.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Tóla. ‘I almost forgot. Grim asked for a message to be passed on. He’ll be accommodated at Wolf Glen from now until the end of the job. The work is taking too long. The new arrangement will ensure the building progresses more quickly. The daily ride to and fro was impractical from the first.’

  I felt as if I’d been punched in the belly. I had no breath. No words.

  ‘I’ll bid you good day, Mistress Blackthorn, and thank you for your help.’ Without waiting for the reply I was unable to voice, he turned and rode away with his two men following.

  ‘What about rain days?’ I whispered. ‘Can he still come home on those?’

  But nobody heard. And it wouldn’t have made a difference anyway. I knew in my sad, stupid, ridiculous heart that Grim would be away on rain days too. How dare that man ask me for a charm of protection when he was taking away my own protector, my sanity, my other half . . .

  Your what? The inner voice chimed in. Stop this right now. You’re not some silly, pathetic soul, you’re a fighter. You’re the one who stands up for other folk when they’re too scared to speak out for themselves. Don’t you dare shed tears. Put on your cloak, go over to Winterfalls and see Cara. Talk to folk and find out what’s going on with Mathuin. Don’t sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Do something.