Den of Wolves

by Juliet Marillier

  She leaned her cheek against the yew. Closed her eyes. I have something to tell you, she said in the voice only a tree could hear. A strange story. There was once a rich man, and on his land there was a bridge . . .

  37

  ~Blackthorn~

  My sleep had been fitful at best. The moment I’d dropped off I’d been trapped in my familiar nightmares: Mathuin laughing, the torture chamber and the lockup, my family burning. I’d woken drenched in cold sweat with my heart hammering. I’d built up the fire. Made brew after brew until I was awash. Paced the floor of the small cottage until my legs ached. I’d conducted long conversations with Grim and invented his replies, trying to calm my restless thoughts.

  Dawn came at last, as welcome to me as air to a drowning woman. With it came Cara, looking pale and dishevelled. Wherever she’d slept, I was pretty sure it hadn’t been the women’s quarters.

  ‘Brew?’ I suggested, deciding not to ask questions. She was here, she was safe, that was all that mattered.

  ‘What?’ She hadn’t heard me. She was in some other place, not here in front of me.

  ‘Sit down, Cara.’ Gods, she was freezing cold. I steered her to the fire. Found a blanket and passed it to her. She didn’t speak until I had the brew half-made.

  ‘Master Oisin told me the story. About the monster’s child and the heartwood house.’

  ‘Ah. And was it what you were expecting?’ Whatever she’d heard had shaken her badly. A monster’s child?

  ‘It was bad. So bad I have to go up there, to Wolf Glen, and talk to my father. Today, if you’re not too busy.’

  I opened my mouth to tell her I couldn’t go with her, but I swallowed the words. I passed her a steaming cup. ‘Drink some of this, then tell me the story, if you will.’

  It came out quickly, almost too quickly for me to follow. The monster, the child held hostage, the blessings conveyed by the different timbers, the creature’s vengeance. The sting in the tail. The story did not exactly parallel Cara’s own situation. But it was close. Uncannily close. There was no human mother in Master Oisin’s tale. In Cara’s, it seemed to me Suanach might be the key.

  ‘So I have to go. I have to talk to him. To both of them, if I can.’

  ‘Your father and . . .?’

  ‘My two fathers,’ Cara said. ‘Can you come today? Master Oisin said I should take someone with me, and I don’t want anyone else coming, not a guard or Mhairi, and the sooner I do this the braver I can pretend to be. If you’re with me I might be able to get words out. The right words. I don’t know what they are yet.’ When I did not reply straight away, she said, ‘Master Oisin would have come if he could, but he’s travelling on today. And I want you.’

  I set down my cup on the table. My own worries crowded back into my mind. ‘I’m sorry, Cara. I can’t come with you. Not today, and not for quite a few days ahead.’

  ‘But . . . why?’

  Did she have to look at me like that, as if I was her best friend and had turned against her for no good reason? ‘I can’t tell you why. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. I may need to travel at very short notice. That’s all I can say.’

  ‘Travel where?’

  I just looked at her. Felt myself getting angry. Made myself breathe slowly. To her, this was every bit as important as Mathuin’s fate was to me. ‘You have a choice,’ I said. ‘Take someone else with you, or wait until I can come. Nothing’s going to change up at Wolf Glen if you leave this for a short while. You are safe here in the prince’s house. Speaking to your father about this will be opening a box of trouble.’

  ‘But I have to –’

  ‘I understand that. If I were in your shoes I’d be wanting to rush up there and get it done. But remember, whatever results from this, it’s going to hurt someone. It may well change your whole life. You need to have me with you, and a guard as well.’

  ‘Grim’s there.’

  ‘Grim can’t deal with this on his own.’ Grim wouldn’t be there until he and I got back from Prince Oran’s secret mission. But I couldn’t tell Cara that. ‘Besides, he’s working for your father. That will place him in quite a difficult situation when the truth comes out. He’s broken your father’s rules by telling me about this, and I’ve disregarded warnings from both Master Tóla and your friend Gormán.’

  ‘Gormán? You spoke to Gormán? What did he say?’

  I regretted mentioning the forester. Cara was fond of him. Trusted him. That had been evident for a while. The affection was mutual; he had spoken of her as if she were his own daughter or granddaughter. And he knew about this. He must know. ‘Not much, Cara. He told me not to talk to the folk at Longwater about what happened in the past. And I went straight ahead and did just that.’

  She was silent a moment, clutching her cup with white-knuckled hands. Then she said, ‘How can I wait? How can I do nothing for days and days?’

  I’ve waited years, I wanted to say. Endless, soul-destroying years. ‘The time will pass quickly enough,’ I said. ‘Keep busy, occupy yourself. And use your common sense. Doing this on your own would be foolish, even if you could get out of here without someone stopping you. Have you forgotten what happened last time? Whatever lies in wait down that hole is still there. And elsewhere at Wolf Glen, no doubt. The fey might welcome another chance to turn you off your path.’

  She turned tear-damp eyes on me in reproach. ‘I can’t believe you just said that. I can’t believe you tried to frighten me out of going.’

  Wretched girl! Every part of me was on edge. The desire to throw something, hard, was rising fast. Grim, come home. I need you. ‘If you’re not frightened,’ I said, ‘you have an inflated idea of your own abilities. Please do as I ask. Don’t go to Wolf Glen until I can come with you. And don’t ask questions about why I can’t rush off and do your bidding at a snap of the fingers. That matter is confidential. You’re not to mention it to anyone, understand?’

  In response she got up, dabbing her eyes, and headed for the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ My voice was sharp, angry. I drew a breath and tried again. ‘Cara. I’m doing my best to help.’

  ‘I wanted you to come. I was relying on you. There’s nobody else I can ask.’ She had her back to me. The tone was that of a child betrayed.

  ‘And I will come. I’ve told you that. But not yet. I’m sorry, but this other matter is of pressing importance. It’s not something I can set aside. Cara, the world will not come to an end because you waited a few more days.’

  Cara muttered something and went out, slamming the door behind her. And it came to me that when she confronted Master Tóla with the truth, the world she knew would indeed come to an end. One way or another, her life would be changed forever.

  Anger filled me. I was furious that the world was so unfair; disgusted with myself for dismissing Cara’s concerns; enraged by my own need to have Grim back home, as if I were some drooping creature who could not take so much as one step on her own. ‘A pox on it all!’ I snarled, casting around for something to hurl at the wall, something that would make a lot of noise. My cup. The iron poker. The hedgehog Grim had carved for me. I stilled; drew a shaky breath. Heard Grim’s voice in my mind, clear as clear. Curse and shout all you want, don’t mind me. Only, not your house, is it? Be better not to make a mess.

  I picked up the hedgehog, held it on my palm, looked it in the eye. It gazed beadily back at me. I reminded myself that Grim would be getting a message from Ségán, possibly today. He might be home by supper time. If I could tell Cara to wait several days before undertaking the most important task of her whole life, I could surely control my temper until then. ‘Right,’ I muttered. ‘Take your own advice. Keep busy. Occupy yourself. Wash your face, go to the privy, have breakfast. Talk to Master Oisin if he’s still here. Ask for an escort. Go over to Dreamer’s Wood and get things ready for Emer. Try to summon Conmael. So what if you can’
t stop thinking about Mathuin? Just keep on putting one foot in front of the other. Or you really will become that pathetic weakling who can’t pull herself together and act on her own. Some wise woman you’ll be then.’

  38

  ~Grim~

  Day after Tóla threatens me, I’m half minded to walk off the job, Bardán or no Bardán. I don’t like a bully, and that’s what the man is. Playing God, telling us all what to do and how to do it, making us dance to his tune. And that big secret, that big pack of lies weighing heavy on him. No wonder he’s a touch short-tempered. He needs to tell his girl the truth. He needs to put things right. Wasting time and money on the build, trying to buy good luck for himself instead of facing things the way they are. He should forget about luck and try a bit of honesty.

  That’s not the only thing making me want to go home. I’m worried about Blackthorn now. Who did she talk to down at Longwater? What did she find out and what’s she going to do about it? Don’t want her falling foul of Tóla. Not that I can stop her if she’s got the bit between her teeth, but if I was there I could warn her. Tell her to be careful. I could be around if she did get in trouble. Stupid, maybe. She’d tell me she can look after herself. But I still want to go home.

  I don’t do it. The rain clears. Bardán’s ready. The Longwater crew’s here. Waiting for me to run through the day’s work. Word comes that a farmer’s got the straw for the thatching. Bringing it in on a cart as soon as the weather looks set fine for a few days. I hate to take on a job and not get it done properly. So I work all through the day, and by late afternoon the place is looking good. A little touch or two and we’ll be ready to start thatching. I talk to Gormán about ladders and he says he’ll look out a few, and if they’re not long enough he’ll knock together a new one for us. I ask the crew if anyone doesn’t mind heights, and who’s helped with thatching before, and a couple of the lads say yes to both. All good. Only, underneath, I’m worried still. It’s not just Blackthorn. It’s Bardán. The truth’s eating away at me. If I don’t tell him what I know, what Blackthorn thinks might be the real story, aren’t I just as bad as Tóla? How can I not tell him his long-lost daughter is alive and well? I should tell him even if it opens a bag of trouble. I should. If I was in his shoes I’d want to be told. Can it wait till the heartwood house is finished, thatch and all? I’m thinking no, it can’t. Wish I could talk to Blackthorn again first, though. Find out if she knows any more. Ask her if we should tell them both at once, Bardán and the girl. Once they know, there’s going to be a big storm, and nobody’s going to walk through it without getting hurt.

  I’m tired after the day’s work. Always tired now. Never as much sleep as I want. I can see myself getting home after this is all done and sleeping for days and days, like someone in an old tale. Supper time, my eyes won’t stay open. Spring’s heading into summer and the dark doesn’t come till late, but I head off to bed as soon as I’ve helped Conn wash the dishes. Ripple’s happy to come with me, doesn’t care if it’s night or day as long as she’s got company.

  Expecting the usual sort of night, lying awake, getting up, going through my exercises, trying not to think about bad things, listening to Bardán breathing and Ripple snoring in her sleep. But tonight’s different. Head hits the pillow and I’m fast asleep.

  Slammer’s got her by the hair. Hands tied behind her back. She tries to fight but he forces her down on her knees. Everyone’s yelling, cursing, me loudest of all. We know what’s coming. Seen it before. Let her go! Take your filthy hands off her! But he pushes her head down, shoves her face in the bucket. Water would be bad enough. This isn’t water.

  I smash my fists into the bars till they’re raw and bloody. Counting how long she’s under, how long before she has to take a breath. One . . . two . . . three . . . The others go quiet. Me, I’m still yelling. My whole body’s shouting. You filthy scum! I’ll rip your head from your body! Get her out, you vermin, get her out now! But I’m locked in, I can’t reach her, I can’t save her.

  He lets her up. She gasps and splutters, face streaming with the vile stuff from the slop bucket, and then he pushes her back in again. One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . I stop yelling. You’re strong, I whisper. You can do this. Hold your breath, Lady. I hold mine. Hold it till my chest’s aching. He lets her up. She chokes, wheezes, fights to suck in air. ‘Filthy slut!’ says Slammer, and pushes her straight back down. No! Got tears running all down my face. No! Get her out! I belt my head against the bars till I nearly pass out. Get her out, Slammer, you piece of shit! Ten . . . eleven . . . twelve . . . He gets her out. Lays her on the floor. Picks up the bucket and pours the slops in her face. A roar comes out of me like thunder. Like the noise of the end of the world. Lady! Feels like I’m crying blood. Lady!

  Someone puts a hand on my shoulder. I jump as if I’ve been hit. Get your filthy hands off me or I’ll –

  ‘Grim. Wake up.’

  She’s dead. She’s gone. I’ll rip that man limb from limb. I’ll –

  ‘Wake up, brother. It’s me, Bardán. Grim, open your eyes. Take a breath. That’s the man. You’re here. You’re safe.’

  Ripple’s tongue, warm and wet, licking my hand. Moonlight shows me her silvery fur, her bright eyes. Bardán’s worried face. I try to breathe. Try to stop sobbing. Morrigan’s curse. Never been so pleased to wake up.

  Someone’s thumping on the wall, calling out from next door. ‘Shut it, will you?’

  ‘Breathe now,’ says Bardán. ‘Take your time. You’re safe. You’re back.’

  ‘Shit,’ I wheeze. ‘Oh, shit. What was I . . .?’

  Bardán sits down beside me. Ripple on the other side. ‘You were somewhere bad,’ Bardán says. ‘Take it slowly, Grim. You’re all right now.’

  ‘She . . . she . . .’ Can’t put the words together. I can still see it, Slammer, the bucket, her lying there. ‘Lady . . . Blackthorn . . . she was . . .’ I lurch to my feet, stagger to the door, in the dark, blunder through Gormán and Conn’s sleeping quarters. Make it outside, just. Everything comes up, gushes out of me in a foul-smelling flood. I go on retching and dribbling long after my gut’s just a big empty ache.

  Lamplight behind me in the quarters. Sound of voices, talking quiet. Ripple’s come out. Sniffing around what I’ve spewed up. I tell her to leave it and she backs off.

  ‘Making a brew.’ Bardán’s in the doorway behind me. ‘You all done?’

  Kettle’s on the fire. Gormán and Conn are awake, no surprise. Bardán sits me down. Conn finds a spare blanket, puts it around my shoulders. Ripple pads back inside and lies across my feet. Gormán makes the brew. One thing I know. I’m not going back in there to lie on my bed in the dark.

  ‘Nightmare,’ I say. ‘Get them sometimes. Sorry I woke you.’ Can’t stop thinking of Blackthorn. Why did I dream that? Is she in trouble?

  ‘Not much of a sleeper, are you?’ That’s Gormán, giving me a funny look. What he means is, I’ve kept them awake other nights too. Only they haven’t said anything.

  ‘Be going home soon,’ I say. ‘Out of your hair.’

  ‘Not so very soon, surely,’ says Gormán. ‘With the thatching still to do.’

  ‘A couple of the fellows will help me.’ I feel like telling him the truth. That I can’t wait to get out of this place. But I don’t. Might need to ask if I can go down and see Blackthorn, though. Set my mind at rest. But that’s not for Gormán to say yes or no to. ‘Shouldn’t take too long. I hope.’

  I catch Bardán smiling when I say that. One of his odd smiles, like he knows something nobody else knows. Have to ask him why. Hoping there isn’t something odd about the thatching, something he hasn’t told me. But now’s not the time. Conn’s yawning, Gormán’s finishing his brew, it’s the middle of the night. I don’t want to ask for a lantern. Don’t want to look weak.

  ‘We need a light through there,’ Bardán says to Gormán. ‘The lantern, the one with a cove
r.’

  ‘With all that straw around? What do you want to do, burn us to a crisp?’

  I fight down the memory of a man tortured by burning, a man who took too long to die, while all of us listened and sang songs behind our prison bars. I push away the story Blackthorn told me about her husband and her little son. I struggle to keep the half-cup of brew from coming straight up again.

  ‘We’ll put it up on the shelf,’ says Bardán. ‘It’s that or we sleep in here on the floor.’

  Gormán doesn’t look happy. Doesn’t care to have the wild man telling him what to do. But we get the lantern. Turns the sleeping quarters into a shadowy in-between place. But not quite dark, though Gormán’s shut the door on us. Still, the nightmares hang close, and Bardán sees it.

  ‘You all right, Grim?’

  ‘Have to be, won’t I? Got work to do.’

  ‘You can’t keep going with no sleep.’

  Ripple snuggles up close. Worried. Dogs know. If I sent Ripple to Blackthorn, would she go? Would she understand what I wanted? And could I manage without her?

  ‘Need to get myself sorted,’ I say, talking to myself. ‘Get this finished, go home.’ Bardán doesn’t speak. But he’s sitting up, like he plans to keep me company. The two of us awake together. ‘Bardán?’