Den of Wolves

by Juliet Marillier

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘Thanks, brother.’

  He doesn’t say anything. Me, I’m sitting there, still shaky and sick. Still wanting Blackthorn. But thinking now. Thinking a way through the shadows. Remembering what she wrote. Truth in his eyes. Love in his heart. Honour in his spirit. If I can believe in that, I know what I have to do.

  ‘You’re a kind man,’ I tell him. ‘A good soul.’

  Bardán makes a sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. As if he thinks that notion is ridiculous.

  ‘Thing is,’ I say, keeping my voice low, since I don’t want Gormán hammering on the wall again or coming in to listen, ‘there’s being so beaten down and broken that you’ve got nothing left to give. Not even the weakest little glow of kindness. I’ve been there. You’ve been there. And so has Blackthorn. But it only feels that way. Go deep enough and you find that last little bit of warmth, still there, hiding away. A person might think they’re a wreck, a ruin, with the road crumbling away in front of them.’ I see myself at St Olcan’s, crawling through the mud, crying my eyes out. I see Blackthorn and me looking at each other through the bars, across the gap between the cells. I remember the day our house burned down, and Blackthorn back in the past, screaming for her man and her baby. ‘But you can make your own road. And you can find the good inside. You just did.’

  Bardán says nothing, just reaches out to stroke Ripple. She sighs in her sleep.

  ‘Bardán,’ I say.

  ‘Mm?’

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you. It’s about your daughter.’

  39

  ~Blackthorn~

  ‘Today,’ Ségán said. ‘As soon as you can be packed and ready. Take only what you can stow in your saddlebags. You’ll have one night sleeping in the open, but at your destination there will be a house to stay in. Your escort will provide food. Bring your own water skin. Dress for riding. You do have time for breakfast first, but make it quick.’

  ‘Today,’ I echoed. It was impossible to keep the dismay from my voice. He’d warned me to be ready to leave at short notice, but . . . already?

  ‘I did make it clear –’

  ‘I know that.’ Now I sounded snappish. I reminded myself that I’d been waiting years for this opportunity. Only . . . ‘What about Grim?’ I asked.

  ‘If Grim is not here in time we’ll be going without him.’

  Breathe, Blackthorn. ‘So the message was taken to Wolf Glen? He is coming?’

  ‘The message was delivered, yes, but not to Grim in person. He was away at the time. The best our man could do was extract a promise that Grim would be given the message as soon as he returned.’

  My heart sank. ‘Away where?’

  ‘That I do not know. But we must leave this morning, Mistress Blackthorn, or there’s a risk that you won’t reach your destination in time. Your escort is waiting for you at your cottage over by Dreamer’s Wood.’

  This felt wrong, even though he’d told me to expect short notice. ‘If you are so expert at planning this kind of thing, why leave it so late to go?’

  ‘Not your concern. I think I mentioned the need for secrecy. You are the last to leave from here. Others are already on their way. We want no undue attention. As for the timing, it was necessary to wait for a certain . . . confirmation . . . before we could begin to move. This is a complex mission. Pack quickly.’

  ‘Ségán.’

  ‘Yes?’

  I heard the impatience in his voice. It set me on edge. ‘I need Grim to come with me. It’s important.’

  ‘We can’t wait for him.’

  ‘What is the very latest I could leave and still get there in time for the . . . and still get there in time? I know there’s an overnight stop. It doesn’t get dark until quite late at this time of year. Surely it wouldn’t matter if we reached that stop a little later than planned.’

  ‘Grim may be waiting at the cottage when you get there. The message was clear enough.’

  ‘Answer the question, will you?’

  Ségán’s eyes widened a little. I had managed to surprise him. Perhaps he was accustomed to being obeyed without challenge.

  ‘Don’t lie to me,’ I said. ‘If it can wait a bit longer, tell me. I don’t want to leave Grim behind.’

  ‘If I had not believed it best that you leave immediately, I would not have demanded that. If you delay, you allow greater opportunity for someone to notice that you are travelling and to wonder where. For someone to decide he will prevent you from reaching your destination. And there would be no allowance whatsoever for problems on the way, ordinary problems such as a horse going lame or a sudden storm. I explained this before.’

  ‘I know. And I recall you mentioning an allowance of that nature. How much allowance, exactly?’

  ‘Mistress Blackthorn, if every leader let his team change the rules of the mission as the mood took them, nobody would ever accomplish anything.’

  ‘Please.’ It hurt to get that out. I failed to sound at all conciliatory. ‘This discussion is wasting valuable time. As no doubt you’re aware.’

  ‘We might wait until later in the morning, yes. If you did not leave by midday you would be unlikely to reach the place in time. We want you there, Mistress Blackthorn.’

  And I wanted to be there. I wanted it so much that if I had to leave without Grim, I would. Grim would want me to go. I was quite sure of that. ‘Grim would be a useful addition to my escort,’ I said. It was a good argument. ‘He’s . . . a man of formidable presence.’

  Ségán surprised me by smiling. ‘I have heard as much. Very well, you may wait for him. But I want you away before midday whether he’s here or not. And I want you packed and over at the cottage as soon as you can be. Best if you wait there. Don’t offer any explanations, just go. One of the men will walk over with you and carry your bag.’

  ‘If it’s to be such a small bag, I expect I can manage it myself. Anything else really would draw attention. Thank you, Ségán. I’ll go and pack now.’

  What did a person pack to face her worst fears? To confront her vilest enemy? To stand up before the man who had burned her loved ones alive, robbed her of her faith in humankind and in the gods, treated her like dirt beneath his boot sole? If I could have packed courage, tenacity, belief in myself, I would have done. As it was, I took one change of clothing, a handkerchief, a water skin, a small selection of dried herbs in sealed packets, and a handful of coppers in a draw-string bag. I put in the little wooden hedgehog. I added a comb. Best that I did not face Mathuin looking like the dishevelled wreck I had become in his lockup. Gods, I could hardly believe this was happening.

  I fetched out my notebook and opened it at the page where I had copied Grim’s words. All fight on the outside, all goodness within. She walks her own path. ‘Come home,’ I whispered. ‘Come home in time. Please.’ Then, annoyed with my own foolishness, I wrapped the notebook in my red kerchief and added it to the bag. It would all have to be unpacked at the cottage and stowed again in the saddlebags. I hoped Ségán knew that I was not an expert rider and would get me a steady horse.

  Cara was not at breakfast, which worried me a little, but I did not ask anyone if they had seen her. Instead I sat staring into my bowl – my stomach was churning with nerves and I ate little – then left as soon as I possibly could. The earlier I got over to Dreamer’s Wood, the readier I would be to leave when Grim arrived.

  Cara hadn’t been the only one missing from the meal. Neither Oran nor Donagan had been present, though nobody had remarked on their absence. Gone at first light, probably, intending to stop for the night somewhere much closer to the final destination. There was no sign of Master Oisin. Could he also be part of this mission? I found myself hoping he would be at this hearing or council. His calm presence would be reassuring. It seemed to me some of the Island men were gone, too. No sign of Lonán or Art. Caolchú was also missing. T
hey would be with the prince. Oran was taking a risk with this, whatever the nature of it might be. Playing outside the rules. Even with the High King’s blessing, that might turn perilous for him and for his father. I hoped they had not underestimated Mathuin.

  40

  ~Cara~

  The sky was a clear pale colour, not quite grey or green or blue, but holding something of each. Threads of mist wreathed the boles of the trees. The birds that had joined her as she walked up through the forest were quiet now. The crow flew from post to stump to low branch, keeping its bright eye on her all the way. The siskin rode on her left shoulder and the tiny wren perched on her head. The pricking of its little claws was somehow reassuring. Without the three of them perhaps she would have strayed again, been led off course and into that dark hole or another place like it. She’d been tempted to use the main track but could not risk it.

  Getting away had been oddly easy. Although she’d left at dawn there had already been folk about. Guards patrolling. Lights in the house, perhaps the cook and her assistants starting up their fires. But nobody had noticed Cara slipping across the garden and the farmland and the open space between the trees to climb over the gate and walk away from the prince’s holding. She wasn’t sure how she had managed it. All she had done was think of an oak tree, how even when the branches and the foliage were whipped to confusion by a winter gale, the trunk stood strong and still. As she’d moved, she had held the inside of herself as still as that tree. She had thought of other quiet things, a shadow on snow, the tiny footprints of a vole, the wings of an eagle, gliding. An egg in a nest. The breath of a spider, spinning magic.

  She’d wondered, moving on through the forest, whether she had worked a magic of her own. Made herself invisible. The old Cara, Cara-Before, would have known that was impossible. But Cara-Now might be able to do all kinds of things. Cara-Now was a completely different girl. She had a drop or two of fey in her blood.

  And now she was here. The house lay low and quiet within its green shield of beeches, holding its secrets close. Cara shivered, pulling her cloak more tightly around her. The weight of this was heavy on her shoulders. What she had to do. What she had to say. The words she had to find, even if her father’s heart broke right before her eyes. If she did manage to say them, what about afterwards? What was meant to happen?

  The leaves stirred in a breath of cool wind. The crow spoke at last, a sound that might have meant anything. It brought the druid’s words back to Cara. Two paths lie before you. He’d said one was broad and straight, without surprises. That would be the path of turning around right now and walking back to Winterfalls. The path of doing as her father bid her. Of not facing up to the truth. And the other one was the path of twists and turns, of challenges and surprises. The path of confronting her father with the past and dealing with the consequences. Being brave, like Blackthorn. Being strong, like Grim. Being wise, like Master Oisin. Being honest even if it hurt so much she could hardly breathe.

  ‘Forward,’ she whispered. And with the three birds for company, she walked toward the house.

  There was a familiar horse in the yard, loosely tethered. Father’s grey, Willow. He must be planning to ride out somewhere. He wasn’t heading out to look for her, was he? No, that couldn’t be it. How would anyone here know she’d even left Winterfalls?

  What now? The door stood open. Should she just walk in? He might bundle her onto Willow and take her straight back to the prince’s house.

  The crow spoke again. ‘Kraaa.’ It had settled on the post where the horse was tethered. Willow regarded the bird with nervous eyes.

  ‘All right,’ murmured Cara. ‘You’ll be here if I need you. I understand.’ What a crow could do, she wasn’t sure. But the presence of the birds made her feel a little less alone. ‘You little ones had best not come inside with me. Fly off, go, find a safe perch!’

  Siskin and wren flew to settle on the thatch above the door. And now there came voices from inside the house. The voices of two men, rising fast, interrupting each other, talking over each other. One was her father’s.

  ‘Out!’ he shouted, and she heard an inner door crashing open. Something smashed on the floor. ‘Get out of my sight now! This is Grim’s doing, him and that woman of his, the two of them sticking their noses in other folk’s business, spinning lies! Where is he?’

  Cara stood frozen, caught between the wish to be brave and the urge to flee before he saw her. She could run, she could hide herself the way she had before, she could get all the way back to Winterfalls and her father need never know.

  And then, there he was, in the doorway. The wild man, Bardán. Her other father. ‘Brígh,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. In that one word were shock and love and tears and joy, all rolled up together. He still looked like some creature of the woods, more leaf, twig and bark than man. He still stank. But his eyes were warm – how had she not seen that before? And the smile that now curved his mouth was the smile of a man who has expected nothing and has been granted a miracle.

  Cara opened her mouth to say something. She thought of the words she should have spoken that other time, when she’d been up in the oak. You are welcome here, traveller. I offer you the hospitality of this house. But all she could think of was, ‘Is that my name? Brígh?’

  The wild man stepped out of the doorway and into the courtyard. Tears were spilling from his eyes; he fumbled to wipe them away and she saw how hurt his hands were, so crippled that he would never be a builder again.

  ‘Oh, your poor hands,’ Cara said, stepping closer.

  A great sob burst out of Bardán’s mouth. He held out his arms to her.

  This is the test, Cara thought. This is the choice, one road or the other. But before she could take the step, forward or backward, her father was storming out of the house with a pair of brawny serving men behind him. ‘I said get out!’ The look on his face paralysed her. The fury in his voice stole away her words in an instant. She stood, mute, as the servants grabbed Bardán’s arms and hauled him away.

  No! Cara formed the word with her lips, but no sound came out. No! Don’t hurt him! I know the old story, I know what happened when I was born! Her words fell away like spilled water. Where were they taking him?

  Halfway across the yard, Bardán wrenched free of one keeper for long enough to turn and glower at Tóla. His laugh was as strange as his sob, a high, mocking sound more like the call of a creature than human laughter. ‘So much for your heartwood house, rich man!’ he shouted. ‘So much for your dreams! It’ll never be finished, not in a hundred years! Don’t know your tales very well, do you? Ask a druid. Ask that friend of Grim’s, the one who worked out the truth about your trickery!’

  ‘Stop.’ Tóla walked past Cara as if she were not there. He halted two paces from Bardán, lifted his hand and delivered a blow that made the other man’s head snap to the side. And another blow, to the other cheek. ‘Not one more word.’ And to the serving men, ‘Take him away. Lock him up. And Grim with him. This is unconscionable.’

  The crow flew to Cara’s shoulder. The wren and siskin followed.

  ‘The thatch,’ said the wild man, his voice unsteady now. Red marks flowered on his cheeks and jaw. ‘One feather from every kind of bird in the forest. Given willingly. Without that, the house brings no luck at all. You’ll never do it. Nobody could. How would you find them all?’ He was not looking at Tóla now, but straight at Cara. ‘Weave a charm for luck and good, every birdling in the wood . . .’

  ‘Oh, gods,’ Cara said. Now she was the one with tears spilling. Her chest ached. Maybe her heart was breaking. Or maybe it was mending. ‘You really are my father.’

  ‘I said, take him away!’ Tóla roared to his men. ‘And send Gormán here at once! No, I will find him myself.’

  ‘Don’t,’ whispered Cara as they dragged Bardán out of the courtyard. ‘Don’t hurt him.’

  But Tóla did not hear, or did not c
hoose to hear. ‘Cara!’ He was trembling with fury. His hands were tight fists. His face was livid with rage. ‘Get inside! Now!’

  ‘You lied to me,’ she breathed, backing away. ‘All my life, you lied to me.’

  ‘Do as I say! And be quick about it! This is all a monstrous mistake, and I blame that poxy wise woman for filling your head with nonsense. Now go indoors. I’ll deal with you later.’

  Cara backed further away, until she felt the warmth of Willow’s shoulder against her body. I’ll deal with you. As if she were the one who had done something wrong. Lock him up. For the crime of finding his daughter after fifteen years. For telling the truth.

  ‘Now, Cara!’

  ‘Kraaa.’

  She turned her head. The crow had hopped to the post, and with its beak had unhooked Willow’s reins.

  ‘Cara!’ Tóla was striding toward her; in a moment he would lay hands on her. Her own father. The man who had made himself her father. ‘Cara, don’t be foolish!’

  She put her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up onto Willow’s back. I am the silence at the heart of an oak. I am a still pond. I am a feather on the breeze. I am a shadow, passing unseen. She touched her heels to the horse’s flanks and rode away, not looking back. The crow flew ahead.

  ‘Cara?’ Tóla’s voice, confused, startled. ‘Where are you?’ As if she really had become invisible. Then, ‘Cara!’ A furious shout. ‘Get back here this instant! How dare you play tricks on your father?’

  ‘You are not my father,’ Cara whispered, riding on. She guided Willow into the forest and away down a side path, where the cloak of leaves would shield them. She leaned forward on the horse’s neck and murmured in her ear. ‘Quick as you can! Run like the wind!’

  Willow ran. Cara held on. She’d thought she could be brave. She’d thought she could speak out. But he’d been so angry, shouting, cold-eyed, yelling at her as if he hated her. He’d hurt Bardán and he would hurt him again. His loathing had been written all over him. He was going to lock Grim up too. She’d thought she could do this on her own, and now she’d messed the whole thing up, and her real father was in danger, and if she wanted to save him, she had to go for help. Brígh, he’d said with his whole heart in his eyes. So that was her true name. ‘Brígh,’ she murmured, trying it out. ‘Brígh the brave. Brígh the bold. Brígh the beautiful.’ It was a good name. She’d better start earning it. ‘Good girl, Willow,’ she said, ducking her head as they passed under some low-growing foliage. ‘Don’t stumble. Don’t fall. Carry me all the way to Dreamer’s Wood. And pray that Blackthorn will help me this time.’