‘Are you threatening me?’ Mistress Della was no shrinking violet. I almost expected her to add, young man.
‘I don’t threaten women,’ said Cionnaola mildly. ‘Fetch Master Tóla, please. And Grim, if he’s here.’
‘Grim,’ Mistress Della echoed. ‘Why Grim?’
Because we think he may be in trouble. ‘He’s needed urgently at Winterfalls,’ I said. ‘The prince sent a message. When Grim didn’t arrive we were concerned.’
‘I imagine he’s at work, up by the barn.’
‘There’s no sign of life there,’ I said. ‘And the men from Longwater said they were told not to come to work today.’
‘Perhaps Master Tóla can explain,’ said Cionnaola. Something in his quiet tone made my flesh come up in goose bumps. ‘Fetch him now, will you?’
‘Wait. Please.’ Mistress Della, plainly shaken, vanished back into the house. The door closed behind her.
When Tóla came out, after a considerable wait, he had two serving men with him, one bearing a makeshift club, the other a pitchfork. In the moment when he stood in the doorway, he looked not at the formidable Island men or at me but straight at Cara, and there was such sorrow in his eyes that I felt some sympathy for the man, despite the terrible lies he had told. Despite the heinous offence of stealing another man’s child.
It was only a moment. Then he stepped forward, glaring at me. ‘You are no longer welcome on my land, Mistress Blackthorn. I don’t know why these armed men are here, but I want them gone immediately, and you with them. As for my daughter, I remind you that she is only fifteen years old and is under my governance. Cara, go indoors immediately.’ Cúan was holding our horses; Cionnaola stood unmoving beside Cara. Behind Tóla in the doorway, his sister was silent.
‘I think not,’ Cionnaola said. ‘Not until you have answered the young lady’s questions. I believe Mistress Blackthorn may have her own questions for you. Grim should have come to Winterfalls yesterday, when he got our message. Where is he?’
‘I don’t believe anyone agreed to answer your questions, fellow.’ Tóla’s voice was icy. ‘Do you not understand a simple command? Get off my land. Now.’ His servants stood awkwardly on either side of him. Their desire to be somewhere else was plain.
‘Brother,’ said Mistress Della from behind Tóla, making him start. ‘Whatever this is, it’s best conducted indoors, not standing out here in the open.’
‘Don’t give me orders, woman!’ He turned on her, and she took two steps backwards, almost tripping on her skirt. Cionnaola moved, to do what I was not sure, and I laid a hand on his arm. Then, like an eldritch shadow, a dark bird flew across the courtyard, passing over Cionnaola’s shoulder to alight on Cara’s. She flinched at the crow’s sudden weight, then drew herself up, squaring her slight frame.
‘My questions can be asked here,’ she said. ‘But I want Gormán present, and Grim. Where are they? And where is Bardán? I would never have believed you would strike a defenceless man, but I saw that this morning. I would never have believed you would speak to Aunt Della like that. But then, I always believed you were my father.’
I was speechless, and so was Tóla. Cara. Cara, who had been so intimidated by both Tóla and his sister that she had lost her voice in their presence. Cara, who had often seemed young for her age. Cara speaking with power and purpose. But then, she was not Cara anymore. She was Brígh. Stolen from her father; taken away to live a lie, while he was lost to the Otherworld. Oh gods . . . ‘Grim,’ I said, failing to sound in the least calm. ‘Where is Grim?’
Tóla relaxed his pose; his tone became conciliatory. He did not look at me or Cara, but at Cionnaola, man to man. ‘This is all some sort of misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘A silly error, compounded by sheer fancy. My daughter should come inside, and you men should escort Mistress Blackthorn home to Winterfalls. Had Cara not fallen under her influence, there would have been no such foolish talk.’
‘If no lies have been told,’ I said, and now there was iron in my voice, ‘then you should have no trouble telling Cara the whole story, Master Tóla. About the wild man, Bardán, who came to work for you, building the heartwood house fifteen or more years ago with the fey knowledge he had from his father. And the baby girl he brought with him to Wolf Glen, his motherless daughter, who disappeared when her father suddenly downed tools and walked away. A baby girl who reappeared many moons later with a different name, a name your wife had given her. Cara. Beloved. A pet name, like sweetheart and poppet and the other endearments I’m told your wife lavished on baby Brígh. Tell us about the mysterious disappearance of Bardán. Explain why the story doesn’t add up.’
‘That’s enough –’
‘Let Mistress Blackthorn speak,’ said Cionnaola. ‘And then we will hear your side of this tale.’
‘It’s none of your –’
‘Silence,’ said Cionnaola in a quiet voice that demanded instant obedience. Master Tóla fell silent. ‘I do not know you, and nor does Cúan here. But on the basis of what I have heard and seen today, I believe that if you do not tell your daughter the truth you may lose her.’
Tóla went scarlet. ‘How dare you threaten me?’
‘You would be a fool not to take this opportunity to tell your version of the story. The true story, whatever that might be.’
‘Gormán should speak too,’ Cara said.
Ripple was barking again; pulling so hard on the leash that Cúan was struggling to hold her. ‘But first,’ I said, ‘we want proof that Grim and Bardán are safe and well. We need to see them.’
‘Why would they not be safe and well?’
‘You ordered your men to lock them up,’ Cara said. ‘I heard you. You hit my father. You hurt him.’
Tóla flinched. Her blow had struck true. ‘I am your father,’ he said.
‘Then prove it.’ Cara’s voice was steady. ‘If you’ve told no lies, you have nothing to worry about. Tell the story of the baby that was supposed to have died out in the woods. Tell the story of the baby my mother – your wife – brought home with her, who was already old enough to walk by herself. Tell me why I’ve never been the kind of daughter you really wanted, one who likes sitting quietly indoors and making polite conversation, not climbing trees and talking to birds. Tell me why the wild man recognised me the moment he first set eyes on me, even though he didn’t know who I was back then. Tell me the truth.’
‘Cara, this is foolishness. You are the daughter of a wealthy household; you may not realise what a life of privilege you have led. I have provided you with an abundance of opportunities. You have been raised with love and kindness. I have seen to it that all your needs were met. You have a secure future ahead of you. It would be sheer folly to throw that away.’
It was close to an admission, and it left Cara lost for words. It was her aunt who spoke. ‘Brother, are you saying this wild tale of Mistress Blackthorn’s is true? That Cara is not your daughter but another man’s child? How could that possibly be?’ Unspoken, but clear in her tone, was, How could you not tell me? She had not been here from the start; she had only come to Wolf Glen after Suanach had died, when Cara would have been close on a year old. As for seeing to it that all Cara’s needs were met, I imagined Mistress Della’s role in that had been substantial. Tóla had all but forgotten her.
‘Cara is my daughter. Mine. The rest is foolishness, and I will not waste time on it.’
‘Father,’ said Cara softly, ‘are you afraid that if you tell me the truth I will walk away and never come back? Because one thing is certain. If you have lied about this, you are not fit to be my father, and I will turn my back on Wolf Glen forever.’
Cionnaola put a hand on her shoulder briefly, as if to salute her courage.
‘What is this nonsense? You’re fifteen years old. Where would you go? Without me you have no resources, no home, no safety. You’d last a few days at most before you came running back.
This is a young girl’s folly, no more.’
‘Brother.’ Mistress Della’s voice was cold and clear. ‘I am no young girl, and I, too, want to hear this story from your lips.’ She looked across at Cara. ‘You’ll always have a home with me, child. If you need it.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Tóla blustered. ‘What home?’
‘You are not my only living kinsman, Tóla. There are several households where Cara and I would be welcome.’
He opened his mouth and closed it again. For the moment, she had silenced him.
‘Grim,’ I reminded him. ‘Bardán. Where are they?’
‘Gone,’ Tóla said. ‘Walked away this morning without explanation.’
‘Bollocks,’ said Cúan. ‘If Grim had left here, he would have come down to Winterfalls. What about the urgent message?’
‘I know nothing of any message.’
‘Now that really is a lie,’ Cúan said. ‘The fellow who brought it up here told me he’d passed it on to you in person, and you’d promised Grim would be told.’
‘Where is he?’ Something terrible had happened, I knew it. Grim wouldn’t just walk off.
Tóla folded his arms. ‘Who knows? Don’t look so surprised, Mistress Blackthorn. Grim was employed here not only as a builder but also as the wild man’s keeper. We know how unreliable Bardán is. Didn’t he walk off the job once before? And Grim has taken his duties all too seriously. I imagine he followed Bardán, out of concern the wild man might . . . might injure himself. Or wander off the path and into . . . well, who knows? Wolf Glen is an odd place.’
My jaw was clenched so tight it hurt. He would go on lying, he would go on denying the truth until it was too late. We had already wasted precious time. But I had no idea where to start looking.
‘Mistress Blackthorn?’ Cúan had released the horses, which stood by calmly. He had his hand on Ripple’s collar and was looking at me in question.
I had been stupid. ‘Untie the leash,’ I said. ‘Let her go.’
Set free, Ripple bolted in the direction of the barn. Grim must be there, surely. And still alive. Or was it only that it was the last place the dog had seen him? Tóla began a protest about folk wandering uninvited all over his land, but it was not his permission I needed. ‘Cara?’
‘We’d best all go,’ she said.
‘You’ll find nothing there,’ Tóla said. ‘I have nothing to hide.’ Which was, I suspected, the biggest lie of all.
We rode; nobody needed to spell out that it was best to keep the horses close in case we had to leave in a hurry. Ripple’s barking rang out ahead of us, a cry of urgent purpose. We dismounted in the yard next to the barn, close by the place where I had spoken to Grim on the day of my last visit. Where we had, for a brief moment, held each other’s hand. Why hadn’t I said something to him while I still could? Why had I pushed him away, over and over?
No sign of any grooms. Cúan tethered the horses. I glanced back down toward the house; Tóla and his sister were walking up after us, the two of them conducting what looked like a fierce argument. The men who’d been acting as bodyguards had been joined by several more. ‘Trouble,’ I murmured to Cionnaola, pointing.
‘Nothing we can’t handle. Where’s that dog?’
A door stood open at the end of the barn, and Ripple had disappeared inside. The foresters’ living quarters, Grim had said. And now here was Gormán, coming out to investigate. A smell of cooking wafted past. Mushrooms?
‘Gormán.’ Cara’s voice was strangled, difficult.
‘Cara!’ The burly woodsman had turned pale. ‘This is no place for you. Let me –’
‘I found the story of the heartwood house,’ Cara said. ‘A story about a man who stole a child. I know my father lied to me. I want you to tell me the truth about what happened when I was a baby. But my real father needs to be here. And Grim. Where are they?’
For a moment Gormán was speechless. Inside, it sounded as if Ripple was knocking things over. The barking rose to a frenzy. ‘They’re not here,’ Gormán said.
‘That’s a lie.’ I strode toward the open door, and the woodsman grabbed me by the arm. He was strong; maybe a match even for an Island man.
‘Don’t touch her!’ Cara cried, and almost instantly the two warriors were there beside me, Cúan applying a hold on Gormán’s arm that made him release me quickly, gasping, and Cionnaola moving up to the doorway. I did not see him draw his knife, but it was in his hand as he took a stance just outside the entry.
‘We’ll be wanting to have a look around,’ he said easily. ‘Seems there might be something amiss. Why don’t I just stand here and keep folk out for a bit? Cúan will go in with you, Mistress Blackthorn.’
‘Gormán.’ Cara’s voice could hardly be heard over Ripple’s now. ‘I didn’t think you would ever lie to me. It would help very much if you would tell the truth now.’
But Gormán had seen Tóla coming, and he stood silent, his eyes on Cara. His face was painful to look upon, all love and regret and farewell.
We went in: Cara, Cúan and I. Gormán had been cooking. A covered pot was on the fire, and various spoons, knives and ingredients lay on the table. Field mushrooms, chopped. And right next to them, a small pile of something very similar in appearance, but most definitely not the same. My blood ran cold. No time to question Gormán now. ‘Cionnaola,’ I said over my shoulder, ‘make sure nobody touches what’s on the table. The same with whatever’s in that cook pot.’
‘Understood, Mistress Blackthorn.’
Ripple had upset some long poles that must have been standing against the wall, and they had dislodged baskets and boxes as they fell, blocking an inner doorway. The dog was in danger of hurting herself with her wild efforts to get through. She was making so much noise I could not tell if there was any sound from the other side.
‘Can you quiet her?’ Cúan asked.
‘Ripple, here!’ Thank the gods for such a good dog. She came to stand by me, panting, whining. ‘Ripple, hush. Down.’
Cúan dealt with the fallen objects swiftly and methodically. When they were piled up out of the way, he set his shoulder to the inner door. ‘Step aside, Mistress Blackthorn.’
The inner door crashed open on the shadowy space of the main barn area. Stalls for cattle, empty now. Items hanging from pegs on the walls. Shelves holding neatly stacked supplies. A cleared area close by the door, with two straw pallets and folded blankets. Ripple ran past Cúan and began a search, sniffing everywhere.
‘That’s Grim’s cloak,’ I said. ‘And those are his boots.’
Cúan was looking further in. It was darkish. The prevailing smells were of dung and hay.
‘Get away from there!’ came Tóla’s shout from outside. ‘How dare you bar me from my own property!’
‘Easy now, Master Tóla.’ Cionnaola might have been facing nothing more troublesome than a persistent fly on a hot day. ‘We’re just taking a look, that’s all. If you’ve told us the truth, you’ve got nothing to worry about.’
Ripple moved into the darker area, between the cattle stalls. Cúan bent to pick up something from the floor. He brought it back to the door to look at it in better light. A length of wood, heavy-looking. Stained red at one end. ‘Don’t want to worry you,’ he said quietly, ‘but I think that’s blood. And there are marks on the floor in there. There’s been some kind of struggle. But where could they be?’
Out in the forest, thrown down a deep hole to disappear forever. Oh gods, I would never forgive myself for being so slow. How could I have said no to Cara when she first asked me to come with her? Ripple was making a different sound now, a high-pitched squealing cry that made my flesh crawl. Grim was not out in the forest, barefoot and without his cloak. He was here. But silent. Silent as death.
‘There’s a sort of cellar,’ Cara said. ‘Where they store vegetables and things. I’ll show you.’
More noise from outside. Surely that was a bigger crowd than could be made up solely of Tóla’s own household, even with his farm workers. ‘A cellar,’ I echoed as she led us to the far end of the barn. Grim hated the dark. He only got through the nights by staying awake and keeping his body moving. Being locked up in some underground place would surely break him. I’m here. I’m here, Grim. Hold on.
‘Over here,’ said Cara. ‘There’s a trapdoor, see?’
Was I imagining the dark stains on the floor? If that was blood, there was a lot of it.
‘Might be a flesh wound,’ said keen-eyed Cúan. ‘Stand back now.’ He squatted down and heaved the trapdoor open.
42
~Grim~
Can’t talk. Can’t swallow. Wretched gag’s too tight. Wrists and ankles tied. Same as they did with Bardán the first time. Two of us down here together. Want to help him, but there’s not much I can do. Hard to move where I want to. Sitting against the wall now, next to him, touching so he knows I’m here. Thirsty. That’s going to get bad. Trying not to be sick. Choke on vomit, it’s all over. Waiting. Waiting for Ripple. Waiting for Blackthorn to come. Saying the words in my head, like I used to in Mathuin’s lockup. In loco pascuæ . . . ibi me collocavit . . . super aquam refectionis . . . educavit me . . . Try to see those peaceful fields, the still waters. I say the part about walking in the shadow of death, and God being there beside me. If he’s in here now, he’s keeping pretty quiet.
Wish I could speak out loud, help Bardán. Wish I could tell him to say his own words over, keep the demons away. I’m guessing it’d be that verse about the birds. Every birdling in the wood . . . and the part that makes it a charm, a sort of spell. Feather bright and feather fine, none shall harm this child of mine.
I pray, too. Funny, that, when I’ve given up on God, more or less. I pray that they won’t drag us out and kill us. I pray that we don’t die down here in the dark, slowly. I pray that Bardán won’t go crazy. I pray that I won’t fall to pieces like I did before. I pray that I’ll see Blackthorn again. But those aren’t prayers, they’re more like wishes. So I say I’m sorry for all the things I’ve got wrong. The times I wasn’t brave enough, the times I hurt people, the times I made bad choices. And I say to God, if it’s my time to go, it’s my time. As long as Blackthorn’s safe, I’m all right with that. But Bardán deserves another chance. He’s just found out his daughter’s still alive. He’s had his hope woken up. He needs to get out, live his life. Make up for those fifteen years he lost. Wish he hadn’t gone down there on his own to front up to Tóla. I should’ve gone with him even though he said no. Don’t know what happened at the house. He went off, and I was having my breakfast, miles away thinking about Blackthorn and how much I wanted to go home. Feeling sorry for myself. And suddenly there were four fellows trying to grab hold of me. One of which was Gormán. Not fighters, but they were armed and I wasn’t. So I tried to calm them down, talk them out of it. Stupid me. Hard blow to the head knocked me out cold. When I woke up I was in the dark, trussed up like a bird for roasting. And right next to me was Bardán.
Den of Wolves Page 39