Den of Wolves

by Juliet Marillier

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Gormán said. ‘I swear it, Cara. But . . .’

  Cara waited.

  ‘I did know that place existed. The deep hole in the ground, a spot with certain stories attached to it. I could have searched there and I chose not to. It seemed to me the whole idea of the heartwood house was cursed. It seemed those who touched it fell into strife. I thought it was fortunate Bardán was gone. The baby would be safe and happy and so would Suanach. If she was content, Tóla would be content.’

  ‘So you wove a web of lies to cover what you had done,’ said Mistress Blackthorn. ‘You and he.’

  ‘Suanach went away that night, taking the baby with her. The story we had planned to tell Bardán was put about the district: that he had run mad and abandoned his child to her death. At that stage folk did not ask awkward questions, though the wet-nurse was distressed. Later, as you know, Suanach returned home with little Cara. The story was that she had given birth in the home of her kinsfolk and waited a while to return because of her precarious state of health. She died not long after coming home. That is all I have to say, save this. I have worked at Wolf Glen since I was fourteen years old, first for Master Tóla’s father and then for him. I came here without home or family. Master Tóla has provided me with a home and work that I loved. I have been blessed to share every step of Cara’s growing up. She is a fine young woman; any father would be proud of such a daughter. I have been loyal to Master Tóla. There have been times when I have questioned his intentions. When I have challenged his decisions. Never more so than in this matter. But he had it in his power to send me away. To snatch from me, in a moment, everything that made my life worth living. To gain my obedience, he had only to remind me of that. I will regret my weakness until the day I die.’ His voice shook, and he put a hand up to his eyes as if to shield his expression. Then he gathered himself, but his face was as bleak as a winter tree. ‘I will stand up at Prince Oran’s district council. I will tell the truth and face whatever penalty the prince determines. As for Wolf Glen, I can stay here no longer. My service to you is ended, Master Tóla. You must find yourself a new forester.’

  Cara wondered how many times a heart could be broken and still go on beating. She wondered if even Brígh the Brave might not have enough courage for this.

  ‘Prince Oran, I imagine, will take into consideration the fact that you have given a full account of yourself now,’ Blackthorn said. ‘Or have you? Am I wrong in thinking those ingredients laid out on the table in there were designed for a very particular purpose? One would think that having used screamers before with such unfortunate results you would have thought twice about trying the same trick again.’

  ‘Master Tóla asked me to gather them.’ Gormán’s voice was very quiet; the crowd hushed to catch his words. ‘Cook them into a stew, as I had done before. He feared you, Mistress Blackthorn. He feared Grim almost more, since Grim has both an enquiring mind and great physical strength. Bardán came to Master Tóla this morning to reveal that he knew Cara was his daughter. He could only have learned that from Grim. Master Tóla was desperate, I imagine, to stop the story from getting out; what he feared most of all was losing you, Cara. He did not tell me precisely what he planned, only asked me to prepare the stew. He asked for a full cup of screamers. I assume both men were to be . . . eliminated.’

  Cara could not take it in. He was saying – he was saying – no, he couldn’t mean that.

  ‘Wait a bit,’ said Cionnaola. ‘Isn’t Bardán still needed to build the heartwood house?’

  ‘Hah!’ A derisive sound from Tóla.

  Cold crept deep into Cara’s bones. Maybe she wasn’t Brave Brígh after all. I’ll always be afraid of him, she realised. And I’ll always love him. I’ll always love them both. Even after this.

  ‘The heartwood house will never be finished,’ Tóla went on. ‘He came down to see me this morning – him, that godforsaken apology for a man – and told me there was a part to the tale he hadn’t divulged before. About the thatch. It’s impossible to do.’

  ‘Feather bright and feather fine,’ said the wild man in his thick, awkward voice.

  ‘None shall harm this child of mine,’ said Cara, looking at Bardán. ‘That’s the song, isn’t it? The lullaby you used to sing me.’ The chill in her bones retreated. ‘That’s about the heartwood house too.’

  ‘Thatch of straw and feathers,’ Bardán said. ‘One feather from every kind of bird in the wood. Given willingly. Starling, woodcock, owl. Nightjar, chiffchaff, bunting. Goldcrest, warbler, thrush, jay. And many, many more.’

  ‘Crow, wren, siskin,’ said Cara, glancing up at the barn roof. ‘You need them all or the heartwood house loses its magic.’

  ‘That bastard never meant it to work,’ Tóla said. ‘He tricked me. It was all lies from the first.’

  ‘In the old tale,’ said Blackthorn, ‘a rich man steals a creature’s child and makes her work for him to earn it back. She builds him a heartwood house. Only she tricks him. The story I heard says nothing about feathers in the thatch. In the version the druid told Cara, the creature leaves out certain kinds of wood, and that robs the family of certain blessings.’

  ‘Put in every kind of timber, didn’t we?’ Grim said, looking at Bardán with brows up. ‘Don’t think we forgot any.’

  Bardán gave a strange smile. ‘There’s the stone. Stone on stone on stone. Then the wood; every tree. Then the thatch. Nine courses.’

  ‘You told me all that. But you didn’t mention feathers,’ said Grim.

  ‘Maybe he didn’t,’ Blackthorn said. ‘And maybe that was on purpose, to punish Tóla. Though Bardán cannot have understood the importance of that. Not fully. Not back then. His wits were scattered; his memory was unreliable. As for the feathers, a tale changes from one teller to the next. Sometimes this story may have a monster and sometimes a human mother. Sometimes the trick is with the wood, sometimes with the feathers.’

  ‘And sometimes the creature gets the child back,’ Cara said. ‘But sometimes the child is taken and kept, and brought up as another man’s daughter.’

  ‘He lied,’ said Tóla. ‘Bardán lied. He promised he would build my heartwood house, every part just so. But that, with the thatch – it simply isn’t possible. He could never do it, not in a thousand years. Nobody could do it.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ said Cara. ‘I could.’ And she saw a smile creep over Bardán’s wild face, a smile that warmed her deep within.

  ‘What nonsense –’ began Tóla.

  ‘Oh, she certainly could,’ said Mistress Blackthorn. ‘Not the thatching itself; she’d need someone with the right skills for that. But collecting the feathers – that, Brígh could do quite easily. Have you not noticed how the birds come to her? How they stay close and watch over her? Have you not noticed that the girl you raised as your daughter has some remarkable gifts?’

  ‘Only,’ put in Fedach, ‘it wouldn’t work the way Master Tóla wanted, would it? Keeping Cara – Brígh – safe, I mean. Bestowing blessings on her. Master Tóla’s the landholder. He’s the one who asked for it to be built. But Brígh’s not his kin. She’s not his daughter.’

  ‘Enough!’ Tóla was shouting. ‘Enough of this! Clear off my land, all of you! Get yourselves and your horses out of here and don’t come back. Mistress Blackthorn, if you set foot over my border again I won’t answer for the consequences. Grim, your services are no longer required. And don’t expect any further payment. I don’t take kindly to folk who stick their noses where they’re not wanted. The two of you have caused ruin here, utter ruin. You have destroyed my daughter’s life and mine –’

  ‘Stop!’ Cara said, hardly recognising herself. ‘That’s enough. These are good people. They’ve helped me at great cost to themselves. They helped me uncover the truth, and isn’t truth always better than lies? I’m going away now, with my father. Somewhere, I don’t know where, but I can’t stay here, an
d I can’t be your daughter. You have given me some good things. Safety. A home. An education. An inheritance. But none of that counts when it’s built on lies. I need to learn who I am all over again. That’s what I’m going to do.’ She moved over to Bardán – to her father – and slipped her hand through his arm. He did smell bad up close. When they got to wherever they were going, she’d need to persuade him to take a bath.

  ‘He has nothing to offer you.’ Tóla’s voice was stone cold now. ‘Nothing but poverty, grief and madness.’

  There was a little silence. Then Bardán said, ‘Daughter, I offer love. I offer craft – my hands are not good for it now, but I will teach you all I know. I offer wisdom, born from sorrow. I offer tales. I offer truth.’

  Cara felt tears spilling down her cheeks. Her father was crying too. ‘I accept your fine gifts, Father,’ she said.

  Tóla was about to speak, but Aunt Della forestalled him. ‘Brother, you are not yourself. Go back to the house. Go now. I will deal with this. You two, accompany him.’ She gestured to a pair of serving men. ‘Stay with him until I return.’

  Tóla drew a ragged breath. Took a step one way, the other way, as if he hardly knew what he was doing. ‘You can’t do this, Cara,’ he said in a whisper. ‘You’re only fifteen. Any lawman would say –’

  ‘I’m sure Prince Oran will have an opinion,’ Blackthorn said. ‘Of course, he will hear the whole story before the open council. Including your personal account, Master Tóla. Perhaps Brígh’s as well. Shall we conclude this as Mistress Della so sensibly suggests?’

  He wouldn’t go. It made Cara want to cry all over again. There was still a part of her that wanted to run to him, put her arms around him, say she was sorry she had made him so sad. But she didn’t do any of those things. Her true father was here, right beside her. She could feel his warmth. His smile made her feel safer than she’d ever felt before, even though she had no idea where she would sleep tonight or what would happen tomorrow. So she stayed by Bardán and watched as the Swan Island men took Tóla between them, as if he were a miscreant, and walked him down to the house with the serving folk following behind like sheep. She wondered if she would ever see him again.

  Mistress Blackthorn asked Grim to look at the toadstools; she asked Aunt Della too. So that there would be witnesses to speak up at the council, if needed, she said. Cara tried not to think about that. Tried not to think of Tóla and Gormán facing charges of . . . all sorts of things. Stealing a child. Telling lies. Poisoning. But her mind was full of a terrible realisation. If she had not come to Wolf Glen today Grim and Bardán might both be dead, their bodies neatly disposed of, and the truth might never have come out.

  Mistress Blackthorn consigned the toadstools to the fire, then washed her hands three times over. ‘Where did Gormán go?’ she asked, looking around.

  He had gone away while Tóla was arguing; while the rest of them were listening. Cara had seen him walk off into the forest just as he was, without cloak or bag or water skin. But she had not mentioned it to anyone. ‘He gave his word he’d be back for the prince’s council,’ she said. But she doubted he would keep that promise. Her heart told her she would never see him again.

  Cionnaola and Cúan returned, and Cara remembered that when she had burst in on them at Dreamer’s Wood they had been about to set out on a journey. Mistress Blackthorn too. It was late afternoon now; if they were going, they should go. She could not ask Mistress Blackthorn for any more help. That would be unfair.

  ‘Cara?’ Aunt Della was beside her, pale but perfectly composed.

  ‘My name is Brígh now.’

  ‘Brígh. It will take time to get used to that. The folk from Longwater have offered you and – and your father a place to stay. They’ve got room for you.’

  Brígh looked at her father. ‘What do you think? We can’t stay here.’

  ‘The house,’ Bardán said. ‘At Longwater. Our house.’

  ‘Needs fixing up before you can live in it,’ said one of the Longwater men. ‘We could get it done in a few days. Mend the roof, clean things up a bit. You can stay at our place until it’s done. Me and Luíseach and our son here. If it suits you.’

  The son was Fedach. Which meant that if she stayed there, she would meet the woman who had nursed her when she was an infant. ‘Is that all right?’ she asked Bardán. ‘Only, if we’re staying with other folk, you’ll need to have a wash. Cut your hair. Put on clean clothes.’

  ‘I made a promise. That I wouldn’t, until I got back what Tóla had stolen from me. I couldn’t remember what it was then. Only that it was what I held most dear in the world. My precious thing. My hope and joy, my smiles and tears.’

  ‘That must have been a hard promise to keep,’ Brígh said, wishing she could stop crying.

  ‘I got used to it. Got used to being the wild man. But not anymore. I will wash myself clean. A new man.’

  ‘A new life,’ Brígh said. ‘The best one we can make, yes?’

  ‘It is already the best,’ said Bardán.

  Brígh said goodbye and thank you to Mistress Blackthorn. Bardán hugged Grim, who looked pale under the bandage Mistress Blackthorn had wrapped around his head. The wise woman said she would come to Longwater as soon as she was home from her journey. It was plain to Brígh that Blackthorn had other things on her mind; she kept looking at Grim, then looking down toward the house.

  Aunt Della embraced Brígh and offered a home for the future, again.

  ‘You are very kind, Aunt,’ Brígh said. ‘But I must be with my father; I only just found him. I’ve tried your patience badly over the years. I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry you had to spend all that time looking after me instead of living your own life. What will you do now?’

  ‘I will leave Wolf Glen,’ Aunt Della said. ‘But not before I set my brother’s household to rights after this disturbance. And someone must ensure he prepares himself for Prince Oran’s council. I will be here some while longer. May I visit you in Longwater, Cara? Brígh?’

  ‘Of course. But . . . I cannot see him again. Not so soon.’

  ‘I understand, child. I will explain that a visit would do his case no good. For the longer term, you and he will have to reach an agreement of some kind if you are to be living in Longwater, so close.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt Della. And good luck.’

  ‘Ride safely, my Cara. I will miss you, child.’

  ‘And I will miss you,’ Brígh surprised herself by saying. ‘Who will remind me to sit up straight and wear the right shoes?’

  ‘I expect you’ll manage.’

  44

  ~Blackthorn~

  ‘I have something to tell you,’ I said. ‘Something important. But it’ll have to be quite quick.’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  We were seated a little apart, waiting for Cionnaola and Cúan. Ripple was leaning against Grim, her muzzle on his knee. Someone had brought a blanket, which Grim had around his shoulders. Someone else had brought a water skin, but neither of us had touched it. The toadstools had been a close thing.

  I told Grim about Mathuin. A gathering so secret nobody could say a word about it. A council that was unofficial, but that had the High King’s approval. A hearing at which Mathuin would, in effect, be tried in secret by his peers. At least, that was my understanding. I told him about my document, already on its way to that hearing. All this I passed on in a whisper. There was no need to tell Grim how important it was to me to give my evidence in person. He had the same passion for justice written on his heart.

  ‘Morrigan’s britches,’ said Grim. ‘So why aren’t you looking happy?’

  ‘I missed my chance to go. It’s too late now.’

  ‘Missed it? Why?’ Grim sounded bewildered.

  ‘I gave it up. So I could come to Wolf Glen today.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘You heard what I said. That w
as the choice, ride off for the hearing this morning or answer Brígh’s call for help. And as you see, I came here.’

  Grim looked stunned. ‘Brígh could have got help from Winterfalls. You knew that. Wouldn’t have taken much longer. What stopped you from going? Conmael?’

  ‘There was the minor matter of you being in all kinds of trouble. I knew how bad it was when Ripple turned up half-dead from exhaustion. And Brígh said she thought Tóla might kill you.’

  Grim stared at me. There was no reading his expression now. ‘You’re saying you – nah.’

  ‘I’m saying I what?’

  ‘You gave up the chance to put that wretch behind bars at long last because of me?’

  ‘That’s it, more or less,’ I said, not looking at him.

  ‘Holy Mother of God.’

  ‘I’ve never known anyone to mix oaths the way you do, big man,’ I said. ‘We have missed our chance, yes; I’d already made them wait all morning in the hope that you would turn up in time, and then Brígh rode in just as we were leaving. I did send my written testimony. I’d like to go there anyway, so we can witness whatever comes from the hearing. I think I can persuade the Island men to take us as planned, even though it’s so late. Only you’re hardly in a fit state to ride.’

  ‘Pity we can’t turn back time,’ Grim said. ‘Wasn’t that what Conmael threatened if you broke his rules? To put you back in the lockup, everything just the same as it was when we first clapped eyes on each other?’

  ‘You know Conmael’s not here,’ I said. ‘I’ve tried and tried. He won’t come.’

  ‘You might be doing it wrong.’

  ‘You’re hardly an expert.’

  ‘I was thinking, though. Children, weren’t you, when you knew each other? That’s if he’s who you think he is. Might not need a charm or incantation or anything like that. Maybe only something simple. Something the two of you did back then. Something that made him happy. If he was ever happy.’