“No doggy. You mustn’t scare your friends. Mama says no.”
Silence.
“And Broichan says no.” Or would do, she was certain, if he were here. Today’s small drama had opened possibilities that filled her with dread. Keeping her child’s untapped powers under control could consume her every waking hour, her every last scrap of energy. That was not possible. There was a baby coming. And there was Bridei, who needed her.
The quiet was broken by a little, forlorn sound. Her son was weeping. “Bawta,” he whispered. Ban pushed his nose against the child’s leg. Clearly, the dog had forgiven the earlier affront.
“I know, sweetheart,” Tuala said. “I miss him, too.” She would not say, he will come back. This child could not be pacified with less than truths. “If you are good and don’t do this again, the big boys are going to play with you and the twins tomorrow. They’ve got a cart that you can have rides in. With wheels. Go fast.” She would not think of broken limbs and cracked heads. Children must be allowed to play. Even children with a terrifying facility in the craft of magic.
“Whee,” said Derelei half-heartedly, moving his hand through the air in the motion of a swooping bird. Tuala thought she could see an image of wheels, and sparks flying, and trees and bushes moving crazily past. She blinked and it was gone.
“That’s right,” she said. “But you must be good. No doggy. No magic at all, unless Mama is there. Promise?”
He made a little sound, not a word, but perhaps an indication of agreement. It would have to be enough, for now. Sooner or later, Tuala thought, her son was going to cast a spell she lacked the power or the knowledge to undo. She hoped he would not reach that stage before he had a better mastery of words, before he could learn the perils his ability carried with it. As for today’s episode, it had made her wonder. Broichan had tutored Derelei wisely and carefully; she had done her own share of teaching in the same spirit. But what he had done this afternoon, the complex transformation performed without visible effort, had not been learned from either of them.
(from Brother Suibne’s account)
God be praised, we touched the shore of Priteni lands this morning, our boat intact, our crew untouched by storm or sea serpent or freakish current, our hearts still full of zeal for the new life that awaits us in this far land. Not all of us are sailors. My guts feel as if they have been pummeled and twisted and hung out to dry, and it is a blessing to have solid earth under my feet once more. Our landfall was close to Dunadd, thanks to Colm’s sound navigation, the expertise of our young novice, Éibhear, and the assistance of our unexpected passengers. The traveler, Faolan, who was familiar to me from the court of Fortriu—I never forget a face, however unremarkable—proved expert with oar and sail; that was no surprise, as I had already assessed him as a man of many parts. His little wife, so silent and compliant, proved more of a revelation. My fellow brethren were less than happy to take a woman as passenger, especially one accompanied by a girl-child; there are many tales of boats sunk and voyages beset by ill fortune because of a female presence on board. Once under sail, with most of us bent over the rail in the throes of acute seasickness, it became apparent the woman was an asset. Colm, brought up among sailing men, was unaffected; Éibhear has salt water in his veins. Faolan helped them, and so did the girl File, doing her share willingly and with every appearance of enjoyment. Indeed, a grin of pure pleasure spread across her face at the heaving movement of our frail craft through the endless waves of that wretched strait. As for the child, she sat quietly, hugging her doll and eyeing the monstrous seas with perfect equanimity. When we saw great, gray creatures leaping from the waters, she showed not a trace of fear, but smiled and pointed.
They make an odd little family. Faolan does not seem the type of man to travel with a wife and child; he has the air of a loner, wary and deep. Colm was struck by him and by what he had to tell of the court of Fortriu. We performed certain inquiries while we waited for spring; it would appear this man’s ancestral roots are in the same patch of ground as Colm’s own, but his life has not followed a straight course. He has his own pressing reasons to make a home away from the shores of Erin. The three of them, Faolan and his wife and child, were lodged at a farm near our house of prayer for a good part of the winter, and Faolan made it clear to us that he needed to return to White Hill as soon as the season made it possible. Thus the offer of a passage. It was in Colm’s interest to aid him, woman, child, and all.
Not the dog. There was a dog, a poor, thin thing that came into our yard with this trio of wayfarers and headed straight for the refectory door to stand waiting outside with hopeful eyes. There was no way the dog could accompany us in the boat. The little girl wept to hear this; she was attached to the wretched creature. During the time they spent quartered at the farm a solution found itself. We had a very old and venerable brother among our number in that house, Brother Seosabh, whose mind had begun to wander amiably; he spent his time sitting by the fire, or in a sunny corner outside, mumbling to himself and nodding at anyone who was prepared to stay by him awhile and talk, though there was no saying how much made sense to him. The dog took a fancy to Seosabh, and he to the dog; they seemed to understand each other. At any time of day the dog might amble over from the farm and be found sleeping at the old man’s feet or sitting by him while the ancient fondled its ears and muttered endearments. When we took Seosabh his bowl of broth, the dog tended to get a scrap or two at the same time, since we were unable to harden our hearts to the reproachful look the creature turned on us if its own portion was forgotten.
Seosabh, of course, was not among the volunteers for Colm’s expedition. There are thirty brethren in the house of prayer at Kerrykeel; only twelve volunteered or were chosen for the mission to Fortriu. Others will come later, when we have built a house and a church and all we need for survival on our island. We are the spearhead; the bright torch to light the way. When we launched our boat and set out for new shores, the child farewelled her dog with tears, but her mother’s reassurances that the creature had found his true home, and the old man’s gentle hands touching the child’s as if she were the most precious thing on God’s earth, provided the little one with some comfort.
So, our landfall, and a walk to the fortress of Dunadd, which now lies in Priteni hands, although the deposed king of Dalriada is still resident there. Gabhran is in his last illness; it was deemed too risky to send him back to his home shore by sea. Had Bridei’s men slain him in the great battle of Dovarben, it would have been deemed acceptable. To have him perish during an enforced voyage of exile would not sit well with the king of the Priteni, who has a reputation for fairness and justice along with a strong grasp of strategy. Gabhran renounced the kingship of Dalriada; his household is overseen by a Priteni chieftain. Nonetheless, Dunadd is full of Gaelic speech and Gaelic customs. It has not changed so very much since my last visit.
We bade Faolan and his little family farewell this morning. He said his wife had no desire to spend time in grand establishments such as this fortress that was once the Gaelic court of Dalriada; her origins meant she had scant time and patience for such halls of the wealthy and powerful. In fact, Faolan had pressing business at the far end of the Great Glen. There was no need for him to tell me this, nor to tell Colm. It goes without saying that he will bear a message to the court of Bridei, king of Fortriu, asking if that powerful monarch would be prepared to receive a delegation of Christian brethren. The name of Ioua will be mentioned; Yew Tree Isle, the place the Gaelic king promised Colm as his sanctuary from the political dealings of his kinsmen. Ioua is no longer in Gabhran’s gift. If we want to stay, it is Bridei who must approve our settlement in that place.
Perhaps, if I had not been among Colm’s small flock, Faolan would not have chosen to identify himself. His mission may have been to spy rather than to negotiate. But I knew him; he could not conceal the nature of his quest from me. That is a good thing, I believe. Matters should move more quickly as a result, and that will please
Colm, who dislikes this shadowy half-court where we are housed, and chafes at any delay in seeing us lay the foundations of our new home on Ioua. There are armed men everywhere here. Some are Gabhran’s own, and some belong to a chieftain named Umbrig, who is apparently in control of the fortress and its inhabitants on Bridei’s behalf, though he resides elsewhere and they say he visits seldom. The guards are huge and fearsome in appearance. I do not rate very highly our chances of coaxing them to join in our morning prayers. On the other hand, Colm needs only to open his mouth to make folk listen. Under the light of his powerful faith, perhaps even these shambling bears of men can open their ears to the word of God.
SUIBNE, MONK OF DERRY
8
FAOLAN WAS TENDING the fire, nurturing it against a moisture in the air that he hoped would not develop into rain. They would be sleeping under the moon again tonight; there were few places within Dalriada where he was prepared to seek shelter beneath another man’s roof. The Gaelic presence remained strong in this territory newly regained by Bridei, and Faolan’s own face was known to more than a few of the influential locals. Since Alpin of Briar Wood had unmasked him as a spy, a man who used his lineage as an entrée to Gaelic courts and his close bond with Bridei as the currency by which he made his way in Fortriu, it did not seem safe to come out from cover, so to speak. Not until he must. He had apologized to Eile, surprising himself. The farmhouse in Kerrykeel where they had spent the best part of the winter had provided comfortable lodgings, warm, secure, and private; neither of them had needed to sleep on the floor, for there’d been three shelf beds in the chamber they were allocated. It seemed wrong to expect her and the child to lie on the ground with only bracken to keep out the wind. Not that she complained; there was never a word of criticism. Somehow, that made it worse.
“Faolan?” she asked now.
“Mm?”
“You know you said these folk speak a different tongue? At this place we’re going to, White Hill?”
“Mm.” The fire was catching now; he blew on the licking flames.
“They’re going to think I’m stupid,” Eile said.
“No, they won’t. It’s a king’s court. They’re used to all kinds of folk coming and going. Some people speak a little Gaelic.”
She sat silent, her hands stilling in their task of scaling the fish he had caught earlier. Saraid was crouched nearby, holding her doll up to see.
“You’ll manage, Eile.”
“I should have asked you to teach me the language over the winter, when we were at that farm. Will you teach me some words while we’re traveling, enough so I don’t make a fool of myself? It’s going to take a while to get there, isn’t it?”
Faolan did not answer. The fact was, slowed by woman and child, it would take a lot longer than he was happy with. That man, Colm, burned with a missionary zeal that set warning bells ringing loud. They needed to get to White Hill soon and advise Bridei to be ready for visitors. In Faolan’s estimation, this Christian cleric wasn’t going to sit quietly at Dunadd and wait for the king’s invitation. He wanted his island, and he wanted it soon. He believed this god of his had somehow ordained that Ioua be his servant’s sanctuary. If the fellow wasn’t up the Glen and knocking on Bridei’s door before Midsummer, Faolan would be greatly surprised.
“Faolan,” said Eile in a different tone, “you can just leave us behind, you know. If you really need to go quickly, tell us the way and we’ll follow at our own pace.” She brushed a strand of hair away from her brow, leaving a shining smear of fish scales. “We’ll be all right.”
Things had changed between them over the winter of enforced companionship. She had begun to show a wary trust, while he was becoming accustomed to the presence of the two of them and developing skills he had not possessed before, such as knowing how to cajole Saraid out of her tiredness and how to allay her small fears.
“Here, let me do that.” Faolan reached for knife and fish.
“I can do it perfectly well!” The knife flashed down, brutally efficient.
Of course, he did still get things wrong sometimes; she hated to be thought incompetent. “I know that. Eile, it’s a long way up the Glen. Many days’ travel. The paths are difficult even in summer. And there’s Saraid to think of. I’m sure you are completely self-sufficient. On the other hand, I think I’ve demonstrated that I can be useful catching fish and trapping rabbits, so you need not do those things and watch over her as well. Besides, if we part ways, who’s going to teach you the Priteni tongue?”
She eyed him suspiciously. “That’s a joke, yes?”
“Is that fish ready? I’m getting hungry, and this fire seems to have decided to burn. Here, pass it to me.”
She handed it over. “I can look after myself,” she muttered.
“Maybe so. And maybe I am in a hurry. Never mind that. I don’t want you and Saraid at the mercy of any unscrupulous wanderer you might meet on your way.”
“Who’d be interested in me?” Eile folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. “Only some freak like Dalach. We’d be perfectly safe without you.”
Faolan glanced at her, taking in the creamy pallor of her skin, the bright sheen of the red hair, the figure that was changing now with good food and less anxiety.
“Don’t look at me like that!” Eile glared at him.
“How? As if you were a woman?”
A flush rose to Eile’s cheeks. “I’m not a woman, I’m roadside rubbish.”
There was a little silence.
“Rose-dye rubbige,” echoed Saraid, trying out the words.
Faolan balanced the skewered fish over the fire. “Who told you that?” he asked after a little.
“Someone. It’s true. After Dalach I’m no better than some slut who sells herself for a copper or a bannock. I’m nothing. I’m invisible. Her and me, we can slip by anywhere. You don’t need to worry about us.”
“You know,” Faolan said, sitting back on his heels, “for a girl with so much common sense, you have quite a few blind spots. Here you are, alone in the world with a little daughter you love dearly and guard fiercely, and you dismiss my offer of protection as if it were worthless. This journey is full of dangers. Perhaps I should mention that my official job at court is as the king’s personal bodyguard, so I am something of an expert in these matters. You’ve accepted my help thus far. What makes things different now?”
Eile stared down at the ground, her long hair falling forward to frame her face. “It’s not that,” she said. “I do value it. It’s what I dreamed Father would do; come back and look after us. But it’s different. I can’t afford to get used to it, because I know it can’t be forever. Besides, he would have done it because he wanted to. You’re doing it because you think you have to. I know you need to get to White Hill in a hurry. Now we’re over the water, Saraid and I are slowing you down. I’d rather do this on my own than start feeling like a burden.”
He looked across the fire at the two of them: Eile sitting cross-legged in her borrowed gown, an old one of Líobhan’s, with her hair touched crimson by the firelight and her green eyes forbidding him to be sorry for her; Saraid with the shapeless doll cradled in her arms. “You’re not a burden,” he said. “Eile, I want you to promise me something.”
Her eyes took on the wary expression of a creature scenting danger. “And what would that be?” she asked.
“I want a promise that from now on you won’t call yourself roadside rubbish or slut or any such name. If your daughter hears that often enough she’ll start to believe it, not just of the mother she loves and trusts, but of herself. I don’t want to hear it ever again.”
Her features tightened. “So you’re telling me how to bring up my child now, are you? What gives you the right to do that?”
He drew a slow breath and let it out, reminding himself how young she was. “If I wanted to be cruel,” he said, turning the fish over the flames, “I’d answer that a substantial payment in silver gives me the right to tell you anything I like.”
“So what am I?” Her response was quick as a slap. “Your slave or your friend?”
“I would not make such a suggestion to anyone but a friend,” Faolan said. “To Saraid, you are the best person in the world, good, brave, beautiful. I expect we all believe that of our mothers when we are small. She doesn’t have much, Eile. Let her keep that.”
He expected another reproof, another challenge, but she was silent. When he looked up from his cooking, he saw to his amazement that she was crying. Saraid edged across to lean against her mother, mouth drooping in sympathy.
“It’ll never be all right,” Eile whispered. “Sometimes I forget to think about it, like on the farm when it sometimes felt like we belonged there, and when we were on the boat. I liked that. It made me feel like a new person. Then it all comes back. He sullied me. Dirtied me. That’s never going to wash away.”
“Dalach’s dead,” said Faolan. “That time is over. Some things you never forget, however hard you work at it. But you can put them behind you. You can say, yes, it was bad, so bad it nearly made me give up. But I didn’t give up. I’m strong. I’m alive. And then you can go on and make something of the rest of your life. Not easy, but possible for someone like you.”
“Is that what you did?” She scrubbed a hand across her cheeks. “After your brother died?”
He thought about this. “Not exactly. I tried to block it out; shut it away. For ten years I thought I’d done that. I lived a life, performed certain tasks, honed certain skills. Earned my silver. In all that time I never told the tale of Fiddler’s Crossing. Until last autumn. Until I met your father.”
“You told him?”
“Not exactly. I told… someone else. Someone who challenged me to confront the past. So, you see, I’ve only been following my own advice for a short time. I may be ancient in your estimation, but in this matter of starting life anew, I’m not far ahead of you.”
The Well of Shades Page 22