The Well of Shades

by Juliet Marillier

  “Feeler,” said Saraid, “Sorry’s hungry.”

  “It’s almost ready, Saraid.” Let Eile not ask him about Ana. Not now, sitting here by a little fire in the darkness; not now when the sweetest and most bitter memory was stirring deep inside him. “Deord did have advice for me,” he said. “He challenged me to live my life well. He told me not to waste the opportunity his bravery had won for me. I’m still not sure what that meant. I had thought survival was good enough. I had thought it the best I could manage.” He lifted the fish from the fire, laid it on a flat stone, divided it with his knife. “Careful, Saraid,” he said. “It’s hot.”

  Over the makeshift meal he taught Eile the words for fish and thank you and knife in the Priteni tongue. Saraid wanted to learn, too; he taught them doll and eat and good night. When the child was asleep, rolled in her good woolen blanket from Fiddler’s Crossing with Faolan’s cloak over the top, he and Eile sat by the fire while the moon rose into the velvet dark and stars emerged on the high arch of the night sky. It was bitterly cold; beyond the circle of firelight things stirred and rustled in the dense undergrowth.

  “Everything’s big here,” said Eile, huddling deeper into her cloak. “Tall mountains, huge trees, lakes that take all day to get across. It makes me expect to meet giants.”

  Faolan wondered if he should mention the Good Folk, and decided against it. “The folk at White Hill are quite normal,” he told her. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I didn’t say I was afraid!”

  “My error.”

  “All the same, kings and queens… I’m not accustomed to grand folk like that. Your sister Áine was bad enough. I didn’t seem to be able to open my mouth without saying the wrong thing.”

  He did not answer.

  “Faolan?”

  “Mm?”

  “What am I supposed to do when we get there? Be a servant? Scrub floors, wait on tables?”

  Faolan was reluctant to confess that he had not really thought this out. “It won’t be like that,” he said. “As the king’s bodyguard, I suppose I could be called a servant of sorts. I do a job; he pays me. But I’m also…” He would not say, I’m his friend. To do so was to acknowledge something he had long deemed an impossibility. “Bridei trusts me,” he said. “I’m close to him.”

  “You haven’t answered the question.”

  “It depends on what you want for yourself and for Saraid. Education; training in some kind of work, maybe. A place to settle. I have a couple of possibilities in mind.” He had thought Drustan and Ana might take Eile in, along with the child. She was Deord’s daughter, after all, and Deord had been Drustan’s only friend for the seven years of incarceration. They would want to help, if they were still at court. Part of him hoped profoundly that they were not. Still, it would solve this problem neatly. “I have some friends I believe would welcome you into their household. Or there’s a school for young women, not very far from White Hill. You could go there, if you wanted. The third possibility is that Tuala—the queen—could find you a position at court.”

  “What about you? Where would you be?”

  He stopped himself from telling her that was irrelevant. His bag of silver had made it relevant, whether he liked it or not. “I’m at court sometimes. More often I’m away. My duties require me to travel.”

  “Guarding this king, you mean?”

  “I’m one of three personal guards. I do other things as well.”

  “What things?” She fixed her gaze on him. The firelight flickered in her green eyes.

  “Things. I don’t discuss them.”

  “Uh-huh. I guess those extra duties wouldn’t include being a bard. That’s what Líobhan told me you once were. It’s a bit hard to believe.”

  He felt his mouth twist in a smile. “You won’t hear me singing at White Hill. These days, I turn my talents elsewhere.”

  “Mm. I don’t suppose you earned all that money as a musician, unless you were really good.” Then, after a silence, “You know you said once you were unlucky in love? Who was the woman? What was she like?”

  “It’s old history. I don’t talk about it.”

  “Was she the person you told your story to? The one who made you go back to Fiddler’s Crossing?”

  “It’s none of your business, Eile. We’d best get some sleep; if the rain holds off, we’ll make an early start in the morning.”

  “Your voice goes different when you talk about it,” Eile said quietly, moving away to lie down beside Saraid. “As if it still hurts. Was she beautiful?”

  He settled on his own side of the fire. Eile was too acute. Her questions were like little knives. Best give her some answers now, if only to stop her digging deeper. “Like a princess in a song,” he said. “In fact, she really is a princess, cousin to the king of the Light Isles. She was a hostage at the court of Fortriu for a number of years. That’s not as bad as it sounds; she was there to ensure her cousin’s loyalty to King Bridei, who is his overlord. Ana was treated more as an honored guest than as a prisoner. Last summer I escorted her on a journey to marry a chieftain of the Caitt. It all got very complicated. Now she’s betrothed to someone else, a highly suitable man whom she loves. And that, as far as you’re concerned, is the end of the story.”

  “It doesn’t sound as if it is,” Eile said softly. “You’re still angry and hurt, I can hear it. You still love her. Did you and she—did you ever—?”

  “That’s not the kind of question a young woman asks a man who’s nearly old enough to be her father,” Faolan said repressively.

  “I’m just asking because… well, I…”

  Something in her tone, reticent, delicate, made him ask, “What’s wrong, Eile? What is it?”

  “I just don’t understand how…” The words seemed to escape her lips in a rush. “It’s just that… well, it’s so vile, brutal and hurtful, what men and women do together, I can’t understand how it can go with… with what you call love. Surely as soon as you lie together, as soon as you do it, it must destroy those tender feelings. It can’t be otherwise. Yet I remember Father and Mother… They were always so kind to each other, even after Breakstone when he was so changed… Maybe I’m trying to remake the past, so it’s the way I wish it had been. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked you that. It was wrong. Forget I said it.”

  Gods, how could he respond to this? What did he know of such matters, with his own twisted history following him like an unlucky shadow? For a little, confusion and embarrassment halted his tongue. Then, glancing at her tight, wounded features, he found words. “What was between you and Dalach wasn’t the usual way of it, though there are plenty of men like him who’ll take their satisfaction when and where it suits them, with no regard to a woman’s feelings. That’s why I don’t want you traveling on your own. You’re prey to the unscrupulous. But it’s not always that way; there are other folk like your mother and father, Eile. Folk like my sister and her man. Some young fellow will come courting you one day, and you’ll discover that for yourself. It can be a… a loving thing, a thing folk take pleasure in.” It felt completely wrong to be offering her advice on such a matter. But there was nobody else.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said. “How could any woman enjoy that? I expect if you were fond of the man you could put up with it, but that’d be all. It’s repulsive. It makes you feel unclean.”

  “I’m telling the truth, Eile.”

  “You’re a man. What would you know?”

  Her tone was bleak. It made him feel old and tired. “Good night, Eile,” he muttered, settling as best he could on the hard ground. He did not expect to sleep, but after a long time sleep came, and with it a tangle of disturbing dreams.

  WITH THE CLEARING of the weather White Hill began to fill up with visitors. Bridei had called a great gathering to thank and reward the chieftains who had played a part in last autumn’s victory. Such formal recognition was necessary to maintain balance and unity within the kingdom of Fortriu. Songs must be
made, gifts given, each carefully selected according to the recipient’s social standing, contributions, and character. Bridei’s two councillors were busy. Aniel was working on the gifts while Tharan and his wife, Dorica, ensured the practical arrangements for the anticipated influx of guests were flawless.

  Meanwhile Bridei considered the issue of what to do if Carnach failed to appear. To have his chief war leader and close kinsman turn against him would be not simply distressing but dangerous. It would open possibilities for the future that were unthinkable. Carnach was popular, successful, influential. He bore the blood of the royal line. Should anything happen to remove Bridei from the kingship of Fortriu, nobody was in any doubt as to who his successor would be.

  Chieftains from every corner of Fortriu began to arrive with their wives and sometimes their children. Morleo and Wredech, Uerb and Fokel, all were there by the time the buds began to open on the beeches.

  A messenger rode in from Caer Pridne one afternoon. Seeing him coming, Garth sought out the king, who was closeted with Aniel and Tharan.

  “Thank the gods,” Tharan said. “Word from Carnach at last.”

  But when the fellow came in to deliver his message, it was to announce the imminent arrival, not of the chieftain of Thorn Bend, but of another, still more powerful leader: Keother of the Light Isles, Bridei’s vassal king and cousin to Ana. Keother had made landfall at Caer Pridne that morning and would be riding for White Hill in a day or two, when the women in his company had recovered from the rigors of the sea voyage.

  “Women?” queried Aniel, gray eyes sharpening. “What women?”

  “There were several, my lord. I wasn’t given all their names; some are serving maids. One is the Lady Breda, Keother’s cousin.”

  “I see.” Bridei considered the issues this news raised, not least the fact that Ana’s kinsman was unaware she had spent the whole winter at Pitnochie with Drustan, and that the two of them were not yet handfasted. “Thank you for bringing this news to us so promptly. There will be food and drink for you in the kitchens and a bed for the night in the men’s quarters.”

  The messenger dismissed, the three men exchanged looks that spoke more than words could convey.

  “Why would Keother bring this young woman?” Aniel murmured. “She’s Ana’s sister, I presume. It’s as good as asking us to take her hostage, especially after his failure to provide so much as a single warrior for our endeavor against the Gaels.”

  “Keother is no fool,” said Tharan. “He’s up to something. What’s his motive? Is he trying to placate you, Bridei?”

  “We’ll be in a better position to assess that when we meet him face to face,” Bridei said. “He’ll have to be received with appropriate formality and allocated the best chambers. Tuala will have to move Talorgen and Brethana. And there’s the question of Ana.”

  “Mm,” said Aniel. “I wonder if the young lady’s come simply in hopes of attending her sister’s wedding? We’d best dispatch a messenger to Pitnochie.”

  “Indeed,” Bridei said. “With Keother on our doorstep, a wedding is most certainly called for. I don’t imagine Drustan and Ana will have any objections. The current situation cannot continue indefinitely, or we’d give her cousin entirely reasonable grounds for complaint. That the formal handfasting has been delayed while Drustan and Ana live in every other respect as man and wife is… unconventional. Unexpected visit or no, they must marry before they travel back to Briar Wood.”

  “We’ll be needing a druid,” said Tharan. “Do you believe Broichan will return in time, Bridei?” His tone was delicate; it was a difficult issue. Theories abounded at court on where the king’s druid had vanished to, and why. Some of them were foolish, others verging on scurrilous. The longer Broichan stayed away, the more imaginative the gossip grew.

  “We must summon another druid. There’s a man at Abertornie, a lone mage by the name of Amnost. He should be prepared to travel if we provide safeguards.” Bridei did not mention Broichan. Nonetheless, his foster father’s absence loomed large. Tuala remained confident Broichan would return when the time was right. It seemed to Bridei there could be no better time than this, and that if his foster father did not come now, perhaps the rumor that he had perished alone in the forest was true. It had been a harsh winter.

  “Very well,” Aniel said. “A written message to Lady Ana, I think. Tell me what you want in it, Bridei, and I’ll do the scribing and dispatch it with a reliable man today. A verbal message to Loura at Abertornie, asking her to bring this Amnost when she and her children come to court.” The recognition due to Ged of Abertornie, who had fallen in the last great battle for Dalriada, was to be given to his wife and son. There was still time to get a message to them before they rode out from home.

  “And I’ll warn Tuala to expect still more visitors,” said Bridei.

  It was not a good time. Occupied as he had been with preparations for the gathering, the king was well aware of how exhausted his wife was and how Broichan’s absence had given her an additional burden in the final stages of her pregnancy: dealing with Derelei’s budding abilities. Bridei felt a constant, nagging ache in his belly that he knew was worry about his wife. He feared the rigors of childbirth, the poisonous tongues of visitors to court, the weight Tuala carried as mistress of the royal household at such an important time. The look in her eyes concerned him more than he would ever tell her. He saw that she felt tired, anxious, perhaps guilty. That this last was without foundation made no difference. Broichan was a grown man. The decision to leave had been his alone. That did not stop Tuala from believing it was her fault for confronting the druid with her unwelcome vision of kinship.

  Let her be well, Bridei asked the gods as he made his way to his private quarters with his guard Dovran an arm’s length behind. Let her come through this safely. Let the child be born whole and sound. That is all I ask. He knew in his heart the power the dark god held over him; his own past disobedience and the penalty that might at any time be demanded in compensation. Not now, he thought. And if it must come, strike me, not them. Not my dear ones.

  He had hoped to find Tuala resting, but she was in the small reception chamber with two older women: Tharan’s wife, Dorica, and Rhian, widow of the previous king, Drust the Bull. Dorica stood as the king came in. Rhian inclined her head.

  “Bridei,” said Tuala with a wan smile. “We’ve just been making some plans, moving folk around a little and ensuring everything’s in place for such an influx of guests. I have a feeling I won’t be able to help for much longer.”

  “What are you saying? Have your pains begun?” He was alarmed.

  “Not yet, but I think it will be within a day or so. Elda has predicted it will be tomorrow night. I hope Fola will be here in time.”

  “Now, my lady,” Dorica said, “you just forget about supplies and bedchambers and keeping folk entertained, and concentrate on yourself for a little. We have everything under control, and more helpers coming in from the settlement. You’re not to worry.”

  “Indeed not.” Queen Rhian rose to her feet, a plump, dignified figure. “I’ve done this more times than you can possibly imagine, Tuala.”

  “I have to tell you the king of the Light Isles is on his way,” Bridei said, “and with him Ana’s younger sister. They’re at Caer Pridne. It looks as if a wedding’s in order.” He saw Tuala’s brave attempt at a smile, and went to sit by her side, holding her hand. Dorica and Rhian made their farewells and left the royal apartments. Dovran pulled the door closed. He would remain on duty outside.

  “I’m sorry, Bridei,” Tuala said, touching her husband’s cheek. “I want to be more help. This is such a difficult time for you. But I’m so tired. And worried about Derelei. Thank the gods Bedo and Uric have turned their hands to a spot of nursemaiding, if it can be called that. We owe those lads a great deal. The little ones are so exhausted at the end of the day they fall into their beds the moment they’ve finished their supper. Derelei is simply too weary to think of attempting more peri
lous pursuits than running, climbing, and riding down steep slopes on makeshift vehicles. Still, with the weather improving, Talorgen’s sons are going to want to return to more manly pursuits such as hunting and practicing their combat skills, I imagine.”

  “Derelei will need careful watching with so many folk here,” Bridei said. “I won’t express a wish that Broichan return, though I know he’s the one we need. We should speak to Fola of our concerns when she comes.”

  Tuala nodded gravely. “I shrink from the idea of sending our son away,” she said. “He’s too little. But he’s a danger to all of us until he’s old enough to understand the need to curb his gift. If he can turn his friend into a dog over the temporary possession of a ball, what havoc could he wreak in a hall full of the most powerful folk in Fortriu, should something happen to displease him?”

  “Worse,” said Bridei, “what might the unscrupulous seek to use him for, should they witness the raw power at his disposal?”

  “I’ve tried to show him how to harness it.” Tuala sounded miserable. “My lack of formal training makes it difficult, as does the need to keep what we’re doing relatively covert. I’m barely beginning to learn the extent of my own abilities. No wonder I cannot exert proper discipline over Derelei’s.”

  “With both Fola and Ferada coming to court,” said Bridei, “you’ll have expert advice and practical help. Leave the household arrangements to Dorica; between them, she and Queen Rhian can cope with whatever is required. You need not do anything but rest, keep well, and prepare for our child’s birth. Tomorrow, you said? Do you think the prediction is accurate?”

  “Apparently Elda’s never been wrong before,” Tuala said. “I’m sorry, in a way. I’d have liked to take an active part in planning Ana’s wedding.”

  Bridei smiled. “If this visit by Keother means Ana and Drustan are handfasted and away from White Hill before Faolan gets back, it can only be to the good. I gave him an undertaking that I’d try to ensure they were gone before his return.”

  “Poor Faolan. It would be altogether too sad if he arrived at White Hill just in time to see his beloved wed another man. He was not at all himself when they came back from the north. I had never thought to see him so unmanned.”