The Well of Shades

by Juliet Marillier

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust anyone,” Eile whispered. She had eaten one mouthful of the oatmeal and set the platter down. The steeping herbs began to fill the air with a pungent aroma.

  Faolan thought of the way she had let him touch her. He said nothing.

  “Tell me about Ana.” It came out of the blue, like a blow.

  This was not a moment to go tight-lipped; to refuse a confidence. “I’ve told you the bare bones of it.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “As I said, it was my mission, last spring, to escort her to Caitt lands to wed a chieftain there. She’d never met him. It was a strategic alliance. Various disasters befell us. We met Deord, and when we were in trouble, he saved us, and died. The man Ana’s to marry now is the brother of the chieftain Bridei intended for her. His name is Drustan.”

  “Not much of a story.” Eile’s green eyes scrutinized him closely.

  “The whole tale would take all night. There were wolves; that is the truth. There was the spectacle of the king’s emissary acting the part of a court bard.”

  “But you were a bard.”

  “It had been years since I played or sang. I did manage a convincing show at Briar Wood. Ana was amazed. I won’t do it again. It hurts too much.”

  “Singing hurts?”

  He nodded. “It’s too close to the heart. It stirs things up. Everything started to go wrong the day I sang a little snatch of a song… I was carrying Ana across a ford on my horse. What came over me was worse than any fairy curse. It was unwelcome, destructive, inconvenient, and pointless, since she was on her way to make a strategic marriage and it was my job to get her there safely. Besides, I was the last man to put himself up as a suitor for a princess.”

  “Why? Your kin are highborn, aren’t they? Princes and chieftains of the Uí Néill? Don’t Priteni princesses marry such men?”

  He’d distracted her from her misery; he told himself that was a good thing, and went doggedly on. “Not when their employment includes the roles of assassin and spy. Not when they’re Gaels.”

  “Oh.”

  “Keep that to yourself. It’s best if you consider me only a bodyguard; I am that as well.”

  “An assassin. Really? So I’d never have got near enough with that pitchfork to do so much as scratch your pretty face?”

  “I’m glad we never put it to the test. You’re not going to eat that, are you? Here, drink the draft instead. I intend to sit here watching until it’s all gone.”

  “Faolan?”

  “What?”

  “It’s not too late, you know. I mean, this Ana’s not married yet, is she? Why don’t you do something about it? Things don’t change unless you’re brave enough to change them yourself.”

  The suggestion filled him with a chilling mixture of longing and dread. “That’s a really bad idea,” he said, “for more reasons than I could possibly list. To start with, nobody at White Hill knows what family I belong to. Ana does, but she won’t tell. Even the king is unaware that his chief bodyguard is kin to Gabhran of Dalriada. Besides, Ana loves Drustan. If she married me everyone would be unhappy.”

  “Even you?”

  “I want her to wed her chieftain and go away. I can deal with it as long as I don’t have to see them together. I know I’m not the man for her, Eile. I’ve always known that.”

  She sat silent, the cup between her hands.

  “Anyway,” Faolan said, “I don’t make it my business to tell you who you should marry. Why would you take it upon yourself to suggest such a thing to me?” He tried to keep his tone light, inconsequential; it was not quite successful.

  “But you did,” Eile said quietly. “A nice young man of my own age who’ll come courting one day and make me forget Dalach, and the years in that hut, and the fact that a man’s touch frightens and repulses me. You had it all worked out.”

  After a little he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it to sound so… facile. I understand that you’ve been terribly hurt. Such wounds take a lot of healing. What I wanted to say was how much I admire your strength of will, your courage. And that I am certain you can do it: be healed, be happy, make a life. I see that in you.”

  “You do?” The voice had changed again; now it held a fragile hope.

  Faolan nodded, meeting her eyes. “You are your father’s daughter. If Ana and Drustan are still at Pitnochie when we get there, they can tell you more about him. About his bravery and his goodness. He was Drustan’s only companion for seven years.”

  Eile’s mouth twisted. “All the years I waited for him to come back.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry the only one who came was me.”

  Saraid stirred, drawing a wheezing breath, and muttered something. Eile went to lift her higher on the rolled-up garments that served as a pillow, murmuring soothing words.

  “She feels a bit cooler now.”

  “Good. Can you get her to drink?”

  “She’s still asleep, really. Talking in her dreams.”

  “You should sleep, too. Have you finished that draft?”

  “Most of it.” She returned to the hearth, dropping to sit cross-legged and straight-backed. “I want to ask you something.”

  “Ask, then.”

  “You know what you said about a nice young man my own age; what you said about men and women, and how what they do need not be like it was with Dalach?”

  “Mm?” Faolan felt uneasy about this turn of the conversation, especially with three men lying out there by the fire. Still, he did not think any of them likely to know Gaelic. There was a manner of talk between himself and Eile that had grown up on their journey, a familiarity born of long days on the road and nights in whatever shelter they could find. It owed something to what they had shared back in Laigin.

  “If I asked you… if I asked you to show me, to prove to me that you were telling the truth, would you do it?”

  His jaw dropped. “What?” he blurted out before he had time to think. He was unable to school his expression. Eile’s eyes changed. Her lips pressed into a hard line.

  “Are you saying what I think you are?” He found words, knowing he must speak before she took his silence to mean something other than he intended. “That I should give you a practical demonstration to prove that all men are not like Dalach?”

  “More than that.” She was very serious; her voice quivered despite her evident efforts to control it. “I need you to show me he hasn’t ruined it for the future; to teach me how to… how to feel pleasure, not pain. Joy, not fear. If anyone can do that, it’s you.”

  “Me? A battle-scarred bodyguard with a faulty knee? A man who’s earned a reputation for being incapable of feeling? You must be crazy.”

  “The thing is,” Eile said very carefully, “you are the only person I can even half trust. I think you could help me not to be scared. Maybe. I mean,” she was turning the empty cup around and around in her hands, “what if this nice young man came along, and we played the game of courtship, and when it came to the point, the touch of his hands made me sick?”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation,” Faolan said. “What you suggest is… is…”

  “If you hate the idea so much, just forget I ever mentioned it.” Eile’s voice was tight; she would not meet his eyes. “Someone like you and a—and someone like me, of course it wouldn’t be acceptable, I must have been stupid to think you’d ever consider it.” She slumped her shoulders, staring into the fire.

  It seemed to Faolan that what was unspoken filled the little hut with a sadness that was almost palpable. He’d managed to hurt her badly. Try as he might, he could not think of the words to make it right again. “I’m too old,” he said. “Old enough to be your father. Well, maybe not quite, but too old anyway. And… Eile, do you want an honest answer?”

  “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I suppose it depends what it is.”

  He chose his words carefully. The confusion of feelings she had awoken in him made thi
s necessary. “I think I’ve got to know you reasonably well over our journey. Right now you’re sick and dispirited, worried about Saraid, doubtful about how you’ll cope in a new land with a new language. I’m certain you are not ready for an… experiment… such as you’ve suggested. Give yourself time.”

  She glanced up at him. “Aren’t I the one who knows if I’m ready or not?”

  Gods, this was like crossing a raging torrent on wobbly stepping stones. One error and the two of them would go under. “I’m sure of one thing. I’m the wrong man for the job. You’re asking me because I’m all you have for comparison. Much safer if you see me as your father’s friend, someone who’s helping you get to a place of safety and set your life to rights again. Anyway, I’ve given up this particular activity, I told you.”

  “You mean you’re incapable?”

  “Eile!” He lowered his voice, remembering the travelers by the fire. “No, of course not.”

  “So it’s just me that’s the stumbling block. The piece of rubbish. I bet you’d have done it with Ana if she’d asked you.”

  “Ana’s a lady. It would never occur to her to make such a request.” The words were out before he could stop them, and he saw her flinch. “Eile, I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

  “Don’t lie to me. It’s all over your face. She’s a lady, I’m a slut. Don’t pretend. You’re disgusted by the very idea.”

  “Eile, this is crazy.”

  “Oh, so I’m a slut and crazy. Forget I ever asked, Faolan. I’ll find some other fellow to practice on. I expect I’ll work out the right way to ask them if I try a few.”

  Suddenly he was angry. He swallowed the other emotion that welled up at the same time, something that felt like a kick in the guts. “If I didn’t know how much you hate to be touched,” he said, “I’d give you a good shaking for that.”

  “For what?” Her voice was harsh with furious hurt.

  “For that—that threat.”

  “Threat? What do you mean?”

  He made himself take a steady breath. “All right,” he said, trying to think like a father, calmly and capably. “First, I thought you promised not to use those terms for yourself: slut, rubbish. If you expect me to keep promises, you should do the same.”

  “I forgot.” Now she was sitting hunched on herself like an old woman, the challenge gone from her voice.

  “Don’t forget again.”

  Her head bowed lower.

  “Now I want another promise from you,” Faolan said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t ask anyone else what you just asked me.”

  Eile was silent, apparently giving this deep consideration. Then she said, “What gives you the right to stop me?”

  “Since you ask, there’s the éraic, among other things.”

  Another silence.

  “How am I going to find out unless someone shows me?” she asked eventually. “You just said you were helping me set my life to rights. This is part of that.”

  “It’s… it’s inappropriate, Eile. Your own introduction to such activities has been cruel and brutal. I understand that you may not… that perhaps you’re not aware…”

  “You already said I’m not a lady. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “The promise I want is that you’ll wait. That you’ll give this more time. That’s all.”

  “Wait how long? You mean until this nice young man makes an appearance?”

  “Wait, and talk to me again before you do anything about this. And promise me you won’t offer this… invitation… to anyone else in the meantime. You’d be putting yourself in danger.”

  “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? Why do you think I asked you and not one of those fellows out there? Because I know you won’t hurt me, that’s why.”

  In the silence that ensued, Faolan thought the beating of his own heart was loud enough to fill the space between the two of them; fierce enough to drown rational thought. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve failed your test. If you want to know what I felt when you asked me, it was… I was honored that you would trust me with something so important. And terrified.”

  “Why?” It was a whisper.

  “That I’d get it wrong. That I couldn’t give you what you needed. It’s too soon, Eile.”

  “You didn’t really think I’d go out and offer myself to any man who happened to be passing by, did you? Is that how little you think of me?”

  “I thought Dalach might have warped your judgment. That wouldn’t be so surprising. After all, you did tell me you believed all men must be like him.”

  She looked down at her hands. “I don’t think you would be,” she said. “But if you don’t want me…”

  Another cautious breath. “I didn’t say that.”

  “A man like Dalach would have seized the opportunity before we were one night out of Fiddler’s Crossing,” she said flatly.

  “I undertook to keep you safe, Eile. There will come a time when you’ll understand why I said no.”

  Eile lifted her head. The green eyes met his, searching, perplexed. “Honored,” she said. “Do you really mean that?”

  “That, and a confusion of other things,” said Faolan. “Now I’m going to lie down on my bed, and you’re going to lie down on yours, and we’re going to forget this ever happened.”

  “Huh!” said Eile quietly, getting up and moving to her usual spot beside Saraid. “How are we supposed to do that?”

  “Try to fix your mind on something else.”

  “You could sing a song,” she suggested.

  “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

  “Only half. I’d like to hear your voice some time. Saraid loves lullabies.”

  “I’ll teach you some words in the Priteni tongue instead.”

  “All right.”

  He heard the bracken rustling as she settled by the sleeping child, huddling under the blanket. She coughed, muffling the sound with her hand.

  “What do you want to learn?” Faolan asked.

  “Kindness,” she said. “Hope.”

  He translated them.

  “Strength,” Eile said. “Love.”

  Faolan cleared his throat, then gave her the words. “I’d be better to teach you, Which way is the settlement?, or May I have some more bread?” he said into a silence as deep and dark as the cold forest outside the hut.

  “I want these words now. They’re like—like—I don’t know how to say it. A powerful thing that keeps you safe. A special sort of gift.”

  “A talisman,” said Faolan.

  “Mm-hm. Kindness, hope, strength, love. Like magic. Magic to protect us.”

  “I wish you all those things, Eile.”

  “And I wish them for you.”

  “I’ve no trust in talismans; no belief in gods or in magic.” Briefly, he thought of Drustan, the man he had witnessed transforming into a creature with wings and talons and a breathtaking ability to fly. “I’ve found it much simpler to rely only on myself.”

  “That’s… sad.” Eile’s voice was a little remote as if, against the odds, she was already falling asleep. “So lonely. At least I’ve got Saraid. If I was all by myself, I don’t know how I could go on.”

  Faolan did not sleep for a long while. He lay by the fire working on his thoughts; making them comply with a more manageable pattern. He divided the immediate future into a set of tasks, a priority of missions. Ensure Eile and Saraid got well again. Escort them safely to Pitnochie. Ask Ana and Drustan to take responsibility from that point. After tonight it was better, surely, if Eile was with other folk; with a family and a household, not in this odd, push-and-pull arrangement with him. She expected something from him that he could not give. If she stayed with him, it was inevitable that he would disappoint her in one way or another. He would let her down as her father had done. She’d be far happier with Drustan and Ana. They would welcome her; she was Deord’s daughter.

  The next mission was White Hill and Bridei. A double wa
rning: Colmcille and Carnach. He would deliver his news, then ask the king to send him out in search of these plotters. No other man at court could perform that kind of covert surveillance quite as effectively as Faolan could. Besides, such a mission would take him away. When he got back they’d all be gone: Ana, Drustan, Eile as well…

  You’re a craven coward, a voice said inside him.

  “Shut up,” he muttered.

  On the pallet Saraid was asleep, and so was Eile, her long hair spread over the pillow like a river of dark flame. Out by the fire the Pitnochie men lay silent, rolled in their cloaks. There was nobody to hear him but the shadows.

  IT HAD NOT taken long for Breda of the Light Isles to set her stamp on the court at White Hill. She moved among the chieftains, the warriors, the councillors, and household retainers like an exotic pale butterfly with an attendant flock of plainer creatures. She dabbled in embroidery or music, she stroked a cat or admired a flower while seemingly unaware of the impact her presence made. Men could not take their eyes off her; she drew the gaze of all from the ancient scholar, Wid, to the twelve-year-old sons of visiting chieftains. Wid’s comments were wry and to the point: “Trouble, I see it in every hair on that creature’s head.” Younger admirers were dazzled and confused. Several well-connected older men made tentative enquiries of Keother as to whether his young cousin had received any formal offers of marriage. Some bolder individuals made it their mission to win Breda’s friendship.

  Uric and Bedo had been unable to think of much else since the first moment they clapped eyes on this shapely, golden-haired vision. They had decided their self-appointed task of entertaining small boys was sure to get in the way of their chances with Breda. For several days, therefore, they had been too busy to play with Derelei, Gilder, and Galen. Instead, they’d hung around the great hall listening to tedious harp music and trying to look as if they had some meaningful purpose there. Neither had managed more than a brief word before Breda’s eyes passed over him and on to someone more interesting. Finally their father had told them to stop mooning about and find themselves a useful occupation or he’d pack the two of them off home to Raven’s Well. Talorgen was testy right now; his sons put it down to annoyance at being moved to less spacious quarters to make room for the royal visitors.