The Well of Shades

by Juliet Marillier

  “What?”

  “That story, the house on the hill; is that how it was when you were a little girl of Saraid’s age?”

  “That’s how I remember it.”

  “Poor Deord,” murmured Faolan.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “If that’s what he had, and after Breakstone he came back and he couldn’t be part of it anymore… What a terrible decision, to walk away before he destroyed it.” Deord’s heart would surely have broken. No wonder he had never spoken of his wife and child later, in all the long years at Briar Wood.

  “He destroyed it anyway.” Eile’s voice was cold. “Without him it could never be whole again. Who do you think was going to be strong enough to keep it together? Not my mother. She loved him as if he were the sun and the moon and the stars, and he turned his back on her. Not me. I was only eight years old when he left. I bet Dalach had his eye on me even then.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken of this.”

  After a little she said, “It’s all right. It’s part of what we share now, you and me. Good things and bad things. I liked what you said before, Faolan. When you called me real. Maybe what that means is that I’ve got bad bits as well as good bits. Weaknesses and strengths. It might be why we seem to suit each other. You’re very real. I knew that when you told me my father was dead, even though you so much didn’t want to. I knew it when you didn’t even consider turning me in to the authorities; when you burned my clothes and told lies for me. I know it tonight because you were jealous, and because you sang a song, and because…” Her voice drifted away.

  Faolan had thought he would not sleep. His leg ached, there were little drafts coming in under the door, and his mind and body were stirred by restless anticipation, heightened by the presence of Eile lying there in her nightrobe, almost close enough to touch. But sleep claimed him quickly and thoroughly, and he awoke to find dawn light streaming in the narrow window, and Saraid sitting up in bed regarding him owlishly. He realized that, as far as he could recall, he had slept the whole night without a single dream.

  (from Brother Suibne’s Account)

  Our leader being somewhat weary from the miraculous act of healing that God, in His grace, worked through him, he agreed reluctantly to stay one night in a small settlement on the shore of this long, lonely waterway the Priteni call Serpent Lake. The place had a simple jetty and one or two huts; a little farther up the hill was a more substantial dwelling (in this account, all must be taken as relative) and there we were afforded space to sleep. Colm they lodged in the house; the rest of us shared the straw with a sow and a clutch of piglets. The forest nearby, our host informed us, provided generous fruits for porcine browsing. We took his word for it.

  Colm finds it difficult to admit to weakness. God’s flame burns so brightly in him, it drives him on despite his human limitations. At such times as these it seems to me that fire comes close to consuming the man who bears it. Perhaps that is God’s will. Far be it from me to gainsay the Lord’s intention for His servant. Even after that night, Colm was worn and pale. We persuaded him, after much debate, that we should remain in that place a second night, then set sail for the upper margin of the lake and the king’s stronghold of White Hill.

  The second day, after our morning devotions, we enjoyed the quiet of the place. The man had taken his pigs into the forest. The day was fair, with a westerly breeze, and three or four small boats were out on the lake fishing with nets. I sat on the jetty with two of my brethren, a peaceful sensation deep within me, a wonderment at the beauty of God’s creation. I thought of King Bridei, whom we would soon encounter. I had met him briefly at the time of his victory over our people in Dalriada. Earlier, when he first became king of Fortriu, I had known him better and admired him greatly. I wondered how much kingship would have changed him. He had ever been strong in his faith, misguided as its tenets are. Perhaps he would close his gates to us, pack us off back to our home shore.

  A shout from across the water; I and my brethren stared in horror as a strange wave arose, rocking one of the small boats violently while the others, farther away, remained still. The man on board the affected craft could be seen tugging at his net; his screams were full of terror. I felt my gut clench tight. We saw something swimming around his boat, something so huge we gaped and blinked and muttered prayers, our hands moving in the sign of the cross. “God in heaven,” muttered Brother Éibhear. “Can it be…” whispered Brother Lomán, who had gone ashen white. “Fetch Colm,” I said, not knowing what else might be done, for the thing—a monstrous snake, a dragon, a serpent—had coiled itself around the craft and looked fit to crush it to splinters. The fisherman clung to the mast, mouth stretched wide in terror, but not a sound issued forth now, such was the degree of his fear. The lake was calm, save for that one spot where the water roiled around the scaly monster. It was an uncanny sight.

  Then Brother Colm was by my side, tall, grave and calm. With his eyes fixed on the dreadful scene before us, he stretched out his arms so that his body was like a cross, and uttered these words: “God’s peace on these waters and on all who ply them. In His name I banish all evil demons, all mischievous creatures, all devilish whirlpools, waves, and currents from this place. Lord, spare Thy servants from the wrath of monster and serpent. We are obedient to Thy will.”

  As we held our breath, the heaving waters subsided and the creature submerged itself once more. One last flip of its tail, iridescent blue-green in the morning light, and it was gone. With that final, defiant salute, the serpent capsized the boat and the occupant was thrown into the lake.

  He yelled for help. We could see him thrashing about in the water. The ability to swim is rare, even among fishermen, and he was already frightened out of his wits. The other sailors could be seen to begin maneuvering their craft closer; it was clear the man would be drowned before they could reach him.

  Brother Éibhear stripped off his habit and dived in. I should record here that these waters are particularly cold, even in summer. The lake is chill, dark, and deep year around. I had wondered at the iron amulets I saw around the necks of returning fishermen the previous night; now I understood their purpose. Such superstitions abound among our own people at home. Iron offers protection against what they see as Otherworldly forces. It had not kept the serpent from this hapless fellow.

  We prayed; the fisherman splashed and flailed and shouted; Brother Éibhear swam.

  “God will not let this poor soul go,” declared Colm. “His net will catch the man and gather him safely home.”

  It was so. The net, in the form of our stalwart Éibhear, reached the drowning man just in time and, not without some difficulty, for the fellow was beside himself with terror, towed him safely to shore. His boat was gone, reduced to a few scraps of timber floating in peaceful waters, but his life was saved by the grace of God and the intervention of His servant Colmcille.

  “That was brave,” I said to Éibhear, who stood shivering on the shore, dripping wet from tonsured head to sandaled feet. “What if the thing had come back? You saved that man’s life.”

  “Not me,” said Éibhear, glancing at Colm. “If I hadn’t known his prayers would keep me safe I’d never have dived in. No serpent has the strength to stand up to him. He’s like a mouthpiece of God Himself.”

  As I helped him get dry and dressed while others tended to the half-drowned fisherman, I pondered this. If a great serpent could not prevail against our leader, I wondered if a heathen king might do so. Tomorrow we head for White Hill, and there, I suppose, I will find out.

  SUIBNE, MONK OF DERRY

  GARTH HAD BEEN looking for him, early as it was. Faolan narrowly avoided being seen coming up a flight of steps close by Eile’s quarters. By the exercise of certain skills he managed to meet his fellow bodyguard in a neutral spot near the upper courtyard.

  “Faolan! Where have you been? The king wants to see you.”

  “Now?”

  “Now, yes. He’s in the stable yard.
I won’t ask where you spent the night. You’d best go and see him right away. I think there’s a job for you.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for not asking.” They had worked together a long time and understood each other well.

  “Any time,” said Garth.

  In the stable yard Faolan found the king with Talorgen’s two sons and a pair of saddled horses. Ban was sniffing about, anticipating an outing. Bridei came over to speak with Faolan outside the young men’s earshot. The mission was a surprise: ride out with Uric on some kind of search, take the dog, try to find an unspecified object which the boys seemed to think vitally important. Bedo could not go; he had his arm in a sling. It was plain from the scowls on both young men’s faces that they resented Bridei’s decision to send his bodyguard with Uric.

  “Will you do it?” Bridei asked after his sketchy outline of the job.

  “If I can get up on a horse with this leg, then yes.” It was something to do; a useful distraction to get him away from White Hill and out of Eile’s way until tonight.

  Bridei frowned. “I didn’t forget your injury. I wouldn’t have asked this of you if I hadn’t needed your particular skills on the job. Talorgen needs this settled. You’ve heard about the ill-fated hunt by now, I assume, on which a young woman was killed?”

  “Garth told me, yes.”

  “This is related to that. It was in the same accident that young Bedo broke his arm. The boys have been conducting this search for many days. This is their last chance; I’ve made that clear. Uric!” He raised his voice. “Faolan has agreed to ride out with you. He’s not a watchdog; I’m sending him to help you. There’s the added advantage that Ban knows him well and will obey his commands. You’re to be back before sunset.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Uric’s voice was truculent, but he swung into the saddle with style.

  “As for you, Bedo,” the king said, “I imagine your stepmother will be worrying about you.”

  “I’m not a child, my lord king.” The young mouth was set tight, the skin pale in the morning light.

  Bridei sighed. “I know that all too well. I see your compulsion to solve this puzzle, believe me; I know your feelings are those of a man. But your father is my friend, and he’s concerned about you. Sometimes it can be best to let go. To move on.”

  Bedo gave a curt nod, turned his back and left. Whatever that signified, it was certainly not agreement.

  Faolan managed to mount the spare horse without assistance, though not without cost. His leg was protesting at requirements that had, not long ago, been everyday. When he got back he’d have to get some advice on it. “Well, then,” he said brightly to the stony-faced Uric, “we’d best be on our way. Where exactly is it we’re going?”

  BREDA HAD FOUND the perfect place. Bridei’s stronghold was well maintained, with a substantial number of folk to keep everything in working order. One would constantly come across people mending thatch or oiling hinges or fixing pumps; not much was forgotten or neglected, nor was there any wasting of space. But she’d found what she needed in a corner down a narrow way below the quarters Keother’s party occupied. Exploring one day when she was terminally bored, she’d seen the door and expected a dungeon or torture chamber or other exciting discovery. The place was shut up with a heavy chain through a hole in the door and around a post. The fastening had been moved around to the inside, safe from prying fingers.

  Breda had small hands; she was often complimented on their daintiness. It had been a simple matter to ease the thing open and slip inside, then loop the chain loosely shut behind her. A narrow chamber lay within, lit dimly through a low opening at the foot of the outer wall, a space hardly large enough for a cat to use. Perhaps that was why the gap had not been blocked up; no invader was going to get in here unless he stood only knee high. In the chamber was a well. A dry well; Breda had tested it with an amber bead she had in her pouch, from a broken necklace she intended to ask one of her handmaids to restring. She’d heard it land, after a little, not with a splash but with a minuscule thud. She understood why the narrow space had been chained shut. The well rim was low, barely two handspans off the ground, and the place was so dim it would be all too easy to fall in. Especially for a child. Children were easy to lure, even peculiar ones like what’s-his-name.

  The idea took form in her mind. Any little story would do it, a lost kitten, a treasure accidentally let drop… Would this be deep enough? She crouched to peer down, but it was too dark to see. It was perhaps three or four times a tall man’s height. A fall might achieve a fair bit of damage. Would he make a noise? Maybe that wouldn’t matter. This was quite an isolated corner of White Hill. It seemed to Breda that, with the heavy door closed and chained again, the cries of a little child were unlikely to penetrate far. Of course, the fall might actually… No, she wouldn’t think of that or she might lose her nerve. This wasn’t about the boy, it was about Eile. If Eile let this happen, she didn’t deserve her position of trust. That was simple truth.

  The opportunity came earlier than Breda had expected. The day after Faolan returned to White Hill, Eile was out and about with the two children, Saraid and the boy. She wasn’t staying in her usual haunt, the queen’s garden, with Dovran hanging about, but wandering around all over the place. They seemed to be playing a kind of game, with the children hunting and making a collection of things, a feather, a white pebble, a dead moth. Disgusting. Breda watched them surreptitiously as they made progress around the general garden, the small upper courtyard, the steps down to the passageway by Eile’s own quarters. Own quarters: that in itself was an irritant. Why was it the little Gael and her offspring got housed in the chambers once allocated to Breda’s own sister, a woman of the royal line of the Light Isles? Eile should be in the kitchens scrubbing pots and pans. She should be in the stables forking dung. No, she should be gone. The Gael should not be here at all.

  “Eile!” Breda stepped out from behind a pillar, greeting the three of them with an exclamation of surprised delight. “How good to see you! I was hoping you’d forgiven me for being so churlish the other day. I was disappointed, I confess, but not so much that I couldn’t understand your reasons for saying no. You look different today. You seem… happy.” And it had better be your boring Faolan who’s put that look in your eye, because if it’s Dovran, believe me, wretch, it’ll be short-lived.

  “It’s a fine day,” Eile said. “That’s enough to make me happy. I’m glad I’m forgiven.”

  “Why don’t you bring the little ones along to my quarters for a visit? It would help pass the time. I have some sweetmeats.” She saw the look in Saraid’s eye; food always worked.

  “Oh, well, we were on a kind of expedition,” Eile said. The other child hung back, trying to hide in the shadows. Too bad, thought Breda, if he did not care for her. The feeling was entirely mutual.

  “That sounds serious. Explorers need sustenance. Why don’t we pack the sweetmeats up in a cloth and take them to eat out of doors somewhere? Come on!” Breda held out a hand to Saraid; the little girl took it—she was a lot more trusting than the other one—and they headed off for Breda’s quarters.

  It was not easy to collect what she needed and get out without a bevy of girls in attendance. All the handmaids wanted to make a fuss of Saraid, who did look sweet in her rose-colored gown. They gave her a ribbon to put on her hideous scrap of a doll and another for her own hair. It was Eile who got them out, saying Derelei was becoming tired and they should be thinking of going back.

  The next part would need careful timing. How would she snatch a moment on her own with the boy, who clung so close to Eile, right by her skirts? Or could she actually do it with Eile present, and make it look like an accident? Even if Eile saw, who was going to believe her over Breda? Hearing the account of it, the king and queen must recognize instantly how flawed their judgment had been to entrust their son to a virtual stranger, and a Gael at that.

  “Oh, don’t go yet,” she said as sweetly as she could. “We haven’t had our t
reat. Bring the bundle, Saraid. I have something very interesting to show you. A secret place. I only just found it myself. Come and see; it’s down here.”

  “I don’t think—” Eile began, but Saraid trotted ahead at Breda’s side and, short of grabbing her daughter and pulling her back, there wasn’t much she could do.

  Breda unfastened the chain, eased open the heavy door, and went in, Saraid beside her. “Careful,” she warned; if the little girl fell first, there would be no way of making this work. “Come, sit down here, Saraid. You can unwrap the sweetmeats if you like.”

  “Breda.” Eile’s voice was sharp; she stood in the doorway, eyes still adjusting to the dim light within the narrow space between inner and outer walls. “This doesn’t look a very safe place—come, Saraid, Derelei—”

  The weird little boy was beside her. Now he would wander across, curious, and Breda would give one quick, sharp push, and…

  Derelei moved so fast none of them had time to stop him. He was across the chamber and out through the tiny space at the foot of the wall before Breda could suck in a startled breath. Out. Outside the wall, by himself.

  “Derelei!” shouted Eile, flinging herself across the chamber and down to peer through the little gap. “Derry, come back! Oh, gods… Saraid, come here, quick! I can’t see him at all, can you see where he went? Breda, we have to fetch help!”

  Saraid crouched down by her mother, looking out to the sloping hillside, the deep shade under the thickly clustered pines that cloaked White Hill below the fortress walls. “Derry’s gone,” she pronounced.

  “Don’t fuss,” Breda said, her heart racing with excitement. The plan had changed. The new one in her head was even more thrilling. “He’s little; he can’t have gone far. You can go up and fetch Dovran, can’t you? Send him out and the queen need never know—”

  “Don’t be stupid!” Eile jumped to her feet. “Of course I must—”

  Breda lifted her hand with the bunched-up chain in it and struck the Gael on the temple, hard. Eile had obliged her by standing in the perfect position. Her green eyes went wide with shock and she crumpled neatly into the well.