Heart's Blood

by Juliet Marillier

  Mella rises to her knees. She clutches her son around the waist, holding on grimly. “Let him go, Nechtan!”

  Nechtan’s grip tightens on the child’s shoulder. He eyes his wife with displeasure. Now she, too, is crying, ugly red eyes against skin pasty with fear.

  “Where were you going?” he inquires.

  “Away. Away from this cursed place! Nechtan, let Conan go!”

  She seems unaware of the things that are gathering around them, the rustling, shadowy beings that people the woods on either side of the track.

  “Answer me, Mella.Were you leaving me? Did you intend to quit your responsibility as lady of Whistling Tor without a backwards glance?”

  Her lips tighten. “I’m taking my son to my mother’s home in the north. That such a visit seems impossible to you is an indication of how much is wrong here.”

  “Ten days’ journey.With a single maidservant. On foot.”

  Silence from Mella.

  “This is no visit,” Nechtan says.“You’re leaving me.You have no intention of coming back. Confess it! Don’t lie to me!”

  His wife lifts her chin, foolishly defiant.“No woman in her right mind would come back to this foul place, or to such a husband. God knows, I’ve done my best to stand by you, to keep things going while you let loose an evil you had no idea how to control, while you left your people and your lands to fall into ruin and made your neighbors one by one into enemies. I won’t see my son’s future blighted as well.”

  “On one point you are correct,” he tells her, exerting considerable effort to make his tone cool.“You’ve outlived your usefulness here at Whistling Tor. Go, if that is your wish. I need no wife.” It’s been years since he took her to bed, and there are few servants left for her to manage. He’ll be glad to see the last of her dreary figure around the place. She can go to her mother’s and be done with it. He won’t set the host on her. He owes her something; she did give him his son.“As for Conan,” he adds, wanting to be quite sure she understands,“he’ll do perfectly well without you. It’s time I took a hand in his upbringing.”

  “No!” Mella breathes.While it’s clear she expected him to try to stop her, she has not seen this coming.“I’m not leaving him here with you! You are not fit to raise a child. Let him go!” Her arms are locked around the boy; she tries to drag him bodily from Nechtan’s grasp.

  “Take your hands off my son, you’re hurting him. He’s the future chieftain of Whistling Tor. He’s not going anywhere.” Nechtan wrenches the child from her, lifts him to his hip and steps back. “How could you travel so far with the boy anyway? Where would you lodge? Who would take you in?”

  There is a moment’s silence; then Mella says, “Today we go only as far as Silverlake.”

  He can’t have heard correctly. “What did you say? You cannot believe that Maenach—Maenach—would shelter you.”

  Mella gets to her feet.“I know he will. I’m not the one who is reviled and despised by all our neighbors, Nechtan. Maenach and Téide have offered refuge for me and my son any time we need it. We’re leaving now. Give Conan to me.”

  He sees it in a flash. His wife is part of the whole thing, the whole outrageous plot to undermine him, to turn his life to ashes and his dreams to darkest nightmares. Somehow she’s exchanged messages with accursed Maenach or that mealy-mouthed wife of his. His neighbor, not content with damning Nechtan’s name throughout all Connacht, intends to steal his only son.

  The fury rises in his heart, a red tide engulfing him. His arm clamps tight around Conan. He backs away, raising his free hand.

  “Conan!” Mella’s voice is wild now, the harsh call of a crow.

  “Mama!”The child starts to struggle. “I want Mama!”

  Nechtan sees only darkness, defiance, betrayal. He gestures, and in his mind he gives the order: Now. The host comes forth.

  To give her due credit, Mella faces them with courage, stepping away from Nechtan so that her son cannot be caught up in her punishment. She holds the boy’s gaze and mouths something to him, perhaps I love you. Be strong. The host moves in, rending, tearing, biting, consuming utterly.

  Nechtan uses his free hand to shield Conan’s eyes as he carries the boy up the hill. “You’ll be chieftain of Whistling Tor one day,” he murmurs to his son. “Believe me, you’ll endure far worse than this.You’ll learn how it feels to be alone. All, all alone.”

  A little creak from the garden door. I started violently, tearing my gaze from the mirror, where the hideous images were already fading to nothing. Anluan was standing very still just inside the doorway.

  “You’re using the mirror.” His tone was wounded, incredulous.“You’re using it without me.”

  I couldn’t stop shaking. “They killed her,” I whispered. “Nechtan’s wife, Mella. He made them kill her.When she tried to leave with Conan, he . . .” I put my head in my hands.

  Footsteps; Anluan came to stand beside me. A faint rustle as he drew the cloth back over the mirror.“I can’t believe you tried this on your own,” he said. “Why?”

  Hysterical laughter welled up in me and turned on an instant to tears. I could not answer. I felt him sit down on the bench beside me.A moment later his good arm came tentatively around my shoulders. In a heartbeat I turned, wrapped my arms around him and buried my head against his chest. I felt a shock run through him, but I was past caring. He lifted his weaker arm to complete the circle. The warmth of his embrace soaked into me, a powerful charm against the dark things. I could have held on forever.

  “You weren’t here,” I said. “But I wouldn’t have asked you anyway—you said yourself how dangerous it is for you to be close to Nechtan’s thoughts. Oh, God . . . Anluan, he tore Conan out of Mella’s arms. He ordered them to kill her.That little boy was no bigger than my ghost child, five years old at most.”

  “Shh,” said Anluan. His arms had tightened around me; his mouth was against my hair. “Shh, Caitrin.There’s no need to tell it now.”

  “I have to tell it, I have to say it. It wasn’t just what happened to Mella. I saw them, amongst the host, before they attacked her . . . Anluan, Eichri was there. Rioghan too. Our friends, our trusted friends.”The two of them had stood there with the rest, waiting for Nechtan to give the word, their faces impassive. Waiting to kill. It made a mockery of my hope for the future.

  “It was long ago, Caitrin. Nearly a hundred years. Didn’t you say they were obeying Nechtan’s order? If I ordered them to kill, they would do it. That is the nature of their bond with the chieftain of Whistling Tor.” His fingers were against my neck, under my hair, which had escaped its ribbon and was hanging down my back and over my shoulders. I could feel his heart thumping under my cheek. “They are not evil men. They are good men trapped by the curse.”

  I took a deep breath, then made myself draw back. I could feel how dangerous this embrace was, how wonderful and perilous. Despite my distress, I felt his touch all through my body. “I’ve missed you,” I said. “I needed to talk to you. I want to help you.”

  “I’ve been much occupied.” He too had withdrawn, edging along the bench away from me, but our hands were still clasped. He was avoiding my eyes. “Not good company. I didn’t want you drawn into this, Caitrin.You came here to do a skilled job, and you’ve done it well. I didn’t want you involved in this situation with the Normans.”

  “I am involved,” I said, fishing out my handkerchief and wiping my eyes. “It’s all the same thing, the host, the documents, the household at Whistling Tor, the Norman threat. I may only be hired for the summer, but I’ve made friends here, Anluan. I care about what happens. And . . . well, I suppose you can guess that I’ve been using the mirror in the hope it may lead me to a counterspell.”

  “Been using? You’ve done this more than once since that first day?”

  “Only one other time, and it didn’t help much. I’ve been through almost all the documents and I can’t find anything about the experiment itself. I’ll keep looking, of course. I promised the h
ost, and . . . Anluan, will you tell me what you’re planning to do? Can we talk about it?”

  He released my hand and got up, moving to stand by the window with his back to me.“A man isn’t supposed to admit to being afraid. I am afraid—afraid for my household, for my people, for all who dwell on the hill and in my wider territories.Afraid for you, Caitrin.There, I’ve said it. From the day you wrote that you wanted to help me, I’ve watched you try to do just that. I’ve seen how hard you work, and I’ve seen you look for the good in everyone, no matter what their flaws and weaknesses. Even in me. If I speak to you of my fear, I know you will not think ill of me.” He drew a deep breath. “I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have shut you out. But . . . you’d been hurt when you came here. I hoped the summer would allow you to heal, to become that person you said you’d lost.” He turned; what I saw on his face made my heart turn over.“I can’t let you be hurt again,”Anluan said.“I can’t be responsible for that. I thought, if I dealt with this crisis alone, perhaps . . . But I was wrong, I knew it from the moment I opened that door and saw you with Nechtan’s mirror. The look on your face filled me with . . . with feelings I have no names for. So yes, I will talk. But first I want to show you something.” He reached out a hand.“Will you come?”

  “Of course.Where?”

  “Not far.”

  He led me out through Irial’s garden and across the grounds to the south tower. I was shaky on my feet, the mirror vision still clinging close. I sensed the presence of the host, watching, waiting. I gripped Anluan’s hand tightly and tried to pretend that the ghostly presences of the hill were not all around us. If Rioghan had taken part in that act of slaughter, if Eichri had turned against a woman who wanted nothing for Whistling Tor but a return to peace and rightness, what hope had I that the whole host might change its nature?

  “I should never have come here,” I muttered as we reached the steps up to the tower door. At exactly the same time, Anluan said, “I should never have let you stay here.”

  We stopped walking. Our hands still clung.

  “I didn’t mean that,” I said.

  “This is no place for you.”

  But you are here, and I want to be with you.

  “I and my past are not fit company for anyone,” Anluan said, as if he had read my mind.

  “I don’t share your opinion,” I told him shakily. “You are my friend, Anluan. I have nothing but admiration for your strength and the way you have faced your difficulties.You know I wouldn’t lie to you.Your past is full of sorrow, yes, but perhaps it’s time to change that.” He had said something about change himself—that much changes in a hundred years. Perhaps what I had seen in the mirror did not negate my theory about the nature of the host, but reinforced it.

  “I didn’t like to see you using the mirror, Caitrin. Promise me you won’t do it alone again.”

  “I promise.” I did not ask for a promise in return, though I dearly wanted one. After this, after the delight of his tender words, the sheer bliss of his touch, I would find it unbearable if he closed himself off again.

  “This way,” Anluan said, and led me into the south tower. I hesitated on the threshold, realizing the outer door led straight into his sleeping quarters. In the world of Market Cross it was unthinkable for a young woman and an unrelated man to be alone in a private chamber together. There was a bed against the back wall, its covers neatly folded, and a table and bench to one side. The floor was of bare flagstones, swept clean. A tall, narrow window pierced the thick wall to let in light, and winding steps curved up to lose themselves above. I imagined a monk’s cell might look somewhat like this, though the assortment of garments flung untidily across the top of a storage chest would not have earned an abbot’s approval.A pile of bound books teetered on a corner of the table.The books were old, their covers stained from handling, their binding worn to fragility. I had seen them before.

  “Please, sit down.” Anluan released my hand and motioned to the bench, then went back to close the door.

  “Nechtan’s grimoires,” I whispered, sitting down before them. “You had them here all the time.”There was a pot of ink on the table, and a jar with quills. His little notebook lay beside them, its covers closed. An extinguished candle had dripped a complex cascade all down its iron holder. The chamber was cold. “Why didn’t you show me these before?”

  “I know you’re looking for a counterspell.” Anluan stood before me with his arms folded. There was a hardness, a determination in his stance now. “I know you believe I can banish the host if such a charm is found. These books—I’ve been aware of their existence for some time.This problem has taxed me since long before I made the decision to hire a scribe. I did not bring them into the light of day until you came to Whistling Tor and I saw that you truly intended to stay. You planted the seed of hope; you know I was afraid of that, afraid of accepting it, then finding it was a lie. I had grave doubts about delving into these books.” For the first time he hesitated.“I fear that opening my mind to Nechtan’s sorcery may awaken a part of me best left sleeping. Reading these seems as perilous as looking into the obsidian mirror. At the very touch of these pages, I hear a voice in my mind, a voice I believe is his.What if my spirit were turned to his will?”

  “You are strong enough to withstand that, Anluan.” I trembled as I spoke; I had felt the same malign presence as I gazed into the mirror.

  “Perhaps. In fact, I doubted from the first that the counterspell would be here. Nechtan had the grimoires at hand. If such a spell existed, wouldn’t he have used it? Conan knew Latin. Where Nechtan might perhaps have held back out of a belief that he could still gain full control of the host and employ it as a tool against his enemies, Conan most certainly would have banished the host if he’d had the means. He was no duplicate of his father.”

  “You say you brought them into the light of day . . . but I don’t understand why you’ve waited so long to show me. I could have been working on them all this time. I might have found something by now, something that would help us.” I swallowed, struggling for calm. “I mean, help you and everyone at Whistling Tor. I know that I am only—I mean—” It wasn’t possible to go on. In the silence that followed, I lifted the top book from the pile and placed it on the desk before me. A malign, grimacing face had been worked on the dark leather of the cover. I left the book closed.

  Anluan was looking down at the floor. A flush had appeared on his wan cheeks. “I don’t know how to say this,” he murmured. “I fear I will offend you.”

  “Say it, please.”

  “What made me bring the grimoires out in the first place also made me reluctant to share them.Your coming here has changed everything, Caitrin. You have opened my mind to possibilities beyond any I had dreamed of. So I fetched the books. I knew you could translate them, but . . . Caitrin, the idea of any action of mine causing you hurt is . . . it’s unbearable.You are . . . you’re like a beating heart. A glowing lamp. I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

  The words fell into my heart like drops of healing balm. My whole body warmed. Despite everything, I was filled with happiness.“Nor I you,” I whispered, clasping my hands together lest I do something foolish like jump up and throw my arms around him. His tall form was tense, his features grim; there was more to come.

  “I couldn’t expose you to these books.They are harmful. Nechtan left his descendants a dark legacy. The key to ending this may well lie in the use of sorcery. I can’t ask you to deal with that. The obsidian mirror dis tresses you; I saw the look on your face today.”

  “But—”

  “I do know a few words of Latin. My father had begun to teach me. I hoped my scant knowledge of the language would be sufficient for me to recognize the spell if it were within these covers. I’ve been working on the grimoires since Magnus brought back the bad news about Stephen de Courcy. I’ve worked long hours, as you have; your candle has burned late into the night. I’ve watched you growing thinner and paler, Caitrin, and it troubles me
deeply.”

  A silence.

  “But you haven’t found a counterspell,” I said eventually. “And nor have I. And we only have a few days left. Let me borrow these, Anluan. I can work on them in the library.”

  “You look exhausted. I have wondered if you should be here at all, with this new threat. If you’re harmed I will never forgive myself.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “I want to stay,” I said. The compulsion to reach out and touch him was more powerful with every breath. I wrapped my arms around myself.“Please let me work on these books. I gave an undertaking to the host. Maybe that was foolish. Maybe I overreached myself. But I want to do the best I can.”

  “I don’t understand why you would want to stay. I have nothing to offer you, Caitrin. Nothing but shadows and secrets.”

  “That isn’t true,Anluan.” My voice was not quite steady.“You’ve given me a home, and friendship, and work that I love.You’ve given me . . .” You’ve made me look outside myself. You’ve taught me that I can be strong. You’ve . . . “You’ve given me more than you know,” I said. “Let me help. Please.”

  He drew a deep breath and released it, then moved to sit on the edge of the bed.“You understand, I imagine, where my dilemma lies,” he said.“I have no skills whatever as a leader of fighting men. I have no experience in councils and strategies. If I defy the Normans I risk not only your safety, but also that of Magnus, oldest and most stalwart of friends, and Olcan, who should stand outside all this. I risk all who dwell on the hill. Yes, I include the host—it came to me, that day when you offered them your apology, that they are as much my people as the folk of the settlements are. I may not hold them dear, but I am responsible for their wellbeing. A two-edged sword, since they present the immediate risk, but may also prove the long-term solution if this comes to war.To go ahead with this will require a great deal of faith. It will require the quality you taught me, Caitrin.” He gave his lopsided smile, twisting my heart. “The quality of persistent hope, hope against the odds. Magnus believes it’s time to make a stand. Rioghan agrees that we should act. In their opinion, we must do so or perish. And yet . . .Caitrin, there’s no trusting the host. One cannot disregard so many years of violence, so many acts of barbarism here on the hill. Nechtan’s shadow still hangs heavy over this place.”