Dreamer's Pool (45 page)

‘How did it all happen, that day?’ I ask. ‘Wondered sometimes if there were, well,
things
in the wood, fey or the like. Wouldn’t mind hearing the story. Only if you want to tell it, of course. Why don’t you take a break, and I’ll do this next part?’

Eoin’s happy enough to sit on the wall and watch me working. And bit by bit the story comes out. How they had a choice of ways to Winterfalls, and Lady Flidais wanted to go through the wood because of something in a letter. How she bade them stop when they came to the pool; how she seemed entranced by it, saying it was so beautiful it was like a poem all in itself.

‘Then she said she’d like to bathe, and who was going in with her? The other ladies didn’t want to, but Ciar was always up for a challenge. Lady Flidais told us to get down and rest the horses a while, and turn our backs while she and Ciar had their swim. So we did, and there was some splashing and laughing, and then Deirdre screamed, and Nuala yelled out, “I can’t see them! They’ve gone under!” and when I turned around, there was nothing out there but some ripples. Got my cloak off, bent down to pull off my boots. When I stood up, there was Lady Flidais, swimming back, and there was the dog scrambling out on the other side. But no sign at all of Ciar.’

You know those times when you come out of a tunnel or a cave or a dark place, and suddenly there’s daylight and a view like you’ve never seen in your life before? This was like that. Sent my head into a real spin. Had to work hard not to let out an oath. ‘A dog went swimming too?’

‘Lady Flidais’s terrier, Bramble, you know the one. Wouldn’t be parted from her. Like a shadow. Back then, anyway.’

‘What happened next?’

‘I went in, being the strongest swimmer out of the escort. Ciar was under the water, couldn’t see her at all. Found her quite quick, though, dragged her out, laid her down on the shore. Domnall tried to squeeze out the water, get her breathing again, but no. Mistress Blackthorn came not long after that, had a look, said it was too late. Never seen anyone drown so fast.’

I’m full of wanting to rush back to Winterfalls and tell Blackthorn. This is the answer. That little dog, that scrap of a thing that sits on Prince Oran’s knee and toddles around after his aunt, it’s . . . Danu have mercy. All this time. Starts all kinds of questions in my mind, too many questions.

‘Sad story, Eoin,’ I say, putting my back into digging. ‘But you couldn’t have done any more for her.’

‘Weighs on me a bit,’ Eoin says. ‘Lovely girl, Ciar, a bit wild, not the sort you’d take home to meet your mother, but full of life. Too young to die.’

‘So you brought her back to Winterfalls, and she was buried there.’

‘Prince Oran arranged that. Ritual, prayers and so on. All of us were there to see her buried. All of us but Lady Flidais. Feeling poorly; a big shock.’

A big shock. Well, it would be. How would it feel, finding yourself in someone else’s body? I try to imagine myself as Donagan, or as the prince. Morrigan’s britches! Doesn’t bear thinking about. Worse than that, she’d be seeing her own body put in the grave. Enough to turn anyone a bit odd. I know one thing. If it was me I’d tell the truth, even if folk thought I was crazy.

We get the work done, then have some food and drink, and when the fellows need to go back to Winterfalls I pack up and go with them. Forget sleep for today; I’ve got to see Blackthorn. Hoping she can think of a plan. Seems impossible to me. Why would Flidais – Ciar, I suppose she is – agree to take another swim in Dreamer’s Pool, when the weather’s cold enough to freeze a man’s bollocks off, and she knows Blackthorn’s suspicious, not to mention the prince? Can’t see Oran forcing her to go over there and throwing her in. And even if he does, what happens if it doesn’t work? Charges of murder, that’s what. But Blackthorn’s clever. She’ll find a way.

37

~ORAN~

B
ramble. Flidais.
I stared at Blackthorn, wordless. I saw on her face that she expected me to challenge the theory, to argue that such things simply weren’t possible. To tell her that although I’d suspected strangeness of some kind, this went beyond belief.

‘I knew it,’ I said when I had found my voice again. ‘I knew she wasn’t gone, I knew she was still here somewhere.’ I wanted to run out right away and find Bramble, to hold her close, to keep her safe until . . . What Blackthorn proposed was both wonderful and terrifying. I could barely bring myself to consider it.

‘It’s only a theory at this point,’ the wise woman said. We were in my council chamber, she and I, with the door closed behind us. Grim had been half-asleep when they came to find me; she’d sent him off to rest. ‘Acting on it would be extremely risky. If we were wrong, there could be most unfortunate consequences.’

I was shivering from head to toe, so full of feelings I thought I would burst apart. What if Flidais had retained her human understanding, what if she had understood every single thing I had said to her? ‘When can we do this?’ I asked, and my voice shook like a terrified child’s.

‘
If
we do it,’ Blackthorn said, ‘it must be done with great care. It must be carried out exactly to my instructions. You don’t dabble with magic carelessly, even if you’re a prince. And you need to be fully aware of what this could mean for everyone concerned.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

‘First, then, you must make peace with the lady. Be kinder to her; make believe you’ve accepted that she’s having a few difficulties, and that you’ve realised you should stop being so critical and help her through them. Don’t thaw too suddenly, though, or she’ll be suspicious. A smile here, a kind word there, no snubs or reprimands. Can you do that?’

My cheeks were hot with embarrassment. ‘I’ll do my best. Better than before.’

‘Good. Now I have a question for you, and you may not like it.’

‘Go on.’

She hesitated. ‘My lord, you and your betrothed – you have lain together already, yes?’

Now my face must be red as a strawberry. ‘Why would you ask that?’

‘Because Lady Flidais told me you had. And because the plan will not work if she is still untouched.’

‘We . . . well, yes, but . . . not since my aunt came to Winterfalls. You are not suggesting . . . ?’

‘That you do so again? Indeed not,’ Blackthorn said. ‘What you must do is convince her that should a good opportunity arise, you would not be averse to lying with her once more before you are hand-fasted.’

‘I don’t know if I . . .’ Shame overwhelmed me. How much had Flidais – the woman who was not really Flidais – told her? And who exactly had shared my bed on those nights of tangled passion? The beautiful, tantalising body had been that of my sweetheart; the fierce and determined person within had been Ciar. Gods, if only I could erase that time!

‘You must,’ Blackthorn said. ‘If you want Flidais back, you must do exactly as I say. Including this, difficult as it may be. Convince her, between now and the evening of your council, that you’ve realised you’ve been unfair to her. That you’ve judged her too harshly. That you still love and desire her, and that you’re eagerly awaiting the hand-fasting. I don’t care how you do it, but be subtle and be convincing.’

‘Very well. I will do my best.’

‘And one more thing,’ says Blackthorn. ‘She doesn’t know the story about the man and the pig. She doesn’t know this has happened before, or how the spell was undone. She has no reason to suspect Bramble was part of it. And she mustn’t find out. So you should treat Bramble just as you did before, my lord.’

‘I understand. The evening of the council, you said? We cannot do this any earlier? That would leave no time for a second attempt; we would be leaving for Cahercorcan the next day.’

‘It should be at full moon. A time of magic and mystery, tides and changes. There will only be one chance.’

‘How can I persuade her to go to Dreamer’s Wood? What if she refuses? I do not wish to have her conveyed there by force.’

‘You can leave that part of it to me,’ said Blackthorn. ‘Just be advised that, at some point between now and the council, the lady will put an unlikely suggestion to you. When she does, make sure you say yes.’

‘I see.’ That was a lie; I did not see at all, but I understood this was my only hope.

‘Take Donagan into your confidence,’ Blackthorn said. ‘Grim says he can be trusted, and Grim is a good judge of men. Tell him as much of the truth as you think he can stomach. In particular, make sure that when you do ride out to Dreamer’s Wood, the escort you take is Donagan and nobody else.’

‘Donagan is leaving my service after the council.’

‘You might prevail upon him to stay for one more night, my lord,’ said Blackthorn. ‘I wager he’ll have changed his mind by the morning.’

38

~BLACKTHORN~

I
fed her the idea piece by piece. A sudden revelation, straight after I’d told her there was no sure way to conceive a boy, would surely have had her suspecting a trap. So, while I went to talk to her and Mhairi every evening, what I told them was that I was studying the lore, going over all the charms and spells I knew of, and speaking to the old folk of the district, one by one, in case there was something useful that I didn’t know. I hoped to have an answer for her soon. Soon.

She was impatient, just like the prince. I guessed that she feared discovery before they were wed, and knew that if she could say she was with child, or might be, Oran would feel obliged to stand by her even if the strange truth came out. As for what would happen to her if my plan succeeded, I shrank from it even as I knew that we must do this for Flidais’s sake. To pretend we did not know what Ciar had done, to let her continue as Flidais, marry the future king and condemn the real Flidais to remain in her current form would be a coward’s way forward. Besides, now that I had told the prince, there would be no doing that. I’d agreed to help Oran, and Oran wanted his true Flidais back. He’d hardly hesitated before he said yes to my proposal. He was a man of some intelligence; he must realise what it could mean for him, for all of us, if this went wrong. High stakes. My instincts, and Grim’s, had better be right.

I tried not to feel sorry for wretched Ciar, who had found herself in a terrifying situation and had lied to get through it. The first lie, that she was Flidais, I could almost understand, though I hoped that if it had happened to me, I would have been braver. But the later lie, about Oran abusing her – that I found unforgivable. So many women were hurt by men and found themselves powerless to make it stop. So many had no voice. Ciar had used me. She had heard me speak strongly at the council, when Branoc’s case came up, and she had found the key to turning me against the prince, so that I would cease spying. She must have believed I was close to finding out her perilous secret. I despised her for that lie. That did not stop my belly from churning at the thought of what lay ahead. I would add this to the burden of guilt I already carried.

Waiting until full moon to do it meant enduring more days of pretence, more days of anxiety. But full moon would best fit the story. And it would give Oran time to soften his attitude toward her. Besides, we had to wait until a few days, at least, after her moon-bleeding ended. So I went out every morning, in what I hoped was a convincing pretence of seeking answers, and I came back to tell her I’d heard a whisper of a story, something that might possibly work, only I needed to talk to one more old woman, or perhaps two more, and they lived in a valley a long walk to the west . . .

Often I went no further than Dreamer’s Wood. Often I spent the morning helping Grim with the last touches on the house, or warming water on the new hearth to make a brew, or planning a tidier way to store my materials when we moved back in. The way the work was going, we’d be doing so around the time Oran and his bride rode off to Cahercorcan for their wedding. If they did. If this happened. If all of us were not charged with assault or murder or using dark magic for evil ends.

One morning I went right into the wood, taking Grim with me. Dreamer’s Pool lay quiet under the leafless trees. Pale mist wreathed the leaden water; no birds sang. The air was chill enough to freeze your bones.

‘Feels like the place is holding its breath,’ said Grim, who sometimes surprised me with his words.

‘Mm. As if we’re being watched. Never mind that. We need to walk through this; make sure we’ve got it all worked out.’ At the eastern end of the pool lay the level stretch of shore where Eoin had pulled Ciar out of the water. If the tale of the boar was true, that would be the spot where the animal had plunged in after the lump of cheese. It was surely also the place where Flidais and Ciar – and, I assumed, Bramble – had waded in to swim.

I imagined Grim and myself trying to drag a screaming woman into that uninviting water; trying to immerse her without ourselves risking a transformation. Impossible, even supposing Donagan and the prince were prepared to help. And what about Mhairi? Flidais was hardly likely to ride out here without an attendant. ‘We won’t be able to lead her in,’ I said. ‘She’ll have to be pushed.’

‘Up there,’ Grim said, pointing. ‘See where the bank rises along that side? Deep water below, I’d be guessing.’

Morrigan’s curse! I couldn’t think of a less appealing spot. ‘She’d have to be mad to agree,’ I said.

‘Been up there once before,’ said Grim. ‘Come and take a look. Might be all right.’

We climbed around the bank, followed the rise, clambered with difficulty between the young birches and through the tangle of undergrowth. Up on this side, it was hard to get a clear view more than two strides ahead even by daylight. I muttered a prayer, thinking that what we were planning was likely to disturb whatever spirits dwelled in the place, and that they were surely dark and devious ones. A spider goddess, maybe, or something that liked to pop out unexpectedly, cackling. Gathering herbs in Dreamer’s Wood was all very well; I always did so with respect, offering the right words, taking only what I needed. But this felt perilous.

‘See?’ said Grim as we came out of the thicket, and there it was, sudden and surprising amid the tangle of growth: a patch of greensward, level and soft, surrounded by sheltering ferns, and just enough room for two people to lie down comfortably together.

‘This has been here all the time?’ How had I not found it before
? Conmael,
you meddler
, I thought, but did not say it.

‘Mm-hm. Good spot to sit and think. That’s if the strangeness doesn’t get to you. Careful!’

It was a sharp warning. I halted and looked down. At one end of the sward, the ferns masked a sudden drop to the waters of Dreamer’s Pool. In this spot, the bank stood more than the height of two men above the surface, and it was sheer. There would be no easy scrambling out. The place might have been created just for our purpose. ‘Danu save us,’ I muttered. ‘But what about getting up here? It’ll be dark.’

‘Path,’ Grim said. ‘Over there. Come in that way, saves the scramble through the trees.’

‘You might have mentioned that before I got all these scratches.’ My heart was pounding, and not only from the climb. ‘I don’t know what scares me more: the thought that it won’t work, or the thought that it will.’

‘Just one thing,’ said Grim. ‘What if it rains that night? She won’t be wanting to come out here if it’s soaking wet.’

‘It won’t rain.’

He gave me a straight look. ‘Conmael?’

‘If Conmael chooses to help, that’s his business. I’m not asking him for any favours. I’ll make sure the rain holds off.’ I’d been able to do it, long ago; natural magic, the kind that lets you use what is already present, the power of earth, air, fire and water, to help you in times of need. Small tricks, maybe, but deep ones. Whether I could summon that skill again was yet to be seen. I might need to have a word with the spider goddess, or the hole-dwelling surprise spirit, or the shade of Holly, if she lingered close by. I would need all the help I could get to make this work. Only not Conmael’s. I was in enough debt to that supercilious know-it-all already.

‘If you say so,’ said Grim with perfect confidence.

I let five days go by before I told Flidais the story. I judged that still left long enough for her to pluck up her courage and put the proposition to Oran, and for him to make a convincing show of reluctance before agreeing to it. That evening I tapped on her door after supper, and Mhairi let me in.

Flidais was examining two gowns laid out on the bed. One was deep violet blue, with a lilac over-tunic trimmed with fur. The other was pine green with a yellow tunic elaborately embroidered in leaves and flowers.

‘For your hand-fasting, Lady Flidais?’ I could not have been less interested. But I’d been practising saying the right things, using the right tone.

She straightened, turning to face me. ‘Do you have anything for me? Any news yet?’

‘As it happens, I do, my lady. I met some of the travelling folk – you’ll have heard that they’re camped near Silverlake at present. There’s a very old woman among them, whom I was asked to tend to. And it turned out she’d known the wise woman who once lived in my cottage, Holly, her name was.’ The lie would be more convincing if I kept it as close as possible to the truth. Flidais was not going to visit the travellers to check my story. She was not going to ask anyone about it; the matter was far too personal, and she had too much to lose. Besides, we had only a few days left.

‘And?’

‘She told me a story everyone else has forgotten. A strange bit of lore, to do with Dreamer’s Pool.’

Flidais shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘That place! I don’t even want to think about it.’

‘You might need to, my lady.’ I tried for a kindly tone. ‘Because the story I heard was that if a woman wants to be sure of conceiving a boy, she should lie with her lover at Dreamer’s Pool under a full moon. The crone said folk knew about it in Holly’s day, and so many of the local women put it into practice that it could be hard to find a private spot in the wood, especially on the full moon nights of summer. But Holly’s dead and gone. She’s forgotten by most folk in these parts, and it seems this wisdom died with her.’ Flidais was staring at me, utterly silent. One thing was plain: this had caught her attention completely. ‘Of course,’ I added, not wishing to seem too enthusiastic, ‘this is hardly the best time of year for it. If you wanted to try, it would be wiser to wait until spring.’

‘Sounds like an old wives’ tale,’ said Mhairi. ‘Are you sure you’re not making this up, Mistress Blackthorn?’

‘Why would she do that?’ Flidais, at least, was captured by the idea. And Flidais was the one who mattered. ‘Mistress Blackthorn, do you mean it has to be by night? In the dark? What if it’s cloudy and the moon can’t be seen? What if it’s raining?’

‘I would take it to mean you should do it at a time when the moon can be seen in the night sky, my lady. Clouds – I do not think they would make a difference, provided the position of the veiled moon could be judged. As for rain, I have been in Dreamer’s Wood in wet weather. The trees provide quite good shelter, even at this time of year. You would certainly need to wear a woollen cloak and take a warm blanket to lie on.’

‘I cannot believe you’re considering this, my lady,’ Mhairi said. ‘What if you catch your death of cold, just before the hand-fasting?’

‘It’s not up to you to decide!’ Flidais snapped. She must be strung tight indeed to lose her temper with her trusted maidservant. What had these two been before the transformation – fellow servants or close friends? Mhairi could not be ignorant of the full truth, surely. She must be Ciar’s accomplice in the deception.

‘Of course,’ I went on, ‘if you delayed this until after you returned from the hand-fasting, it would spare you from having to lie with the prince again for a little longer. I do not imagine Prince Oran is in such a rush to father a son that you need do this now, before you leave for Cahercorcan. The weather is indeed inclement.’

‘Exactly,’ said Mhairi. ‘It’s a foolish idea. Besides, how could you possibly convince Prince Oran to go along with it? Full moon – that’s the day of his council. It’s the day before we ride off to court.’

‘I’m doing it,’ Flidais said. ‘And you’ll support me, Mhairi, if you know what’s good for you. I will persuade him. He’s been a little kinder, these last few days. And of course he wants a son. His whole family are hoping for that. Lady Sochla hints about it all the time.’

Mhairi had gone white. A threat, that had been. Stay on my side or . . . what? You’ll lose your favoured position, or be packed off back to Cloud Hill? If Mhairi did know the truth, Flidais was foolish to threaten her. Should she choose to tell, Mhairi had the power to create utter chaos.

‘Flidais,’ said Mhairi, not even bothering with
my lady
, ‘if you do this,
everyone will know
.’

The words hung in silence for a moment, frightening in their implications.

‘Know what?’ asked Flidais in a shaky voice.

‘That you and the prince have lain together,’ said Mhairi. ‘That you’ve anticipated your wedding night. That’s no way to start a marriage to the king’s son.’

I breathed again. ‘Maybe not,’ I said, ‘but there’s a way of doing this and keeping it quiet. May I tell you?’

‘Of course. Mhairi, fetch the mead. Bring a cup for Mistress Blackthorn. And let us all sit down.’

We sat. Mhairi, now tight-lipped and silent, poured mead for the three of us.

‘Now tell us,’ said Flidais, ‘how can this be done?’

I set it out for her. First she must work on the prince in private, telling him the tale about Dreamer’s Pool, playing the part of a starry-eyed young bride desperate to give her new husband a boy. She must persuade him to try this at the next full moon, which was the night before they were to leave for court. She must ensure they took only one attendant each: Mhairi for her, Donagan for him. Yes, it might seem odd to the household that they would ride out at dusk. But we could invent a story to explain it. Prince Oran was known for his interest in the natural world, the fields and woods and lakes of the district and the wild creatures that lived there. Perhaps he might want to show his betrothed a white owl he’d glimpsed in the wood, or simply share with her the beauty of the landscape under the full moon. Or I, in my role as wise woman, might offer a special full moon blessing for the happy couple. The explanation would only be needed if someone happened to ask. Donagan could make the practical arrangements, such as having horses ready.

‘I imagine,’ I said, ‘from what you have told me about his behaviour, that the prince will be eager to avail himself of this opportunity. It will be hard for you to go through with this, my lady, after what he did to you. I understand that, and I salute your courage. Keep your thoughts on what you will gain from it, and say a word to the ancient guardians of Dreamer’s Wood, who provide the magic that makes such things possible.’ Gods, if my old mentor could hear me she would be horrified. This was a travesty of a wise woman’s counsel.