Heart's Blood (34 page)

Anluan watched me as I finished preparing the drink.“Raising a child well,” he mused after a while. “You mean Magnus?”

“I was thinking of him, yes. He did a good job with you, against quite extreme odds. At least, that’s how it seems to me. And my parents raised me and Maraid well, first the two of them together, and later Father on his own. I was luckier than you. I didn’t lose him until I was already grown.” I felt my throat close up, reluctant to let the words out. I heard the familiar trembling in my voice, but this time I was determined to say it. “He collapsed in the workroom one morning. By the time I went down to join him, he was lying on the floor dead. He hadn’t even been ill. After that, I . . . I was not myself for some time.”

“Come, sit by me.”

It was easy, then, to move to the bench beside him; natural to sit close enough so that from time to time, not quite accidentally, his thigh touched mine. We sat thus awhile, watching the steam rise from the two cups and listening to the sounds from outside: Eichri arguing amicably with one of his brethren, Rioghan issuing orders, Fianchu barking.

“About hope,” Anluan said.“There is no point in hoping for what can never be.”

“That’s true. But sometimes we do that anyway. I know about impossible hope, Anluan. After Father died, I prayed that time would go backwards. I prayed that I would wake up and find that it had all been a bad dream. I longed for him to be alive again and the others gone.”

“Others?”

“Cillian and his mother.They came to take charge of everything when Father died. Ita—Cillian’s mother—told everyone I was out of my wits. Perhaps it was true. It was a mad kind of grief, it took up every part of me. I wanted the whole world to go away. If I could have crawled into a shell and hidden for the rest of my life, that’s what I would have done.”

Anluan reached out to lay his fingers against my wrist for a moment. It was the most tentative of caresses, and yet my pulse raced at his touch.“But you are the bravest person I’ve ever met, Caitrin,” he said.

“I wasn’t brave then. I had to make myself face up to my fears. The hardest step was the first: deciding to run away from Market Cross. The most frightening thing was not my father’s death, not Cillian and Ita, but the . . .”

“Tell me,” Anluan said.

I took a deep breath. “It was me, the way I shrank down after it happened, the way I lost myself . . . Like falling deep into a well.” I had dreamed of that, over and over: the yawning hole, the clutching hands, the long, long way down . . .“I started believing what they said about me, that I was useless, hopeless, crazy . . . I even believed that when Cillian beat me, it was because I deserved it . . . If people say those things often enough, it starts to feel true.”

“You’re shivering,” Anluan said.

“I’m all right.”

“Tell me, what was it made you decide to run away? What made you brave enough to take that step after so long?”

“I got up one morning and looked out my window, and I heard a lark singing. I picked up the little doll my sister had made for me, and I looked at the treasures I had kept from my mother and father, and I found a very small spark of courage. I knew my parents were looking down on me. I didn’t want them to be ashamed of me.” I brushed away tears. “They taught us to stand up for ourselves, Maraid and me. For a while I forgot that.”

“Where was your sister when you were lost in this grief, Caitrin?” Anluan’s tone was level.

“Gone. She went away with her sweetheart, Shea. He’s a traveling musician.”

“She left you on your own.”

“Don’t judge Maraid,” I snapped, though he was only echoing my own thoughts on the matter.“She loves Shea. And she did offer to take me with her, but they had no money; it was going to be hard enough for them without me to support as well. Besides, Ita said she’d look after me, see that I got the attention of a physician and so on.”

Anluan turned a quizzical look on me, but said nothing.

“I don’t suppose you can understand,” I added miserably. “I was not myself. I was a . . . a husk, a shell. A thing beset by shadows and fears. Father and I . . . He trained me in my craft. We worked side by side, every day. And then, with no warning at all, he was gone. Gone forever. It was as if the center of my world had collapsed. When Ita and Cillian came, I had no strength to stand up to them. Ita was right, in a way. For a while, I was mad.”

“Where did your sister go with her musician?”

“North. I can’t remember the name of the place. His band moves around.They play in the halls of noblemen as well as performing for village dances and weddings.There was no place for me in that kind of life.” Gods, I was crying again. “I’m sorry, I had no intention of burdening you with this now. I wanted to help you prepare for your council, not talk about my difficulties.”

“Ah,” said Anluan, reaching up as if to wipe away my tears. He drew his fingers back before they touched my face.“But you have helped.You’ve demonstrated, again, how to practice courage in small steps. Have you forgotten that I challenged you to speak of this before and that you could not bring yourself to do it? So you have taken a step, and tonight I will take one. I have a favor to ask you, Caitrin.”

“What favor?”

“I want you to stay with me until it’s time. I am afraid that if you are not here I will fall back into the old way of thinking. I am so accustomed to that. It’s almost as if an inner voice tells me, over and over, that there is no point in trying, that the patterns of the past must inevitably repeat themselves, that because I am not a . . . a real man, I cannot do what is needed here.”

“You are a real man, Anluan.”

“A real man can be a warrior. He can ride out at the head of his troop. He can wield sword or spear in defense of his own. He can summon folk to support him; he can care for those in his responsibility. A real man has a proper home, a calling, a family . . . He can . . .”

What had brought about this sudden waning of confidence? It was as if the voice of despair itself had been whispering in his ear.

“My father was not a warrior, Anluan. He was a real man who loved his family and was dedicated to his craft. Maraid’s husband, Shea, would hardly know one end of a sword from the other. My sister loves him; she trusts him to look after her. He, too, is a real man, a man with a calling. It’s not any particular ability that makes you a man, it’s what is inside.” I laid my hand over his heart.“You are a leader,” I told him.“You are a good person. You are the chieftain of Whistling Tor and you’re going to change things for the better. If you speak from the heart tonight, these folk will follow you to the death. I know it.”

“To the death,” echoed Anluan, putting his hand over mine. “It seems likely that is exactly where I will take them. I fear for those who are dear to me, Caitrin. I fear for all my people.”

W
e waited in the courtyard as the light faded to the half-dusk of summer and the moon slipped out from a veil of cloud, turning the leaves to silver and setting a shimmer on the still water of the pond. The torches were lit. The table stood ready, a rich blue cloth spread across it: candles burning in a pair of ancient iron holders shaped like leaping salmon. Rioghan had unearthed these and the rod that lay beside them, fashioned of dark wood with bands of inlaid bronze. “To keep order,” he’d explained. “If things get unruly I’ll rap it on the table a couple of times.”

For a while, it seemed there would be nobody here but ourselves: Anluan, pale in the moonlight, with Rioghan next to him; Eichri stationed a few paces to his left with the monk who had been helping earlier; Olcan and Fianchu to the right. Anluan had asked me to stand beside him, but I had said no, for that did not seem at all fitting. Instead, I stood on the steps behind him with Magnus, and Muirne came out to join us. I greeted her, trying to conceal my surprise. She made no response.

Time passed. Cathaír came out from the trees, taking a place on the very edge of the circle, half in shadow. He seemed unable to stand still, but constantly shifted his balance, folding and unfolding his arms, looking back over his shoulder. I wished I had thought to offer him a clean shirt in place of his bloodstained garment, but perhaps wearing that remnant of some long-ago battle was part of the curse; perhaps it symbolized his unfinished business in the world of the living.

“Two,” remarked Rioghan, looking from Cathaír to the ghostly monk by Eichri’s side. “Well, it is early yet.”

“They won’t come.” Muirne’s voice was a murmur, but in the quiet of the courtyard it carried clearly. I could have hit her.

“Of course they’ll come,” I said. “I’ll lay a wager on it. Any takers?”

“Don’t be silly, Caitrin.” Muirne’s voice registered irritation, but I had made the men of the household smile.

“None of us is prepared to take you on,” Eichri said.“Of course they’ll come.They know what’s riding on this.”

“Give ’em time,” said Magnus. “This is new to everyone.” He had come back from the settlement just before supper. None of the villagers had been prepared to accompany him up the hill, but Tomas and the others had expressed a keen interest in the results of our council.They wanted Magnus to return in the morning with news.Tomas had suggested sending a message to Brión, chieftain of Whiteshore, to keep him abreast of things. Someone else had remembered a cache of old weaponry hidden somewhere down near the river. The thought that there might be a real possibility of mounting a defense against the Normans had sparked something new in the frightened inhabitants of the settlement. Magnus had counseled caution; they must wait for Anluan’s decision, he’d told them. They had sent him back up the hill with three loaves of freshly baked bread and a crock of honey, but none of us had been able to eat. That bounty, along with my pie, still lay untouched on the kitchen table.

It grew colder. The moon edged higher. Owls cried; creatures rustled in the bushes.

“There is no point in this,” said Muirne.

“We will wait until they are ready.” Anluan sounded quietly confident. It seemed he had conquered his earlier doubts. “All night, if need be.”

Muirne said no more. In the hush that followed, I could hear Eichri whistling between his teeth.

A little cough from Rioghan. Muirne tensed beside me.

“Here we go,” muttered Magnus.

Cathaír had been told to specify the number: no more than ten representatives from the host, exclusive of those who lived within the house. They manifested one by one beneath the trees, then moved up to take their places around the circle. Gearróg would not come; he had remained on guard outside my chamber, content to let Cathaír speak for him. But there were other warriors here: a tall man with a pike; an old, bearded one bearing a bow and quiver; a man with one leg, hobbling on a crutch, with a fearsome array of knives at his belt. His battered leather helm and breastplate and the great slashing scar across his face marked him as a combat veteran.With Cathaír, that made four; with the monk, five.

“Welcome,” Anluan said quietly. None of them spoke, but they acknowledged the greeting with a nod, a jerk of the head, a fist raised in soldierly respect.

A woman came next, her garb a hooded robe, her gray hair in long plaits. On her brow was tattooed a crescent moon.A wise woman, I guessed, perhaps a priestess of an older faith. She hesitated just beyond the circle of torches. Behind her was a younger woman with glittering ornaments around her neck and her hair artfully dressed, the kind of woman to whom men’s eyes must go instantly, though this one looked somehow faded, as if the brightness that had been hers in life had slowly leached away over the long years on the Tor, leaving a pale copy of her former self. A third stood by them, a personage of middle years clad in the practical homespun garments of a hardworking village wife. None seemed prepared to step into the circle.

“They are afraid, lady.” It was Cathaír who spoke.

Anluan turned to me. “Caitrin, will you bid them welcome?” As if I were the lady of the house. As if I were his wife.

I did not look at Muirne, but her voice was in my mind:
You are not one of the women of Whistling Tor.
“Come forward into the circle, please,” I called, smiling at the three. “Lord Anluan welcomes you all.”

They moved forward in silence to stand together, a little apart from the warriors.That made eight.

For a while, nothing stirred save the flames of the torches, turned to fiery war banners by the night breeze.

“Are there more?” asked Rioghan eventually, looking at Cathaír.

As if in answer another figure came forth from the trees, one who dwarfed even Magnus. His arms were muscular, his chest formidable. His skin was marked by many scars, not combat injuries, I judged, but burns. He was the kind of man whose features are handsome only to his mother. His physical presence, however, would be sure to prevent anyone from telling him this.

“Donn the smith, my lord.”The giant gave the very slightest of bows, and Anluan returned the courtesy gravely.“Representing the working men of the Tor.”

“I welcome you, Donn.We may have need of your expertise.”

“Likely you will, my lord.” The smith moved into position alongside Eichri and the other monk, and now there were nine.

“Our number is complete, my lord,” said Cathaír.

Rioghan frowned at him. “Only nine?”

As one, the representatives of the host turned their eyes towards a particular place in the circle, a place that seemed deliberately left vacant, the warriors to one side of it, the women, the smith and the clerics to the other.

“We are ten, my lord,” said the gray-haired woman. “We leave this place for one whom we love and respect; one who, like us, died with unease in his heart.We cannot see or hear him, but we sense his presence. He is not of the host. He watches over the Tor.”

My skin prickled. I heard Muirne hiss softly beside me, as if this frightened her where none of the rest of it had the power to do so. Magnus muttered something under his breath.