Son of the Shadows (38 page)

to go away from the forest and live in Tirconnell, but she had gone. My sister had not been given
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the luxury of a choice.

We settled in. Niamh overcame her lethargy for long enough to protest about sharing a bedchamber with me, although she had in fact done so for sixteen years without so much as a murmur of complaint. Aisling was not swayed; everything was organized, she said, and there was no suitable chamber available, except her own of course, which Niamh was welcome to share.

Niamh looked at me, waiting for me to suggest I would gladly share with Aisling and allow her to be alone. I said nothing. So Niamh fell silent again, frowning and twisting her fingers together.

"Maybe an Ui Neill is too grand for the likes of me," I said, trying to smile without much success as we went up the stairs to our quarters. The room was spacious though dark, its single, narrow window slit looking down into the courtyard. There were two plain bed frames made up with snowy linen and dark, woollen blankets. There was a table with a jug of water and a bowl and soft cloths. Everything was immaculately tidy and scrupulously clean. I had noticed green-clad guards at the foot of the stairs and in the upper hallway.

"You might like to wash and then rest until supper time," suggested Aisling, who was hovering behind us.

"I told them to leave warm water for you. I'm sorry about the guards. Eamonn insisted."

I thanked her, and she was away again. Sean was still down in the courtyard, deep in discussion with one of our own men. He would not be staying long, for in Liam's absence he was responsible for

Sevenwaters and must return home to fulfill his duties there. My father could have handled it quite capably; but although folk liked and trusted the Big Man, they did not entirely forget that he was a Briton, and so he could never step into Liam's shoes even if he had a mind to. In a way that was a waste, for if ever a man was cut out to be a leader, it was Hugh of Harrowfield. Still, he had chosen his own path.

Once the door was closed, I stripped off my outer garments and removed my boots. I poured a little water into the bowl and splashed face, arms, and hands, glad to remove some of the dust and sweat of the journey. I rummaged through my bags for comb and mirror.

"Your turn," I said, as I sat down on the bed and began to tackle my wind-tangled curls. But my sister had done no more than take off her riding boots. She lay down on her bed fully dressed and closed her eyes.

"You should at least wash your face," I said, "and let me comb out your hair for you. And you'll sleep more comfortably if you take that gown off. Niamh?"

"Sleep?" she said flatly, not opening her eyes. "Who said anything about sleep?"

My hair was a disaster. I'd be lucky to get all the knots out by supper-time. I tugged the bone comb through, strand by strand, starting with the ends and working painfully back to the roots.

There was indeed something to be said for shaven heads, if one must live out of doors. Niamh lay on her back unmoving, breathing slowly, but she was not asleep. Her knuckles were tight, her body tense.

"Why don't you tell me?" I said quietly. "I'm your sister, Niamh. I can see something's wrong, something worse than just—than just being married and going away. It could help to talk about it."

All she did was move a little farther away from me. I went on combing my hair. Sounds drifted in from the courtyard, the movement of horses, men calling, an axe falling on wood, crack, crack. A terrible suspicion was forming in my mind, one I could scarce give credence to. I could not ask her. I closed my eyes, sitting there, and imagined I was my sister, lying quiet in the dim, stone room. I felt the softness of the blanket beneath me, the weariness of my body from riding, the heavy bundle of bright hair around my

head under the concealing veil. I let myself drift in the quietness of the room. I became my sister.I felt how alone I was, now that I was no longer fart of Sevenwaters, now that my mother
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and father and my uncles, and even my sister and brother, had thrown me away like a piece of rubbish. I was worthless. Why else had Ciaran, who said he would love me forever, gone away and left me?

What Fionn said was right

—

I was a complete disappointment, with no skills as a wife and no aptitude as a lover.

Unaccommodating with guests, he said. Incompetent around the house.

Unimaginative in bed, despite all his efforts to teach me. Altogether a failure. Just as well I was who I was, or there would have been no point to it at all. At least, my husband said, there was the alliance. I felt the aches and fains all over me, the hurt that made it so hard to ride, the damage I

must be careful not to show or it would get worse, all of it. I must not let them see how I had failed, even at this. If I let nothing show, then somehow it made the bad things less real. If I let nothing out, then I might hold myself together just a little longer.

I wrenched myself back, feeling sweat break out all over my body. My heart was racing. Niamh lay there unmoving. She was quite unaware that I had seen into her thoughts. I was shaking with outrage. A pox on my Uncle Finbar! I would rather never have known I could do this; I would gladly give this gift back to whoever had bestowed it upon me and be endowed with a practical skill instead, such as the ability to catch fish or to add up numbers in my head. Not this, not the art of reading people's inner thoughts, not the understanding of their secret pain. Nobody should be given such a perilous gift.

After a while I admitted I was being unfair to my uncle. He had been wise to warn me. Besides, this was not the first time. What about that night when Bran had shivered and gripped my arm so tight he came close to breaking it, and I had heard a child cry out not to be left on his own? I had shared his pain as well and tried to help him. Even after his rejection of me, still I lit my candle, still I kept my vigil in times of darkness and carried his image in my thoughts. If I had the gift to see those wounds inside, hidden deep, then with it I must have the capacity to heal. The two went together; that much both Mother and Finbar had told me. I would give much never to know the rest of what Niamh had in her head behind that empty, closed expression; my imagination conjured up images that made me shudder. But I must know if I were to help her.

Tread slowly. Tread light as a wren that makes barely a rustle in the leaves of the hazel thicket.

Tread softly, I told myself, or she will shatter in pieces, and it will be too late. There was time; a moon, maybe, until Fionn returned with Eamonn, and Niamh must leave us again. That was long enough for—for what?

I could not imagine, but something. I would find out the truth first, and then I would make a plan. But not so fast that I tipped my sister over the edge. So when she excused herself straight after supper and fled back upstairs, I gave her some time to be alone. There was only so much a person could take when stretched as thin as she was. The weight of it hung heavily on me, and my thoughts were far away when

Sean spoke to me. Aisling had gone out to the kitchens, and my brother and I sat alone over our ale at some distance from the men and women of the household.

"I'm leaving in the morning, Liadan," Sean said quietly. "Liadan?"

"Sorry. I wasn't listening."

"Mmm. They say women get like that when they're breeding. Fuzzy in the head. Not quite all there." It was the first time he had mentioned the subject, and his tone was light, though his eyes were questioning.

"You'll be an uncle," I told him severely. "Uncle Sean. Sounds old, doesn't it?"

He grinned, then was suddenly serious. "I'm not happy about the whole thing. I think I deserve the truth.

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But I'm under orders not to question you, and I won't. Liadan, I'm riding north tomorrow. I'm not going home, not yet. I'm telling you because I know you'll keep it to yourself. And somebody needs to know where I've gone just in case I don't come back."

"North?" I asked flatly. "Where north?"

"I'm going to present a man with a proposition and hear what he has to say. I should think you can fill in the rest of the story."

"Uh-huh," I said, feeling myself turn cold. "That's not a very good idea, Sean. It's a big risk to take when the answer must be no."

Sean's eyes were fixed very directly on mine. "You seem quite sure about the answer. How can you know such a thing?"

"You're in danger if you go," I said bluntly.

Sean scratched his head. "A warrior is always in danger."

"Send someone else if you are determined to contact this man. It is foolhardy to go yourself and alone."

"From what I've heard, this may be the only way to find him. To walk straight into the dragon's lair, so to speak."

I shivered. "Your journey will be wasted. He will say no. You'll find out that I am right."

"A mercenary only says no when the price is not high enough, Liadan. I know how to bargain. I want the

Islands back. This man can win them for me."

I shook my head. "This is no mere transaction, no simple purchase of services. It is quite different. There is death and loss in this, Sean. I've seen it."

"Maybe. Maybe not. At least let me put my theory to the test. And, Liadan, this is secret, that goes without saying. Even Aisling believes I'm traveling home. Keep it so, unless . . . you know."

"Sean—" I hesitated, not sure how much I might say.

"What?" Sean frowned.

"I will keep this to myself of course. And I must ask—I must ask that if you find the man you seek, you will speak to him only of your proposition and not of... other things."

Now he was really scowling, his eyes fierce.

Please, Sean. I am your sister. Please. And do not

—

jump to conclusions

.

He looked as if he'd like to pick me up and shake the truth out of me. But Aisling was returning and he gave a reluctant nod.

I can't help jumping to conclusions, but I think they cannot be correct. They are altogether too outrageous

.

The next day Sean was gone, and I said nothing, but I feared for him, knowing he sought out the Painted

Man and his band to buy their services. After Bran's repudiation of all I held dear, my mother and father, my very name, I could not believe he would give Sean a hearing. More likely my brother would walk into some sort of trap. Likelier still, he would simply never be able to find them. Wherever he went, they would always be one step ahead. Besides, hadn't the men in green said Bran was far away over the sea?

My vision had shown him in some distant place under strange trees. Probably they were all gone, Gull, Snake, Spider, all the motley band of warriors. If so, that was good. That meant, at least, that my brother would come home safe, if disappointed.

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Meanwhile there was Niamh. I did not know how to tell her what I had seen in her thoughts, but as it happened there was no need, for the truth came out in a few days, despite her efforts to conceal it. It was not long before dusk, and I was restless, finding the closed environment of Sidhe Dubh oppressive, longing already for open air and trees and water. I had left Niamh to her own devices and gone up to the heavily guarded walkway around the circular fortress wall, high above marshes and settlements, high enough so that if you looked eastward you could glimpse the edge of the forest of Sevenwaters, a gray-blue shadow in the distance. Slowly I made my way right around, pausing here and there to look out through the narrow gaps in the stonework, mere slits formed so that an arrow might be shot without the archer being exposed to a returning shaft. I was not tall enough to see over the parapet; it was designed to protect a man standing, and I am small, even for a woman. The guard posts, set high with steps leading up, and themselves well fortified, gave a vista all around. I charmed my way into the northern one and was allowed to step up and look. The man in charge rumbled about Lord Eamonn and what the rules were, and I smiled sweetly and said how brave they all must be, and what a risky job they did, and how I was sure Eamonn wouldn't mind them showing me the view just this once. But if they were worried, well, I wouldn't tell him if they didn't either. The three guards grinned and set about educating me on what was what.

"Look up northward, my lady. It's not so very far to those hills, dry land, that is, with some cover. But you can't go straight across, too treacherous. Sucking bog, you see. Nightmare stuff."

"Means you have to go all the way around," said the second man. "Back the way you came in, east to the crossroads, then north again and double back. Adds half a day, moving on foot, till you get to the pass.

Of course, there is a way straight across, a quick way."

The first man gave a mirthless chuckle. "It's quick all right. Quick to drag you under if you set a foot wrong. Wouldn't catch me trying that way. Not if my life depended on it."

The third guard was somewhat younger, not much more than a lad, and he spoke diffidently.

"Go out there at night, and you'll hear the call of the banshee across the boglands—fair curdles your innards—foretelling another death. Another soul the dark one set her cold hand on."

"But there is a quick way across?" I asked, staring out over what appeared to be a continuous stretch of marshland all the way to the distant line of low hills in the north.

"Uh-huh. Quick and secret. Lord Eamonn uses it, and some of the men. There're only a handful know it.

Step by step, single file, have to remember every part of it, two to the left, one to the right, and so on. Or you're gone."

"Was this the sort of place where that mercenary, you know the one, they call him the Painted Man . . .?"

"Where he set upon our men and slaughtered them like quarry in a hunt? Not this place, my lady, but another much like it. How he learned the way, the Morrigan only knows. A curse on the murdering scum."

"We got one of them, at least," said the first man. "Got one of the butchers later on. Spilled his guts for him."

"Me, I won't be satisfied until they're all dead and buried," said the other. "Only burial's too good for them. Especially the one they call the chief. Black-hearted, that man is, evil through and through. Tell you