The Dark Mirror (39 page)

“This is not a story about spells or about beauty” Broichan’s comment surprised Tuala; she had not expected his support in any form at all. “It concerns choices,”
the druid added.

“True,” Garvan said. “We need not learn if Ela was a goddess or a monster; the point is that Nechtan showed he valued her needs as equal to his own. With that, he won her trust at last. And, of course, that was what he needed and wanted most of all.”

“It’s very possible,” Tuala said, “that under the wrappings her body was
as fair and unblemished as her hands and her face, and
always had been. She set him a test and he passed it.”

“What learning is to be derived from this?” Broichan never forgot what he was.

Tuala drew a deep breath. “The learning is that the Shining One expects her daughters to have freedom in their choices. Remarkably, Nechtan came to an understanding of that, and was rewarded. I am her daughter as Ela was, and I need the same freedom in my own
choices. I sit here tonight and tell my story because it is expected of me; thus I show my gratitude for the hearth and home I have been given here. The weaving of tales is one thing; being sent away, being sold off once I become inconvenient is quite another.” Her voice shook; whether it was with anger or with sudden terror at what she had ventured, she herself could not tell. “I’ll bid you good
night now; I would not wish to disrupt your gathering further. May the Shining One light your dreams.” She turned to Garvan. “You gave good answers,” she said. This was only fair; he had surprised her with the depth of his understanding. A pity she had not the slightest wish to marry him.

“Good night, Tuala,” said Broichan. What he thought of it all, there was no telling.

SHE FOUGHT SLEEP
that night, knowing her dreams would bring again that dark vision, Bridei falling, dying, his dear features racked with unspeakable pain. She must trust Broichan to prevent it. He had seemed sure he could send warning in time. She must believe this was so. The images of the Dark Mirror could be changed when what they showed was still to come; a man or woman could act to forestall
them. It must be so, for they had been contradictory already, showing her one future in which Bridei wed a red-haired woman and sired a son, another in which his life of promise was cut cruelly short. Perhaps these visions spoke of a choice. Her choice. If he were to live, she must accept that he would move away from her. Was the goddess telling her she must let him go?

There were tears waiting
to fall, heavy behind her eyes. There was something else as well, the same something that had stirred within her the day she bid Bridei farewell. When he had touched her that day, his fingers gentle against her flesh, she had known, without really understanding, that what
was between them had changed forever. Tuala sat up in bed, hugging her arms tight around her knees in the darkness. Garvan
was a good man. He seemed kind, courteous, thoughtful. And she could not marry him. She had loved Bridei from the first, as a brother, a best friend, a wise companion, so familiar he had always seemed a part of herself. And now she loved him as a girl loves her sweetheart, as Nechtan loved Ela, with beating heart, with quickening of the blood, with anguish and tears and deepest joy in the knowing
of it. It was right, after all. She really had changed, and when she did so, her world had changed with her.

B
ROICHAN SENT FOR HER
next morning. Garvan was already gone; Tuala heard Mara telling Ferat that the stone carver’s precipitate departure was, without doubt, a response to the tale he had heard last night and the look on the face of the teller, “for you could see,” Mara said in a whisper, “that Otherworld glamour, the danger of it. I’d never have dreamed the lass had such a tale in her. You should’ve
seen the look in the men’s eyes. And here’s me thinking she’s as innocent as any maid of her years should be.”

However, when Tuala came to Broichan’s chamber and stood before him, hands clasped behind her back, heart thumping, it was not to receive a reprimand for driving her suitor away, nor a punishment for attempting to seduce the men at arms with her tale.

“Garvan asked to speak with you
privately.” Broichan stood in his customary spot, his back to the hearth. There was no fire today and the chamber was full of little eddying drafts. The druid’s tall frame was black-robed, his eyes fixed on Tuala, intent as a hawk’s. “I refused his request; it did not seem to me appropriate. Is it that you do not wish to marry him, or that you do not wish to wed at all?”

Tuala swallowed. “It
is too soon,” she managed. “I am not ready for marriage.”

“You are of marriageable years, Tuala,” Broichan said. “Other girls are most certainly handfasted at your age, and are often mothers within the year. Perhaps all that is required is more explanation, more reassurance . . . You could speak to Mara about this. On the other hand, the remarkable tale you chose to tell my guest last night does
suggest . . .” The druid’s manner was diffident now. His eyes had gone distant, as if the topic were somehow beneath him.

“I know what it means to share a man’s bed,” Tuala said bluntly. “One does not grow up on a farm without learning certain basic facts. My lord, I have no wish to wed Garvan or any other man. If that displeases you I regret it. You have given me a home here and I understand
I am in your debt. I know you didn’t want to take me in. I haven’t forgotten what you said, long ago, about my place here at Pitnochie depending entirely upon you. But I want to stay. I need to stay”
I need to be here when Bridei comes home
.

“You cannot stay,” Broichan said. “You are no longer welcome among my people. This change has occurred despite me. Now I myself am moving on, indeed I must
do so as soon as I can, for Bridei’s sake. And you must go.”

“Go where?” Tuala clenched her fists behind her back, trying to keep her voice calm. “Have you found another likely suitor?”

“I don’t need to. Garvan was concerned that you might misunderstand his reasons for leaving so soon. He explained to me before he rode off that his offer for you still stands, and that it is up to you to make
the decision in your own time: a year, two if you need them. He’s a remarkably generous man; generous to the point of folly, some might say. He asked me to tell you that he wants no dowry, nor has he promised anything in return for your hand; your talk of ‘selling off’ was unfounded. He wished you to know this.”

“I see.”

“That choice, therefore, remains open to you. It seemed to me, last night,
that there was a bond of sorts between you and Garvan, if only in your approach to the interpretation of tales.” Broichan regarded her, brows lifted; it seemed a comment was required.

“I don’t want to marry” Tuala felt cold all over. “I don’t want to be sent away.”

“In that, there is no choice. Whether or not you wish to consider the prospect of this marriage for some time in the future, I will
not leave you at Pitnochie. However, there is another option, one that has become more possible with the advent of a messenger from Raven’s Well this morning.”

“From Raven’s Well? What is the message? Is Bridei safe?”

“It did not concern Bridei,” Broichan said, “but we can assume from the lack of news in that regard that all is well with him. The messenger brought a request that Pitnochie provide
shelter for the lady Dreseida and her family for a night or two; they travel to Drust’s court, where they will remain until the time of conflict is past. The lady will be here as soon as the weather makes her journey practicable. I’ll be gone by the time her party arrives, but Mara will see to things.”

The lady Dreseida and her family. Fox Girl. And Broichan leaving for court in such a hurry
after so long away . . . He must really be worried about Bridei’s safety, not just in the battle and the aftermath her vision had shown, but afterward as well. Tuala waited for more.

“This would provide a highly suitable escort for you,” Broichan said. “It means we can, if necessary, follow the other path that is open to you. It was not my preferred way, and the tale you chose to tell last night
only strengthened my doubt as to whether it is a desirable course for you.”

“What path?”

“Long ago the wise woman, Fola, offered a place in her establishment at Banmerren for you when you reached a certain age. She wanted you to receive your early education here; what Erip and Wid could provide was far superior to the training offered to most girls of high family. You do not realize, perhaps,
how privileged you have been in that respect.”

“I know the debt I owe them.”

“Banmerren is on the north coast, around the bay from Caer Pridne,” Broichan said. “It’s a secluded establishment in keeping with the nature of the tuition. Whether a young woman of your origins can ever fulfill the sacred duties of a servant of the Shining One is for Fola and her fellow tutors to discover. Once accepted
there, you need not return to Pitnochie. And you need not marry, of course. That should please you.”

A confusion of feelings gripped Tuala. She had no words at all.

“I have not mentioned this before,” the druid said, “because I have doubts, serious doubts, as to the desirability of it. Fola is a friend whose wisdom I value. I fear, nonetheless, that you may be at risk of . . . exploitation.
Your skills and talents, coupled with your unusual education, will not win you friends in such an environment. And there’s a danger you carry with you: if your abilities are not guided wisely and strictly you could wreak havoc.”

Beneath the cold sense of impending loss, Tuala felt outrage. Words
came to her lips,
Then why didn’t you teach me? Who better to train me in the mysteries than a king’s
druid?
She bit them back. It was too late for this.

“Perhaps you were not aware of the impact of your tale last night,” Broichan said. “I think you lack awareness of many things, Tuala. To bring you into the mortal realm was less than wise.”

“Must I go away? Couldn’t I stay here and . . . ?” And what? Stay and get under Mara’s feet, stay and terrify every man at Pitnochie merely by existing?
A memory came to Tuala: a small, lonely girl confiding in a crone not much taller than herself, a child with a desperate hope in her voice.
I want an education, but he won’t let me
. It seemed Fola had made a very long bargain.

“In my judgment you would do better to wed Garvan,” Broichan told her. “His protection would ensure you of a home in which you were always welcome. His influence would
buy you respect and security. Elsewhere, I think it likely the same distrust and suspicion that now dog you at Pitnochie will continue to be present, wherever you go.”

“How soon will they come?” Tuala’s voice cracked. “Lady Dreseida and the others? When must I go?”

Broichan sighed. “When the weather clears they will set out,” he said. “It will be by boat, up the lakes, with men to bear the craft
where the waterways are not navigable. If this is your choice, you’d best see to getting your things organized without delay. Mara will know what’s required.”

“It does not seem very much like a choice,” Tuala said, the bitterness of it making her chest ache. “May I not even wait until summer?”

“It would be foolish not to avail yourself of Dreseida’s guards as escort. Her own daughter travels
to Fola’s establishment; as well as the training of priestesses, the women there also provide learning for the daughters of noble families. This is highly convenient. None of my own men can be spared to ride with you, nor would any of them be content to take on such a task. For myself, I will leave without delay, for my need to see Drust is now urgent. And I do not go by the paths of ordinary men.”