The Dark Mirror (84 page)

“Now, Tuala!” the voices screamed. “Now, now! Fly!”

She couldn’t move. Frozen here in place, with the night wind tearing at her cloak and her feet slipping on the rocks and the cat’s claws piercing her chilblained hands, Tuala recognized the truth. She could feel this; the pain, the sorrow, the fear of falling, the terror of the unknown. She could feel it, and the other side of it, the hearth fire, the feasts of oaten bread and crisp apples, the
old men’s wry laughter, and Bridei . . . Bridei’s smile . . . Bridei’s touch . . . Bridei’s kiss . . . Tuala’s grip tightened, hugging the soft, warm body of the cat against her chest. She loved those things. The pain, the fear, the wisdom, the joy were part of her, part of being alive. Part of being human. Whatever she was, wherever she had come from, surely it was in this world she belonged, not
the other.

“Come now, Tuala!” called Gossamer, and Tuala thought she could discern, on the very margin of her vision, a glimpse of unearthly brightness, a flash of brilliant color; she could hear snatches of a wondrous music, a song such as one might ache to hear again, such solace it brought to the weary heart. She thought there was a sweet smell in the air, like every kind of
spring flower
mixed into one and borne on the balmiest breeze that ever crossed over the meadows of the Glen. All good things lay just beyond that margin . . . How foolish to throw it away, just because . . . just because . . .

“Come, Tuala.” Woodbine’s lower tone, gentle, beguiling, warm with promise. “One step, that’s all it takes. You know this is best for him, best for the two of you . . . Come home, dearest
child . . .”

She closed her eyes. Mist . . . Mist must be left behind again. She set the cat down by her feet, straightened, spread out her arms once more.

“Good, good,” Woodbine murmured. “Close your eyes and take my hand . . .”

“
Tuala!
”

Her heart drummed; her head reeled. Sudden tears blinded her eyes.

“
Tuala, don’t leave me! I love you!
”

His voice was distorted by terror, but she knew
it instantly. He was here. After all, he had come for her. Tuala turned her head, peering into the darkness. The wind clutched at her clothing, hard and insistent. She staggered. To fall now, now that the miracle had happened, would be too cruel . . .

“Take my hand.” This wasn’t Woodbine but a stranger, reaching out to her, grasping both her hands, helping her down from the pinnacle onto the
relative safety of the flat rock. His hands were warm and strong; Tuala clung to them, her whole body shaking. When she found her voice, it was the hiccupping, uneven tone of a terrified child.

“Bridei?” she said.

The other man stepped back, and Bridei was here, his arms tight around her, his heart thudding against her cheek, his mouth against her hair. He was breathing hard, perhaps weeping;
she felt a deep shivering in him that spoke of desperation. Her own clutching embrace was as wild; the feelings that surged through her were too strong to be named, too jumbled to make sense of All that mattered was that she was alive, and that he had come for her. She buried her face against the breast of his tunic, and felt his hands gentle in the long flow of her hair, and heard him whisper in
a tone he had never used before, “Tuala . . . Tuala . . .” Hoarse and ragged as it was, it sounded like a prayer.

After a little the other man cleared his throat. “Bridei,” he said, and Tuala became aware that Bridei was as cold as ice, and that the other man appeared to be wearing neither tunic nor jacket nor cloak against the piercing chill of solstice night. Oddly, there was a small dog sitting
politely by Bridei’s feet. “We must go,” the stranger went on. “Your young lady’s in as bad a state as
you are. I thank my masters I’m contracted only to protect you until the assembly, for the prospect of trying to keep the two of you in order fills me with alarm. Back to the horses,
now
. We need a fire and dry clothing. Can you manage the climb down?”

It seemed to be her the fellow meant. Tuala
opened her mouth to say, of course she could, but when she tried to set one foot before the other, everything swayed and turned around her, and it was only Bridei’s arm that kept her from falling. Mist had headed off down the steep path already; the little white dog sat patiently, its eyes intent on Bridei. Its pale form shone in the darkness like a dim beacon.

“I will—” Bridei began, but his
companion preempted him, scooping Tuala up in capable arms and moving to the track.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind. I’m in charge here, at least until we’re back at Caer Pridne. Get yourself safely down to the horses and leave the lady to me. You’ll have time enough for each other back at the house. Go on, Bridei. You’re dropping from exhaustion, for all your efforts to hide it. Nobody expects
you to exhibit the strength of the Flamekeeper himself. Not yet, anyway.”

“The house . . .” Tuala whispered as she was carried down the steep way. “Nobody there . . . all closed up . . .”

“There are people there now,” the man said. “A fire, food, warm beds. Leave it to us, my lady. We’ll see you safe.”

She closed her eyes, submitting to the unimaginable luxury of not having to make all the
choices alone. At the foot of the track, three horses waited. “Lucky,” she murmured, smiling to see the familiar mottled coat and angular form of Donal’s old friend.

“Lucky indeed,” said the man who was carrying her. He lifted her up onto a white mare, a lovely creature who stood gentle and quiet as Bridei was helped to mount; as Bridei’s arms came around Tuala’s waist, holding her close against
him, and the other fellow sprang to Lucky’s back, holding the reins of the third horse. “What about . . . ?” this man now queried, glancing at Bridei.

“In the morning. Some of the men can go back up for him. We must get Tuala to shelter, she’s freezing and hurt.”

“Not to mention a small matter of yourself, a near-drowning, and a certain blow to the head. Come, then. Make your way carefully;
it’s pitch dark down there under the trees.”

The creature that bore her and Bridei seemed more akin to that other realm, Tuala thought as they moved slowly onward, the world whose music and light, whose wonders and secrets she had glimpsed, just for a moment, before the power of her own world had drawn her back. Above her as she rode the voices still called, not angry or disappointed or accusatory
as she might have expected, but chanting a song of recognition and farewell, a kind of salute in which nothing could be heard but her name and his, and all around them a wordless garland of melody.

And, after all, the night was not so full of shadows that the way home could not be found. The little dog trotted ahead, quiet now Its bobbing white form seemed to carry its own light, guiding the
riders on safe ways until they reached the forest’s margin and saw below them the flaming torches, the watchful guards, the thatched roof and rising smoke of Broichan’s house under the oaks. There were no snowdrifts about the steps; there was no iron bar across the doorway. As they rode up to the entry, the door swung open and warm light streamed out toward them, accompanied by voices and the excited
barking of Pitnochie’s three hounds, which erupted from within. The little dog stood its ground, stalwart and defiant between the white horse and danger. Then, as Bridei slid down from the mare and held up his arms to Tuala, a dark figure appeared in the doorway, his form outlined by the golden light from hearth fire and welcoming lamp. Broichan watched in silence as his foster son caught Tuala
up in his arms and carried her across the threshold into the house.

The warmth, the noise, the savory smells made Tuala’s head dizzy; abruptly, she was aware of her exhaustion, the aches and pains all over her body, an urgent need for a drink of water. Everything moved in confusion around her; the only certainty was Bridei’s arms, holding her safe as he carried her through to the hall and set
her down on a bench as carefully as if she were a cargo of new-laid eggs. And Bridei’s voice, giving a series of sharp orders. Of Broichan, she heard nothing at all.

“Cinioch, take Brenna over to the cottage and fetch dry clothes for Tuala, there’ll be nothing small enough here. Mara, we need warm water, she’s frozen through. And we need some things for Faolan here, he’s given me most of what
he was wearing . . .”

Looking about, Tuala saw that the house was decked for the season. Wreaths hung over the doors and windows, glossy leaves, scarlet berries; by the hearth a great Midwinter log stood ready for the dousing and ceremonial rekindling of the house fires. A rich aroma of roast meat and fruit puddings
came from the kitchen; it was clear to her that there had been folk in the house
and yards all day, preparing for this ritual. The empty barn, the deserted fields, the shuttered windows had been a trick, a vision sent to lead her away from Pitnochie and up to the Dark Mirror. Had Gossamer and Woodbine done this? Why would they be so cruel? Unless it had all been a trick, the coaxing, the enticement, the long, lonely journey. Perhaps it had been a test . . . a test of loyalty
. . .”

“Bridei,” Faolan was saying, “leave this to me, will you? The one who most needs dry clothing and warm water is yourself”

“Indeed.” Broichan spoke at last, his deep voice awakening Tuala’s old dread. The druid despised her; he wanted her gone. Nothing had changed. She turned her head into Bridei’s chest, hating her own weakness, and felt his arms tighten around her where he sat cradling
her on the bench. “Whatever has passed here today, my household will provide warmth and shelter for you all,” the druid said. “The women will tend to Tuala. As for you, Bridei, to undertake this journey straight from your sickbed was not the act of a rational man. You are not yourself. You must eat, drink, and rest. Leave the decisions to others, for now at least. Time enough for talk in the morning.”

Bridei made no move.

“I mean it, Bridei. Let Mara take Tuala. You must rest and recover yourself.”

“I am no longer a child.” Bridei’s voice was cool, controlled: the voice of a man, and a leader. In the chamber around him there was a sudden deep silence; her eyes tightly shut, Tuala sensed that everyone was watching him. “There is a reckoning to be made here, and it will not wait for morning.
Mara! I pass Tuala into your care and Brenna’s for now. Faolan, stay as close to them as decency permits. Not a hair of her head is to be harmed, not an unkind word spoken in her presence. Know, all of you, that in seven days’ time I will stand up as a candidate for the kingship of Fortriu. From this moment on, Tuala is under my protection. You will treat her with courtesy, respect, and love. You
should feel deepest shame that there is any need for me to tell you this.” His arms loosed themselves gently; he stood, keeping one of Tuala’s hands in his. She opened her eyes on a circle of faces frozen in surprise, save for Mara’s; Mara was already setting a pile of folded cloths to warm by the fire, and pushing the tumble of dogs—four now—out of her way. The housekeeper glanced at the impassive
form of Faolan.

“And who’s he?” she demanded. “There’s never been a place for Gaels in this household, and I don’t see why that should change now.”

“Faolan is my friend,” Bridei said simply. “He takes care of my business. You can trust him. And now . . .”

Releasing Tuala’s hand, he turned his sweet smile on her in reassurance. “I won’t be long,” he whispered. Then he walked across the room
toward Broichan. It was an impressive effort; Tuala, holding her breath, could see what it cost him now to stay straight and steady. A sickbed? What sickbed? What had Faolan meant earlier about a blow to the head?

“Come,” Bridei said to his foster father, and the two of them went into Broichan’s private chamber. The door closed behind them.

“Tell me,” Tuala asked the Gael as a flurry of activity
began around them. “What’s wrong with him? What happened?”

“Bath first, questions later,” snapped Mara as a clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen indicated Ferat had returned to preparing the Midwinter feast. “And not only do we not have Gaels watching women undress in my hall, at such times we don’t have men anywhere near at all. Off with you! Uven, take this fellow through to the sleeping
quarters and find him something presentable to wear, he looks like a drowned rat. What have you all been doing, fishing for serpents in the lake? Go on, now!”

“You heard what he said.” Faolan’s tone was level.

“I did, and it wasn’t necessary. I know what’s right, I always have done. I’m insulted that the lad thinks he can’t trust me.”

“Things are changing,” said the Gael. “You’ll need to get
used to it.”

“Maybe they’re not changing so much,” Mara muttered, glancing at the inner door. “Now off with you, all of you. No men in here until I say we’re ready. Black Crow save us, Tuala, what have you done to yourself? You’re as skinny as a plucked wren, and as for those boots . . . Brenna, come and help me here, will you? Send Cinioch for the clothes. Ferat! When’s that hot water coming?”

Tuala glanced at the Gael, who was still standing in the center of the room, stony-faced, his arms folded. “It’s all right,” she told him. “You can go. I’ll be safe here. And thank you. It seems you are a loyal friend to him.”

Faolan nodded, saying nothing, then turned on his heel and followed Uven out of the chamber.

“There’s no teaching a Gael good manners,” Mara observed. “And where did
that
come from?” The little white dog had disentangled itself from the bigger hounds and now stood by Tuala’s feet, looking up bright-eyed.

“Far away,” Tuala said, recalling the visions of the Dark Mirror, both her own and those Bridei had recounted. “Very, very far. I think Bridei has released him from a terrible duty.”

“Mm,” said Mara as Ferat and his assistants appeared with a large, shallow
pan and ewers of warm water. “There’s a dog howls up in the woods, night after night. Folk say it’s been there a hundred years.” She eyed the creature dubiously.

“I don’t think he’ll howl any longer,” said Tuala. “I think at last he’s come home.”