Son of the Shadows Page 17

  “At first Jenny hardly knew what she meant, for Tom’s hand was limp and passive in hers. Then all at once the fingers changed to razor-sharp claws and the flesh to rough hair; and instead of a man, she held the leg of a great, slavering wolf that opened its jaws and bared its long, sharp teeth at her. Jenny flinched in terror, with the creature’s rancid breath on her face and its strong body thrashing and straining against the grip of her hands. But she wound her fingers into the wolf’s long hair and she held on and held on as the creature dragged her across the path. She felt the white gravel tearing at her gown and at her skin. There was a murmur from the circle of watchers; and a single word was spoken in a strange tongue. Then the rough hair changed to a smooth, slippery surface that made her almost let go, it was so hard to grip. There was a swelling and coiling, and now, instead of a great wolf, she held a massive, sleek serpent with scales the color of jewels from deep in the earth, a monster that writhed and swirled and sought to wrap her tight in the coils of its immense body. To keep hold, Jenny was obliged to embrace this creature within the circle of her arms, and lock her hands together, pressing her face against the cold scales of its body, willing herself not to faint with terror as the small, evil head darted down toward her again and again, the forked tongue flicking close to her eyes. ‘This is Tom,’ she told herself, her heart thudding like a drum. ‘This is my sweetheart. I will hold on. I will. He is mine.’

  “Another word fell into the moonlight silence. The snake became a huge spider, a hairy, bristling creature with many-faceted eyes and thick legs that curled around the hapless girl. Its venomous fangs probed toward her where she clutched its leg, the spines of its body piercing her flesh until she put her teeth through her lip to keep from screaming. After the spider came a boar with yellow tusks and tiny, mindless eyes; and after the boar a strange creature whose name she did not know, with long, snapping jaws and a gnarled, knobbled skin. Still Jenny held on, though her poor hands were bleeding and would scarce obey her will, so cramped were they. Once she looked up, and she thought she could see the smallest lightening of the night sky. The folk around her were very quiet. Then the fairy queen laughed again. ‘Not bad, not bad at all! You’ve given us some fine sport. Now we must be off. I’ll have my boy back, if you’ll be so good as to release him.’ She gave an imperious sweep of the hand, and Jenny felt her shoulders pierced as with a hundred sharp knives, and she almost let go. There was a flapping of great, dark wings, and in her hands was the foot of a gigantic bird, its beak as large as a horse’s head, its claws flexing as it sought to break her grip. The other foot had closed about her arm and shoulder, and the monstrous creature jumped and flapped and squawked, and stabbed with its deadly beak to the right and to the left, trying to dislodge her. There was a tinkling of fairy laughter. ‘This is my man,’ Jenny whispered to herself. ‘I love him. She shall not have him. I will not let go.’ And fight as the great bird might, it could not break free of her hold. Then all at once there was a rustling and a sighing, and the delicate clatter of many hooves; and as the first light of dawn turned the edges of the world to silver, the fairy folk were gone like wisps of mist, and there in her arms was her sweetheart, limp as if dead, his shining clothes turning to plain gray as the sky lightened. ‘Tom,’ she whispered, ‘Tom.’ She hadn’t the strength to say more. After a while she felt him move and slip his arms around her waist, and he laid his head on her breast, and he murmured, ‘Where are we? What happened?’ Then Jenny took off the red scarf and wound it around her sweetheart’s neck, and she helped him to his feet with her bleeding, damaged hands. They put an arm around each other; and as the sun rose on a perfect day, they walked slowly homeward. And, though the tale does not tell it, I should think they had a good life together, for they were two halves of the one whole.”

  Around me, there was a collective release of breath. Nobody said anything. After a little the men moved away and settled to rest as well as they could on the hard ground. There would be no privacy here. I dimmed the lantern as low as it would go, and made ready to sleep, fully clothed as I was. I might at least take off my boots. But when I bent to unlace them, I found I was so tired my fingers would not obey me, so tired I was on the verge of weeping over everything and nothing. A curse on them all. It would have been so much easier to hate them, as Eamonn did.

  “Here.” Dog was kneeling by me, his big hands delicate as they unfastened the laces and drew the boots off my feet. “Such little feet you’ve got.”

  I nodded thanks, aware of eyes fixed on us from across the chamber. It was almost dark. I heard a tiny, snipping noise and then something smooth and sharp was slipped into my hand, and Dog’s large, lumbering form retreated back into the shadows. As I lay down and felt deep weariness overwhelm me, I slipped the wolf claw into my pocket. These were hired killers. Why should it matter to me what became of them? Why couldn’t life be simple, the way it was in the tales? Why couldn’t … I dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  I blinked, once, twice. Light was streaming in through the entranceway. It was morning. I sat up. The chamber was empty, the floor bare, all sign of human habitation gone. All but my blanket and my small pack and the tools of my trade, and the smith lying asleep near me, his breath difficult.

  I looked around again. Nothing. They were gone, all of them. They had left me to deal with this alone. Don’t panic, Liadan, I said to myself as my heart began to thump. There would be limited time before Evan awoke and needed me. So, find a source of water. See if it was possible to make a fire. Beyond that, there could be no planning.

  There was a small bowl and a bucket by my pack. With these in hand, I made my way out through the narrow entry, screwing up my eyes as I emerged into a glorious summer morning.

  “There’s a stream at the northern end of the mound, and a pool where you can wash.”

  He had his back to me, and a bow over the shoulder. Nonetheless, the shaven head and bizarre, decorated skin made his identity instantly plain. My shock and resentment were almost as strong as my relief, and I spoke incautiously.

  “You! You are the last man I expected to find here.”

  “You’d have preferred another?” he queried, as he turned toward me. “One who would flatter you and speak sweet words?”

  “Don’t talk rubbish!” I was determined not to let slip that I had believed myself alone. I would show him no sign of fear. “I prefer none of you. Why are you not with your men? They look to you for leadership: the chief, almost godlike. I cannot understand how you could send them on this mission and remain behind. Any of them could have been left here to guard me.”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. The morning sun threw the light and dark of his patterned features into harsh relief.

  “There’s not a single one of them I would trust for this job,” Bran said. “I saw the way they watched you.”

  “I don’t believe you.” This was nonsense.

  “Besides,” he added casually, stowing away the bow in a crevice between the rocks, “it’s good training. They must learn to deal with the unexpected, to assume command instantly if they must, and not to question. They must learn to be always ready. There are other leaders among them. They will accept this challenge.”

  “How—how long will they be gone?”

  “Long enough.”

  Since I could think of no more to say to him, I went off to find the stream, to wash my face and hands and fetch water for my patient. There was a still pool between the rocks, and as I dipped the bucket I half imagined I saw my sister there, waist deep, locked in her lover’s arms, her fiery hair flowing about her white body. Poor lovely Niamh. I had scarce given her a moment’s thought since I bade her farewell. She would be settling in at Tirconnell by now, learning to cope with her new life among strangers. I shivered. I could not imagine living away from Sevenwaters, away from all that was so much a part of me. Maybe, if you cared enough about someone, you could do it and not feel your spirit torn in two. But the forest keeps her hold on all those who a
re born there, and they cannot travel far without the yearning in them to return. In my heart I feared for my sister. As for Ciarán, there was no telling what path he had taken.

  The day unfolded. Evan was in pain, sweating, retching, and babbling nonsense. Bran would appear and disappear, saying little, helping me lift and turn the smith, heating water, doing whatever I asked. I was forced to admit, grudgingly, that he was quite useful. Once, when Evan lay quiet, he called me outside, made me sit down, and gave me a platter of stew and dry bread and a cup of ale.

  “Don’t look so surprised,” he said, settling on the ground opposite me and starting on his own meal. “You must eat. And there is nobody else to provide for you.”

  I said nothing.

  “Or maybe you believe you could have managed this task alone? Is that it? The little healer girl, worker of miracles. You did not imagine we would leave you here on your own, did you?”

  I did not look at him, concentrating instead on the stew, which was remarkably good. The bow must be for hunting.

  “You did believe it,” he said incredulously, “that we had gone on and left you out here alone with a dying man. You must think us little better than savages.”

  “Isn’t that what you want?” I challenged, looking direct at him now and glimpsing for an instant a rather different expression in his gray eyes before he turned them away. “The Painted Man, a creature who inspires terror and awe? A man who can, and will, do almost anything if you pay him well enough? A man without conscience? Why should such a man have second thoughts about leaving a woman on her own, especially when he seems to despise the female sex so utterly?”

  He opened his mouth, thought better of what he was about to say, and closed it again.

  “Why do you hate us so much? What woman let you down so badly that you must take it out on the whole of our kind for the rest of your life? You bear such resentment. It eats you from the inside like a canker. You would be a fool to let this destroy you. That would be a terrible waste. What happened to make you so bitter?”

  “None of your business.”

  “I’m making it my business,” I said firmly. “It was your choice to stay here, and you will listen. You heard my tale of the farmer’s daughter, Jenny. Maybe it was true, and maybe it wasn’t. But there are many fine, strong women such as her in the world, as well as those less admirable. We are human like you, and each of us different. You see the world through the shadow of your own hurt, and you judge unfairly.”

  “Not so” His features had a pinched look, and the eyes were distant. I began to regret speaking so boldly. “It was a woman’s guile and her power over a man that robbed me of both family and birthright. It was a woman’s selfishness and a man’s weakness for her that set me on this path, that made me the creature you so despise. Women are spoilers. A man should beware not to get too close and be caught in the net”

  “But I am a woman,” I said, after a while. “I do not—entrap, seduce, or commit acts of evil. I speak my mind, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I refuse to be categorized as a—what was the word? A spoiler? My mother has been my example. She is fragile, but strong. She knows nothing but giving. My sister is beautiful and completely without guile”

  “You’re crying.”

  “I am not!” I scrubbed an angry hand across my cheek. “All I’m saying is, you must have encountered very few women to cling to this narrow view.”

  “For you, perhaps, I might make an exception,” he said grudgingly. “You are not so easily classified.”

  “You think me more akin to a man?”

  “Hah!” I could not tell if this sound indicated amusement or scorn. “Hardly. But you show some qualities I did not expect. A pity you cannot wield a staff or draw a bow; we might have recruited you to the troop.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “I think not. But as a matter of fact, I can. Wield a staff and draw a bow, that is.”

  He gazed at me. “Now that I cannot believe.”

  “I’ll show you.”

  Iubdan had taught me well. This bow was rather longer and heavier than I was used to, and I could not draw it fully. But it would do. Bran watched me in silence, brows raised in derision as I adjusted the string.

  “What would you have me strike with this arrow?”

  “I suppose you could try for the large knothole on that elm trunk.”

  “A child could find that mark,” I said with some scorn. “You insult me. What target would you choose for a young man who wished to join your band of warriors?”

  “He would not have got this far without proving himself. But if you insist, I suggest the apple tree that grows down there between the rocks. Here, let me show you.”

  He took the bow from me, and drew it fully, eyes narrowed against the light. It was quick. A twang as he released the string, and I saw a small green apple fall to the ground, split by the arrow’s point.

  “Your turn,” he said dryly.

  This was a game Sean and I had practiced over and over. I drew the bow as far as I could, said a word under my breath, and released the string.

  “Beginner’s luck,” said Bran as another apple fell. “A fluke. You couldn’t do it twice.”

  “I could,” I said, “but I really don’t care if you believe me or not. Now, we have work to do. If I told you what I needed, could you find some herbs for me? My supply is nearly gone, and Evan will be in increasing pain.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  It was just as well I had slept so soundly that night, for there was to be little sleep in the days to come. The smith grew steadily sicker, his features becoming hectically flushed, the flesh around his wound now mottled and bluish. Bran had brought back what I had asked for, and I had made up a tea, which I fed Evan drop by drop until he grew quieter.

  “Where are you, Biddy?” he muttered, still moving his head restlessly from side to side. “Biddy? Woman? I can’t see you.”

  “Hush,” I said, sponging his burning face. “I’m here. Sleep now.”

  But he took a long time to sleep and, despite the herbs, did not rest long before the pain woke him anew. Bran was outside, and I did not call him. What was the point? There was nothing he could do. I sat by Evan’s side, the two of us in the small pool of lantern light, and held his hand. I told him not to talk, but there was no stopping him.

  “Still here. Thought you’d have gone home by now.”

  “Yes, I’m still here; as you see. You don’t get rid of me so easily.”

  “Thought it was Biddy for a bit. Silly. She’d make three of you; fine big girl she is, my Biddy.”

  “She’s waiting for you; make no doubt of it,” I said.

  “You think she’ll still want me? You think she wouldn’t mind the … you know?”

  I gave his hand a little squeeze. “A strong, strapping fellow like you? Of course she’ll want you. You’ll have them lining up, man.”

  “Don’t like to complain; know you’re doing your best. But God, it hurts …”

  “Here, see if you can swallow more of this.”

  “Need some help?” Bran had come in silently, with a small flask in his hand. “Gull left me this. It is a drink from his own country, very potent. Saved for special occasions.”

  “I doubt if he could keep it down. A few drops, maybe. Here, put a little in this tea; you are right; it is time for strong measures. Can you lift his head and shoulders for me? Thank you.”

  The flask was silver, lined with fine yew wood, and its surface was chased with an elaborate spiral pattern. The stopper was of amber glass, fashioned in the shape of a little cat.

  “Not too much. We want it to stay in his stomach long enough.”

  Little by little, sip by sip, I fed Evan the potent brew, while Bran sat behind, supporting him.

  “Trust you, Chief,” said the smith weakly. “Wait till I’m down, then try to poison me. Better leave it to the lass here.”

  “Indeed, what am I here for but to do her bidding?”

&nb
sp; “That’ll be the day, Chief …”

  “Hush,” I said. “Too much talk. Drink this, and keep quiet.”

  “You hear that?” said Bran. “She likes to give orders. No wonder the others couldn’t wait to get away.”

  Evan’s eyes closed. “Told you she was just your type, Chief,” he said faintly. Bran refrained from comment.

  “Sleep,” I said, putting down the cup of herbal tea. It was half empty. He had managed more than I expected. “Rest. Think of your Biddy. Maybe she can hear you, across the water as she is. It happens that way sometimes. Tell her you’re coming for her soon. She won’t have to wait long.”

  After a while Bran lowered Evan gently to the ground, his head supported on a roll of blankets so he could breathe more easily.

  “Here,” he said, and he was offering me the silver flask.

  “Maybe not.” But I took it from him, thinking its intricate pattern seemed to flow across his hand and up his arm under the sleeve of his plain, gray shirt, rolled to the elbow. “I must be able to wake when he does.”

  “You have to sleep sometime.”

  “So do you.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with me. Drink a mouthful, at least. It will help you rest.”

  I put the flask to my lips and swallowed. It was as strong as fire. I gasped and felt a warm glow spread through me. “You, too,” I said, passing it back.

  He took a drink, then stoppered the flask and stood up. “Call me when he wakes.” For the first time there was a sort of diffidence in his tone. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

  Brighid help me. I was suddenly overtaken by the most profound sadness. Arrogance, scorn, indifference I could deal with. Quiet competence was just fine. Arguing with him was almost enjoyable. It was the unexpected words of kindness that threatened to shatter me in pieces. I must indeed be weary. I fell asleep with a vision of Sevenwaters before my eyes: dark, shadowy trees, dappled sunlight, the clear waters of the lake. Tiny and perfect and oh, so far away.