Son of the Shadows Page 18

  Chapter Six

  We fell into a routine. We became used to each other. While I slept, Bran kept guard and tended to the smith. When Bran slept, which was seldom, he made me stay inside; and I did as I was told. Day followed day, and we watched the fever strip the flesh from Evan’s bones and slowly drain the life from his eyes. It would have been easy for Bran to remind me that I had insisted on keeping this man alive long enough to suffer a lingering and painful death. It would have been easy for me to blame Bran for moving the smith before he was fit to travel. But we did not speak of these things. We did not speak much at all. It hardly seemed necessary. He knew when I needed him and was there. I began to recognize the times when he needed to be alone, and I would retreat silently indoors or up to the pool to sit on the rocks and will my mind to quiet. There were carven stones there, ancient, monumental slabs encrusted with creeping lichens and shawled by soft ferns. That they were somehow guardians of the old truths that had their center here, I was in no doubt whatever, and I nodded to them with respect as I passed.

  Our talk became different, as if there were no need any longer to play a game of strategy with our words. Evan held on, and I allowed myself a slim hope that all was not lost. There was a brief respite one night, time for the two of us to sit outside, under the waxing moon and the arch of a thousand stars, eating rabbit baked in the coals with wild garlic, while the only sounds around us were the tiny rustling of night creatures in the undergrowth and the solitary hoot of a hunting owl. It was a companionable silence. I realized I had come to trust this man, something I would never have believed possible.

  “Give me your honest opinion,” he said, when we had finished eating. “Has he any real chance?”

  “He’ll survive until morning. I’m trying not to look too far ahead.”

  “You learn quickly.”

  “Some things. It’s another world out here. The old conventions don’t seem to work anymore.”

  “Tell me. You seem to know a great deal about herbs and potions. What you used when you put him to sleep, when we took off his arm; it was powerful. Have you any left?”

  I could not see his face clearly in the shadows, but the eyes were watchful, intent.

  “Some. Gull commented on it. He took one sniff and named almost every ingredient. That surprised me.”

  “His mother was an herbalist, famous in her own country. There were those who called her a witch. That led in time to persecution and death. Gull has been tried almost beyond endurance.”

  I could not resist asking, “I thought these men had no past?”

  “They learn to put it behind them. To do the kind of work we do, a man must travel light. He must carry neither memories nor hopes. To be what we are, you must think only of today’s task.”

  “I knew Gull’s story.”

  “He told you?”

  “The others told me. Each has his tale. Not buried so very deep. Each has his hope. No man can be truly without it.”

  “No?”

  I decided it would be wise to pursue this no further.

  “Haven’t you ever been tempted,” he asked quietly, “when your patient is in pain and you know he cannot survive? It would be easy, wouldn’t it, to make the draft just a little stronger? So instead of suffering further, he simply sank into sleep and never woke?”

  I had been thinking the very same thoughts.

  “One must be careful,” I said. “Meddling in such matters can be dangerous, and not just for the victim. We each have our time to move on. The goddess wills it. I would act thus only if I believed she moved my hand.”

  “You follow the old faith?”

  I nodded, reluctant to be drawn into talk of my family.

  “Would you do it?” he asked me, “if he keeps getting worse?”

  “Then I would be no different from you with your little knife, your convenient solution. I heal, I do not kill.”

  “You would, I think, if you had to.”

  “I would not wish to offend the goddess, nor would I take such a step unless I was sure that was what Evan wanted. I suppose I cannot say what I would do unless I was faced with the choice.”

  “You may get the chance to find out.”

  I did not reply.

  “Did you believe,” he went on after a while, “that I would have done it? Used this convenient solution for yourself because you were in my way?”

  “At the time, yes. I believed it was possible And—what I had heard of you seemed to support it.”

  “I would never have done such a thing.”

  “I know that now.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I am not soft. Conscience does not trouble me. I make decisions quickly and I do not allow myself to regret them. But I am no arbitrary destroyer of the innocent.”

  “Then why did you—” It was too late to bite my words back.

  “Why did I what?” The tone had suddenly become dangerous. He had trapped me with his kindness.

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me. What tale was it you heard of me?”

  “I—” It was plain that silence was not going to be an option, and he would know if I lied. “I was told of a time, not so very long ago, when a party of men, on their own land, were ambushed and slain while bearing the bodies of their dead for burial. I heard that their leader was held and forced to watch his friends die, one by one—for nothing, for nothing more than a demonstration of skill. The description he—the tale was told in a way that made it clear you were responsible.”

  “Uh-huh. Who told this tale? Where did you hear it?”

  “Who was your father? Where were you born? Fair trade, remember?”

  “You know I will not tell you.”

  “One day you will.” There was the sudden cold again, as if a wraith had passed by and touched me with its breath. I did not know why I had said these words, but I knew they were the truth.

  “Did you feel that?” asked Bran, in a strange voice.

  I stared at him. “Feel what?”

  “A—a chill, a sudden draft. Maybe the weather is breaking.”

  “Maybe.” This was getting ridiculous. Not only was I sharing his nightmares, but he was feeling it when the Sight touched me. It was most certainly time I went home.

  “His name is Eamonn,” he said slowly. “Eamonn of the Marshes, they call him. His father had a bad reputation, and the son has done nothing to improve on that. My men picked you up in Littlefolds, didn’t they? Right on the border of this Eamonn’s land? What is he to you? Cousin? Brother? Sweetheart?”

  “None of these,” I stammered, my heart pounding. I must not tell him who I was, must not leave my family vulnerable. “He is known to me. I heard him tell the tale, that’s all.”

  “Where?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You would do well not to ally yourself with that man. His kind is the most dangerous. You do not cross such a man and come out unscathed.”

  “You speak of yourself, surely, not of Eamonn.”

  “You spring quickly enough to his defense. Is he not the one who waits anxiously for your return, as my men so touchingly related?”

  “Your men have overactive imaginations, born of too little entertainment. There is no sweetheart waiting for me at home. Only my family. That’s the way I choose it.”

  “That sounds implausible.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  We sat quiet for a while. He refilled my cup and his own. I was starting to feel drowsy.

  “It was not arbitrary.” Bran spoke into the space between us. “The killing. It was no massacre of the innocent. We are men. We do men’s work. You might ask this Eamonn of yours how many he has slain in like fashion. We were well paid to do as we did by an old and powerful enemy of his. His father wronged many in his time; the son continues to pay the price. I did add a little touch of my own; I heard he was unimpressed.”

  “To me it sounded like an act of mindless slaughter. And the aftermath, the arrogant gesture of a
man who believes himself untouchable.”

  This was greeted with a frosty silence. I began to regret my words, true as they were. When he spoke again his tone had changed. Now it was constrained, almost awkward.

  “I hope you will take heed. You should not trust this man Eamonn. Take him as your husband, your lover, and he’ll suck you dry. Don’t throw yourself away on him. I know his kind. Such a man will give you the fair words you want; he will lull you into believing in him. Such a man knows only how to take.”

  I gaped at him. “I cannot believe this! You, giving me advice on how to live my life? Besides, did I ever say I wanted fair words?”

  “All women want to be flattered,” he said dismissively.

  “Not true. All I have ever wanted is honesty. Words of affection, words of—of love, such sweet words are meaningless if spoken merely to gain an end. I would know, if a man lied to me on such a matter.”

  “You have much experience in these things, I suppose.” There was no way to tell if he were serious or not, save that I believed him incapable of humor.

  “I would know. In my heart, I would know.”

  A day arrived when Evan could no longer keep anything at all in his stomach. His throat was cruelly swollen, his fever replaced by a hollow-cheeked lethargy that spelled the end for him. Without my herbal infusions his pain must have been acute; but he had already moved one foot onto the final path, and being a strong man, he suffered without complaint. There was no easy sleep, made deeper by expert assistance, from which to drift peacefully on into the next world. Not for him. He knew it was time and faced it open-eyed.

  The day wore on slowly to afternoon, and it seemed to me the cool, dry air inside the old enclosure was full of subtle whisperings and rustlings, as if some ancient forces beckoned the smith away.

  “Tell me straight,” Evan said. “It’s the end for me, isn’t it?”

  I was sitting on the ground by him, holding his hand. “The goddess calls you. It may be your time to move on. You bear it bravely.”

  “Been good. Been a good lass. Did your best.”

  “I tried. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

  “Oh, no. No, don’t weep for me, lass …” His breath rattled. “Dry those tears. You’ve got time ahead of you. Don’t waste your sorrow on a plain man like me.”

  That only made the tears flow faster, not just for the loss of a good man, but for my mother who was on the same path, and for poor Niamh who had been denied her heart’s desire, and for the world that made it necessary for men to waste their best years living a life of flight and concealment and killing. I wept because I did not know how to put it right. Evan was quiet for a long time. Later he began to talk of his woman, Biddy. Couple of boys, she had, another man’s children. Fine lads, the pair of ‘em. Their father had been a nasty piece of work, used to beat her black and blue. Hard life, she’d had. Well, the fellow had died. Best not to tell exactly how. And she was his now, waiting for him to give all this up and come back to her. They’d move on someplace, him and Biddy and the lads, set up a little forge in a village, perhaps in foreign parts. There was always work for a skilled man, and Biddy, she’d turn her hand to anything. He’d teach the lads the trade, give ’em a future. Once or twice he spoke as if it were Biddy there holding his hand, and I nodded and smiled back at him.

  There was a chance, later, to ask him that question, and I took it.

  “Evan, I must speak to you plain, while you can understand me.”

  “What is it, lass?”

  “There isn’t a lot of time left. We both know that. You’re in pain, and it will get worse. I was—I was going to offer you a very strong sleeping draft, one that would see you through to the end. But you wouldn’t be able to take it, not now. If you want—if you want to shorten this, I could ask Bran … I could ask the chief to … to … .” I found, after all, that these words were beyond me.

  “ … know what I want. Call the chief in, tell you both … save the breath.”

  So I had to go outside and fetch Bran, after scrubbing my face with my hand in an attempt to erase the tears. He was not far away, leaning his back against the stone wall of the ancient barrow, staring far off into the distance, apparently deep in thought. His mouth was set in a grim line.

  “Could—could you come inside, please?”

  He started as if I had struck him, then followed me without a word.

  “Got a couple of things to ask. Sit down, Chief. Not much breath left. Got to talk quiet.”

  “I’m here. We’re both here.”

  “Know what she asked me?” There was a tiny, rattling ghost of a chuckle.

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Said would I like you to finish me off? Seeing as she can’t do it herself. Would you believe that? What a girl.”

  They were both looking at me, their expressions identical. Sweet Brighid, why couldn’t I stop these tears from flowing?

  “Don’t want that. Glad of the offer though. Never easy. Want—want to be outside. Under the stars. Little fire. Smell of pine cones burning, feel the night breeze on my face. Drop of strong drink, maybe, to keep the chill out. Tell a story. A good long one. That’s what I want.”

  “I should think we can manage that.” But it was at me Bran was looking, and there was that expression again, less fleeting this time. The gray eyes clear and true, the eyes of a trustworthy man. The mouth softened by concern and by something else. I sensed this unmasked Bran was infinitely more dangerous to me than the Painted Man could ever be.

  “One more thing,” whispered Evan. “Chief, about my woman. Gull knows where my stuff’s hidden. Need to look after her and the lads. Been saving. Should be plenty. Gull knows where she is.”

  Bran nodded soberly. “Have no concerns on that score. I will make sure they are protected, and provided for. There are plans in place.”

  A faint grin lightened the smith’s gaunt, gray features, and he was looking at me. “Good man, the chief,” he murmured.

  “I know,” I said.

  Bran carried the smith outside with little apparent effort, despite Evan’s far greater height and weight. I fetched blankets, water, cloths. It was dusk at last, after an endless day. There was time to settle Evan, propped half sitting against the rocks, his body wrapped as warmly as possible. We chose a spot where he was well sheltered but still able to feel the movement in the night air. There was a scent of rain; I hoped it would not come down before morning. Bran made a small fire, bordered by flat stones from the stream, and then he disappeared. Evan was silent now. The short move had taken most of his remaining strength.

  I wondered what sort of tale was right for a dying man’s last night in this world. A long one, he’d said, long enough. I sat with my hands around my knees, staring into the flames of the small fire. A tale with hope in it. A tale I could get through without weeping. Bran came back as silently as he had left, holding something in the front of his shirt. He spilled the load on the ground. Pine cones. I collected one or two and tossed them on the fire, with a silent word to the goddess. It was a smell that held the promise of high mountains, of snow, and great birds circling in a pale sky.

  “Chief.” The voice was thready.

  “I’m here.” Bran settled on the smith’s other side. This placed him somewhat closer to me than the three or four paces demanded by the code.

  “The lass. Give me your promise. She’s to go safe home when this is finished. Promise, Chief.”

  Bran did not reply. He was staring into the fire.

  “I mean it, lad.” Faint as it was, the smith’s voice demanded an answer.

  “I wonder what value can be placed on the promise of a man such as myself. But I will give you my word, Smith.”

  “Good. Tell the tale now, lass.”

  So while he sat there quietly, I began. I wove into this story as much wonder and magic and enchantment as I could. But I did not forget the ordinary things, the things that are wonderful in themselves, without being in any way un
usual. The hero of this tale fell in love and married and held his firstborn son. He knew the friendship and loyalty of comrades in arms. He journeyed through far-off lands and mysterious seas, and he experienced the joy of homecoming. Mostly I looked at the flames as I talked, but sometimes I watched Evan’s blunt, honest features and his wide-open eyes gazing up at the stars. Once or twice Bran took out the silver flask and put a little of its contents on his fingertip then touched it to the smith’s lips. But after a while, he stoppered the flask and returned it to his pocket; and then he just sat there listening. The tale went on. Some of the adventures I borrowed, and some I made up as I went along. The waxing moon rose and spread a faint light over us, and still I talked steadily on. The breeze came up, with a scent of the sea in it, and the night became chill. Bran got up and fetched his coat.

  “Here,” he said diffidently, and dropped it neatly around my shoulders. Another time, he brought me a cup of water. It was a long, long tale. I could have done with Sean or Niamh or Conor to help me with it, but there was nobody. Careful, I must not begin to weep again. The stars were like bright jewels on a cloak of deepest velvet. But you could never sew a cloak so wondrously lovely.

  “There came a time,” I said at last, “when the goddess called Eoghan back to her. For it was the appointed day for him to move on, to let his spirit free from this life and send it forth into the next. When she calls you, there is no refusing. Still, Eoghan thought of his wife and his son who was still half grown, and he sat by the carven stones where he had heard this call and asked himself how could he leave them? How would they manage without him? Who would chop the wood for his wife? Who would teach his son to hunt? Then the goddess sent her wisdom deep into his heart, and he understood. Your wife will grieve for you, but her love will keep her strong. She will sew her love into every stitch of the gowns she makes (for his wife was a seamstress). Your son will learn his father’s true self as he practices the craft you taught him. In time, he too will be a man, and he will love and be happy and take forward in his life the questing heart, the eager will he learned at your knee, when you told of your adventures. In time, your spirit will be with them again, perhaps in a great, spreading tree that shades the place where your grandchildren play. Maybe in a wide-winged eagle soaring aloft, watching as your dear one spreads her linen on the hawthorns to dry and looks suddenly to the sky, shading her eyes against the sunlight. You will be there, and they will know. I am not cruel. I take, and I give.”