Son of the Shadows Read online

  There were hoofbeats alongside me, to left and to right. Little, trotting hoofbeats; a prancing, delicate gait. My horse shivered, twitching her ears nervously. I glanced around. There was nobody there. Afternoon shadows trembled in the summer breeze. I thought I heard a faint tinkle of laughter. And still the accompanying footsteps, as of unseen creatures by my side. My heart thumping, I reined in the mare and waited, silent. The sound ceased.

  “All right,” I said as calmly as I could, trying to remember everything Iubdan had taught me about self-defense. “Where are you? Who are you? Come out and show yourselves!” And I took the little dagger my father had given me from my belt and held it ready, for what I did not know.

  There was a short pause.

  “You won’t be needing that. Not yet.” On my right sat a man on a horse. An almost-man on an almost-horse. He had not materialized in an instant; it was more as if he had been there all along, but I had been unable to see him until he wished to be seen. His hair was the same improbable shade as his mount, bright poppy-red, and his garments were many hued, changeable as a sunset. He was extremely tall.

  “Keep riding,” advised a voice from my other side, and my mare moved forward without guidance. “It’s a long way back to the forest.” The woman who spoke was black-haired, blue-cloaked, palely beautiful. I had sometimes wondered if I would ever see them as my mother had: the Lady of the Forest and the flame-haired lord who was her consort. I swallowed and found my voice.

  “Wh-what is it you want of me?” I said, still staring in wonder at their tall, stately forms and the fragile not-horses that they rode.

  “Obedience,” said the lord, turning his too-bright eyes on me. Looking at him was like gazing into the heart of a great fire. Stare too long and you would be burned.

  “Common sense,” said the lady.

  “I’m on my way home.” I could not imagine how anything I did could interest such grand folk in the slightest. “I have a good horse to take me, and warm clothes, and a weapon I know how to use. In the morning I will send for my brother. Is not that common sense?”

  The lord roared with laughter, a sound so full throated the very ground shook with it. I felt the shudder through the little gray horse’s body, but she went gamely forward.

  “It’s not enough.” The lady’s voice was softer, but very serious. “We want a promise from you, Liadan.”

  I did not like the sound of that. A promise made to the Fair Folk was a promise that must be kept, if one had any sense whatever. The consequences of breaking such a vow were unthinkable. These folk possessed power beyond imagining. It was in all the tales.

  “What promise?”

  “The very fate of Sevenwaters, and of the Islands, may be in your own hands,” said the bright-haired man.

  “The very future of your kind, and of our kind, may depend on you,” agreed the lady.

  “What can you mean?” Perhaps I sounded a little churlish. It had been a long day.

  The lady sighed. “We hoped to see, in the children of Sevenwaters, one who might combine the strength and patience of your father with the rare talents of your mother. One who might at last fulfill our long quest. You have disappointed us. It seems you are a coarser kind, understanding little beyond the lusts of the flesh. Your sister was enticed to lose her way; your own choice was most unwise. You should not have listened to the voices.”

  “Voices?”

  “The voices of the earth, there in the Old Place. You should not have heeded them.”

  I was trembling, poised between fear and anger. “Forgive me,” I said, “but were not they voices of Fair Folk such as yourself?”

  She shook her head, brows raised in disbelief at my ignorance. “An older kind. Primitive. We banished them, but still they linger. They will lead you astray, Liadan. Indeed, they have done. You must not heed their blandishments.”

  I scowled. “I’m capable of making my own choices without need for any—blandishments, as you put it. I don’t regret anything I have done. Anyway, what about the prophecy? Won’t that come true some day? Although you dismiss me and my sister, there is another child, my brother Sean. A fine young man who never set a foot wrong. Why don’t you just ignore me and let me get on with my life?”

  “Oh no, I don’t think we can do that—not now.”

  “What do you mean, not now?”

  “Prophecies don’t simply come about of themselves, you know. They need a little helping along.” The lord wore a sly expression as he glanced at me sideways with his glowing eyes. “We hoped for children. I’ll tell you one thing. We weren’t expecting you.”

  I thought of my mother’s words, about how I had come as a surprise to all of them, the unexpected twin. How it gave me the power to change things.

  “I have a question,” I said.

  They waited.

  “Why did you lead me to discover my sister and—and her lover, in the woods? They sent her away, and she was bitterly unhappy. Ciarán, too. It made the family blame each other and turned everything to sorrow. Why would you do such a thing?”

  There was a silence. He looked at her, and she looked at him.

  “The old evil is awake,” said the lady eventually, and there was a shadow in her voice. “We must use what strength we have to stop it. What we did was for the best. What your sister wanted could not be. These men and women, they are unimportant with their petty woes and grievances. They serve their purpose, that is all. Only the child is important.”

  “The old evil?” I asked through gritted teeth. Perhaps she did not realize how angry her words had made me, with their callous disregard for the suffering of my own kind.

  “It is returned,” she said solemnly, her deep blue eyes intent on my face. “We thought it defeated; we were wrong. Now all of us face the end; we are squeezed tighter and tighter, and without the child, we will not overcome this. You must return home, Liadan, straightaway. This dalliance is over.”

  “I know that,” I said, annoyed to find tears pricking my eyes. “I told you, I’m going now.”

  The lord cleared his throat. “There are two young men who lust for you: the one you leave, and the one to whom you return. Neither is suitable. You show regrettable taste in your choice of a mate. Still, there is no need for you to wed. Forget them both. Return to the forest and stay there.”

  I gaped at him. “It would help if you explained a little. What evil? What end?”

  “Your kind cannot understand,” he said dismissively. “Your scope is very limited. You must learn to disregard the stirrings of the flesh and the achings of the heart. These are paltry things, fleeting as youth. It is the greater good that counts.”

  “You insult me,” I said, “and then expect blind obedience.”

  “And you waste time when there is none to spare.” The lord’s voice now held a new edge of menace. “You snap back like a little wild thing caught in a trap. You would do better to recognize your weakness and comply. We can help you. We can protect you. But not if you follow this willful path. That way lie dangers you can scarce dream of.” He lifted his hand, sweeping it in a long arc before him, and it seemed to me a shadow passed there; grasses flattened as if cowering before it, trees shivered, bushes rustled, birds gave a sudden outcry, then fell silent.

  “We face again a foe who threatened us long since,” the lady said. “We thought her defeated, but she found a way to slip under our guard. She has evaded both Fair Folk and human folk, and now she twists her evil hand around the very future of our race.”

  I stared at her, horrified. “But—but I am an ordinary woman, as you see. How can my choice play any part in such grand and perilous things? Why must I promise to remain at Sevenwaters?”

  The lord sighed. “As I said, this is beyond your comprehension. I see no reason for your resistance, save sheer stubbornness. You must do as we bid you.”

  He seemed to grow larger as I watched, and flickering light ran up his body, as if he were aflame. His eyes were piercing; he held my ga
ze relentlessly, and my head throbbed with pain.

  The lady spoke softly, but there was a core of iron in her tone. “Do not disobey, Liadan. To do so is to endanger more than you can understand.”

  “Promise,” said the lord, and his hair seemed to rise around his noble head like a crown of glittering fire.

  “Promise,” echoed the lady, with a sadness in her voice that wrung the very heart.

  I squeezed the gray mare’s sides with my knees, and she moved forward; and this time they did not ride alongside but remained behind. Their voices followed me, commanding, beseeching: Promise. Promise.

  “I can’t,” I said, in a little whisper that came from deep inside me. It was very strange, for up to that point I had intended to do just as they wished: return to Sevenwaters, take up the threads of my old life and do my best to forget all about the Painted Man and his followers. But something had changed. I would not offer unquestioning obedience to folk who dismissed the anguish of those dear to me as too paltry for consideration. Somehow I knew I could not agree to their request. “I must make my own decisions and go my own way,” I said. “For now, I will indeed ride home to Sevenwaters and can see no reason why I would not stay there. But the future—that is unknown; who knows what may come to pass? I will make you no promises.”

  Their voices came again, with an angry power that sent a deep shudder through my body. The mare felt it, too; she trembled under me. You will do as we command, Liadan. Indeed, you must. But I did not reply; and the next time I looked behind me, they were gone.

  It was late afternoon, almost dusk. I had reached the road and followed it southward as the sun set in a brilliant display of gold and rose. What was the old saying? Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning. I smiled to myself. No doubt where I had heard that one. My father, holding me up in his arms as he stood on a hilltop with his young oak trees around him, showing me how the sun went down in the west, over the land of Tir na nOg beyond the sea. Every night it went down, and tonight’s sky would tell of tomorrow. Learn to read the signs, little one, he told me. The Fair Folk had chosen him as the father of a child they wanted born, had chosen him for his strength and patience. Surely, then, Bran was mistaken. The Big Man, so quiet and deep, with his reverence for all things that lived and grew, could never have committed some act of evil that blighted a man’s whole existence.

  The mare whinnied softly and came to a sudden halt. There was a disturbance ahead of us on the road. Men’s voices, hoofbeats, the clash of metal. We retreated in silence under the shelter of the trees, and I dismounted in the shadows. The sounds came closer. In the fading light I could distinguish four or five men in dark green and one dressed in a strange garment of leather and wolfskin, a man with a half-shaven head who fought like a mad thing, so that at times you might almost believe he would be a match for them, outnumbered as he was. A man whose great height and massive build gave him an advantage, but not such an advantage that he could not at length be unhorsed and disarmed and at the mercy of his enemy. There were shouts of derision and words of defiance. There were growls and hisses and oaths, and somebody yelled something about retribution, and there were cries and curses as weapons found their mark. But at the last, there was near silence, save for the thud of kicks and blows raining down on the man who lay huddled in the road, with his attackers around him in a tight circle. There was nothing I could do. How could I step out and identify myself? How could I seek to prevent this one-sided act of barbarity without, at the same time, revealing where I had been? What cause would a good girl like myself possibly have for defending a thug of an outlaw? Besides, in the bloody melee they might well not notice me before I fell to thrusting sword or swinging axe myself. So I stood completely still, with the horse obediently silent by me, until one of them said, “Enough. Leave him to stew in his own juice.” The men in green mounted, took the other man’s horse by the bridle and rode away to the south.

  I came out cautiously. There was not much light left; I found him as much by the faint, bubbling sound of his breathing as by sight. I knelt down beside him.

  “Dog?”

  He was lying on his side, face contorted in agony. He had both hands on his stomach, and something lying on the ground by him. Blood, and … Díancécht help me, his belly had been slit two ways and spilled his vitals forth, and he strained to hold his very self together.

  There were words, gasped out on a desperate, squealing mouthful of air. But I could only make out one.

  “ … knife …”

  And I found that, when it came to the point, there was indeed no choice. My hands shook violently as I out took the little sharp dagger my father had given me.

  “Shut your eyes,” I whispered shakily. I knelt by his convulsing body in the fading light, and I touched the point of the dagger carefully to the hollow below his ear. Then I shut my eyes and drew the blade across his neck, fast, pressing down with all my strength, while my heart pounded and my throat tightened and my stomach heaved in protest. Warm blood gushed over my hands. The horse shifted uneasily. Dog’s body went limp, and his arms fell away from the great slicing wound in his belly, and … I got up abruptly and backed away, and for a long time I could only lean against a tree, retching, gasping, emptying my stomach of its contents, eyes and nose streaming, head throbbing with outrage. Logical thought was not possible. Only a blazing resentment, a gut-wrenching revulsion. The Painted Man. Eamonn of the Marshes. It was six of one and half a dozen of the other. Between them, they had made sure there would be no tomorrow for this man. It would be I who bore the scar of this on my spirit, while they shrugged it off and went on with their mindless pursuit of each other.

  At last the moon spread a faint silver light over the desolate stretch of road, and I felt the mare nuzzle my shoulder, gentle but insistent.

  “All right,” I said. “All right, I know.” Time to move on. But I could not leave him like this. Could not shift him; too heavy. In the delicate light his face was peaceful, the yellow eyes closed, the pockmarked features at rest. I tried not to look at the gaping wound in his neck.

  “Dana, take this man to your heart,” I muttered, slipping off the borrowed shirt I wore over my gown. Something glinted in the moonlight. The leather strip was severed neatly; when I lifted the necklace it left blood on my fingers. “Fierce as a great wolf,” I said, as my tears began to flow. “Strong as a fearless hound that gives its life for its master. Gentle as the most faithful dog that ever walked by a woman’s side. Go to your rest now.” I laid the shirt over his face and chest. Then I struggled back onto the mare and we made our way southward until I judged it was far enough. There was a place of shelter in the lee of a stack of straw. I unrolled Bran’s coat and put it around me. I lay down, and the horse settled beside me, as if she knew I needed her warmth to keep away the dark. I had never come closer to wishing I would fall asleep and never wake up.

  The next morning I rode farther south, and I saw a few farmers in their carts and one or two other travelers; and all looked at me curiously, but nobody spoke. I suppose I did look a bit of a sight, with my hair straggling down my back, and my clothes marked with blood and vomit. Some crazy woman. When I judged I was near enough to Littlefolds, I stopped by the way, and I opened my mind to my brother at last. Showed him just enough, with images carefully chosen, so he could find me. I sat down under a rowan tree and waited. He cannot have been so far away. Before the sun was at its peak, there was a thundering of hooves on the road, and Sean was there, leaping off his horse, hugging me hard, and looking searchingly into my eyes. But they were as carefully guarded as my thoughts. I had reached out to him; but I had told him nothing. After a while I noticed that Eamonn was there, too, and several of his men. Eamonn’s face wore a strange expression; eyes burning, face ash white. He did not embrace me; that would not be correct. But his voice shook as he greeted me.

  “Liadan! We thought—are you harmed? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” I
said wearily, as the men in green brought their horses to a halt behind him.

  “You don’t look fine,” said Sean bluntly. “Where were you? Who took you? Where have you been?” My brother knew I was keeping him out, and he used all the tricks he knew with his mind to try to make me open up.

  “I’m fine,” I said again. “Can we go home now?”

  Eamonn was looking at my horse; and he was looking at the big gray coat I wore, a man’s coat. He was frowning. Sean was looking at my face and at my bloodstained hands.

  “We’ll ride as far as Sídhe Dubh,” he said soberly. “You can rest there.”

  “No!” I said a little too vehemently. “No,” I added more carefully. “Home. I want to go home now.”

  The two men exchanged glances.

  “It may be better if you ride ahead with your men,” Sean said. “Get word to the Big Man. He’ll want to meet us. We’ll rest by the way, take our time.”

  Eamonn gave a curt nod and rode off without another word. The men in green followed him. There was just my brother and two men at arms and me.

  All the way home Sean questioned me. Where had I been? Who had taken me? Why wouldn’t I tell him; didn’t I understand there must be vengeance if I had been harmed in any way? Did I forget that he was my brother? But I would not tell. Bran had been right. You could not trust; not even those closest to you.

  So I rode back to Sevenwaters on the Painted Man’s horse, with his coat to keep me warm, with a necklace of wolf claws in my pocket and blood on my hands. So much for being able to change things. So much for the Fair Folk and ancient voices and visions of death. What was I but one more powerless woman in a world of unthinking men? Nothing had changed. Nothing at all, save deep inside, where nobody could see.

  Chapter Seven