Son of the Shadows (19 page)

Even the night birds were silent before it. With my small, dim lantern, I felt as if I were the only
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creature stirring in this black, impenetrable world.

I took a step forward, and another, and saw that Bran sat against the rocks at the entrance to the shelter, staring straight ahead of him into the darkness. Perhaps he, too, had heard something. I opened my mouth to ask him, and he shot out a hand and grabbed me violently by the arm, without looking at me, without saying a word. I bit back a scream of fright and struggled to keep the lantern from falling. The clutching hand gripped so tightly I thought my arm would break.

Still he said nothing, but I heard it again in my mind, a voice like a terrified child's, the voice of a boy who has wept so long he has no more tears in him.

Don't go. Don't go away

And in the light from the lantern, which wobbled dangerously now in my free hand, I could tell that Bran did not really see me. He held me fast, but his eyes stared ahead, unfocused, blind in this night of no moon.

I felt the pain of his grip all the way up my arm. It no longer seemed to matter. I remembered that I was, after all, a healer. I lowered myself cautiously to the ground beside him. His breathing was fast and uneven; he was shivering. This seemed some kind of waking nightmare.

"All right," I said quietly, not wishing to startle him and make things worse. I set the lantern down. "I'm here. It's all right now." I knew full well it was not me he wanted. That child I heard cried out for something long gone, but I was here. I wondered how many such nights he had endured, nights when he would not sleep lest these dark visions should engulf him.

I tried to loosen his fingers where they bit into my flesh, but the grip could not be slackened.

Indeed, when I touched that hand it tightened still further, like that of a drowning man who, in panic, comes close to taking his rescuer down with him. Tears of pain came to my eyes.

"Bran," I said softly, "you're hurting me. It's all right now; you can let go now."

But he made no reply, simply gripped all the harder, so that despite myself I whimpered with the pain. I

would not wake him from the trance that held him fast. Such intervention is unwise, for these visitations have a purpose and must be allowed to run their course. Still, he need not face them alone, though it seemed that was exactly what he had intended to do.

So I sat there and made my breathing slow and calm, and told myself what I had told others many a time:

Breathe, Liadan, the pain will pass. The night was very quiet; the darkness like a living thing, creeping in around the two of us. I felt how tight strung his body was; I sensed his terror, and how he fought to conquer it. I could not hope to touch his mind, nor did I wish to see more of the dark images it held. But

I could still speak, and it seemed to me words were the only tool I had for keeping out the dark.

"Dawn will come," I told him quietly. "The night can be very dark, but I'll stay by you until the sun rises.

These shadows cannot touch you while I am here. Soon we'll see the first hint of gray in the sky, the color of a pigeon's coat, then the smallest touch of the sun's finger, and one bird will be bold enough to wake first and sing of tall trees and open skies and freedom. Then all will brighten and color will wash across the earth, and it will be a new day. I will stay with you until then."

Gradually, the grip of his fingers relaxed a little, and the pain in my arm became easier to bear. I was very cold, but there was no way I was going to move any closer to him. That would most certainly be against the code. He was going to find this extremely awkward in the morning. Time passed and

I talked on and on, of harmless, safe things, images of light and warmth. I made with my words a bright

web of protection to keep away the shadows. At length it grew so cold I admitted defeat and edged in to sit close beside him, leaning against his shoulder and laying my other hand over his
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fingers where they still clutched me. Inside the shelter, Evan had not stirred.

We were there a long time, I talking steadily, Bran quiet save for a shuddering, indrawn breath here and there, a muttered word. I wondered greatly. I could scarcely believe that somewhere inside this stern outlaw there was a small child afraid of being alone in the dark. I wanted badly to understand, but I

would never be able to ask him.

At the moment I had described, when the sky showed the first, faintest traces of gray, he came back to himself abruptly. The shivering stopped, and he went extremely still, and his breathing was deliberately slowed. There was a short time in which he must have become aware that he was not alone. He must have felt the touch of my hand on his, the weight of my head on his shoulder, the warmth of my body against his own. The lantern stood before us on the ground, still dimly glowing in the dark before dawn.

Neither of us said anything for a while. Neither of us moved. It was Bran who spoke first.

"I don't know what you think you're doing," he said, "or what you hope to achieve by this. I suggest you get up quietly and go back Inside to your job and in future behave less like a cheap roadside slut and more like the healer you're supposed to be."

My teeth were chattering with cold. I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. It would have been very satisfying to slap his face, but I couldn't even do that.

"If you would let go of my arm," I said, as politely as I could, and I could not stop my voice from shaking just a little, "I would be happy to oblige. It is rather cold out here."

He looked down at his hand as if he had never seen it before. Then, very slowly, he uncurled his fingers, releasing the vicelike grip he had maintained on me the whole night. My throat was parched with talking, my hand was numb, and a deep ache was spreading through my arm. Did he remember nothing? He turned his head, looking at me in the faint light of earliest daybreak as I sat there barefoot in my old shirt, moving and flexing my hand to bring it back to life. By Diancecht, it hurt. I got stiffly to my feet, for I did not wish to be in his presence one instant longer than I must.

"No, wait," he said. And as the first bird sent its liquid call through the crisp, morning air, he rose and took off his coat and placed it around my shoulders. For a moment I lifted my face and looked straight into his eyes, and what I felt just then terrified me more than any of the demons I'd glimpsed lurking there.

I turned without a sound and fled inside, and was just in time for the smith's first waking. It was another day; the fourth day.

A busy morning. Dog helped me to lift the smith and wash his body again, strip off the sweat-soaked garments and replace them with fresh. Both of them remarked that I was yawning a lot. I did not respond. My arm hurt. My head was full of confusion. I tried to imagine how it would be when I finally went home. If I went home. The girl who returned to Sevenwaters, I thought, would be a different one from the girl who'd ridden out not so very long ago. What would Father and Mother and Sean say when they saw me? What would Eamonn say? I tried to picture Eamonn, striding around the garden nervously as he attempted to tell me what he felt.

His face would not come clear into my thoughts. It was as if I had forgotten how he looked. My hand shook; water slopped over the sides of the bowl I was holding.

"Hey! Whoa!" Dog reached out quickly to grab it, his big hand bumping my arm as he did so. I let out a gasp of pain. Evan looked at me from where he lay, and Dog looked at me as he put the bowl carefully down.

"What is it, lass?" Evan's voice was weak, but his eyes were shrewdly assessing.

"Nothing. I have a strain or something; it will pass."

"Some strain," commented Dog, taking my sleeve delicately between his large fingers and rolling it up a little to show the deep, purple bruises flowering across the pale skin of my arm.

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"Who did this to you, Liadan?" Just as well the smith was too weak to get up.

"It's nothing," I said again. "Forget it."

They exchanged a glance, faces identically grim.

"Please," I added. "It was an accident. Done with no intent to hurt."

"A man should take care to avoid such—accidents," growled Evan. "A man should keep his hands to himself."

"Should know better," agreed Dog, scowling. "Little dainty thing like you; puff of wind would blow you away. Easily hurt. Should have known better."

"I'll be fine, really," I said. "Let's forget this, shall we, and get on with things? Broth perhaps, and maybe a sop or two of bread?"

Evan rolled his eyes. "Have mercy! She'll kill me with her endless flow of broth."

He ate a little, and slept again, and I chatted with Dog and played a makeshift game of ringstones on the ground. It was not easy. We found the flattest stones we could, but they could not be made to balance properly, and we ended up near hysterical with laughter, both of us woeful losers. At length I scooped the stones into a little heap, my hands brushing away the neatly drawn circle and its network of intersecting lines. When I looked up, Dog was staring at me, serious again.

"Got a man at home, I hear," he said.

"Not exactly," I replied cautiously, "an offer. That's as far as it goes."

"You might think about another." His tone was carefully offhand. "Offer, I mean. Got a lot saved. Been with the chief three, four years, now. Got enough put away to buy a good piece of land, few cattle, build a place, somewhere far enough away. Islands up north maybe. Or a boat, sail off and start again. Never met a woman like you before. I'd look after you. May not be much to look at, but I'm strong. I can work. You'd be safe with me. What do you think?" He fingered one of the long claws hung around his neck, his yellow eyes hesitant as he watched my face.

I gaped at him, astounded. I imagined going back to Sevenwaters with Dog in tow. I imagined my father's expression as he took in the half-shaven head, the patterned chin, the feral eyes and pockmarked face, the wolfskin cloak and barbaric necklace.

"You're laughing at me," said Dog, his blunt features crestfallen. "Knew the answer would be no, of course. Just thought I'd ask."

"I'm sorry," I said gently, curling my hand around his. "I am not laughing, I promise. I do not want to offend you. I appreciate your offer, I really do, for I can see you're a fine man. But I will not choose a husband yet, not till the season comes back to summer again. Not you, nor any other." Under my fingers the palm of his hand was ridged and hard. I turned the hand over, looking at the terrible callused scars that slashed across it.

"Where did you get these?" Someone had said, ask Dog his story. I could hazard a guess at part of it.

"Viking ship," he said. "I'm from Alba, same as your warrior woman, Scathach. Me and my brother had a herring boat, and we made a tidy living. Norsemen raided the village. Took the two of us for the oars, seeing the strength in us, you understand. That was a time, that was." His eyes clouded, and he ran a hand over his scalp. "Long time we were rowing for them. Too long.

Mostly they used their own crew, but these were short of men, and they'd six pair of rowers in chains, kept there permanent like. Me and

Dougal, we were always in trouble. But they kept us alive; strongest men they had, we were.

Dougal took it too far one day and caught the end of a whip across the face. He died. Maybe it was best. He'd seen his wife and daughters taken. Filled with hate. Me, I just kept on. Too strong for my own good."

"So how did you escape?"

"Ah, that's a tale. Chief got me out. Thought he was mad at the time. We were in some eastern
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port, hot as a furnace, air you could cut with a knife. Shackled in our places, that was the usual thing, while the crew went ashore. You'd die of heat and thirst as easy as you'd draw breath.

There we are, one night, sleeping as best we can, bum on the bench, head anywhere you can find for it, not the most comfortable bed you ever had. Place stank of piss and sweat, begging your pardon. Then there's a little jingle of keys, and here's this black man walking along between the benches, cool as you like, and he says to us, who wants to make an agreement with us? We're all staring at him, waiting for the Norsemen to come back and finish him off; but nothing happens except the ship begins to creak and groan like it's putting out from port. But nobody's rowing.

We say nothing. Some of the men can't understand anyway; speak half a dozen tongues, they do.

Then the black man (which was Gull, you understand, feather in his hair and all) says, the chief's up yonder and getting ready to cast off. You won't see your Norsemen anymore.

You've got a choice. Row this tub to Gaul, and when we touch shore there's a little bag of silver in it and freedom. You'll row without shackles if you don't make trouble. What about it?"

"So I speak up. 'What's the other choice,' I ask him? And this other man steps up behind him, it's the chief, but his face was a bit plainer then. He's young, not much more than a lad, and I'm thinking, what's this whipper-snapper think he's up to? Then the chief says, "Depends how well you think you'll do, chained up here. The Norsemen won't be coming back. How long before somebody notices a dead

Viking or two feeding the fish under the jetty? Maybe not long. Maybe a while. It's a busy port, and nobody gives a toss what happens to you. That's the choice," he said. Showed it in signs, with his hands, so all the men could understand. "Row well for me," he says, "and you'll be free men before the next full moon." And I'm thinking, this fellow's crazy. What about attackers on the way? What about the

Norsemen avenging their own? Besides, there's two of them and twelve of us, my brother's place having been taken by a long-faced Ulsterman. What's to stop us dumping them overboard the moment the chains come off? We all say yes, of course. Nothing like a sniff of freedom to make up your mind for you.

"He kept his word. We had a few adventures on the way to Gaul, but we got there, and he gave me the choice to stay with him or move on. Been with him ever since."