Son of the Shadows (27 page)

They took from me my family and my birthright; they took my name. Maybe they told you different. But she stole your father away from his rightful place. He abandoned his duty to follow her. Because of that I lost everything. Because of them, I ... I am indeed worthless, scum
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of the earth."

"But—"

"The irony of it. You would think someone out there played a game with us. How could it be by chance that the one woman I—that the woman who brought me so close to forgetting—that you should be her daughter. That cannot be random. This is my punishment, my doom for daring to believe there could be a future."

"Bran—"

"Hold your tongue! Don't use that name! Pack your things and go; I don't want you here one instant longer."

A cold stone in the heart. That was how it felt. There wasn't much to pack. When it was done, I went down the hill and stood for a moment by Evan's grave. I could barely tell where the earth had been disturbed. It would not be long before every sign was gone.

"Farewell, friend," I whispered.

Bran had brought the horse out, and now she wore a blanket saddle, neatly strapped in place. He had tied my small bag behind this. A water bottle. His coat, rolled up and fastened with a length of rope. That was a little odd.

"She will carry you safely home," he said. "You need not trouble yourself to return her. Call it—payment for services rendered."

I felt the blood drain from my face. I lifted my hand and struck him hard across the cheek, and watched as a red mark stained the clear skin. He made no attempt to avoid the blow.

"You'd better go," he said coolly. "Make for the east; the road goes through that way, then south to

Littlefolds. It's not so very far."

Then his hands came around my waist, and he lifted me into the saddle; but one hand still lay against my thigh as if he could not quite let go.

"Liadan," he said, staring intently at the ground.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Don't wed that man Eamonn. Tell him, if he takes you, he's a dead man." His tone was intense.

It was a vow.

"But—"

Then he slapped the horse on the rump, and, obedient beast that she was, she headed off at a sharp canter. And before I could form the words for good-bye, he was lost from sight, and it was too late.

There was no point in being angry. This was over. I would never see the Painted Man again. It was time to go home; and before it was dark of the moon again, all this would be fading into memory like some fantastic dream. I whispered this to the sturdy gray mare as she made her steady way eastward under the trees, and by lonely brooks and still tarns, and carefully between the rocks toward the road. I had no need to direct her steps; she seemed to know her way.

When the sun was high in the sky, we rested by a stream. She drank and cropped the grass. I unfastened my pack and discovered hard cheese and dry bread wrapped in a cloth. For a man who could not wait to see the last of me, he had been surprisingly thorough. I supposed he simply followed the well-practiced pattern of hasty departures, of decisions taken on the run.

That was his life. It dealt him one blow after another, and he took them and moved on. I tried very hard not to think of him. Home.

That was where I must direct my thoughts. Sometime, when I was far enough away, I must use the power of the mind to send a message to my brother Sean, so he could ride out to meet me.

Not yet, I

thought. Do this too early, and I risked drawing the forces of Sevenwaters down on Bran and his men. I

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had felt it from time to time in the encampment, a tug at the thoughts, an intrusion in the mind, my brother calling silently, Liadan! Liadan, where are you'

? But I had shut myself off from him. If anyone were to betray the band of the Painted Man and destroy their fellowship, it would not be me.

We moved on. I was growing weary. There had been little sleep; and despite myself I heard, over and over, the words of that morning in my head.

Don't put your hand on me. I don't want you here one instant longer. Call it payment for services rendered

. I told myself not to be foolish. What had I

expected? That I could change his life forever as he had changed mine?

I set my thoughts ahead, to home and to my return. What could I tell my family? Not where I had been;

nothing of the outlaws who had sought my help, and who had, against all odds, become my friends.

Certainly, nothing of the man to whom I had so rashly given myself. Had I not repeated my sister's error?

It followed, then, that if the truth were known I could expect no better treatment than poor Niamh had been given: a hasty marriage and prompt banishment, away from family and friends, away from the forest.

A shiver ran through me. Sevenwaters was my home; its dark loveliness was lodged in my very spirit. But

I had changed things; I had lain with the Painted Man; and no matter how cruel his words of rejection, he, too, was now a part of me. I wanted to tell the truth; I wanted to ask my father what dark secret of the past had led to this man's bitter hatred of me and mine. If I did not tell, I would never know why Bran had sent me away. And yet, I could not tell.

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.

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"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.

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"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. Ciaran, 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

I

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 gaze 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:
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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