Son of the Shadows (42 page)

Were these secret signs of protection made at his bidding, or had they been crafted by an older kind, those who had dwelt in the place of the fairy fortress long before the human folk came to set their hand upon it and claim ownership of what could never rightly be theirs? The deep places belonged to the Old Ones. No upstart chieftain with a bag of silver and a few cartloads of stone for building could ever change that, try as he might to set his stamp on the landscape.

There was a keyhole. Trembling, I fetched the old key from where I had hidden it and tried it, knowing it could not fail to work. I sensed an inevitability about things now; I knew I was being led forward. I felt more fright than relief. The little door swung open, revealing a precipitous flight of stone steps spiraling downward into darkness. There was nothing for it but to pick up my skirts in one hand, and grasp the candle in the other, and step forward, hoping that Niamh would not wake before I returned.

The way was so steep and narrow I could see only the smallest distance in front of me. It was a masterpiece of construction, plunging down into the very depths of the hill, until I judged I must be below the lowest level of the house, below the courtyard, at length below even the place where the sharp rocks encircled the hill, under the fortress walls. And at last I saw light ahead, a light that was not simply the faint glow cast by my nickering candle, but an increasing brightness that was, unmistakably, the first rays of the rising sun through the mist of the marshlands. I rounded the last turn of the spiral steps and there before me, not five paces away at the end of a narrow tunnel in the rocks, was an opening to the morning. I had found the way out.

It was not much more than a crack, big enough for a girl my size to pass through, but too narrow for an armed man. Indeed, it was just as well my child had as yet scarcely begun to swell my belly out, for soon enough this way would not be possible even for me. Strange, I thought, that there was such a chink in the impregnable armor of Sidhe Dubh, and it was unguarded.

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Then I looked about me, and began to understand. The place where I had emerged was just below the circle of pointed rocks laid around the hill. Behind and above me, the sentries paced to and fro, to and fro atop the high walls, apparently

unaware of my presence out here in the open. I looked in front of me, northward, and there directly ahead was that low line of distant hills I had seen from the ramparts. The expanse of flat ground before me was the place of sinking bog, the place so dangerous that to attempt to cross it was death, save for those few who knew the way. So we could escape this far, but no farther. I crouched quiet by the rocks, willing the guards not to see me. There was no certainty they would bother to identify an intruder before loosing their arrows. Behind me, the opening through which I had come was invisible, merely another irregularity in the rocky face of the hillside.

Perhaps it was concealed by fairy arts. I had counted my steps carefully, and noted their direction precisely, for I had no wish to be stranded out here alone, without explanation.

I sat quiet awhile, knowing I had half a solution, but unable to grasp the remainder. It was a cool morning with gathering clouds suggesting later rain. Down by the water there were creatures, long-legged marsh birds, stabbing with their beaks at strange, hopping insects. I watched them and felt my son flex his tiny limbs.

I wish you could see these birds

, I told him.

You'll see many birds, when we go home to

Sevenwaters. There's one called a wren. That's the smallest and very magical. You'll find it in many tales. You'll see an owl, and a raven, and a lark singing fit to make you weep as it rises.

You'll see the great eagle gliding above the forest, and the swan descending to the lake, when at last we go home

. Looking across that wasteland, I thought about Niamh's fragility. Even if I could bring her down here undetected, even if she were willing, what then? I did not know the way across. A boat, maybe. But there was no boat, and the patches of open water were few and far between.

And we could not hope to go by day, for we would be soon spotted and brought back. Even now, I could not understand why the guards had not seen me. Their steady patrol continued high above, passing and returning. After a while I went back up, all the way up, to emerge in our chamber out of breath, with aching legs and a mind that had not yet found any answers. I shut the door and hid the key, and pulled the tapestry back into place. Niamh slept on, unaware.

Next morning I went down again. It was very early. A chill mist shrouded the marsh, and clouds veiled the first sun. Stunted bush and windswept tussock poked uneven fingers through the mantle of vapor, and there were strange creaking noises out in the bog, subtle sounds that were not made by frogs.

I shivered as I sat below the rocks and drew my woollen shawl tighter around my shoulders.

There was a puzzle to solve, and I had most of the clues, but try as I might I could not put it together and make any sense of it. The Old Ones had guided me thus far. There was a way out.

And I knew what time of day it would be safest. This morning I could not see three paces across the marsh before the swirling mist obscured all but the few protruding plants that somehow survived in that harsh place. At such a time pursuit would be all but impossible. Still, how could one attempt such a venture without a guide who knew the way? To try it alone would be foolish indeed. Had things been different, I might gladly have taken the risk for my sister. I might have clutched her hand and set out across the quaking bog, trusting in the oldest offerees to guide us safe, hoping to find some sanctuary before our menfolk tracked us down.

But not now. My own life and Niamh's, those I might have risked, but not my son's.

Strange, how the pace of time seems to change. Now the days were speeding by, and for all her blind trust in my ability to make everything right, Niamh seemed on edge, muttering to herself by day and waking abruptly at night, shaking and weeping from some nightmare she would not
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speak of. And then, with the moon waxing fast, Aisling received a message. As we sat at supper over roast mutton in rosemary sauce, she passed it on.

"Good news," she said brightly, "I've heard from Eamonn. A man came in today. They have left Tara and are now quartered close by Knowth, where they meet with chieftains of the district.

They will stop again at Sevenwaters and should be here in four days' time."

Niamh blanched. It was a blow, and I struggled for appropriate words.

"You'll be happy to see Eamonn again." This much at least was the truth.

"I surely will," Aisling acknowledged with a wry smile. "I can't say it has not been difficult with him away.

We have reliable and skilled people here, of course, but my brother is rather particular about things, so I

do have to keep a close watch on them. Besides, I'm concerned for Eamonn. He was—he was not himself those last days before they left. I am hoping to see him in brighter spirits."

I could not find a response to this and kept silent. But Niamh's words tumbled out like careless footsteps across a terrain full of traps.

"Four days! That can't be right. It is too soon. Four days, it's not enough time—"

"Don't worry, Niamh," I said, frowning into my sister's huge, expressive blue eyes, which spoke clearly of impending betrayal and tragedy. "Everything will be all right." I turned to Aisling.

"Niamh hasn't been well.

We might retire early, I think. She needs her sleep."

Aisling's small, freckled face was looking serious. Her eyes were on Niamh, weighing up my sister's appearance and her words.

"You should tell me, Liadan," she said carefully. "You should let me know if there is any problem. I might be able to help. Eamonn would be sure to want to help."

I doubted that very much. "Thank you, Aisling. No need to concern yourself."

Four days. The goddess help us, only four days. I spent a sleepless night contemplating the several equally impossible alternatives facing me and liking none of them. As soon as the sky began to lighten to the faint gray that presaged dawn, I was up, glad to be on my feet again, dressing in my sturdy boots and a warm gown with a heavy cloak over the top, desperate to get out of doors and away from the stone walls that now seemed to trap me and my dilemma tightly within them, an unsolvable puzzle in an unbreachable box. Before dawn broke, I slipped out through the secret door in the alcove, down the spiral stairs, and out to the stark hillside above the marsh. There I stood staring out northward. My stomach churned with nerves, anxiety made my head ache, and I was close to weeping from sheer fright at the thought of what I must try to do. For it seemed the only option was to take my sister's hand in mine and step out onto that wasteland in an act of insane faith.

A hand clapped itself efficiently across my mouth, and an arm went tightly around my chest. A voice behind me said, very softly, "Just warning you so you aren't tempted to make a noise. The guards can't see us, but they can hear us. Keep quiet. All right?"

The pressure of the arm was released. The delicately patterned hand was withdrawn. I did not need to see this hand to identify the owner of the voice. True to his reputation, the Painted Man had penetrated the defenses of Sidhe Dubh as effortlessly as a shadow.

"What, no blow on the head this time?" I inquired in a whisper, not turning. My heart was hammering in my breast.

"Sit down." Spoken in an undertone, this was unmistakably an order. "We're in a blind spot. But it's limited. No point in going out of the way to attract attention."

I sat, and Bran moved into view, settling in the cover of the rocks three paces away from me. He wore an ancient tunic and trousers of indefinable hue, and the soles of his soft boots were coated with black mud. His face was pale, his eyes serious. He looked wonderful. He gazed at me
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silently, and I gazed

back at him and felt a blush rise to my cheeks. A small frown appeared on his brow.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him, as my mind whirled with possibilities.

He took his time in replying; and when he did speak, it was cautiously.

I!

"Strange," he said. "I thought I had the answers ready for anything you might say to me. But they are all fled, every one, now that you sit here by me."

"It's dangerous for you here, alone and unarmed," I said, my voice shaking. His eyes were fixed on me with an expression I had not expected to see again. "Why did you come here? There's a price on your head; you know that."

"That troubles you?" He sounded genuinely surprised.

"You were the one who changed things between us, not I." I was holding my hands clutched tight together, in case I should give in to the urge to reach out toward him. "If you think I care nothing for your safety, then you don't know me very well. Now answer my question."

"I was passing and thought you might be in trouble."

"I don't think that can be the truth. How could you know I was here? Besides, chance does not play a great part in your existence, I imagine, nor in that of the men you lead."

Bran's expression was somber. "I could tell you the truth. But you wouldn't believe me," he said simply.

"Try me. You've nothing to lose."

"You think so?"

"Brighid help us, Bran, you're in the heart of enemy territory! Why take such a foolish risk?"

"Ssh, not so loud. I'm neither alone nor unarmed. I came here to tell you to go home. I don't want you here at Sidhe Dubh. Things will come to a head between that man and me in due course. I don't want you caught in the middle."

My mouth opened and shut without a word.

"As I said, you don't believe me."

"But. . ."

"I heard a—a cry for help, that was what it seemed to be, a cry that came to me at night, when I was far away from this place. I found myself unable to disregard it and so I returned, and there was indeed news that you were here, in that man's domain. We keep a close watch on this fortress, Liadan. I've watched you come out when dawn rises and gaze around you as if you wished you could fly away. Things reached a point where I felt I should warn you."

"Nonetheless," I said cautiously, "after—after the last words we spoke to each other, it seems passing strange that you should seek me out at all. It seems stranger still that you would ask me to return home to

Sevenwaters when you repudiate so utterly all those who dwell there."

"It's your safety we're discussing, not your father's character. I despise him, but that's irrelevant.

Your

uncle's stronghold is well guarded, and I want you back there. You must do as I tell you, Liadan.

Go home. Go as soon as you can. It's not safe for you here."

"It is even less safe for you. You cannot be unaware that Eamonn has sworn to kill you if you set foot on his land or threaten what is his again. These guards will not hesitate to loose their arrows the moment you are seen. The men in green can be swift and cruel. I would not wish you to suffer the same fate as Dog did. No man should endure such an end."

I realized even as I spoke that I had said too much. Bran's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer.

"How can you know what happened to Dog?" he hissed at me. "How can you know such a
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thing?"

A cold shiver went though me as the images returned stark to my mind. The darkness by the roadside, the muffled sound of blows raining down, the clink of harness as they rode away.

Dog's voice, wheezing in his chest:

Knife. . .

.

"I know because I was there," I said in a thread of a voice. "I know because I watched from the shadows and could not stop them. I know because . . . because . . ." My voice wobbled dangerously.

"Because what, Liadan?" asked Bran softly.

"Because he cried out for the knife at the end, and there was nobody there but me. He cried out for you to end it, but the hand that drew the knife across his throat was mine."