Son of the Shadows (68 page)

accepted that Johnny had suddenly acquired more uncles than any lad might possibly need, and I left them to it, though not without regret. He was so small; and so fearless.

As for Bran, I dared not let the others know how scared I was. I had poulticed the head wound, so that he wore a neat bandage around the skull over the fast-growing curls. It was Gull who helped me, refusing to go and rest; Snake, too, hovered nearby. We sat Bran upright, and held his head up, and put a moistened sponge to his lips. But the liquid ran down his chin and onto the blanket, as if he had lost the will to help himself.

"How long can he go without water?" asked Gull.

"One more day, maybe." I tried to disguise my distress, but my shaking voice betrayed me. I could see how the flesh had fallen away from Bran's cheeks, leaving the bones stark and prominent under the boldly patterned skin. I could feel how skeletal his fingers were, how frail his wrist, where the small image

of a winged insect stood out on the dry, pallid skin. I could hear how faint and slow his breathing rasped.

How long Bran had been held in that cramped, underground tomb, Gull could not say, for he had lost count of the days while they were in Sidhe Dubh.

"I need you to do something for me," I told Snake, who stood at the foot of the pallet.

"Anything."

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"I want you to send someone out and try to find my father. He is Iubdan of Sevenwaters, but he was once called Hugh of Harrowfield, a Briton. He's a very tall man, strongly built, with red hair. Hard to miss. He traveled across the water, midsummer last, and is overdue to return to Sevenwaters. He could be on his way back; should be, if the news from home reached him. I know that if he's to be found, your men can do it. They'll need to make haste."

"Consider it done."

"Thank you," I said. "Later, I want the men gathered here. We must— we must try to call the chief back.

Somehow, we must make him understand that he can't go yet; that he's needed here."

"I'll fetch them. Ask us for any help you need, Liadan. You mustn't wear yourself out. Let us be strong for you."

I touched his wrist gently, where the bracelet of painted snakes wove its way around his well-muscled arm. "You already are, Snake, you and the rest of them."

I kept my misgivings to myself. I had no doubt this was the task Finbar had once spoken of, a task of healing that would stretch my skills to their limit. But Bran lay as if lifeless, gone deep within, as if he had fled of his own will to that tiny, dark prison where Eamonn had confined him, almost as if he believed that that was where he belonged. As I watched the sun rise in the sky and steady and pass over, I knew he was slipping away from me. He had once said of himself, Fit to live only in the darkness

, and

Go back in your box, cur

. So at the last extreme, that was exactly what he had done. He carried his prison inside himself, and the door was bolted. To find it and unlock it meant making a path through dark memories, secrets he had told me were best left buried.

Still, I was not alone. Perhaps we might summon the strength to call him back, all those of us who loved him. That would be the first step. As for the second, I could not take that without guidance, for it was a task to make the boldest heart quail.

Snake was gone; Gull kept watch by Bran's side. I went out to sit on the rocks above the pool where once Bran and I had lain in each other's arms, heedless of the rain. I looked into the dark water with a feeling of growing certainty, and I called silently to my Uncle Finbar.

Uncle? I am here, and I have something to ask you.

Here, under the standing stones, the response was instant, though dim, an image barely visible on the surface, hardly a picture of a man, more a trick of the light that made you think there might, just possibly, be someone there.

Liadan, you are safe then.

I'm safe. But he is not, not yet. He is gone far inside himself, and I need to know if I am right, if I can find him again. I believe this is the task you spoke of, and I will do it. But it scares me, Uncle.

I fear what I will discover.

The man in the water nodded gravely.

Be warned, Daughter. He will use all his strength against you, and his strength is formidable. He will fight you every step of the way. It's a cruel task, for you must unfasten the bindings of his heart and lay it bare. There's great pain there, a pain he does not want to share with you. There is a frozen child who hides within a prison of lost dreams. Find him, take him by the hand, and lead him forth from that dark place.

I was chilled to the bone. He spoke like a voice from another world.

/

will do it

.

If I could help you, I would, child. But this is your task. And you must begin now. The longer
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you delay, the farther he flees from you, until there is no way back.

The water rippled, and he was gone.

I called Snake, and he joined me by Gull in the shelter.

"Right," I told them. "I think there are two parts to it. There's a summoning to bring him out from where he's hiding. Then there's a healing, a putting together so he will stay with us. The first part, you all help me with. I'll do the second part alone."

"Not a lot of time," Gull commented quietly.

"I know that. It must be finished by dawn, or he'll escape us. You should call the men now, and I'll explain it to them."

"Liadan," said Snake awkwardly, "You know he'd hate this."

"What do you want me to do? Leave him to die of thirst; let him perish alone and wandering in some place we cannot see? Or maybe help him on his way with a little sharp knife? Is that what you think I

should do?"

"There's not a man here would say that, except the chief himself. If he could stand outside himself and see this, he'd be the first one to draw the blade across his throat. We're all behind you, Liadan. None of us wants to be the one who has to explain this to him when he comes back, that's all."

"I will explain it to him. Now go, fetch the men."

We sat by Bran's side, waiting. He had not stirred; his face was pale and calm, as if sleeping.

There was no outward sign he lived, save the slight, slow rise and fall of his breathing. His fingers were limp and cold, and I tucked the blanket over them, still gripping his hand in mine. I wondered if somewhere, deep down, he could feel that I had not let go.

The men came in ones and twos, soft footed despite their heavy boots. Most were armed. All wore the strange raiment of their calling, the skins and feathers and decorations that were their pride and identity.

All were solemn. They gathered around the pallet, sitting, crouching, standing in silence. Not quite the full complement; even at such a time, the watch must be maintained.

"Very well," I said. "He can hear us, make no doubt of it. He has a head wound, a bad one; but men have recovered from worse, and he is very strong, you know that. But he cannot swallow, and a man does not last long without water. We must bring him out of this sleep."

"What if he doesn't want to come out?" This was the big, dark-bearded fellow, Wolf. I had not heard him speak before; his voice was guttural, heavily accented.

"That's just it," I said. "He thinks it not worth returning to us. We must persuade him otherwise.

He needs to know how you value him; he needs to be reminded what good things he has done for you, and what it means to you. He must be made to recognize what he has given, and what he can give. Only you can do that."

They looked at one another and moved uneasily.

"We're fighting men," said Rat, who stood holding Johnny against his shoulder and patting his back, "not bards nor scholars."

Another man spoke apologetically. "Can't think what we'd say."

"You remember the tales I told you?"

There were nods and half smiles.

"Well then, it's just like that, only shorter. Each of you tells a little tale, a tale of the Painted Man.

We'll do it in turn. And with our tales, we call him back. Simple, really." I caught Gull looking at me quizzically, and I suspected he knew my brisk confidence was totally assumed. Underneath, I was cold with the fear that we might fail. Their faces began to brighten with hope.

"That's good," said one man admiringly. "Fancy thinking of that. You're a rare one. Can I go first?"

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"Surely."

The tales were many and varied. Some were poignant, some funny, some the stuff of high tragedy. There was the story of how Bran had saved Dog from the longships, and how, said Snake, even though poor

Dog was dead now, he'd certainly returned the favor; for if Dog hadn't hit me on the head that day in

Littlefolds, I'd never have met the Painted Man and there would have been no Johnny. And, Snake added, now that the chief had me and his lad, he'd have to be a complete fool not to want to wake up.

There were tales from the south and tales from the north, tales from Cymru and Britain and Armorica.

There were tales told by Norsemen and Ulstermen and Gauls. All sorts. But they had one thread in common. In every tale, the Painted Man had reached out his hand to an outcast, a man with no place to go in the world, and welcomed him to a band of comrades, a code, and a purpose.

Gull whispered his, a story of blood and loss, of anguish and despair.

"You called me back to life when I sought to end it. It was your hand stayed mine when I would have given in to the darkness. Now I step into your path. I bid you halt and return to us. Your work is not finished. We need you, friend. Now it is my turn to call you back."

We had woven our net of words all afternoon. It was a fine, strong net, like the men who made it. Now dusk was coming on.

"Listen to Gull," I said, holding back tears. "Listen to us all." I had told them Bran could hear.

Now I

doubted the truth of that for, try as I might, I could not sense the smallest spark of thought in him, the weakest fragment of vision in his mind. If he were not already gone, he had the most powerful of barriers in place.

"Bran," I said softly, my fingers moving against the sunken flesh of his cheek, "we love you. We are your friends. We are your family. Come out. Come back from that dark place. Walk out from the shadows, dear one."

Gull made a little movement with his bandaged hand, and then one by one the men came forward to touch Bran's arm, or grip his shoulder, and here or there I saw a surreptitious wiping away of tears.

When they all had gone but Gull and Rat, I took Johnny in my arms and went out by the fire to feed him, and allowed myself to weep. As I sat there, Snake came back with Wolf, and they changed Bran's clothing and sponged his body. While they worked they talked, cheerful, practical talk about an armorer in the north who had developed a new process for tempering iron and what a fine, precise type of sword he was making and what price might be negotiated for such a superior kind of weapon. I knew their talk was for the chief, and I recognized their efforts. But I was weary, weary to the point of sickness, and sad beyond measuring: and I closed my eyes where I sat. Then, unbidden, a nightmare was on me, walls closing in, utter darkness, no sense of time or space, no sound but the thumping heart and labored breathing, and I was scared, I was scared Uncle would beat me again, I could feel the stinging pain in my back and my legs from last time, I could feel the ache in my arms from when he made me hold the rock up over my head . . . I'd been weak, and I'd dropped it, and if the belt hurt it was my own fault because you only got punished if you were not strong enough . . . my nose ran and I sniffed without thinking, and my heart raced ... no sound, that was the rule, no sound or there was trouble ... it was hard not to cry when you had wet yourself and you were hot and thirsty and scared and nobody came . . . when all you could do was count up to ten, over and over again . . .

when you waited and waited for her to come back for you because maybe, just maybe, if you were brave enough, she would still come, even now . . .

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I came to myself abruptly, my head throbbing, my heart thumping. The terror was real, as if I were there in that small, dark space myself, and I blinked and forced myself to breathe slower, forced my eyes to see the still water of the pool and the soft willows gray-blue in the twilight. I felt the warm weight of the baby in my arms.

"Liadan?" Gull was beside me, his features near-invisible in the fading light. "All right?"

I nodded. "Yes. He's there, Gull. Not far away. There just below the surface and too frightened, or somehow too ashamed, to come out. He heard us; I know it."

"How can you know?" Gull asked, his voice full of wonder.

"I—I hear his thoughts. Share his memories and feelings, when he lets me in. It's a gift, and a curse. It might help me to reach him, help me to unlock whatever barrier this is that he's built around him. But I

need to know. I need to understand what makes him hide like this. I think—I think, whatever it was, it happened when he was very young. When he was quite small. Did he ever tell you . . .?"

"Not him. Lives by the code. No past, no future. He never said a thing. Seems to me the man was born old. I wish I could help."

"Never mind," I said, my heart sinking. "I must just do my best to reach him. I'll need to be alone tonight.

I'll put Johnny to bed in the shelter, then you should leave us. All of you."

"I'll stand watch out here."

"Oh, Gull, with those hands you should be in an infirmary, in good care. You take too much on yourself.

At least get some sleep."

"What about you? You can't go on forever." He put his hand on my shoulder. "We'd look after you, you know. If he—we'd look after you and the boy."

"Stop it!" My voice rang out harshly. "Don't say that! He's going to live. I'll have no words of defeat here."

There was a brief silence. Then Gull said, "Made for each other. Incapable of failure, the two of you. No doubt the lad'll grow up to be a great leader. How could he not? Now, I'll have them fetch you a bite to eat; then fa we'll do as you say But there'll need to be a guard Can't hurt, since not one of us will sleep tonight"