The Dark Mirror (41 page)

“I
ask, then,” Tuala said through brimming tears, “that I may pass this care into your hands, Great Goddess, Bright Mother, illuminator of us all. You know he will be king; you know the strength he has in him. You know also that he has what some would call a weakness; a readiness to understand the mind and heart of his adversary, an open spirit that will give him pause even in the moment his arm wields
the sword of justice. Take him in your hands, Bright Lady; comfort him in the dark of night when his heart is filled with unease. When his mind is shadowed by doubt, cradle him in your arms and give him rest. I ask this in the name of all the gods, and in the name of all that is sacred . . .”

There was a little knife in Tuala’s belt; setting the cord down, she took the weapon in her hand and
raised it to sever a long, thick lock of her dark hair, leaving a ragged end at her brow. There was only one more part of this to be done and then, if she had performed it perfectly, the Shining One would give her a sign and she would know that, however much her own sorrow lay in her breast like a cold stone, Bridei would walk forward under the goddess’s protection. She raised her hands and drew breath
for the final charm.

“
What are you doing?
”

Tuala’s heart thumped; she spun around, arms still outstretched before her. The girl who had been standing behind her flinched back, eyes widening. The knife was pointed straight at her chest. Tuala sucked in an unsteady breath and lowered her arms.

Ferada crossed the room to the bed in two strides, a vengeful spirit clad in soft slippers and embroidered
nightrobe, red hair plaited neatly down her back. “Tell me!” she hissed. “What are you doing in my brothers’ bedroom? Why have you got a knife?”

Tuala did not seem to be able to get her heart under control, nor her breathing. The Shining One had almost left the window and the rite was not yet complete. She tried willing. Fox Girl away
Go, go now, quickly, so I can finish this and keep him safe
, but the red-haired girl stood her ground, lips tight, eyes glaring and suspicious.

“Well?” demanded Ferada. “Speak up!”

“I mean your brothers no harm.” Tuala’s voice was less steady than she’d tried for. “And it’s not their room, it’s Bridei’s. This is my house, not yours. I can go anywhere I like.”

Ferada’s lips curved in a little smile that was entirely without humor. “My mother’s unlikely
to be impressed by such childish arguments when I tell her I found you in here in the middle of the night with a sharp knife in your hand,” she said. “If you want her to include you in our entourage for the trip to Caer Pridne, and I have to say she’s far from enthusiastic about the idea, you’ll need to do rather better than that.”

The moon was creeping out of view; there was barely enough time
left. “Please,” Tuala made herself say through gritted teeth. “Please let me finish. You can watch; you can make sure I do nothing wrong. This has to be done now, while the moon still shines in the window It must be done before they send me away”

Something in her tone made Ferada’s expression change, though the eyes were still wary. The red-haired girl moved closer to the pallet where her young
brothers lay “Go on, then,” she said crisply.

It was hard to pick the ritual up again; hard to slow the pounding heart, swallow the tears, pace the breath. This must be done properly or there was no chance of it working. Bridei had impressed on Tuala from earliest times the significance of ceremony; the immense privilege it was to be granted the ears and eyes of the gods at such solemn times.

“I offer this token of myself,” Tuala said, laying the long, glossy lock of hair on the sill beside the other objects. “The rest I will relinquish to fire, that the Flamekeeper, guardian of warriors, may also know my lifelong loyalty. And I offer this.” A slash of the knife across her right palm, quickly, before she could think too hard—she heard Ferada’s gasp—and she was holding up her hand so
blood could run from the deep cut scored there onto the talismans of power set under the window. “Thus I show my reverence to the ancient ones, which lasts as long as blood flows in my veins; as long as breath passes through my body; as long as my feet walk the paths of womankind; as long as my heart knows truth.”

The Shining One was almost fled; a mere sliver of her lovely shape was all that
remained in the window space, although her light could be seen on the frail forms of the birches beyond the house. “You know that he is wise and strong and good,” Tuala whispered. “But he is also human, beset by fears, plagued by doubts, open to deep sorrows. I ask only this, that if I cannot be by his side to help him, you will ensure he does not face his times of darkness without a true friend
to light his way. This I ask in recognition of the bond you made between us, Bright Mother . . .” There was more she
would have said, but Ferada’s presence made it impossible. Indeed, to have any of this overheard was not only unsettling but felt in some way dangerous. Tuala put the knife back in her belt and clutched the bag against her wounded hand in an attempt to stanch the bleeding. She managed
a formal bow as the moon slipped beyond the window frame and out of sight; then things began to blur before her eyes, and she sat down suddenly on the end of the bed. The children slept on, undisturbed.

“Ancients preserve us!” Ferada exclaimed in an undertone, crouching down by her side. “That, I most certainly didn’t expect. Here, show me your hand—that needs salve and a bandage—”

“It’s nothing.”
Ferada’s sharp features were coming and going; Tuala heard a buzzing in her head. “I’m fine. And this is finished. You can go now.”

Ferada lifted her well-shaped brows. “You don’t look fine. Besides, I can hardly leave you here with Uric and Bedo. Come on. I’ll fetch some clean linen, Mother has some—”

“No! Don’t wake anyone. There’s nothing wrong with me, I’ll just go off to bed now . . .”
As Tuala rose to her feet a new wave of dizziness came over her, and the walls reeled around her. She swayed.

“Stupid girl,” Ferada said. “Where’s your own chamber?”

They got there easily enough and paused in the doorway. Letting Fox Girl into the only part of Broichan’s house that was all her own was not something Tuala planned to do, now or ever. “Thank you,” she said as firmly as she could.
“Good night.”

“Not so fast.” Ferada had pulled aside the rough curtain that was all the door this little space possessed, and was peering into the darkness within. “You can’t dress that wound properly yourself. Besides, I have some questions.”

“I don’t need you. I don’t want you.” The pain in her hand and the fogginess in her head made Tuala blunter than courtesy required. Under that lay the
realization that the Shining One had given no sign, no recognition that she had heard the prayers and accepted the offering. Fox Girl’s interruption had probably ruined any chance of that. The goddess was displeased, and would cast both Bridei and Tuala adrift, apart and without friends to help them.

“Too bad,” said Ferada, helping herself to a lantern that burned on a stone shelf near the doorway
and carrying it into Tuala’s little chamber. “By all the ancestors! I thought Bridei’s room was small enough, but this must be
like sleeping in a closet. How quaint. Don’t glower like that. You know very well that if I choose to tell my mother what I saw you doing she’ll refuse to take you to Banmerren. But maybe that’s what you want. Maybe you don’t want to go.” The brows rose again; the eyes
were very shrewd in the lamplight.

“That’s not your concern,” Tuala said, knowing even as she spoke that there would be no winning a war of words with this confident young woman. How old could Fox Girl be, fifteen, sixteen? Not so very much older than herself and yet, worlds away.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Ferada challenged. “Where do you keep cloths, linen—in here?” She rummaged in the storage
chest. “You really don’t want to go to Fola’s school, even though you’ll get the best chance any girl could have of escaping the marriage bed and making something of herself. You’d rather molder away here in Broichan’s odd domain, hoping your brother will come home at last. I can’t believe it.” While she talked, Ferada found linen, relieved a mute Tuala of the knife, tore a serviceable strip and
began to tend to the wounded hand with quick, deft fingers. “You have some salve? Good, here—just a little, then I’ll bind it. You know, I suppose, that there are hundreds of girls who’d kill for a place in Banmerren? Fola doesn’t accept just anyone.”

Tuala was sorely tempted to respond,
She took you, didn’t she?
But there was no point in such cheap barbs. Besides, Ferada’s mother was the king’s
cousin. Reared on Erip’s lessons in genealogy. Tuala understood the privileges and responsibilities such a connection must carry. “If I don’t go I have to marry.” she said quietly. “Being at Banmerren will be better than tying myself to a man I don’t love.”

“Love?” Ferada mocked. “Love’s got nothing to do with marriage. If I were you, I’d count myself lucky if my proposed spouse had ten fingers
and toes and all the required bits in between. Mother says men can be molded. Love is for tales. It has nothing to do with you or me or the lives of most young women of Fortriu. The best we can hope for is some control over the paths we follow. Some slight element of choice.” For a brief moment she sounded different, as if the dauntingly competent exterior housed another girl entirely.

“I wanted
to choose for myself,” Tuala said. “But in the end, all the choices were Broichan’s.” This was not quite true; there was one choice she could not speak of.

“Who was it you were praying for?” Ferada asked. “Your brother, I suppose?”

Tuala did not reply.

“I shouldn’t think he needs such a degree of devotion,” Ferada said drily “He’s always appeared pretty capable to me. Lacking in humor, a little
dull maybe, but very much in control of his own affairs. If I were you I’d stop fussing over him and get on with my own life. Be realistic about it, Tuala. A place at Banmerren is a great opportunity for such as you. I mean, where else would you go?”

That this part was plain truth did not make it any less hurtful.

“Funny,” Ferada went on. “Bridei never talks about you. I only knew you existed
because Gartnait told me. Really, I think you may be wasting your time.”

Tuala waited a little, making herself breathe before she spoke. “I’d like to go to sleep now,” she said politely. “If you don’t mind. Thank you for bandaging my hand. I would be grateful if you didn’t mention this to the lady Dreseida.”
He didn’t mention me because what is between us is special; precious; not to be shared
.

Ferada regarded her closely, eyes narrowed as if trying to work out a puzzle. “Hmm,” she said. “She’ll know soon enough when the boys are asked to explain the mess of hair and blood on the windowsill.”

“I’m not asking you to tell a lie,” Tuala said.

“We’ll see,” said Ferada. “You know, this could be quite interesting. I’m beginning to think sending you to Banmerren is a bit like putting a stray
kitten into a cage of wild dogs.”

“Kittens have claws.”

“Indeed. It should make for lively entertainment if nothing else. I think it’s best if Mother knows as little as possible. For now, at least.”

Tuala put her hand up to mask a yawn.

“No need to overdo it,” said Ferada. “There are still questions needing answers. But they can wait. Good night, Tuala.”

“May the Shining One guard your dreams.”
Even at such a moment, the right farewells must be spoken.

The curtain lifted and fell. Soft footsteps faded. Tuala was alone once more. Clutching a shawl around her shoulders, she felt the deep throbbing in her hand become a fiery aching up and down her arm; she felt the tears as they built up behind her eyes, then began to fall, hot and bitter, down her
cheeks. Mist slept on. What was in her
feline mind, there was no telling. Her paws twitched from time to time; maybe she was dreaming of rats. As for Tuala, her thoughts were on certain things Fox Girl had said, things that were lies, wounding, horrible lies.
He’s
not
dull. He’s the best person in the world, he tells wonderful stories, he always listens properly. The gods love him. And I’m not fussing. I’m taking care of the future.
Someone has to do it for him, and he’s only got me
.

These thoughts did not seem to make it better; the tears only flowed more quickly, too fast to wipe away. She worked hard to stay silent; there was no way she would let Fox Girl, or anyone else, hear that she had been reduced to weeping. What if the Shining One did not accept her offering? What if Bridei had to go on his pathway all alone?
He won’t be alone
, a small internal voice reminded her.
What about the vision, Midsummer at Dawn Tree Hill? He wasn’t alone then, was he? Who do you think that was with the russet hair and the elegant gown? A wife fit for a king, that’s who
.

Tuala lay down, closing her eyes tightly, putting her hands over her ears. But the voice could not be silenced thus, the insidious, intimate voice of the
leaf man, one of her own kind, determined to open her mind to her own folly.
It was her, wasn’t it? Highly suitable. And if she cares nothing for love, what matter if she thinks him a bore? He’ll be a king. That’s all that counts
.

At length Mist awoke, or half woke, crept up the bed, circled three times, and settled again close to Tuala’s neck. Much later, worn out by sadness, her bandaged hand
curled into the cat’s soft fur, Tuala surrendered to sleep.