The Well of Shades (29 page)

Eile took his hand. “You can tell me,” she said, feeling suddenly much
older than her sixteen years.

“She said his mind had been destroyed; that he could no longer put two thoughts together. That seemed the most grievous news of all. You’ve met him. He was always our rock, our shelter, our reassurance that we could be brave and just and walk straight paths in the world. Always, Eile, always over those ten years, however deep my despair, I refused to take the easy
way out, the quick, merciful ending, though the trade I ply now taught me a hundred ways to do it. Always, I’d been strong enough to keep going. But after those revelations, after seeing what Áine had become and finding myself unable to forgive her, despair overwhelmed me completely. Nothing made sense to me; there seemed no longer any point to things. Didn’t you ever feel like that? With Dalach,
and what was happening to you?”

“No,” Eile said. “I had Saraid. I couldn’t give up. Anyway, I always believed Father would come and fetch us one day. When you told me he wasn’t going to come, I did what I had to do. I knew it was up to me. I’m sorry
that’s meant you had to save us after all. I’d much rather have done it myself. Are you saying that when I yelled your name in the courtyard, you
were about to kill yourself? Truly?”

Faolan nodded. “My neck was in the noose. Your voice was the loveliest thing I ever heard in my life, Eile. Your words told me I had a future. All the silver in the world can’t pay for that.”

They sat in silence for a little. Líobhan came to the kitchen door, looked across and went in again.

“What does this mean, then?” Eile asked him, pleating a fold of
her skirt between her fingers. “This
éraic
thing? What do you plan to do about it?”

“It’s difficult. Saraid seems like a different child here; even I can see it. Líobhan would be happy to have the two of you stay. The problem is Áine. She won’t forgive us for this. Both of us represent a danger to this household because of what she might do. I can buy your freedom, but I can’t buy safety from
the Widow. She knows she has you to blame for coining here to tell Father where I was, and for bringing the rescue party. As for me, my sister will never cease her attempts to punish me, as long as I remain within reach.”

“Oh.” This was a lovely house, full of kind people, warmth and courtesy. For the first time in longer than she could remember, Eile had felt she could really breathe. “So we
have to go away. How soon?” How to tell Saraid again:
We’re leaving, Squirrel. An adventure.

“Soon. I’m sorry.”

“It’s worse for you. This is your family. You only just found them again.”

“I was never planning to stay here long. Indeed, I only came because of you. I’d made up my mind to bypass Fiddler’s Crossing because it was too difficult.”

Eile nodded. “Are you happy now you’ve done it?
Despite what happened with your sister? Despite having to give up all your money?”

Faolan smiled. “On balance, yes. Another reason I am
in your debt. And it isn’t quite all my money. There’ll be enough left to get by on.”

“You said you weren’t planning to stay. But this is your home. You shouldn’t let Áine force you to leave, that isn’t right.”

“I’ve a mission to perform in the north before
spring. After that I must take a ship back to Dunadd and points beyond. I’ll need to go on earning my keep, not to speak of yours and Saraid’s.”

She looked at him.

“It isn’t safe for you here, so close to Blackthorn Rise,” he said. “Áine has a great deal of power. Not only are you and the child at risk, but my family remains vulnerable if we stay. I want them to be able to return to the wary
truce they had with Áine. It’s the best that can be achieved.”

“I see. So you do want a slave after all?”

“To be honest, my journey would be accomplished far more easily alone. I’m accustomed to that. On the other hand, the presence of an instant family should help me remain relatively inconspicuous, and that can only stand me in good stead.”

“Family.” Eile’s voice became a growl. “You mean
the wife and child thing again? I don’t like that. You know why.”

“I refuse to identify you as a bonded slave, Eile. That sits very ill with me. I’ve explained this to you before; you should know you can trust me. And if it feels wrong to you that I should sleep on the floor and give my slave the bed, then we can take turns. Both of us have lived rough before. What we need is honesty. I won’t
lay a hand on you, I swear it. I won’t expect more of you than common sense and discretion. In return, I offer my protection. I realize it hasn’t helped you much up till now but, believe it or not, I am highly skilled in that field, and I will prove it to you. You want Saraid to be safe. I’ll keep her safe.”

Eile said nothing. Although she was pretty sure he
would keep his word, the idea repelled
her. She could not get Dalach out of her mind, heavy, stinking, thrusting, grinning Dalach.

“The place I need to visit in the north is a community of Christian monks,” Faolan told her. “I don’t wish to create the wrong impression by arriving with a young woman whom I cannot identify as wife or sister.”

The obvious question, Eile thought, was why, if he didn’t fancy a slave, he didn’t take her
and Saraid somewhere far enough away and simply leave them to fend for themselves. She didn’t ask it. Faolan might not think it important that she repay this massive debt, but she disagreed.

“Did you say Dunadd?” she asked him. “Isn’t that over the sea?”

“It certainly is,” said Faolan. “How do you feel about boats?”

This time, Eile thought, she wouldn’t have to lie to Saraid. This time it really
would be an adventure. “I don’t know,” she said, remembering Deord’s tales of epic voyages and strange new realms. “I think I might quite like them.”

A
FEW DAYS
later, they left Fiddler’s Crossing. It was early, the horses’ breath smoke-white in the morning chill and Saraid and Eile standing pale and silent, wrapped up in the good, warm clothing Líobhan had provided.
Faolan swallowed a multitude of regrets: that he could not allow them to stay here where they might be happy; that he must bid his family farewell so soon after finding them. That he had not been able to forgive poor, damaged Áine, and must leave others to deal with her twisted desire for vengeance. But he had laid his other ghosts to rest. So quickly, the wounds deep inside him had almost healed.
His family’s forgiveness was a powerful
salve, but he did not forget that, without Eile, he would not have been here to receive it.

Now his father stood before him. Conor’s eyes were both stern and loving as he set his hands on Faolan’s shoulders and gazed at him. “Go with my blessing,” he said. “A safe journey.” He touched his lips to his son’s brow. Then his glance went to Eile, who was bidding
a grave farewell to Donnan and the old man. “That’s a fine young woman,” the brithem said. “Or will be, once she learns the whole world isn’t against her.”

Faolan held back tears. He had shed a few since he came home, over swift-passing days and nights into which they had done their best to cram ten years of vanished time. Today, it was not possible to stand here without remembering that other
departure, the morning after Dubhán’s death: the drained face of his mother as she’d given Faolan a little bundle of food for the road; his father’s helpless despair; the fact that his sisters had not come out to say good-bye. He looked into Conor’s eyes now and saw the same memory; he saw the same unshed tears.

“Faolan,” the brithem said gravely, “never forget that you are my son, and that I
love you. Even in the darkest moment, that was always so. Wherever you travel, and I think that will be far, you carry your family with you. Keep us in your heart, and make your way home to us one day.”

At that moment control escaped Faolan long enough for a single tear to fall, and he embraced his father, saying something, he didn’t know what, some kind of promise. He hugged Líobhan, who was
managing to smile.

“You’ll come back, Faolan,” his sister said, holding him tightly. “I know it. There’ll be a time.”

He took his farewell of his grandfather, and Donnan, and Phadraig, who had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He thanked Donnan for procuring the horses that would take them quickly beyond the borders of Laigin. He had
told nobody, not even his father, where they were going; it
was safer that way.

It was time. He helped Eile onto her horse. His father was right; she was becoming a fine young woman not just in her honesty and strength, which Faolan had seen from the first, but in other ways, too. A little good feeding and a temporary sense of security had begun to turn the half-starved wretch of Cloud Hill into a thin but healthy-looking girl with a long sweep of glossy
hair the hue of oak leaves in autumn. The green eyes were bright, though still wary; her skin had a better color now. She was quiet this morning. He knew she would have liked to stay.

“Saraid ride horsey?” a small voice asked. “Please?”

He lifted the child onto the saddle in front of her mother. “All right?” he asked Eile. “Just follow me; we’ll take it slowly.”

“Mm.”

“Look after him, Eile,”
said Líobhan.

“Well, then,” Faolan said, “I suppose it’s time to go.” His voice was less steady than he had intended. He took one last look at his family. It was nearly his undoing; if his father had asked him at that moment to stay after all, he knew he would have been hard put to say no. He mounted in a rush, turning his horse so the others could not see his face. “Come, then, Eile,” he said,
and they rode away to the north.

A
T
W
HITE
H
ILL
the festival of Maiden Dance, celebrating the very earliest stirrings of spring, passed by with no more than token observance. A severe storm had blanketed the region in heavy snow. Chill, flailing winds made venturing beyond the shelter of homes and walled gardens a test of endurance; stock not housed in the safety of
barns was at the mercy of Bone Mother’s last assault for the season, and early lambs perished in their dozens.

Within the king’s household the atmosphere was tense; there was a threefold sense of expectation. Tuala’s baby was due within a turning of the moon. Nothing had been heard from Broichan since his precipitate departure some months earlier. Word about the household was that, if he planned
to return, it would surely be as soon as the weather cleared and blessed All-Flowers breathed the warm air of spring through the Great Glen once more. If the druid did not walk into White Hill as the first flowers peeped out beneath the budding trees of the forest, then perhaps he would not return at all. Some believed he had gone out of his wits, as druids were inclined to do sometimes, and had
perished in the dark chill of the winter woods. Tuala had shared her vision only with her husband and Aniel. In her opinion, what happened next was Broichan’s choice, and it fell to his family—that, it seemed, was what she and Bridei were—to be patient about it.

The third cause for the edgy sense of anticipation was Carnach, and a growing rumble of unrest that made itself known to Bridei through
the spies he sent out to glean what they could in village drinking halls and the gathering places of powerful men. Carnach himself had sent no messengers. Bridei knew his kinsman had spent the winter at his home in Thorn Bend, far to the southeast. His spies had brought him the news that Carnach had not made a claim for the kingship of Circinn; the best intelligence was that it would go to one
of Drust the Boar’s brothers, as Aniel had anticipated. But Carnach was too quiet. By now he should at least have let the king know his intentions for spring and summer; for the conduct of the garrison at Caer Pridne and for the ongoing defense of Fortriu’s borders. Leave it too long, and Bridei must seek another man to be his chief war leader. To do so would be the equivalent of slapping his influential
kinsman in the face. He did not wish to be forced into it.

Meanwhile, the weather prevented much movement in and out of the king’s stronghold and the children who
lived there, deprived of their usual outdoor activities, were driving everyone crazy. Tuala kept Derelei’s lessons brief and to the point, for she was often weary now in the last days of her pregnancy. They had learned much together,
but she felt, always, that insistent tug at the limits she set for her son, the urgent need to delve deeper. He wanted to cross boundaries and she refused to let him. Without her controls to guide him, Derelei had the capacity to cause havoc. It was exhausting. Once the new baby arrived, she thought she might not have the energy, or the will, to keep it up.