The Well of Shades (7 page)

“I’m sorry,” Eile said. “She’s hungry.”

“Your aunt tells me you’ve broken the news,” Faolan said. He watched as she served Dalach, putting a generous portion on his platter, as she then served the guest himself. The bread smelled like all the best things of summertime put together. Her mouth
was watering. Eile cut cheese for Anda, then a sliver for herself. The crust was red as crab apples, the cheese itself as golden as the sun. She divided the last of the small loaf between her aunt and herself, glancing sidelong at Dalach. If Faolan hadn’t been there, she knew Dalach would have denied her so generous a portion. Now he simply tightened his lips. Eile took one blissful mouthful of
bread; one salty, wonderful bite of cheese. Then, when nobody was looking, she slipped the remainder into the pocket of her apron. Saraid was little. She didn’t eat much. There were two good meals in this.

“Not eating?” Faolan asked her.

“I’m not very hungry. But thank you for bringing it.”

“Forget the pleasantries,” Dalach said, wiping his mouth. “What about Deord? What provision did he make
for his daughter here? You know we’ve been supporting her out of the goodness of our hearts these seven or eight years? We can’t keep the girl forever. Duty only carries a man so far. Times are hard. You’ll know. Or maybe you won’t.” He looked Faolan up and down. “What’s your trade?”

“Dalach—” hissed Anda, but it was a halfhearted effort; she lived in fear of her husband’s sharp tongue and punishing
hand, and seldom remonstrated with him.

“I have several,” Faolan said, frowning. “I see your circumstances here and they concern me. Is work hard to find?”

“You making some kind of comment? What, you think I can’t provide for my family?” Dalach glowered,
clenching his big fists. There was good reason why folk did not come up to the hut very often.

“I don’t know you,” Faolan said levelly. “I
did know Deord. Whatever may have happened at this end, I know he would want Eile to be given the chance of a good life, one in which she’s well provided for and able to make something of herself.”

“If he wanted that, why didn’t he stay and look after her and her mother himself?” Anda’s voice was shaking. “There was need for him here.”

“You must understand,” Faolan said, “that what Deord went
through in Breakstone Hollow was an extreme kind of punishment. That place destroys the strongest of men. Few come out. None at all come out unchanged by it.”

“How would you know?” challenged Dalach. “Man like you, soft-spoken as a bard, in your good clothes—never had a day’s hardship in your life, I’ll wager.”

It occurred to Eile that he’d be better to feign politeness; to convince Faolan that
he’d like nothing better than to keep on supporting her and Saraid forever. If he wanted Deord’s friend to demonstrate generosity beyond the provision of a single breakfast, the way to do it wasn’t to antagonize the man.

“I know because I was an inmate of Breakstone myself,” Faolan said. “Not with Deord; earlier. A man comes out of that place unfit for the company of wife or child, incapable
of living as other men do. He loses his bearings; he loses his faith in gods and in humankind. If his wife speaks to him unexpectedly, when his mind’s on something else, he’s as likely to grab her by the neck and squeeze hard as to give a civil response. If his child jumps onto his bed in the morning, he may strike a lethal blow before he comes back to the here and now. It’s no wonder Deord didn’t
stay. The pity of it is, such a man still longs for the old life; to be as he was before. It just isn’t possible.”

“You seem normal enough,” Eile said. In fact, he was utterly ordinary; the kind of man you wouldn’t be able to
describe later, because he had so little about him that was remarkable. Middle height, spare, athletic build; dark hair of medium length, slight beard, plain good clothes.
Thin lips, well-governed expression. If she had to pick out something, it would be the eyes. Guarded as they were, she had caught them once or twice with a complicated expression in them: when he looked at Saraid, and when he’d spoken to her last night about trying to help her. There were things in there he didn’t want anyone to see. Maybe they were what he’d spoken of, from Breakstone; the things
that made a man turn his back on his kin.

“I manage,” Faolan said. “My stay in that place was far briefer than your father’s. It may interest you to know that after Deord left here for the last time he spent seven years guarding a prisoner at a place called Briar Wood, in the lands of the Caitt. That is to the north of the kingdom of Fortriu, across the water. The captive was a man of exceptional
qualities who had been wrongfully incarcerated. As a warder, Deord showed humanity, patience, and kindness as well as extraordinary strength of both body and mind. In the end he was instrumental in assisting his prisoner to escape. I never found him anything but utterly strong, dependable, and good. I am sorry about your mother, Eile. I’m sorry your father could not come home. He did die well.
It was a shining example of selfless courage.”

“Selfless courage never put bread on the table,” said Dalach. “Didn’t the man leave anything?”

Faolan seemed unperturbed by his rudeness. “The circumstances were such that I had no access to what he may have put aside,” he said. “As his friend, I wish to assist Eile. I’ll leave some silver with you.” He made it clear it was Anda he was speaking
to. “You must use it as you think best, for whatever is the greatest need. You should give Eile herself a say in the matter. There’s sufficient to allow some improvements to this cottage and to see you through the winter. My advice would be to put aside half of this sum for Eile’s future. There’s a community of
Christian women not far west of here, at least there was in times past. They might
perhaps take her in and teach her some useful skills.”

If only that were possible, Eile thought. She’d be prepared to believe in any god they liked, just so long as she could escape from here. But not without Saraid. She couldn’t leave Saraid behind. Besides, Dalach would have the money off Anda almost before the giver’s back was turned, and it would all be drunk or wagered away before there
was a chance so much as to think of other possibilities. There was no point in trying to tell Faolan this. He’d just leave and take his silver with him, and she’d get the worst beating of her life for robbing Dalach of his windfall. Dalach didn’t care about any of them. All his mind could span was the next drink, the next brawl, the next time he’d bed her. Anger and resentment had eaten away any finer
feelings he might once have had. She’d never understood why Anda stayed loyal to him.

Anda sucked in her breath, feeling the weight of the little bag Faolan put in her hand.

“This is generous of you,” Dalach said. “Most generous.” His hand twitched; Eile saw him force himself not to snatch the prize. “We’ll put it to wise use, you can be sure of that.”

Faolan gave him a penetrating look. “See
that you do,” he said. “The situation here disquiets me. I’d be happier to see Eile with the nuns. Indeed, if you wished it, I could escort her there myself. I’ve business to the west as well as in the north; the order in which I attend to it is immaterial.”

“No!” Eile said quickly. “Not now. Don’t think I’m not grateful. But I can’t go.”

“The girl’s an extra pair of hands,” Dalach said smoothly.
“We need her here. She has her particular duties. Besides, it wouldn’t be seemly for a young girl to travel with just a man, and a stranger at that.” If this was somewhat inconsistent with his earlier talk, he did not seem to notice.

“Well,” Anda said after a little, “you’ll be on your way, then. West, did you say? Where are you headed?”

“You wouldn’t know the place.”

“You’d want to take care
if you’re going over by Three Oaks,” put in Dalach. “We’ve just come back that way; there’s a bridge down. All this rain. It’s passable as far as the crossroads.”

“Ah, well,” said Faolan easily, “I expect I’ll manage. Uí Néill lands beyond the river, aren’t they?”

“You’d know.”

“I’ve been away for some time.”

“Beyond the river is Ruaridh Uí Néill’s,” Dalach offered, glaring in distrust. “You’ve
such a look of that family yourself, I’m surprised you need telling. Ruaridh’s got far more interests up in Tirconnell. It’s the woman looks after the territory here. He’s prepared to let her hold it for her son.”

“Woman? What woman? I thought those were Echen Uí Néill’s lands.” Eile heard an odd change in Faolan’s tone. She could not quite work it out.

“Where’ve you been? Echen’s been dead
these four years. His widow controls it all. She’s a hard thing; rules as tightly as any man. Still, sooner her than that wretch. She’s evenhanded. Not that it’s a job for a woman. She’s held on longer than anyone expected. Her brother-in-law just left her to it.”

Faolan breathed out. Eile saw him relax his shoulders, a conscious attempt at self-control. “So Echen’s dead.” That was all he said.

“Good riddance,” muttered Anda. “There were tales about that man would curdle your blood.”

“I’ll be getting on,” Faolan said, rising to his feet. “When I reach the crossroads I’ll make my choice of ways. Eile, think about what I suggested. Whatever your own beliefs, I think the nuns would treat you well, especially if your aunt made a gift to their establishment. Their life is not luxurious,
but it is orderly and serene.”

Eile nodded; she could not find the right words. To be
so close, to have escape at her fingertips, and not to be able to go… It was too cruel.
Take me with you.
The words hovered on her lips. She clamped her mouth shut.

“Got everything?” Dalach was affable now it was clear their guest was off and leaving his bag of silver behind.

“I think so. Oh, there was a small
knife… I can’t quite remember where I left it…” He did not look at Eile direct, only let his glance travel over her, brows lifted. She said nothing.

“Ah, well,” said Faolan, “maybe it’s in my pack somewhere, or back at Brennan’s. I may pass here again on my way home to see how Eile is getting on and whether she’s changed her mind. For now, I’ll bid you farewell. I wish I’d brought better news.
Deord was a fine man.”

“So you keep saying.” Dalach’s mouth twisted. “Never saw it, myself.”

“Some see only what they choose to see. Farewell, Eile. He would be proud of you.”

Tears spilled. She dashed them away with a furious hand. Deord, proud of his slut of a daughter with her filthy hair and her ragged clothes and the disgusting things she had to do to survive? Hardly. “Farewell,” she mumbled,
looking at the floor.
Take me with you, anywhere, just away from here. Take me away so I don’t have to do it.

Saraid had slipped back in. Her small hand clutched a fold of Eile’s apron. Her eyes were on the man who had brought a feast. “Say good-bye, Squirrel,” Eile whispered. But the child buried her face against the coarse homespun and said nothing at all.

B
RIDEI
WAS AT
Abertornie to attend to the welfare of Ged’s family. A flamboyant chieftain who had been one of the young king’s most stalwart supporters, Ged had fallen in the last great battle of the autumn, dying even as
Dalriada was won back for the Priteni. He left a young widow, a ten-year-old son, and three tiny daughters. Bridei spoke to all of them, making sure they understood their husband and
father had died a hero; carrying them certain last messages.

While the king was thus occupied, his chief councillor, Aniel, who had accompanied him, performed a discreet investigation as to the state of fields and buildings, and together they put in place some arrangements to ensure Loura could look after the holding while young Aled grew to manhood. Bridei invited the boy to spend time at court
next summer; the lad thanked him soberly and said he would if he could, but he thought he might be rather busy.

Then Bridei and Aniel rode to the coastal fortress of Caer Pridne, for a council had been called, not an open meeting of the kind convened at White Hill, but a small, particular, and private one.

It was almost too late in the season to travel so far. Gateway was past; the first snows
had fallen. The king and his councillor rode with an escort of five, one of whom was Bridei’s personal guard, Garth, and another Aniel’s man Eldrist. Faolan’s lengthy absence had put a heavy load on Garth, who was now the only one of Bridei’s experienced bodyguards left. The training required was lengthy and rigorous. Back at White Hill, Garth had a new man in place, Dovran, who was proving his
worth. Bridei believed Faolan would not be back before next summer.

“You need at least three men,” Garth had protested. “Four would be better. What about Cinioch?”

“Faolan will return. He can’t resist the poor pay and the sleepless nights,” Bridei had told him. “Cinioch belongs back at Pitnochie. I want him and Uven to go home and forget battles for a while.” It had been a season of blood and
death, of the loss of many good comrades, the loyal Breth among them. It had been a victory: a great triumph. The Gaels were driven back, the lands of
the west reclaimed for the Priteni. Now, Bridei’s heart held a powerful wish for peace. His people needed that. They needed time to till their land and sow their crops, to raise their children and to celebrate their love of the gods. No more war;
the borders must simply be held, and within them the fabric of community made whole. Spear must become scythe, staff turn to oar, dagger to adze or awl. The men who had risked all for their king, their land, their faith must have time to weave anew the threads of their lives.