Heart's Blood

chapter four

I spent a number of days struggling to impose order in the library. I set a restriction on myself: read only enough of each document to determine where it fitted into the records, then put it aside for later. It was all too easy to become engrossed and lose track of time.The mirror stayed in its box, out of sight, while I dusted and sorted and made notes.The moment I stepped over the threshold each morning I could feel its presence.

By suppertime each day I was filthy and exhausted. I sat quietly as the men talked. I noticed there was no longer any mention of the curse, the family history, or the mysterious presences out in the woods. Magnus made sure I ate properly. Olcan brought me gifts—a curiously patterned stone, a handful of freshly picked berries.The interchanges between Rioghan and Eichri remained combative in tone, but it was becoming plain to me that the councillor and the priest were old and devoted friends. To me, they showed unfailing warmth and courtesy. As for Fianchu, he had accepted my presence as a member of the household. When I appeared, he would rise from his corner to greet me, then turn his attention back to his bone.

Each evening, Muirne fetched Anluan’s supper and took it away. His quarters were in the south tower; I had seen a lamp burning there late at night. I wondered if he planned to shun the supper table all summer, until the intrusive stranger had departed. I was somewhat uncomfortable to be the cause of such disruption to the household routine. On the other hand, I was beginning to feel at home here, odd though the place was. At long last there were moments during the day when I forgot Cillian; times during the night when I woke, not to the sweating terror of the familiar nightmare, but to an astonished calm—the realization that I had escaped, that I was no longer in the dark place, that perhaps, finally, I was safe.

From time to time, as I sat in the library working, I had a sense of being watched. At first when this happened I would glance up quickly, sure that the silent Muirne must be in the doorway with her big eyes fixed on me, or that the mercurial chieftain of Whistling Tor had come to check if I had fallen asleep on the job again. But I never saw anyone, and after a little I became almost used to that uncanny sensation that I was not alone. Uncanny: if this place was anything, it was that.The scarecrow was often in the courtyard somewhere, birds perched on its hat and shoulders. It generally favored me with a little bow when I walked by, and I responded with a nervous smile or greeting.When I plucked up the courage to ask Olcan what this being was, exactly, the forest man replied, “Something old and harmless. A bit like me, really.”

My clothing grew dirtier by the day, until I could bear it no longer. I arose very early, planning to find Muirne before I began work. Magnus was already off on his round of chores. I ate my porridge seated alone at the kitchen table, trying not to look into the triangular mirror, which this morning seemed to reflect the chamber at dusk, everything shadowed in purple, gray, deep blue. Whoever had fashioned these artifacts must have possessed exceptional skills. I wondered if it was possible for an ordinary man to teach himself such uncanny craft, or whether the knowledge must somehow be bought. Perhaps they were Nechtan’s own creations.

When I turned to go, Muirne was in the doorway watching me, as if she had known I wanted her.

“Good morning, Muirne,” I said, making myself smile as I rose.“I have a request. I’m wondering if there might be some spare old clothing in the house, something I could alter to fit myself—a gown or two, perhaps a shift. I didn’t expect to be staying in one place all summer and I haven’t brought much with me.”

She eyed me up and down, and for a moment her eyes were Ita’s, assessing my body as unacceptable, the sort of form that was designed to draw attention for all the wrong reasons.

“I realize your old things wouldn’t fit me. But I thought maybe . . .”

“Of course, Caitrin. Come with me.” She turned and was off at a brisk walk, leaving me to scurry along in her wake. I followed her through one deserted chamber after another. Like the hill itself, this house was far bigger than it seemed from the outside.There were so many twists and turns that I completely lost my bearings. Eventually Muirne led me through a massive arched doorway and into a chamber of grand proportions, where natural light spilled down through jagged holes in the roof to pool on the flagstones. Rain had come in through the openings and the place smelled of mold. There was an eerie stillness here; the soft sound of my footsteps seemed an intrusion.

“This way,” Muirne said, and headed directly across the chamber towards another door at the far end. I stepped after her somewhat awkwardly. The floor held various piles of debris: half-burned lengths of wood; rolls of ancient, stained fabric; broken glass. And along the sides of the hall stood . . .mirrors. Many, many mirrors, some covered with cloths, some in full view.They were of varied sizes and shapes, the biggest taller than a tall man, the smallest the size of a lady’s hand.Their gleaming surfaces called to me; I felt the pull of them.

“Muirne . . . ?” I whispered, frozen where I stood.

“What?”When I did not reply, she halted and turned. “Come. It’s this way.”

“The mirrors,” I managed. “I don’t want to . . .”

Muirne’s neat brows went up; her lambent eyes were incredulous.“The mirrors can’t harm you,” she said. “Just don’t look in them.”

I swallowed hard and moved on, trying not to glance to either side. But the mirrors made it difficult. From either side of me came their voices, Look here! Look here!, and try as I might, I could not ignore their pleas.With my skin crawling and my heart beating like a drum, I glanced to the right and into the surface of a tall, thin artifact in a dark metal frame. A figure stared back out at me: myself, yet not myself, for though she wore my clothing and bore the shape of my features and my body, she was white-haired and old, her skin wrinkled with time, her mouth not full-lipped and red like mine but seamed and tired, the flesh of her face fallen onto the bones, so I could see death’s touch on her. She smiled at me, revealing shrunken gums in which a few blackened teeth still maintained precarious hold.

My heart knocking, I walked on. Here to the left, a round mirror, artfully made, on a curious three-legged stand with little iron feet. The surface highly polished metal, perhaps bronze; in it, smoke and fire, and from it a roaring, crackling sound, as if I were looking, not into a reflection, but through a window to a scene of terror and destruction.And amid the flames a woman’s voice crying out: Help! Help me! The words turned into a hideous, wrenching scream, and I knew the fire had taken her. I ran after Muirne, glimpsing here a clutching hand, there a pair of anguished eyes, there a scene of snow falling over pines, there a maelstrom of twisting, tangling monsters.

At the far door I stopped to recover myself, leaning on the frame, eyes clenched shut, chest heaving. I told myself I would not be sick again, not indoors, and not in Muirne’s company. I fought to get my breathing under control.

“I’m sorry,” Muirne said, fishing a handkerchief from her pouch and putting it in my hand.“I did not realize you were so disturbed.” She waited patiently while I mopped my eyes, blew my nose and tried to compose myself. “Would you prefer to leave the clothing until later?”

“No,” I gulped, opening my eyes and squaring my shoulders. “Let’s go on. Muirne, is that the great hall? Was there a fire at some stage?”

“Yes.” She offered no more.

We went on through a maze of passageways, then up a long spiral of narrow stone steps.Without ever going outside, we had reached one of the towers. The treads were as worn in the middle as the ones leading to my bedchamber. There were landings, some with rooms opening from them, but Muirne did not pause long enough for me to get more than a quick glimpse in. I had thought perhaps this was the north tower, but where I caught a view from a window I saw no trace of the sea, only dark forest untouched by the light of the rising sun. Another showed mist hanging low over bare fields, which was entirely wrong for any side of the fortress, as far as I knew. The higher we climbed, the harder the claws of unease gripped my stomach.

We reached the topmost landing.There was a low door leading from it.

“It’s in here,” said Muirne.

The little chamber held two storage chests and a colony of spiders, but nothing else save a steep stairway in one corner leading to a trapdoor up above. It was open; I glimpsed pale sky.

“You wish to climb up?” Muirne asked. “There is a wide view from the top: the hill, the settlement, the region all around.”

No! shrieked a little voice inside me.After the mirrors, I simply wanted to get my clothing and go. But Muirne was making an unusual effort to be friendly. I should do the same. “All right,” I said. “Provided it’s safe.You go first.”

I was somewhat relieved, on emerging at the top of the tower, to find that it was securely edged by a waist-high stone wall. I had wondered if the view would be as odd and changeable as the vistas from those windows, but I looked out over the hillside and, turning, saw slow smoke rising from the morning fires of the settlement at its foot, and sheep grazing on level ground to the north of the wooded rise. In the distance was a blue-gray smudge that must be the sea. It was not so very far off. To the northeast, along the coast, I could see another settlement with a defensive palisade around it. “What is that place, my lady?” I asked.

“It lies beyond the borders of Anluan’s territory.” Unspoken but plain in her tone was, Therefore it does not matter.

I looked closer to home.The garden still slept. Down below the towers the sun had not reached the wilderness of bush and briar, the dark pond and the shadowy edges of the woodland. I caught a glimpse of Olcan striding out through a little archway in the fortress wall with a scythe over his shoulder. Fianchu bounded ahead.

“Where is the farm?” I asked. “Magnus spoke of cows and other stock.”

“Down below the wall.” She was thrifty with words.

I tried to engage her in conversation. The summer would be much easier if we were on good terms.“I’ve been surprised that they can keep all this going when there’s so little contact from the outside.”

Her features tightened. She had perhaps taken this as a criticism of her beloved Anluan. “That need not concern you,” she said. After a moment she seemed to relent. Putting a hand on my elbow, she steered me to a vantage point from which I could glimpse a cleared area in the woodland, beyond the opening Olcan had used. “If you find cows and the men who tend them interesting,” Muirne said, “you can walk to the farm that way. It isn’t far.”

“Through the forest?” I queried. “But what about these presences everyone mentions, the ones that the villagers think so dangerous? I know they’re real; I heard them myself, coming up the hill. I felt their touch.”

“The path to the farm is a safe walk;just remember to take the left fork where it branches. But these villagers are correct.There are many perils in these woods.To tell you the truth, Caitrin, I am surprised you have stayed here so long.”

She was still holding my elbow, and it made me uncomfortable.“Long?” I echoed. “I’ve only been here a few days.”

“For Whistling Tor, that is long.” She released my elbow, but as I made to turn, her hand fastened on my shoulder. I gave an involuntary yelp, part pain, part fright; it was exactly the spot Cillian had most favored for gripping while he shook me. I was seized by a sudden mad conviction that she was about to push me over the parapet wall.

“Oh, did I hurt you?” Muirne’s grip slackened.“Or did you think you might fall? It’s a long way down, isn’t it? Best step back from the edge.”

I turned and breathed again.What had got into me? She’d think I was a bundle of nerves. “Could we go down and look at the clothing now?”

“Of course, Caitrin.”

The two chests in the tower room were full of women’s garments: gowns, tunics, shoes, head-cloths, under-shifts. Muirne crouched to lift out one item after another and spread them on the floor around her. Her expression was bland, her hands careful.

I knelt to examine these unexpected riches, my attention drawn by a bundle in the hue of wood violets. Unrolled, it proved to be a gown of soft wool that looked as if it might fit me quite well. There was a long over-tunic in a lighter shade that seemed to belong with it. I knew the outfit would look well with my rosy coloring and dark hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard Ita saying: It’s a pity you take after your mother.That mouth, that complexion, that figure, they’re sure to get you into trouble. With a sigh, I set the garments down.

“These things are lovely,” I said. “But they seem too fine for me to use.” Some of these items were very old; here and there the cloth had worn perilously thin. Like the documents in the library, these garments had not much life left in them.

“This would be suitable.” Muirne held up a severe gown of dull dark gray, the kind of thing a housekeeper might wear.

“It certainly wouldn’t show the dirt,” I observed. “But even the most creative seamstress could not make that fit me.” I could see at a glance that the garment had been made for someone tall and slender. “I wonder if I might salvage some of these other things.They are going to rags, but there are enough good pieces to make up into a useful gown or two. Someone would have to lend me a needle and thread.”

Muirne made no response.

I tried again.“Do I need to ask Lord Anluan’s permission before I take anything?”

“No,” she said, sounding suddenly frosty. “My permission is adequate.”

“Of course—I’m sorry—forgive me, my lady. I’m a newcomer to the house and I don’t quite understand how things are done here.”

“Take what you need; nobody wants these old things,” Muirne said abruptly.

“Th-thank you,” I stammered.

“There’s no need to thank me,” she said, getting up and moving to the door.“You know I don’t like your being here. I made that clear the day you arrived. I suppose we must make the best of things.”

I stared at her. The sudden hostility had come from nowhere, and I wondered for a moment if I had misheard. “I don’t know why you would disapprove,” I said carefully.“Anluan has a job to be done, and I’m qualified to do it. I mean no harm to anyone. He wants me here.”

“He should not have employed you,” Muirne said. “Your presence wearies and disturbs him.This work on the documents is a misguided venture. He made an error of judgment.”

It seemed important to speak out on this particular point, even if she snapped my head off. “Muirne,” I said carefully, rising to my feet so I could look her in the eye, “I realize there are still aspects of the household and the Tor that I don’t fully understand. But one thing is plain to me. Anluan is a grown man. It’s appropriate for a man to make his own decisions. He’s entitled to hire a scribe to translate his documents if he wants to. He’s the chieftain of Whistling Tor, not a helpless child.”

Something flickered in her lovely eyes. “How can you understand?” she said. “This place is not like the outside world, Caitrin. If you have any wisdom at all, remember that some secrets are best not revealed. Some tales are best left untold. Now I must go; I am required elsewhere.You can find your own way back.” Before I could say another word, she went out the door.

Rather than obey my instincts and bolt downstairs, I decided to wait until I could be sure she was gone. Her cryptic warnings had unnerved me; I needed time. Plainly she had convinced herself that my presence in the household was bad for Anluan. He did often seem weary and despondent, that was true. And he never seemed to do very much. Most days he spent time in Irial’s garden, where I could see him from the library window. Sometimes he would write in his little book, but more often he simply sat on the bench, staring into space. Tomas and Orna had implied he left the Tor only rarely, if ever. Such isolation must be bad for him. No wonder his manner was so odd. I vowed to myself that I would stay, dire warnings or not. Perhaps by the end of summer I could both finish the job and make friends with Muirne. She was the only female in the household. It must get lonely. Perhaps she had simply forgotten how to talk to another woman.

Now that she was not watching me, I took time to examine the garments more carefully. Not only could they help clothe me for the summer, but they might also provide insights into the history of Whistling Tor. The library held the ink and parchment records set down by men. But that was only half the story. Women talked to their daughters and granddaughters, weaving memories. If no living women remained, one might still learn something from what they had left behind: a garden planted in a certain pattern, a precious possession set away with careful hands, a gravestone for a beloved pet. And clothing. I did not know who had owned these gowns, these delicate undergarments, but perhaps they had something to tell me.

It seemed to me that this apparel had clothed three different women. The newest garments included the violet gown I so liked and a russet one of the same size and style.There was a head-cloth that matched the violet, embroidered with jewel-bright flowers.This woman had loved color.

The oldest gowns were tattered and decaying. Their fabric was dark and plain, but had once been of good quality—this had helped preserve them, I thought. The woman who had worn these had been tall and thin, someone with neither the time nor the inclination for frivolity.There was a third set of clothing, in better condition than the dark things but older than the colorful ones. These garments had been made for a small, slight person. I mused on what I knew of the family at Whistling Tor. Perhaps this tower room contained items from the wives of the three chieftains who had preceded Anluan. Nechtan the sorcerer—his was the tall, serious wife. The son, Conan, whose birth had been acknowledged in Nechtan’s records—his wife had been the little woman. And the bright things, those I had planned to take away and wear, had belonged to Irial’s beloved Emer: Anluan’s mother.

The door creaked, then slammed shut, startling me. I had felt no draft. My heart began to race. I got up and strode over to pull on the handle. It refused to budge.

“Muirne, are you still out there?” I called.

No response. She’d probably gone so far down the stairway that she couldn’t hear me. “Muirne! I can’t open the door!”

Silence. She was gone; I felt it. I mustn’t panic. The door could not have locked itself. It must simply be wedged by the force of the draft that had blown it shut. I tried again, hauling with all my strength, but the thing wouldn’t move an inch. Perhaps the wood was warped by damp—this did seem a curious place to store clothing, with that trapdoor to the elements. The trapdoor! Thank heaven for that. I could climb up to the roof, then shout until I attracted someone’s attention. Embarrassing as that would be, it would be better than waiting until Muirne realized I had not returned from our exploration—that might take all day.

I climbed the steps, one hand on the stone wall for balance, and set my other hand to the square of wood, which Muirne had pulled across the opening when we came down. There was no bolt or catch to hold it in place, but try as I might I could not move it. I needed a stick or other implement to help me; my efforts with the door had taken all the strength out of my arms and my back was aching. I looked around for an old poker or length of firewood, anything useful, but there was nothing in the little chamber but the two chests and clothing spread out everywhere. And a mirror. Why hadn’t I noticed that before? It hung on the wall by the steps, tiny, oddly shaped, in a frame of weathered wood. The surface glinted dimly in the light from the narrow window.Whatever I did, I must not look in it.

Breathe slowly, Caitrin. I took stock of the situation. Eventually someone would notice I was gone. Eventually someone would ask Muirne if she had seen me. I just had to wait. This calm advice did nothing to cool my flushed cheeks or slow my racing heart. Something was wrong here. Someone meant me harm. I recalled a tale of an unwanted wife who had been walled up in just such a tower room to starve to death while her husband enjoyed himself with a younger and more fecund bride. Nothing I could do. Nothing. No way to help myself. I knew this feeling well; it had shadowed every moment in Market Cross, once Ita and Cillian came. You are powerless. Useless. Hopeless.You are nobody.

I descended the steps and went over to the window.“I’m not at Market Cross,” I muttered. “I’m here. I can be brave. I can.” The window looked down onto a section of roof; nobody was going to see me from below. I tried the door again. Had Muirne used a key to let us in? It wasn’t possible, surely, that she had done this on purpose.

There seemed no option but to wait the time out. I folded the violet gown and the russet, placing them on a spread-out shawl. I added some shifts and smallclothes, then tied up the bundle. I packed the other garments neatly away into the chests. Magnus and Olcan were probably both out on the farm, with my activities the last thing on their minds. Anluan had not troubled himself to attend supper even once since my arrival; how likely was it that he would check whether I was at work today? As for Eichri and Rioghan, I had no idea how or where they spent their days. Rioghan probably caught up on sleep; those nights spent pacing the garden must take their toll. I kept my eyes off the mirror.

Time passed in an endless slow sequence of little sounds, creaks in the walls, rustling in the corners as of small furtive creatures about their business. We had not brought a candle or lamp with us and the chamber was dim.The patch of light from outside shifted slowly across the floor. In my mind, Muirne was speaking to Anluan. Your little scribe’s gone already, she was saying. She couldn’t bring herself to stay. Packed up her bags and was off down the hill at first light. I saw Anluan looking at the welter of documents in his neglected library.

A pox on this accursed place! Even when I was sitting all alone, something played havoc with my thoughts. I kept seeing the visions from those mirrors in the great hall: myself as a wizened crone, the same age as the poor soul Nechtan had tortured to death; a woman trapped in a terrible fire, screaming for help that did not come.Worst of all, I could hear a voice from the mirror on the wall, the one I was trying so hard not to look at. It did not speak aloud, but secretly in my mind. Its tone was a woman’s, sharp and practical. Use me, Caitrin.You got yourself into this silly predicament. Use me and escape. Stay there staring at the floor and you may stay there forever.

“I’m not looking in any mirrors,” I said aloud. No doubt the thing was bursting with visions of murder and mayhem.

Just turn your head, Caitrin.

I forced myself not to do so, but I must have moved a little. Something caught the light from the window, something shiny hanging from a nail in the wall just above the mirror. A key.

There, said the mirror voice. Off you go now, and tell no tales or they might come back to haunt you.

I snatched the key without looking at the mirror’s surface. My hands were shaking as I inserted it in the lock. The door opened smoothly. “Thank you,” I muttered, grabbing the bundle and going out.The landing was empty. I locked the door behind me and slipped the key in the pouch at my belt.

I was not setting foot in the great hall again, ever. Instead of retracing my steps along the route Muirne had used, I looked for a door at the foot of the tower and found one, unbolted. Why hadn’t she chosen this far simpler way? I ran through the grounds—the scarecrow lifted a hand in greeting and I nodded as I passed—and back in the front entry. Once inside the house I discovered that even this shorter path had its difficulties. Doors seemed to be in unexpected places, steps led up where before they had gone down, windows let light onto formerly dark landings. It was like the day I had first come up the hill, when my surroundings had seemed to change at random. By the time I reached the library, through a process of trial and error, it was at least midmorning.

I halted on the threshold. Anluan was seated at one of the larger tables, writing in his little book. He had not seen me. His left hand curled around the quill, holding it in a death grip; there must be pain in his fingers and all along the forearm. I studied the angle of the page, the slant of the pen, and wondered how hard it might be to correct the bad habit of many years. He had forgotten to conceal his right hand; he was using it to keep the page steady as he wrote. Though the fingers lay unmoving, they did not look in any way deformed.There was a certain grace in the curve of the hand. There was beauty in the very concentration on his face, an intensity of purpose that made him look different; younger. There is another man here, I thought. One whom folk seldom see.

I must have moved or made some small sound, for he looked up and spotted me before I could retreat. With a practiced gesture he whipped a fold of his cloak over the limp right hand, then closed the book. “You’re late,” he said.

“I’m sorry. Muirne took me to look at some old clothing. Then the door shut of itself. It took me a while to get it open again.”

He said nothing, simply regarded me gravely.

“May I ask you a question?” Such opportunities were rare indeed, so I might as well seize this one.

“You have too many questions.”

This felt much like reaching out my fingers to Fianchu, not knowing if he would make friends or bite. I pressed on.“I walked through the great hall just now. I saw some things in the mirrors, I couldn’t avoid them. And there was a mirror in the tower room. It—it seemed to speak to me; it told me how to open the door. Did Nechtan make those mirrors? How could he learn to do such things?”

Anluan’s sigh was eloquent. I am weary of this.Why don’t you do your job and keep quiet?

“Did he have a hereditary gift of some kind, or did he study the art of . . .” I found I could not quite say what I had intended.

“Go on,”Anluan said.“You think my great-grandfather was a sorcerer? A necromancer? Hereditary gift, you say. Perhaps you see evidence of the same dark talents in me. No doubt those folk down the hill have a theory as to what secret practices may have warped me in both body and mind.”

I stared at him aghast. His brows were knitted in a ferocious scowl, his eyes were blazing, his tone was full of bitterness. So quick to anger. So quick to assume the worst.“The villagers had plenty to say, yes,” I told him. “But I prefer to make up my own mind. And I haven’t been at Whistling Tor long enough to do that yet.”

His sapphire gaze remained on me as the silence drew out. Finally he said, “Magnus told me you were ill treated, before you came here. Beaten. Who would do that?”

This was a blow in itself. “It’s in the past,” I muttered. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Ah,” said Anluan. “So you may ask questions but I may not?”

“Didn’t you say my work amounted to sort, read, translate?” I snapped. There was no need for him to ask about my situation, absolutely none. “All you need to know about me is that I have good eyes and a steady hand.”

“It doesn’t matter what I said. You ask about sorcery. You suggest a hereditary talent.You leap to conclusions, just as the superstitious folk of the village do, and assume I possess the same interests and qualities as my great-grandfather.” Anluan was on his feet now, his jaw tight, his left hand bunched into a fist. I felt Cillian’s grip on my shoulders and took an involuntary step backwards.“You are as quick to judge as other folk.They make their assessment in a moment and it stands for a lifetime.”

“You’ve done the same,” I said. “You seem to have reached all kinds of conclusions about me and what I’m thinking. But you know nothing about me.”

“Then tell me,” said Anluan.

A trap: I had walked straight into it. I moved to the window and looked out. It had begun to rain; the drips trickled down the glazed surface like slow tears. After a little I said, “I’m a scribe. I’m eighteen years old.There’s nothing else to tell.” My voice was less even than I would have wished.

“I was wrong about you,” Anluan said quietly. “Sometimes you find talking the hardest thing in the world.”

I went to the table where I had been working the day before, opened my writing box, took out my father’s knife and began preparing a quill. The familiar tools of my trade brought back a sudden sharp memory of home, Father and I seated side by side, intent on our work, and, in some other part of the house, Maraid busy with broom or duster, or chopping vegetables for the evening meal she would insist all of us attended together, no matter how pressing the need to complete a commission. Suppertime is family time, my sister would say. Nothing’s more important than that.

Anluan was scrutinizing me; he had not missed the change in my mood. “What?” he demanded.

“It’s nothing.” I willed my memories into a locked corner of my mind. “I’d best get on with my work.”

“You answered a question for me, so I will answer yours,” Anluan said gravely. “Did Nechtan study the dark arts? I believe so. I reveal no secrets when I tell you this; I anticipate that when you read his Latin notes you will discover references to it. Has the family an inherited talent in sorcery? I hope not. I have never put it to the test and I don’t intend to. If your imagination has painted you a picture of hidden torture chambers in this house, you should disregard it.”

“Imagination? I didn’t invent that scene of torture, I saw it in one of your mirrors. Haven’t you ever used them yourself, my—Anluan?”

A shudder went through him.“I have not, and I will not. As that man’s kin, I would never take such a risk.”

“I see.”This was dark indeed. He feared that if he used Nechtan’s artifacts, he might become his great-grandfather all over again.“Have you thought of destroying the mirrors? I saw something very unsettling in the great hall. I cannot imagine why anyone would keep such malign objects.”

“I said I’d answer one question, not a dozen.” He’d put his shutters up already; the interchange was over.“Return to your work. I will not trouble you further.”

At the precise moment he spoke, there was Muirne at the garden door, waiting for him. I could not see a drop of rain on her clothing, yet beyond the window the foliage was dripping. As Anluan reached the doorway she slipped her hand through his arm, and they went out together, he bending his head as she said something, perhaps: You’re tired. She’s upset you. A moment later they were gone.

For the rest of the day I allowed myself to read.There was a sequence of records written in Irish by Anluan’s grandfather, Conan, that had caught my interest earlier, and they soon had me deeply absorbed. Conan’s style was less fluent than his father’s, and his writing less regular; he had perhaps been more man of action than scholar. His account was compelling:

Still they dog me and will not be ruled. A battle with the folk of Silverlake ten days since. At first the host followed, obeying my commands. But at the point of closest encounter my control over them faltered.The spell of mastery was broken and they rampaged wildly, heedless of whom they attacked. They hacked and stabbed at the enemy, my own personal guards and each other without discrimination. There was no choice but to flee the field. By the time I drew the host back within the boundaries of the hill I had lost every one of my guards, and the villages on either side of the road had been laid waste. Folk cursed me as they died. Tonight I will study the grimoires again. I fear there is no way to rein these creatures in. If my wretched father, God rot his stinking bones, could not harness them, why would I do any better?

These creatures. Was he referring to the army with which Nechtan had hoped to dominate his enemies? The host. It sounded wayward, destructive, terrifying. There is no way to rein these creatures in.

I glanced out the window, then back at the parchment before me.The forest was close; it encircled the fortress of Whistling Tor. Nobody could go up or down the hill without passing under those trees. Could some kind of ravening horde really be still living in the woods out there, something capable of inflicting death and destruction more or less at random? Perhaps Conan had been a drunkard or a madman, given to wild imaginings. I rather hoped so.

I recalled that Nechtan had referred to a book hidden away in the monastery’s secret collection, containing a particular form of words he needed for his experiment. A book of magic: a grimoire. If spells really existed for calling forth eldritch forces such as those Conan referred to, then one had to suppose there were also counterspells, charms for banishing them. Maybe there was a Latin grimoire here in the library somewhere; could that be what Anluan was hoping I would find? It seemed unlikely. If the family had possessed a book with such a charm in it, surely as soon as Nechtan discovered that he could not control the army he had conjured, he would have sent it straight back where it came from.

The documents chronicled Conan’s continuing struggle with what he had been bequeathed.

Many days of rain. They say the river will flood soon. A losing battle to persuade the villagers up onto the hill where they will be safe. I sent Enda down again, since he at least can make the trip without an unwelcome retinue.The people barred their doors against him.There will be drownings.

An unwelcome retinue—the host again? Surely they hadn’t followed Conan wherever he went? Reading further, I found references to a great flood, and also to Conan’s wife:

Three children of the settlement were swept away in the rising waters. Líoch wept and upbraided me for not doing more. I bade her be glad our son is here in the fortress and safe, and not to chide me for the burden my wretched father laid on all of us.What does she expect: that I should loose the host to wreak havoc where it will, as he did? I asked these folk to come to my house; I bade them come, and they would not. If their children drown, be it on their own heads.

The books reveal no answers. If my father ever had what I need, he hid it from me. Such an act does not surprise me. The man was riddled with hatred.

News from the southeast: a new incursion. I do not know how I can bring myself to lead the host out again. But they are all I have. Irial is young yet.What if I am slain?

Night after night a whispering in my ear. It tempts me to despair; it holds out the reward of oblivion. I will not heed it. My son needs his father.Yes, even such a father as I. For me there is no hope. But I can hope for him.

There was so much sadness in these records. The more I read, the more I thought of the current chieftain, a man whose moods seemed to span a narrow range—at one end, sorrow, at the other, fury.Yet his father had been the peaceable, orderly maker of those botanical notes, creator of the lovely garden in which I had seen Anluan sitting as if enchanted into a forlorn shadow of a man. I wish I could teach you to smile, I thought. But I fear it might be impossible.

I worked until it was too dark to read. I would not have a lamp in the library; it was much too dangerous with the documents there. As I left, I slipped one of Irial’s notebooks into my pouch. I would read it later, in my chamber, by candlelight.

I was last to supper, and tonight of all nights Anluan had decided to make an appearance. He sat at the head of the table, Muirne at the foot, though she was seldom in her chair—it became clear that in her presence nobody else would serve his lordship. She ladled his food, filled and refilled his cup, cut his bread and sliced his meat. I watched with some fascination, wondering how long it would be before he lost his temper and told her to stop fussing. In fact, she might have been invisible for all the attention he paid her. Had the memory of our trip to the tower not been so fresh, I could almost have felt sorry for her.The chieftain of Whistling Tor had not changed for supper. His red hair was unkempt, his chin rough with stubble, and he wore the same clothing he had had on in the library earlier. His shirt had a fraying cuff and needed laundering. Muirne’s outfit was spotless, as always.

“How’s the work progressing, Caitrin?” Magnus asked with a smile. “You look a little tired.”

“I’m perfectly well,” I replied, before Anluan could seize the opportunity to suggest I was not up to the task. Honesty compelled me to add, “I had a little problem this morning; one of the doors stuck, and it meant I started work late.”

Muirne spoke up, surprising me.“I heard about that, Caitrin. I’m sorry I left you there on your own—if I’d realized . . .”

“It’s all right,” I said. Of course she hadn’t shut me in. It was this place, with its secrets and oddities. It was enough to make the sanest person think mad thoughts. “I managed to open the door eventually; I found a key.”

Anluan’s attention was on me instantly.“A key? I thought you said the door stuck.Where was this?”

Think fast, Caitrin.To tell the whole truth would cast Muirne in a bad light before the man she adored; at the very least, she would appear inconsiderate. “In the north tower,” I said. “I forgot where Muirne had put the key when she left, and I’m afraid I panicked.” A look of astonishment passed briefly over Muirne’s usually impassive features. “It was nothing really,” I went on. “After that I spent the day reading, but tomorrow I must do some more cleaning. Dusting the shelves wasn’t enough; they need a good scrub.”

“Don’t wear yourself out,” Magnus said, scrutinizing my face. “Olcan or I could maybe help with that part of things. Pity we can’t get serving folk to stay up here anymore. You shouldn’t be troubling yourself with mopping and dusting.” He glanced at Anluan, but the chieftain was studying his platter and did not appear to have heard.

“I couldn’t ask you to help, Magnus,” I told him. “You’ve got more to do than anyone. I’m not averse to physical work; I’m a craftswoman, not a pampered young lady. But it is unfortunate people won’t come here to work. I could get the scribing job done much more quickly with an assistant, someone who could read a little.” Since Anluan was not cutting me off as he often seemed wont to do, I asked a question that had been on my mind earlier, as I realized how slow the job was going to be on my own. “Have we reached the end of my trial period yet? I will be happier once I know my services will be retained for the summer.” I addressed this to a point halfway between Magnus and Anluan.

“It scarcely matters,”Anluan said, lifting his head to look at me.“There’s a familiar pattern here at Whistling Tor; it never changes.You have lasted a little longer than some of us expected, but you won’t stay.We’re all trapped in a net of consequences, condemned to paths outside our control. It’s the way of things.”

“Are you saying that we can’t escape our lot, whatever it is? Do you really believe that?” Not so long ago I might have agreed with him. But I had escaped the trap that was closing around me in Market Cross. If one could summon the will, it could be done.

“I cannot speak for you,” Anluan said. He had given up all pretense of eating; his knife and spoon lay on the table. “It is true for all of us sitting here tonight, and for all who live on Whistling Tor.”

I remembered something. “Including the village, if what Tomas and his wife told me is true,” I said. “The way they spoke about Whistling Tor, it seemed they both love and hate the place. They were shocked when I asked them why they didn’t pack up and go somewhere else.”

“It’s all they know,” said Magnus. “The demon at home, the familiar one, is always preferable to the one out in the unknown world.”

“That’s what I thought once,” I said, a shiver running through me. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

Anluan’s gaze was fixed on me; I could feel it even when my head was turned away. “You say you’ll stay,” he said. “You won’t. It runs against the grain of things.”

This remark was greeted with silence.Why did none of them contradict him? Patterns could be broken; paths could be changed.All it took was courage. I had to stand up to him. I could not accept this.“Rioghan,” I said, “I wish to make a wager. If I lose, I will repay you at the end of summer. Will you lend me a silver piece?”

The king’s councillor smiled. “Of course, lovely lady.” A shining coin flew across the table to me and I caught it, weighing it on my palm. “Your wager is not with me, I presume?”

“It’s with your chieftain here. He says I won’t stay. I wager I will stay until the scribing job is done. His lordship can put up whatever stake he pleases.”

There was a delicate silence. I hardly cared whether I had offended Anluan. It was time someone challenged him.

“I have nothing to offer,” he said flatly.

“Want to borrow—” began Eichri, but I cut him off.

“I’m not in the least interested in acquiring any finger bones or other items of that sort,” I said. “I’d settle for an apple from the garden; they should be ripening up by the time the job is done. Or perhaps Anluan could write something for me.”

Silence again; this time it felt as if all of them were holding their breath. Anluan’s face darkened. His lips tightened. His left hand, resting on the tabletop, became a fist.

“You mock me?” he asked, and in an instant my sudden surge of bravery was over. In his tone were all the times Cillian had hurt me, and the times Ita had hurled insults at me. I became the girl who had once crouched in a corner of her bedchamber weeping, unable to move. I had a good answer for him, but it refused to come out.

“Explain yourself!” demanded Anluan.

Trembling, craven, despising myself, I got to my feet and made for the door, a mumbled apology on my lips.

“Stop!” It was a command, and I obeyed. I was right by his chair. I kept my gaze on the stone floor. I counted the beats of my heart. “If you run from a simple question, why should anyone believe you will not run from Whistling Tor at the first difficulty?” Anluan’s tone was like a flail.

“I didn’t run,” I whispered, finding a last shred of courage hidden deep. “You know that.The day I looked in Nechtan’s mirror, you were there.”

Another silence, this time of a different quality. Magnus cleared his throat. I stood where I was, ready for another blast of angry words.

“If you require me to wager, my stake is heart’s blood,” Anluan said, his voice quieter. “Last out the summer and you’ll be here to see it bloom. You’ll be here to pluck the flowers and make ink. When the work is finished you can take it home with you.”

Olcan whistled. “That’s some wager,” he said.

My head was reeling. If I could work out how to make even one good pot of ink, I would not have to worry about money for years to come.Anluan must have no idea of how valuable the stuff was. “I can’t accept that,” I said shakily. “It would be worth a fabulous amount. It wouldn’t be right for me to take it.”

“It is what I offer,” said Anluan. “The argument about value is irrelevant. You won’t stay.”

“All right, I accept,” I retorted. “I will prove you wrong.”

He shrugged. It was an awkward gesture, emphasising the uneven set of his shoulders.

“Heart’s blood ink, eh?” Eichri chuckled.“Fine color; comes up beautifully on vellum.You know how to make the stuff, Caitrin?”

“I’ll know by the time the flowers are out,” I said. “With a whole library full of documents, there must be instructions somewhere.”

That night I had the bad dream again, the one in which Ita threw me down a well of tormenting demons. I woke drenched in sweat and shivering at the same time. Beyond my bedchamber door the moon shone down into the garden. Knowing I would not sleep again, I took off my clammy nightrobe, put on a shift and wrapped my shawl around me. I went out to stand on the gallery overlooking the courtyard, wondering how long it would be before I could hear an angry voice without turning from courageous, resourceful woman to powerless, hopeless child. Perhaps brave Caitrin was only a fantasy. Perhaps the cringing, whimpering girl who had failed to stand up to her abusers was the real me. If so, my parents must be looking down on me in shame.

In the courtyard Rioghan was pacing, the red of his cloak muted under the moon. In the stillness I heard snatches of his speech. “Go in from the west instead, splitting the force into three parties . . . No, devise a decoy, take the enemy by surprise with a flanking action, then strike with catapults . . . He would still have fallen. My lord would still have fallen . . .” He walked further down the garden and his voice was lost for a little.Then he turned on his heel, restless as a caged animal, and paced back. “We should have checked the signs . . . Why did I tell him it would work?”

My own troubles paled by comparison with such distress. It seemed he was revisiting, over and over, the circumstances of some terrible error of judgment that haunted him. Perhaps every single night was spent in this painful search for answers. I wondered if going down to talk to him would be any help at all. It would be a distraction, at least. I was about to do so when I had the sensation that someone was watching me. I glanced about, hugging the shawl around me more closely, aware that under it I was scantily clad. There was nobody on the gallery; nobody on the steps. While moonlight bathed the garden in an eerie glow, under the trees it was shadow dark. I imagined folk standing there, clad all in black; I could almost see them. Don’t be foolish, Caitrin. The rampaging host of Conan’s records would hardly be up here, inside the courtyard walls. Maybe there were creatures of some kind out in the forest beyond the fortress, but they couldn’t be the ones he had spoken of. It had been years and years ago—Anluan’s father had been a child. Besides, a host of hacking, stabbing warriors could hardly be living just out there without my having seen or heard something of it.

One thing I knew with certainty: I was not the only sad and troubled soul in this place. Perhaps I would never quite be free from the shadows of my own past, but that didn’t mean I must stand by in the face of other folk’s misery. I found my cloak and went down to talk to Rioghan. He was still muttering to himself.

“If I had put archers on the northern hill . . . Or perhaps taken action far earlier, set a permanent guard at the bridge, that might have delayed the onslaught . . . He would still have fallen . . .”

I was standing right beside him and he had not noticed me. His fists were clenched, his eyes full of shadows.

“Rioghan,” I said quietly.

He started. He had been far away.

“Caitrin! You’re up late.”

“I can’t sleep.”

“A familiar state for me, alas, but not so for a young thing like yourself. You have bad dreams?”

“Sometimes.Troubles and terrors grow stronger in the dark, when I’m alone. Then, when I sleep, the bad things from the past come flooding in. But it’s worse for you. It seems you have that even when you’re awake.”

“It is true, Caitrin. I cannot be bitter. This is my lot. My own action, or failure to act, earned it for me.” Rioghan settled himself on a bench that was damp with dew and motioned for me to sit beside him. I did so, feeling the chill as it seeped through cloak, shawl and shift to sink into my bones.

“Whatever you did, or think you did,” I said, “it’s in the past now. We all make mistakes. Sometimes we can compensate for them later. Or we can come to terms with our errors and move on.”

Rioghan gave a great sigh, spreading his pale hands in a gesture of helplessness. “My deed cannot be made good,” he said flatly. “My lord is gone. He is dead, long dead, and the sward green over his dear bones. I held him in my arms as his lifeblood ebbed away; I wear this cloak in token of that. I cannot bring him back. I cannot expiate my sin, yet I am compelled to try. My mind will not let me rest.There must be something I could have done, some way I could have acted, something I could have changed to snatch victory from bitter defeat. I was his most trusted adviser. How could I have got it so wrong?”

“What happened? Who was your lord?”

“Ah, Caitrin. A precious jewel, a man who blazed like a bright star in the firmament. His name was Breacán, and he was king of northern Connacht. Long ago, you understand. Long, long ago.This region was Breacán’s home territory. The kingship was his by force of arms, but he was a good man. He ruled with justice and compassion. Many was the encounter I planned for him, the strategy I devised for him, and all executed with the brilliant flair and perfect judgment that were part of his very being. As a team we were unbeatable. Until that day.”

“He fell in battle?” I knew little of the history of this region. I could not work out how many years had passed since the events he referred to. Rioghan’s age was hard to guess; it could have been anything from five-and-thirty to perhaps fifty.The curious pallor of his skin and the sorrowful lines of his expression gave him something of Anluan’s look. Perhaps the entire household was bonded by sorrow.

“Let me show you.” Rioghan squatted down and, by moonlight, proceeded to lay out a miniature battlefield with sticks, stones and little mounds of earth. Despite the lateness of the hour and the fact that I was cold and damp, I soon became fascinated. I watched Breacán’s forces advance down a broad valley, advance intelligence having told them their enemy would be encamped near the far end and ill prepared for their arrival. I saw, at the same time, how the enemy had secret lookouts high on the flanking hills and a message system involving the flashing of silver discs in the sunlight, something Breacán’s men did not detect until they were trapped between two parties of assailants, summoned by this method from hideouts at either end of the valley.

“It was a rout, Caitrin,” Rioghan said. “And I was the one who led them into it. Mine was the counsel that told my lord, This is safe; we have the numbers.When others advised casting an augury to determine the wisdom of the advance, or recommended desisting from the maneuver until we had obtained clearer information from certain captives, I insisted we continue. I was so sure my plan was right. I was duped. A man I had trusted had lied to me. That, I did not learn until my lord had been cut down before my eyes, and his loyal men, men who had been my friends, lay slain by his side. The enemy spared this wretched councillor. They wanted one left to tell the sad tale. I laid my lord over his saddle and conveyed him home. I was alive where so many better men had perished through my ineptitude. I wished with every breath that I, too, had been slain on that field of bloody sacrifice. But it was not yet my time.”

“It’s a sad story,” I said. “But you were not the only one responsible. If someone gave you false information, the blame was partly his. And folk didn’t have to listen to you; they didn’t have to do what you said if they disagreed with you. Everyone has responsibility for his own actions.” I saw myself crouched helpless and silent under Cillian’s blows. “But sometimes we can lose ourselves. Out of fear or sadness or guilt, we become less than we should be. It can be hard to find the courage to move on.”

“There now,” Rioghan said, rising to his feet and reaching out a hand to help me up.“I should not have troubled you with this, Caitrin. My sorry tale has made you sad. Or is it your own woes that weigh you down? You are safe here. Anluan looks after all of us.”

“Your story made me think, that was all. Uncomfortable thoughts. I’ve wanted so much to be brave, and I can’t always manage it.”

“Dear lady,” Rioghan murmured. “Nobody at Whistling Tor means you any harm, you must believe that. Your presence is like a sweet fresh breeze blowing through this weary old place.”

This made me smile. “Rioghan?”

“Yes, Caitrin?”

“You have a new lord now. Breacán is gone. I know Anluan isn’t a king or a warrior. Perhaps he has some disadvantages. Some flaws. But he is worthy of your loyalty.”

“He has it,” Rioghan said. “Don’t doubt that.”

As I went back to my chamber, I realized this was true. Anluan’s tight circle of retainers had all chosen to share their damaged lord’s lonely existence on the hill. Magnus had been a warrior. He could have left when Irial died. Instead, he had stayed to help his friend’s son grow to be a man. At some stage, perhaps loyalty had become love. Whatever it was, it had endured some sorry times. I recalled the lines I had read in Irial’s notebook after supper, by lantern light.

One touch, that is all I ask. One touch; one embrace. Reach out to me, beloved. Where are you? The ninety-first day.

Day two hundred and sixty. Winter. In the garden the birch twigs glitter with frost. My heart will see no spring.

I had not been long at work the next morning when Anluan came into the library, moving to stand by the window and gaze out into the garden. “Magnus said I must apologize,” he said abruptly.

I was too surprised to respond.

“He says I misjudged you. If I did, I am sorry.” His tone was all sharp edges.

I drew a deep breath. “You were so angry,” I said. “It frightened me, and when I’m frightened I find it hard to speak properly. I didn’t mean any insult to you last night when I spoke of writing.” I chose my words carefully. “I’m a scribe. I’ve worked very hard to learn my craft over the years. I consider a page of script one of the finest things a person could wager.And I would never mock a man for the fact that his writing was a little irregular. Besides, that could be remedied.”

“Huh!” Anluan turned on his heel and stalked away across the library. “You think a bunch of old rags can be made into a silken robe? A worm-eaten apple into a glossy, perfect fruit? Impossible. Why do you imagine I’ve employed you?”

I took a deep breath and then another.“As an apology, that was somewhat lacking,” I said, forcing myself to challenge him. “I doubt Magnus would be very impressed by it. If you don’t like the way you write, learn to do it better. I could teach you. It would require concentration, calm, and regular practice. I suppose you might find that difficult, but once you mastered the technique, I believe it would come quite naturally.”

A lengthy silence; he was standing by the far wall, half in shadow, and I could not read his expression. No doubt an explosion of some kind was imminent. My body was tight as a bowstring, waiting for it.

“Again you judge me,” he said quietly.

“Not so harshly as you judge yourself. With . . .” I had ventured into far deeper waters than I’d intended. At this point, going on might be safer than going back. “With courage and hope, we can conquer our fears and do what we once believed impossible. I know that’s true.”

“Courage. Hope.” His voice was shaking, and not entirely from anger. “Easy for you to say such words, with your background of family, of comfort, of warmth and rightness.You understand nothing.”

This was too much.“That’s not fair!” I lashed out, springing to my feet. “You can’t know how much I’ve longed for those things, family and . . . and safety and . . . If I still had that, why in God’s name would I be here?” I turned my back on him, wrapping my arms around myself and wishing I could unsay the words. I willed him to go away.

After some time, he said, “So you stay in my house, not out of a desire to help, but because what lies behind you is worse than the chaos you find here.”

“I didn’t come here just for payment or a place to stay. I love my craft more than anything in the world; it’s all I have left. I do want to help you. I wrote that in the sample piece and I was telling the truth.”

He said nothing, and when I risked a glance, he was simply standing there, watching me. It seemed to me that a wrong word would set him in flight.

“If you had time, I could teach you to write more evenly, and in a way that would not hurt your hand and arm.You could practice a little each day.”And when he did not respond, I added,“If you worked with me in the library, I would be able to ask your advice on the documents. It would help me very much if you were here to answer a question or two.”

“I think not.” Anluan moved to the doorway.“I do not believe I could be of much assistance to you. I’m easily tired. I cannot . . .” A thought half spoken there, but his glance downwards completed it for me. The lame right leg, the useless right hand would make many of the simplest tasks difficult or impossible: lifting a pile of books, for instance. And he did get tired. I had seen that for myself. Perhaps he had some malady that went beyond the physical limitations. It was not something I could ask about.

“As for my script,” he added, “I fear no tutor could mend that.”

Such was the look on his face, yearning and desolate, that I swallowed the denial that came to my lips. He was not speaking of learning to write, but of something far bigger. Whoever took Anluan on as a student must first teach him hope.

“Well,” I said to his departing back, “you could let me try.”

Magnus and I became friends.Aware of the heavy load he carried, I made a habit of rising early so I could help him in the kitchen before starting work in the library. He would not let me prepare the porridge or mix up the mash for the chickens, but mending was a different matter; it was one of his most detested duties. Gradually I worked my way through a pile of neglected garments. The alteration of clothing for my own use I had done as quickly as I could after the disturbing visit to the north tower. With the russet and the violet along with my own two gowns, I was well supplied for the rest of the summer, even when the weather made getting things dry a challenge. Once or twice I had helped Magnus launder garments—mine, his and Anluan’s—and hang them over the bushes in the courtyard. I wondered when and where Muirne attended to her washing. She had a series of identical gray outfits, and I had never seen them other than perfectly clean and neatly pressed. Had we not been on Whistling Tor, I would have assumed she had the exclusive services of an expert laundress.

I saw little of her, or of Anluan. Sometimes they would be in Irial’s garden, sitting under the tree, he writing in his little book, she hovering close by. Often I would see a lamp glowing in Anluan’s quarters, late at night when the household was abed. But apart from Magnus’s warm kitchen, the house felt empty, echoing, forlorn.When we gathered for supper, without our chieftain or his constant shadow, the talk was of the day’s work: vegetables to be planted, stock to be tended to, a bridge to be mended. And in my case, the documents.There were always the documents.

I continued to sleep poorly, the old nightmares haunting me. I would wake with a start, my heart hammering, sure I had glimpsed a dark figure in the doorway. I would hear creaking footsteps on the gallery outside my chamber, or the soft swishing of a garment. Sometimes there was a stirring in the air, a presence I could sense close by, but I never saw anyone, save for Rioghan with his steady pacing in the courtyard below. Well, I had been warned Whistling Tor was a strange place. I should probably count myself lucky that this was the worst I had encountered.

I was attending to the cuffs of a shirt one morning when Magnus said, “It’s time I went back down the hill for supplies. Maybe tomorrow. Anything you need?”

“Linen thread, if you can get it. That’s all. I don’t need any writing materials.” The translation of Nechtan’s Latin notes was progressing slowly, thanks to my tendency to get lost in one tale or another while reading.

“You could come with me if you want.” This was offered with some diffidence.

I looked up, but he was stirring the porridge on the fire, his back to me.

“I don’t think Anluan would approve,” I said.“He expects me to work every day, I’m sure.”

“That’s as may be,” Magnus said, turning to put the pot on the table. Steam arose from the contents, along with a wholesome smell.“It wouldn’t hurt to remind him that you’re your own woman. At least, that’s my opinion. He still doesn’t believe you’ll keep your word about staying here. If you come down to the settlement with me, pass the time of day with the folk there, and then come back of your own free will, it might show him that you’ve the fortitude for the job even when the opportunity to escape is offered to you on a platter. And another thing. It would be good for the locals to see with their own eyes that a young woman can stay up here for a month or so and emerge, not only completely unscathed, but calmer and happier than she was when she headed up the Tor.”

“I’ve never felt like a prisoner here, Magnus. I know I’m free to go. It happens to suit me to stay, not just because the work needs doing, but . . .” In fact, the likelihood of Cillian finding me at Whistling Tor was now much diminished. My trail must surely have grown cold.

“Free to go. I hope that doesn’t mean you’d think of walking down the hill on your own.You’re safe up here; Anluan ensures that. But if you wander off into the woods without his knowledge, you could soon find yourself in trouble.” He passed me a bowl of porridge.

“If it really is so dangerous, how do you get to the village and back in one piece?”

Magnus smiled. “Never had any trouble yet, and I’ve been doing it since Anluan was knee-high. Must be something about the way I look. And if you’re with me, you’ll be all right. Think about it. I expect you wouldn’t mind a chat with some womenfolk. Muirne’s hardly the most sociable of girls.”

“Magnus.”

“Mm?”

“Why won’t anyone tell me what they are, these things in the woods? Every time I ask for explanations, I get a vague reply about beings or creatures, and how they’re of various kinds, and then someone changes the subject. But in the documents they’re described as a fearsome army, a force nobody can control, something that was so powerful and destructive that everyone in the neighborhood must have known about it.”

He looked at me, gray eyes steady. “There’s two ways you might find out the answer to that, Caitrin. It might be somewhere in those documents you’re working on. Or he might decide he’s ready to tell you.”

“Oh.” I considered this as he ate his way steadily through his porridge. “Could you answer a question?”

“Depends what it is.”

“Is Anluan the only person here who knows what they are?”

“No, lass.We all do.”

“So he’s ordered you not to talk about it, not to tell me.”

“I need to explain something to you, Caitrin.You might be tempted to think Anluan is somewhat less than a grown man. He hasn’t had much to do with the world outside, and it makes him . . . odd, sharp, not quite in tune with folk like yourself, folk from beyond the hill. He’s got his reasons, strong ones, for being the way he is. I’ve tried to help him. I haven’t always done a good job of it. He can seem a bit like a child sometimes, quick to anger, all too ready to see a chance remark as a slight. But don’t make the mistake of thinking anyone else is in charge here.Anluan’s the leader of this household. He makes the rules and the rest of us abide by them.”

After a little I said,“I see.Very well, I’ll come with you tomorrow. Shall I tell him or will you?”

Magnus grinned. “I will. But I’ll wait until suppertime. Now I’d best be gone.” He rose to his feet, and I thought it was perhaps not so surprising that whatever lurked in the woods had left him alone, for even in his old working clothes he was every inch a warrior.

A familiar mist wreathed the trees and clung to the bushes as Magnus and I made our way down to the settlement. It was early; I had been astonished to see Anluan standing in the archway, a somber cloaked figure, watching us as we went.

“We’ll be back before midday,” Magnus had called, but Anluan had said nothing at all. I imagined he disapproved of my going; he had not come to last night’s evening meal, but I knew Magnus had told him the plan.

I walked close to my companion, fearing whispering voices and creeping hands, or worse. After a while Magnus said, “They don’t tend to come out when it’s me, as I told you. Scarcely a peep out of them. Besides, you’re one of Anluan’s folk now; that protects you.”

“That’s very . . . inscrutable,” I said, lengthening my stride to keep up.

“I wouldn’t be taking you if it wasn’t safe.”

The simple logic in this was reassuring. I relaxed somewhat.“You never married, Magnus?” I asked him.

“Never met the right woman. Not a lot of them to choose from in these parts.”This was spoken with good humor, but it seemed to me a terrible waste. He would have made some woman a fine husband, and not just because he was so handy around the house.

“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it.

“Not your fault, is it? I made my choice and I’ll live with it. He needed me. Still does, I believe.”

“You’re all very loyal to him.”

“He’s a fine lad. If you stayed long enough, you’d come to know that.”

“Magnus?”

“Mm?”

“Was Anluan born with his disability, the weak arm and leg and the crooked shoulders?”

Magnus walked on as if I had not spoken, and I wondered if this was another of those questions that would never be answered. Then he said, “He was born as straight as any other child. He fell ill.This was after both Emer and Irial were gone.A palsy.We nearly lost him.Tried to get help, but nobody would come.”

Nobody comes here. I tried to imagine how that would have been: the boy lying between life and death, and only the ill-assorted inhabitants of the fortress to tend to him.“But surely—” I began, then stopped myself. If I had learned anything by now, it was that this place ran by its own rules, and perhaps always had.

“He’s got kin,” Magnus said. “But things are complicated. Maybe one day he’ll trust you enough to tell you. He was very sick. We got him through it. It was a grim time. He regained the power of speech, though that was a slow process. He was left with his weakness. It’s a hard thing for a boy of thirteen to come to terms with, that he’ll never be an able-bodied man. Still weighs heavily on him, as no doubt you’ve seen. I did my best.”

“I know, Magnus.” After a moment I asked, “What kin?”

“At the time of Anluan’s illness, Emer’s brother was chieftain of Whiteshore—that’s our neighboring territory to the northeast. If you went up the north tower you’d have seen it. The fellow had never approved of Emer’s marriage to Irial. He’d cut off all contact between the two territories. We sent a lad from the settlement with a message, when Anluan was hanging between life and death.They wouldn’t let him through the gates.” He glanced at me, his strong features set. “Ask the folk down the hill why these things happen, and they’ll tell you Whistling Tor is cursed. It’s near enough to the truth. Fear kept folk away then, and it keeps them away now. Emer’s brother is gone; his son, Brión, is chieftain of Whiteshore now. A better man than his father, from what I’ve heard. But that gap’s never been bridged. Fear keeps Anluan a prisoner.”

“And you with him,” I said softly.

“Couldn’t leave the boy on his own, could I?”

We walked on. I pondered the fear that made the Tor an island cut off from the outside world. It was, no doubt, based on the supposed presence of an eldritch host in these woods, a host that had once been real, unless the written records of both Nechtan and Conan had been the ravings of madmen. And yet here we were, halfway down the hill, with not a single monster to be seen. The forest was peaceful under the morning sun; birds exchanged eloquent calls up in the canopy. Certainly, this was a melancholy place. But there were no-

“Magnus?” My voice had gone small and shaky.

“Mm?”

“There’s a man under the trees, over there—in a dark cloak—” Even as I pointed, the figure I had seen became no more than a shadow.

“Just keep your eyes on the path,” Magnus said. “Nothing to worry about.”

Something rustled, and I whipped around the other way.A woman this time, half glimpsed amid ferns, white face, staring eyes, enveloping hood. Even as I looked, she was gone. A phantasm, perhaps conjured by my fearful imagination out of the glancing of light on stones or the dance of leaves in the wind.

“Take my arm, Caitrin.” Magnus’s voice was steady as a rock. “Look ahead. Remember what I told you.You’re one of Anluan’s folk now, and you’re safe with me.”

And by the time we were twenty paces further down the hill, there was nothing to be seen. I knew better than to ask questions. We covered the rest of the distance to the settlement in silence, and the bristling barricade was opened to let us in.

My arrival in the settlement was greeted with expressions of astonishment. Clearly, nobody had expected that I would survive my trip up the hill in one piece, let alone return apparently none the worse for wear. Tomas, it emerged, had taken the risk of accepting Duald’s wager that I would reach the top alive, and now stood to collect his winnings.

“I had my doubts,” he told me as Magnus and I waited outside the inn while folk went off to pack up the supplies we needed.“I won’t deny that. But you seemed so set on getting there, I thought, if anyone can do it, she can.”

“Thank you for your faith in me,” I said. “Might I go inside and talk to Orna awhile? We’re in no rush to get back.” Judging by what I’d seen of Magnus’s last visit here, we were likely to be handed our provisions and seen swiftly back out through the barrier. Now that we were here, I found that I did, in fact, want some female conversation, even if it was full of dire warnings about uncanny warriors and giant dogs.

“Why not?” said Tomas, glancing sideways at Magnus. I sensed it was not usual for my companion to be invited in; I had not forgotten how fearful Orna had appeared in his presence last time, as if Magnus had brought the taint of the Tor into the settlement with him.

“Take your time, Caitrin,” Magnus said. “I’ll be out here if you need me.”

Inside the inn, Orna was scrubbing the floor, while a red-haired woman worked energetically with a long-handled brush, cleaning away cobwebs. Both stopped work to stare at me as I came in.

“By all the saints and crawly creatures,” Orna said, sitting back on her heels. “You’re back.”

“I am, and hoping you may have time to sit down and talk awhile. Maybe some ale? Magnus has funds.”

“Of course.” Perhaps aware that I must have an interesting tale to tell, at the very least, Orna got up and fetched the ale jug, introducing her friend, Sionnach, as she set three cups on the freshly scoured table. “Now tell us,” she said. “What did you think of Lord Anluan? What’s it really like up there?”

It transpired, as I told them what little I believed Anluan would think it reasonable for me to tell, that very few people in the village had ever seen him in the flesh.There were some young folk who had done a day or two of work up on the Tor before they fled in fright, Orna said, and some old folk who recalled seeing Anluan as a child, but Orna,Tomas and Sionnach had never clapped eyes on him, and neither had any of their friends.

“So he never comes down here,” I said. “Not at all.”

“Not at all. We see Magnus. Sometimes we run into the fellow with the dog, a curse on the two of them. But not him. Not the chieftain who’s supposed to be leader and protector of us all. A pox on the wretched, twisted freak. But you’ll have seen for yourself what he is.” There was a question in Orna’s voice; she and Sionnach were both waiting eagerly to hear my tale.

“Anluan’s an ordinary man,” I said, realizing as I did so that this was an inadequate description. “He has a slight physical deformity, but it does not make him a monster. He is a little—well, he has a tendency to lose his temper rather easily. But he’s no freak. I think he has the makings of a good chieftain, but . . . there are some difficulties. I don’t see much of him. I work on my own most of the time.” I felt a sudden sense of disloyalty; it would be wrong to talk too much, to expose more of the wounds that lay on Anluan and his loyal retainers. Somewhere in my mind was the big question, the question of why. I did not think it would be answered here, where talk of curses and monsters loomed so large. “I’ve been doing some mending for the household up there,” I said brightly. “I don’t suppose you have a supply of linen thread, or some fine needles?”

They were only too happy to oblige. Orna got out her sewing box and Sionnach ran next door to fetch hers. A lively discussion of hemming methods ensued, during which I managed to insert some careful questions about recent visitors to the settlement, and whether anyone might have been asking about a young woman traveling on her own. The reply was not unexpected: that nobody came to Whistling Tor. It must be somewhat of an exaggeration. Certain supplies would have to be brought in, and certain goods must go out, accompanied by people to convey them. But there was no reason for Orna to lie about this. She and Tomas knew I did not want to be found, and as innkeepers they would be more aware than most of any comings and goings in the district. “Though there have been some rumors,” she added darkly. “They say the Normans are getting closer. A troop of them was seen riding on Silverlake lands.There’s talk they might press on right into this region. Sets a chill in the bones, doesn’t it? Who’d stand up for us if they came?”

Probably thanks to my presence, Magnus was eventually invited inside the inn, where he and Tomas, with a couple of other men, sat with us women over ale and oatcakes. I noticed how skillful Magnus was at extracting information without quite asking for it. By the time we got up to leave, he had discovered the name of the Norman lord whose warriors had been seen at Silverlake—Stephen de Courcy—that there had been twelve men in the party, and that Tomas’s informant had been a monk from Saint Crio dan’s, where the Normans had stopped to say prayers and ask for directions. There had been no formal visit to Fergal, chieftain of Silverlake; not yet.

As we were leaving the inn, Orna took my sleeve and held me back while the men went on ahead.“Are you sure you want to go back up there, Caitrin?” she murmured. “What about those . . . things?”

I saw the fear in her eyes, and the amazement that I would choose to return to the Tor of my own free will in the face of such abominations. “I’ve seen very little,” I told her. “Perhaps it’s not as bad as you think. On the way up I did hear some voices, it’s true. And this morning I kept imagining I saw folk in the woods. But I’ve seen no evidence of a . . . host. Nothing truly fearsome.”

“They’re fearsome all right. I’d say ask my grandmother, but she’s gone now. They’re not just wild tales, those accounts of folk ripped limb from limb and whole villages laid waste.They’re all true. Just because you haven’t seen it for yourself, that doesn’t make it any less real. I don’t know how you can be so cool and calm about it.”

I thought of Conan’s records, the misguided attempt to use the host in battle, the despair over the future of his people and his family. “I’m not doubting you, Orna. I’ve been told that Anluan will keep me safe.”

Orna shook her head, lips tight. “Anluan, eh? And how will his lordship do that, with his weak arm and his twisted leg? There’s only one way a man like that can protect you, Caitrin, and that’s by sorcery. Everyone knows what Nechtan was. This is his kin; this is a man not to be trusted. Be careful, that’s all I’m saying. If you wanted to stay here with us, we’d fit you in somewhere.You don’t have to go back up there.”

“Coming, Caitrin?” Magnus was waiting at the door, sack of supplies over one brawny shoulder.

“I’m coming.” I turned back to Orna. “Thank you, you’ve been very kind. I’m sure I’ll be all right. I hope this Norman threat comes to nothing. Perhaps I’ll see you again next time Magnus comes down.”

“We’d like that.” Her plain features were transformed by a smile. “Wouldn’t we, Sionnach? Not good for you on your own up there, no other women, household full of who knows what. Make sure you do come.”

I felt refreshed by the change of scene, though the news about the Normans was worrying. After an uneventful walk back up the Tor, we came into the courtyard to see Anluan in the archway again, as if he had not moved all morning. He offered no greeting, just nodded when he saw us.

“I need to talk to you,” Magnus told him. “Got some news.”

They headed off in the direction of the kitchen, and I went to the library, where I spent the afternoon leafing through inconsequential farm records. I could not get Orna’s words out of my mind. There’s only one way a man like that can protect you, Caitrin, and that’s by sorcery. I did not want Anluan to be a sorcerer. I wanted him to be a chieftain; I wanted to see him become the person I glimpsed sometimes beneath the forbidding exterior, a man who was sensitive to the moods of others, a man who could make leaps of logic, a man who ...Well, that was none of my business; I had not been hired to deal with the disorder in this chieftain’s spirit, only that in his library. Wretched, twisted freak. If he were ever to become what he should be, it would only be by a daunting effort. He would have to battle years of prejudice and misunderstanding. Hardest of all, I thought, would be learning to believe in himself.

“Another dumpling, anyone?” Magnus dipped his ladle into the cook pot. “I’ll be in need of some help as soon as this wet spell’s over. Best keep your strength up.”Tonight we were all assembled for supper.The rain had begun in early afternoon and was still falling steadily outside.

“I’ll give you a hand if I can,” I said.

Anluan turned his gaze on me. “You’re not being paid to chop wood and herd cows.”

“Thank you for the offer, Caitrin,” Magnus said with a smile. “Anluan may not be aware that you’ve been helping out with this and that for some while now. If that’s cause for another reprimand, the fault’s mine for accepting assistance when it was kindly offered. As for the farm work, Olcan will help me.”

“Your family home has a landholding, Caitrin?” Anluan’s question was harmless on the surface, but I knew he had not asked it casually.

“A small one, yes. A house cow, geese and chickens, a plot for vegetables.”

“And your father’s name is Berach,” said Muirne.

“Was. My father died last autumn.”

A brief silence.“You have a sister, I remember that.” Rioghan this time. “A more generously built version of yourself, I believe you said. Are there brothers as well? I suppose not, or we’d have had them rampaging up here trying to fetch you home.”

This guessing game was like being prodded from every side with sharp bodkins. It was the first time they had asked me outright about my home situation. “No brothers. Just my sister and me.”

“And where is she, Caitrin?” asked Muirne.

“Married and gone. She wed a traveling musician.” Married, gone and left me. Left me to Cillian.

Anluan rose abruptly to his feet; the rest of us, after a startled moment, did the same. “This is a fine meal, Magnus,” he said, gathering his cloak around him, though the chamber was warm. “I’m sorry I can’t do justice to it. I will retire now. As for Caitrin, she should not be wasting her time with domestic work. She has more important duties.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Magnus spoke first. “Noticed how nicely mended your shirts are these days?” he asked quietly. “That’s Caitrin’s work.”

Anluan’s fair complexion flooded as red as that of a small boy caught peeking curiously at his sisters bathing.Without a word, he turned his back and left the room.True to pattern, Muirne followed.

The rest of us relaxed. Magnus brought out another jar of ale; Olcan shared the remnant of the bread amongst the five of us. Eichri whistled a tune under his breath. It did not sound like a religious melody.

“Your story intrigues me, Caitrin,” Rioghan said.“You came to Whistling Tor all alone.You have no resources, or you wouldn’t have needed to borrow the price of a wager.Your father was a master scribe, you say. We don’t doubt that, since he taught you, and we’ve heard Anluan praise your skills at what, for him, is unusual length.”

If Anluan had spoken thus, it certainly hadn’t been in my hearing. Despite the way the conversation had turned so quickly back to the topic I did not want discussed, I felt a glow of pleasure at his recognition. “Father was very highly regarded,” I said. “I don’t want to talk about him. It’s too soon.”

“I know that, Caitrin. There is just one question that is exercising my mind, and it is this: if your father was what you say he was, how is it that his death has left you apparently penniless?”

“Rioghan.” Magnus’s tone was deceptively quiet. “That’s enough.”

“Ale, Caitrin?” Olcan refilled my cup. “How about a tale, a cheerful one for a wet night? Clurichauns, warriors, princesses enchanted into the form of birds, what’s your fancy?”

“I understand there are some things you can’t talk about,” I said, taking a risk, “but would you be prepared to tell me about Irial?” I glanced at Magnus, wondering if this might be as distressing for him as talk of Market Cross was for me. “I’ve been reading his notebooks,” I went on, “and I think he must have been a lovely person, gentle and wise and . . . sad.Were the rest of you living here when Irial was chieftain? How did he meet Emer?”

“We were here,” said Eichri quietly. “Emer’s father was Iobhar, chieftain of Whiteshore.”

“Irial must have been on better terms with his neighbors than it seems Nechtan and Conan were.”

“He worked hard at that, Caitrin.” Magnus set down his ale cup. His gray eyes were somber. As soon as he spoke the other three sat back, as if in recognition that this was his story to tell, not theirs. “He hired me in an attempt to shore up the defenses of his holding, not just the Tor but the surrounding farmland and the settlements that fall within his domain. Nechtan had lost hold. He had relinquished stock and territory along with the trust of his fellow chieftains. Conan was unable to make good his father’s losses.When Conan died and the responsibility passed to his son, Irial was determined to set things right, despite the risk. Resources were tight; he could not hire a whole company of gallóglaigh, only the one warrior to help him. I had two lads with me at first, but they left; couldn’t cope with the oddities of Whistling Tor. In those first years Irial put everything he had into trying to rebuild the alliances that had been broken since Nechtan’s time. It was hard. Conan had made some bad errors. People didn’t trust Irial; they feared Whistling Tor and its dark tales. I made visits on his behalf, spoke to folk, explained what he was about. Iobhar of Whiteshore was the best of the local chieftains. He was prepared to listen, despite the barriers to trust. We managed a council, just the one, at Whistling Tor, and Emer came with her father.”

“She was a lovely girl,” put in Rioghan with a sigh. “You remind me of her, Caitrin, especially when you wear that violet gown. Emer’s hair was not dark like yours, but flame red. A sweet lady.The moment Irial clapped eyes on her he loved her, and she fell for him just as quickly.”

“Folk were surprised when Iobhar agreed to the match,” said Magnus. “He knew he wouldn’t be seeing much of his daughter once she was wed to a chieftain of Whistling Tor. She did go home a few times in the early years. She took Anluan to visit his grandparents when he was an infant. I escorted them; it was safer for Irial to stay here. Emer liked to see her family, but all the time she’d be counting the days until she got back to Whistling Tor. Irial was fortunate in her.There aren’t many women would be prepared to live in such a place, however dearly they loved a man. Emer transformed his life.They had a few good years; they had Anluan.And then she died. We won’t speak of that.” Magnus turned away, but not before I saw the tears glinting in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up to put an arm around his shoulders. “It wasn’t fair of me to ask for the tale. Most people wouldn’t have had the courage to stay on.You did the right thing, Magnus.” I glanced at the others. “Anluan’s lucky in you, all of you.”

“There now, Caitrin,” said Olcan, wiping a hand across his rosy cheeks, “you’ll have us all blubbering like babies. Magnus, how about some mulled ale? No more sad tales tonight.”

Magnus said nothing, but he got up and set an iron poker in the coals, then began to assemble an assortment of herbs and spices on the table.

“You’ve been working hard, Caitrin,” said Eichri, changing the subject. “How is the stock of materials holding out?”

“Quite well. I will keep careful count of what I use. I know I must make the supply we have last all summer.”

“As to that,” said Eichri,“more can be procured if you require it. If you want vellum, parchment, inks, tools, speak to me.”

“You’d best watch yourself,” Rioghan said to the monk.“It ill becomes a man of the cloth to indulge in thievery. You have more than enough black marks to your name already, Brother.”

“Who said anything about stealing, Councillor? I might borrow a little here, a little there; only what can be easily spared. Saint Criodan’s will never miss it. All those monks think about is how long it’ll be until they can get up and ease their aching backs.”

“Aren’t monks supposed to regard the exercise of calligraphy as an act of worship?” I asked, not at all sure how much of this conversation was serious.

“Not being a scribe myself, I couldn’t tell you.” Eichri’s toothy grin was full of mischief.

I remember something.“Saint Criodan’s.That’s the place where Nechtan was shown a secret library. A collection of . . .” No, I did not want to speak of this after all.

“No talk of Nechtan,” said Olcan.“Magnus, that smells like spring and summer all wrapped up together. How about a song or two while we wait for it to brew? I’ve always liked that one about the lady and the toad.”

I woke late the next morning somewhat the worse for wear.The rest of the evening had passed in convivial style with the four of us offering Magnus varied advice on the preparation of the mulled ale, then trading songs and stories until the brew was fully consumed.

I made my way, yawning, to the library, but my head felt too fragile for scribing. After last night’s revelations, I was drawn to Irial’s notebooks. There was a charm about them that was soothing to the heart. If it had not been for the melancholy counterpoint of the Latin margin notes with their tale of loss, the books would have provided the perfect path to peace of mind.

Irial had labeled each drawing with various names including those used by local herbalists, such as fairy’s kiss, rat’s ears and prince-of-the-hill. Below these he had made observations on the shape, color and texture of leaf, stalk, flower, seeds and root, and had listed the plant’s uses both medicinal and magical. Some could be steeped in water to make healing poultices or restorative teas. Some might be burned on a brazier to restore calm or bring good dreams. I sat at the small table by the window, where the light was best, and read the pages properly this time. Here and there were margin notes in Irish rather than Latin. These did not form a litany of his grief over Emer, but dealt with practical matters. I have used this to beneficial effect. And next to another drawing. Olcan tells me his folk combined this herb with bay to induce a state of trance. I wondered when I might turn a page and see before me a formula for heart’s blood ink.

After some time my head began to throb. Fresh air might help; I would take a walk. I went back through the house to fetch a shawl from my chamber, then headed out into the main part of the grounds. I passed Muirne coming in.

“Muirne, do you know where Anluan is today?”

“He’s resting, Caitrin.”

No sign of anyone this morning; even the scarecrow was absent. Perhaps my companions from last night had been felled by the same headache that had interrupted my work.

The sun was out, sending dappled light down through the trees. It had been raining again and the air was fresh. I made my way along one of the overgrown paths, thinking how quiet it was. In fact, it was unnaturally quiet. Where was everyone? Surely Magnus wouldn’t let a headache keep him from his daily work. Suddenly I felt ill at ease, my skin prickling, my palms clammy.

A single furtive footfall. My heart lurched. Before I could turn, someone grabbed me from behind.