Heart's Blood

chapter seven

Ho sooner had we begun the next stage when a hammering on the door disturbed our labors.

There’s a hammering on the door. Nechtan feels his blood boil and makes himself take several slow breaths. The preparations must be perfect; he cannot afford any loss of control. He strides over, slides the bolt and whips the door open. “What?” he barks, glaring into the pasty features of his temporary steward, a man whose name he cannot quite recall.

“My lord, I very much regret the interruption, but—”

“Out with it! What is so important that you break my specific orders not to disturb me?”

“Lord Maenach is here, my lord. Not with a raiding party; he’s come with a group of councillors and kinsmen. There’s a priest with them, and Lord Maenach’s wife.They want to talk about an agreement, a treaty. Lady Mella said I must disturb you, since this is—”

“Go,” says Nechtan. “You’ve done as you were instructed.” He shuts the door in his servant’s face.

Aislinn is making the wreath. A lamp burns on the shelf above her workbench, its warm light transforming the soft mass of her hair to a glinting veil of gold. He wants to run his fingers through it, to gather the silken strands, to tug and make her cry out. Observing the neat, meticulous movement of her hands as she threads this most magical of herbs into the garland of winter greenery, eyeing the pleasing curves of her young body beneath the plain working clothes, he wants more than that. But he’s learned to suppress the stirrings of his body. To ruin his great work for the sake of such fleeting pleasure would be the act of an ordinary man, a weak man.

He turns his back on Aislinn. On his side of the workroom, three grimoires lie on the table, each open at a familiar page. The first: For the conjuration of spirits. The second: To call the servants of a darker realm. The third: Demons, imps, wraiths and visitants: touching on their true nature. Nechtan sighs.

“My lord, you need not read those again.” It seems Aislinn has eyes in the back of her head.“You’ll be using the other spell, the one you got from the monastery. The writers of those books have it wrong. I would wager none of them has put his theories to the test.They claim to be expert, but their writings are those of men who lack the courage to make their dreams reality.”

Nechtan smiles without turning. Aislinn is devoted; she’s giving him back his own arguments. “Quite true,” he tells her. “But we could have missed some small detail.This must be flawless, Aislinn.”

“It will be.” Her voice is shaking with emotion. Briefly, this perturbs him. He suspects that even if he had told her everything, instead of only the information she needs, she would still be prepared to comply with his wishes. She would do anything for him.Yet his little assistant is no dumb animal, following its owner out of blind instinct. Aislinn is quick, apt, quite a scholar in her limited way. Clever, but not too clever, Nechtan reflects, turning to watch her again as she weaves a white cord through the wreath, then ties the ends in a complex, particular knot.The ritual object resembles a headdress for a bride.

“All Hallows’ Eve.” Aislinn’s voice trembles as she hangs the wreath on a peg, next to the other items they will be using. “I can hardly believe it. My lord, I’ll never be able to thank you enough for letting me be a part of this great work.”

Another knock at the door.

“By all the powers,” Nechtan roars,“what have I done to deserve this? My house is full of fools!”

“Shall I answer, my lord?”

“No, Aislinn.” He opens the door.This time it’s his wife standing there like a skinny scarecrow in her drab gray, hands clasped nervously together, hair scraped back, jaw tight with nerves. The years haven’t been kind to Mella. She was never a beauty, not even when he wed her, and soon, very soon, she’ll be a hag. Bearing his son is the one good thing she’s ever done for him and for Whistling Tor. The dowry was useful, of course, but that’s long gone.

“Maenach is here.” She speaks without preliminaries. “He wants to treat for peace, Nechtan. He’s ready to talk to you, despite everything.You must come and speak with him.”

“Must?” The word hangs between them as Nechtan begins slowly to close the door. He sees the look in his wife’s eyes, the fear, then the sudden resolve. He’s surprised; he didn’t think the dreary creature had any spark left in her.

Mella puts her foot out, arresting the door’s movement. She looks past him, her eyes wintry as they pass over Aislinn. “Nechtan, don’t shut the door.This is our future, yours, mine and our son’s.”

“I have no interest in treaties,” he tells her, not that there’s any point; he knows from long experience that the patterns of his mind are beyond his wife’s comprehension. “They’re irrelevant. Sooner than you can imagine, all will change. Maenach will be less than a speck of dust under my boot. I will crush him.”

“Nechtan, listen to me, please. I’m begging you.” Mella’s face is creased with anxiety. He can see the wrinkles she’ll have as an old woman, if she lives that long. “This is a chance to stop the fighting, to make peace, to resolve the situation once and for all. I’ve never understood what it is you’re doing down here and I don’t especially want to, but neither your little village whore nor your so-called experiment is worth sacrificing your whole life for. The future of Whistling Tor, the future of your family and your people, lies in the balance. Come out, my lord, and sit at the council table.You are chieftain here. Be the man you should be.”

He lifts his hand and strikes his wife across the face, hard enough to send her reeling backwards. He closes the door; slides the bolt home.

“How deep need I go,” he mutters, “to keep the world out?”

My head dizzy, my vision blurring, for a little I did no more than sit quite still at the work table as the images in the obsidian mirror faded away to nothing and Nechtan’s thoughts slipped one by one out of my mind. Outside in the garden a thrush was singing.The sun had moved to the west, sending a stream of light through the library window.When I could move again, I wrapped the dark mirror in its cloth and stowed it away in the chest. There was another leaf of Nechtan’s writings on the table, another part of this story to be visited, belonging to the time after the experiment: the time of the wayward host. I would not look at it now.

When I felt strong enough I went outside again. I stood in the sunlight and spoke the words of a prayer, a simple one from childhood, asking the angels to watch over me. This vision had been less dark than the first. It was not so much what I had seen that was troubling; it was the way the mirror had drawn me into Nechtan’s mind. How many times had Cillian hit me in just the way Nechtan had struck Mella? And yet, watching that, my thoughts had been not hers but his, all violence and fury. Even now his anger flamed red in my mind. It sickened me.

Would it be like this from now on if I continued to use the mirror? Would a little of Nechtan’s evil rub off on me each time, turning me into a person who cared nothing for compassion, forgiveness, kindness, but only lived for power? I understood exactly what Muirne had been talking about. If doing this made me feel so wretched, what would it do to Anluan, with Nechtan’s own blood running in his veins? The chieftain of Whistling Tor was in many ways an innocent. He might be able to summon a host of specters to see off intruders, but this insidious evil could consume him from within. He must not be exposed to it.

“Caitrin?” It was Magnus, standing in the archway. He had a bundle on his shoulder; it looked as if he had only now come back from the settlement, though it was midafternoon. His strong features wore an unusually grim look. “There’s a problem.Where’s Anluan?”

“He went down to the farm some time ago.What’s wrong?” My mind went to Cillian and I felt cold.

“There’s a party of armed Normans on the open ground between the foot of the hill and the settlement, demanding that Anluan come down and speak with them. From what I could understand, they’re under orders to pass their message to nobody but him or his chief councillor. They wouldn’t tell Tomas what it was all about, and they weren’t interested in hearing anything I had to say. They’ve heard enough about this place to stop them from coming up the hill to deliver this decree or whatever it is. See if you can find the others, will you, Caitrin? I’ll fetch Anluan.”

We assembled in the kitchen. The afternoon was passing; there wasn’t long to make a decision.Anluan was sheet-white, his features pinched with strain. Nobody sat down. Magnus ran through it all: he had spent some time talking to Tomas about the situation with Cillian—he’d tell me about that later, but I would be happy with the explanation—and had been about to head for home when the Normans had ridden up to the village barrier and demanded admittance.They’d come from Stephen de Courcy.

“The fellow they were using as a translator didn’t seem to know a lot of Irish,” Magnus said. “Took him a long time to convey what it was they wanted. Then they asked about the barrier, and Tomas told them exactly what it was for. After that, they weren’t so keen on finding a way up the Tor. Now they’re down at the foot of the hill waiting. Tomas is there too, with a couple of the lads from the settlement. Bit of a surprise; you know how mortally frightened they all are of anyone from up here. Tomas was keen to get the iron-shirts away from the women and children. Once Duald and Seamus saw him leading the way, they were more or less shamed into doing the same. Mind you, the three of them are shaking in their boots down there.The sooner we deal with this the better.”

“Deal with it?” Anluan’s tone was brittle as glass. “How can we deal with it? You know I can’t set foot beyond the safe margin. If they will not deliver this message to you, Magnus, then we cannot receive it.”

“What do you think the message is?” I asked, not sure if I should take any part in the discussion, but hating that look on Anluan’s face and the familiar way he had wrapped his arms one over the other, as if to set a shield between himself and the world.

“It must be something of significance.” Rioghan had his palms together, the tips of his fingers at his lips; I could almost see his mind working. “Otherwise they’d be quite willing to pass it to Magnus and ask him to deliver it.Whatever it is, you cannot ignore it, Anluan.”

“What do you expect me to do,” Anluan responded furiously, “send the host out to snatch it from this messenger’s hands? I cannot go beyond the boundary!”

“Of course you need not go,” said Muirne, who was standing close to him, her hands demurely folded together, her manner eerily calm.“There’s no need to do anything.These Normans will not wish to be near the Tor after sunset.When night falls, they will go away.”

I stared at her, unable to believe she was serious. Her assessment of the situation was a child’s.

“I wish it were so simple,” Eichri said. “But for once the councillor here is right. Norman lords don’t send armed warriors to call on local chieftains just to share a jug of ale and exchange the time of day. They don’t insist on delivering messages into the hands of those chieftains if all they want is permission to ride from here to there, or to purchase a cow or two.”

“Should such a message not be delivered because the intended recipient refuses to accept it,” said Rioghan, and he turned his dark eyes on Anluan with a measuring look, “and should that message contain some kind of warning, the sender might well assume he’s been given sanction to proceed with whatever is intended. A move to seize another man’s property, for instance. Or an attack.”

“Don’t you think I’d go down there if I could?” The words burst out of Anluan. “What do you think I am, a fool and a coward? If things were different—if I were—” I heard the anguish in his voice, and my heart bled for him. “One step beyond that line, one single step, and the entire host could descend on the settlement and destroy it.”

“Are you sure?” I ventured. “They may have changed since Nechtan’s time. From what I’ve seen, there are some amongst them who just want a purpose.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m sure or not!” He turned on me, his voice a snarl. “The risk is too high, and I won’t do it! Keep out of this, Caitrin!”

It felt as if he’d slapped me.

“She’s trying to help you,” Magnus said quietly.“We all are. And time’s running short. I’m in agreement with Rioghan: this problem won’t go away of itself.There must be a strategy we can put in place.”

“A strategy? There can be no strategy!”

But there was. I had seen it, and I thought some of the others had seen it, too, but were not quite prepared to offer it in the face of Anluan’s rage and distress. A challenge; I must be brave. “You need not go beyond the boundary, Anluan,” I said. “Didn’t these Normans say they were prepared to give the message to your chief councillor?”

“What difference does that make?” Anluan retorted, glowering at me. “This is not a court with all the trappings: councillors, advisers, lackeys for every purpose. It is a shadowy, ruined, deserted excuse for a chieftain’s household. And I am a wretched apology for a chieftain.”

“I don’t know about lackeys,” I said shakily, “but you have a chief councillor right here.” I nodded towards Rioghan.“He can go.When I first met Rioghan and Eichri we were all beyond the foot of the Tor. If he can walk out there once, he can do it again.”

All eyes turned on me.There was a silence.

“Only one problem, Caitrin,” Eichri said. “Remember those missiles folk were hurling, the day you arrived? I know you thought the two of us were ordinary men. But you were more than a little distracted at the time. No Norman soldier is going to look at my friend here and see anything other than a ... than something distinctly odd.”

“He can wear a hooded cloak. He can talk to them politely, saying as little as possible. By the time he gets back down there, the light will be fading.”

Rioghan’s thin lips curved in one of his rare smiles. He said nothing.

“If it would help,” I added, “I could go with him. I’m not distinctly odd, as far as I know. And although I don’t speak French, I can probably manage Latin.”

“Excellent idea,” Magnus said. “I’ll come along to protect you.”

I saw the bitter denial in Anluan’s eyes and flinched before it. He opened his mouth to utter what would no doubt be another furious outburst.

“Of course, it’s not our decision,” I said, looking him straight in the eye. “It’s yours.We’ll only do it if you think it’s best.”

There was a little sound from Magnus, instantly suppressed. In the silence that followed, Fianchu padded over to the hearth, found that nobody had thought to provide a bone, and went back to stand by Olcan, looking hopeful.

“You’re not to take Caitrin out of my sight,” Anluan said, tight-lipped. I blinked in astonishment.

“Then you’ll need to come down as far as the boundary and wait where you can see us,” said Magnus calmly. I remembered that he was a warrior, accustomed to making decisions and to taking orders.

“I’ll wait at the sentinel trees,” said Anluan. “We’d best do this now. Olcan, I want you and Fianchu to stay up here, just in case.”

“Yes, my lord,” said Olcan, and nobody corrected him.

There were five of them, waiting in a line, seated on their horses. I imagined they were unwilling to dismount so near the forest’s edge.Their iron-ring garments were impressive: in addition to the long shirts that covered them to the knee, three of the five wore separate pieces wrapped around forearm and lower leg, and one man wore a kind of hood that protected his neck under his metal helm. They were well armed: I saw daggers, swords, an axe and two spears. One man wore a long robe with a cloak over it; he, too, bore a sword at his belt, but no protective mail. A leather bag by his saddle suggested he was the bearer of the message.The fifth man, by his side, was in simple breeches and tunic under a hooded cape.

At a slight distance stood Tomas, Duald and a third man from the settlement, huddled close together.They looked mightily relieved to see us until they clapped eyes on Rioghan. I thought Duald was close to wetting himself with sheer terror.

We approached, Magnus and I on either side of Rioghan. Our plan, such as it was, had been put together on the walk down the hill.

Four strides from the Normans, we stopped. Rioghan spoke before anyone else could get in first. “I am Rioghan of Corraun, Lord Anluan’s chief councillor,” he announced in ringing tones. “What is your business here within his borders? To ride across another man’s land armed and without prior agreement flouts the law of trespass.To do so in these parts, close to dusk, is beyond foolhardy.”

The messenger held a muttered consultation with the plainly dressed fellow by his side, and this man then attempted something in Irish. I took it to be a question about my presence among them.

“I am Lord Anluan’s scribe,” I said, reminding myself that Magnus was here, and that Anluan was watching from a little way up the hill, and that this had actually been my idea. I switched to Latin. “If you prefer, we can conduct this conversation in Latin.”

They were taking a good look at Rioghan now, perhaps noting the unusual pallor of his skin, the deep-set eyes, the gaunt features, and assessing them in the light of what Tomas had no doubt told them about the chieftain of Whistling Tor and his household.Their gaze moved from Rioghan to me. A scribe. A woman.

“Lord Anluan’s councillor asked you to state your business,” I said in Latin.“He says your presence here, armed and uninvited, breaks Irish law.”

“Irish law, pah!” The messenger made a gesture of contempt.“We bear a message from Lord Stephen de Courcy. I thought your man here understood that.” He glanced at Magnus, then looked quickly away.

“What message?” I asked.

“A message for the eyes of Lord Anluan only. It’s to be handed to him with Lord Stephen’s seal intact. I’d hoped to speak to the chieftain of Whistling Tor in person.”

I translated this for Rioghan and Magnus.

“Tell him Lord Anluan isn’t at the beck and call of any poxy foreigner who happens to turn up on his doorstep,” Magnus growled. “An Irish chieftain can’t be summoned the way you’d whistle for a dog. Tell him to give the message to Rioghan and get out of here before I lose my temper and do something foolish.”

“Caitrin, tell him we’ll take the letter,” said Rioghan. “You might point out that no Irish councillor worth his salt would dream of opening a sealed message to his lord.Then say they’d better be out of this district before nightfall or they might meet something that makes them soil those shiny outfits.”

“Please pass your message to Lord Anluan’s councillor,” I said in Latin. “He will deliver it to his lordship with seal intact. This other man who stands with us is Lord Anluan’s chief war leader. You will no doubt have heard certain tales about Whistling Tor. Lord Anluan’s war leader suggests you depart before the sun goes down.”

“We have heard that the chieftain of Whistling Tor has few retainers.” The Norman messenger glanced at Magnus. “His war leader, a barbarian oaf.” The man’s gaze passed over me. “His scribe and interpreter, a girl.”

Neither of my companions could understand the Latin, but the sneer in the Norman’s voice was unmistakable. “Arrogant swine!” Magnus snarled, clenching his fists.“Not content with riding onto our land with your poxy demands, you insult us!”

The Norman interpreter opened his mouth.

“Translate that and you’ll be in unimaginable trouble,” I said.

Rioghan moved forward. As he approached the Normans, their horses shivered and lifted their hooves in skittish unease.The messenger had unfastened his leather bag. He brought out a scroll. Rioghan reached up a pale hand to take it; he pushed back his hood and stared straight into the Norman’s face.The messenger’s eyes widened.The color drained from his skin. I saw one of the guards make the sign of the cross.

“You!” the messenger called, looking over at Tomas and his two companions, who were every bit as pale as the visitors. He was using Latin, my efforts at translation having evidently been more effective than those of his own man.“You will ensure Lord Stephen’s men are admitted immediately to this settlement next time.There will be no barrier. Do you understand?”

I rendered this into Irish.Tomas muttered something under his breath, but nodded to the visitors. An ordinary innkeeper on foot does not challenge armed and mounted Norman soldiers.

At a snapped command in French, Lord Stephen’s party turned their horses and rode away. It was not yet dusk; just as well, since we had not brought a lantern.

“Home,” muttered Duald. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“Wait,” Tomas said, and came over to me. He was trying hard not to look at Rioghan, who courteously drew the hood back over his head and waited at a slight distance. “Caitrin,” the innkeeper went on, “about that fellow who came here looking for you; I heard you had some trouble. Glad to see you’re unharmed. If I’d known what would happen, I’d have lied, sent him packing. We argued about it, Orna and me. The man was full of the tale, how he’d been to every inn from his home town to here, spoken to every carter, followed every shred of information—he’d been on the road for a long time, must have been determined, the wretch. It seemed a better solution to send him on up, knowing what generally happens to folk who try the Tor. I feel bad about it, lass. Never meant you to get hurt.” His gaze kept darting to Rioghan. “Funny how things work out. Never thought to find myself out here with ...”

“It’s all right,Tomas,” I reassured him. “I understand.” With a jolt I realized that I had just walked down the hill and out onto this open ground without even thinking of Cillian. My mind had been all on the crisis facing Anluan. “Now you’d best take yourselves back inside the barrier, and we must deliver this message.Thank you for coming out.Thank you for waiting here until we came down the hill.” I glanced at Rioghan and Magnus, wondering whether I could take it upon myself to be Anluan’s mouthpiece. “If Lord Anluan were down here, he would thank you for your bravery and support. I don’t suppose this has been easy for you.”

“If that thing has bad news in it,” Tomas said, “let us know what it is, will you?” He turned away, and the three men headed towards the safety of the settlement.

We walked back up the Tor with dusk turning the forest to a landscape of purple and violet and shadow gray. Rioghan had passed the scroll to Anluan as we reached the place where our chieftain had been waiting under concealment of the trees.The document was like a weight hanging over us, holding us all silent. I felt the need to know its contents, yet was glad the poor light meant waiting until we reached the house, for this could surely not be good news. I thought it likely Anluan would want to read the message alone.

As we entered the courtyard, I remembered Cathaír, left on guard outside my bedchamber door all this time. Hurriedly I made my excuses and went up to the gallery.

The young warrior still stood at his post, his features stern. His eyes, as ever, moved with restless unease.At a slight distance sat the little girl in her pale garment, cross-legged on the gallery floor, making a pile of dead leaves.

“Thank you, Cathaír,” I said.“I regret that my errand took so long. Has anyone been here while I was gone?”

“None will pass while I stand guard, lady.”

“Can you come back tomorrow, in the morning?”

“If you have need, I will be here.”

“I am grateful.You have leave to go until then.”

With a solemn inclination of the head he departed, not fading this time, but marching along the gallery and down the stairs as a flesh and blood man might do. I watched him cross the garden towards the trees. Just before he entered their shade he turned to look up at me, raising his hand in a hesitant farewell. I returned the gesture, half wave, half salute, and then he was gone.

The child had moved to stand right beside me.The moment I opened my door she slipped through. Standing in the middle of the chamber, she said, “Baby’s gone.”

I had to think for a moment before I remembered the ruined gown, Muirne, my mending efforts.“Róise’s downstairs, in the kitchen,” I said.“I had to mend her; she was hurt.”

The little girl stood very still with her hands clasped behind her back and her eyes on the floor. She said nothing.

“I don’t want her hurt again,” I said quietly.“When my things are damaged, it makes me sad. That’s why I had a guard on the door.” This child did not seem capable of doing the damage. She looked like something fashioned from twigs and cobwebs. “I don’t mind if people touch Róise very gently, as long as they ask permission first.”

For a moment she simply stood there; then she sank onto the floor next to the bed, put her head down on her folded arms and began to weep. It was not the full-throated crying of a child who has scraped a knee or lost a battle with a brother or sister, but a forlorn whimper. Without allowing myself to think too much, I picked her up, then sat on the bed with her chilly form in my arms. Her sobs grew wilder, racking through her.

“It’s not your fault,” I murmured, stroking the wispy white hair and wondering if I was being utterly foolish. Inside is pure malevolence. I could not bring myself to believe it.“And she’s better now, all better. I made her a nice veil. A lovely color, like violets. It’s a memory of a beautiful lady who once lived here.”

After a little the weeping died down. The child nestled against me, sending cold deep into my bones. If she could have slept, perhaps she would have. But like all the folk of the hill, she could not enjoy the peace of slumber.What was her story? How could she, so young, have died with guilt on her soul? Oh, Nechtan, I thought, what kind of warrior is this?

“Can I stay here with you?” the little voice asked, twisting my heart.

“I’m going downstairs in a moment,” I told her. It was almost dark; I must fetch a candle.

“Your bed is soft,” she said.The statement had a question in it. I imagined sharing my pallet with that chilly little body. I thought of lying awake, wondering when she would creep out and start shredding my possessions.

“Caitrin?”

I started, looking up.Anluan stood in the doorway, a candle in his hand, the unsealed scroll tucked awkwardly under his arm. The light turned his features into a flickering, deceptive mask.

“I need you to translate this,” he said. “I would prefer to do it in private.”

I should have realized the message might be in Latin. “Of course.” I rose to my feet, displacing the child, who curled up with her head on my pillow. I hesitated.Anluan seemed to be alone, and it was clear he expected me to do the translation right away. Perhaps he was not worldly enough to realize that a young woman did not invite a man into her bedchamber.

“I need to know what is in this,” he said.

“Of course.” I moved to the doorway. “If you hold the candle steady, I may be able to see it well enough.”

Steady. It is hard to be steady when you hear ill news. We stood close together, not quite in the bedchamber, not quite out of it, and the ghost girl watched us from the pallet. Drafts from the gallery stirred the candle flame; Anluan brought his weak arm up awkwardly to shield it.

The message was scribed in a bold, decorative hand on the single parchment sheet. It was not very long. “Do you want a word-for-word translation?” I asked him, my voice cracking.

“Just tell me what it says.”

“It’s more of a decree than a request,” I said quietly, wishing with all my heart that I was not the one who had to tell him this, for a glance had shown me the gist of the thing.“Lord Stephen intends to establish himself on your land, with his stronghold here on the Tor. He states that all surrounding territory as far as the borders of Whiteshore and Silverlake is to become Norman land, under his rule. He claims he has the authority to do so as a knight of the English king.” Although we were not quite touching, I felt Anluan’s whole body tighten. I heard his breathing change.“Then he says he’s going to be considerate and give you a choice. He can take your holdings any time he wants. However, he’s allowing you the opportunity to discuss the matter with him and reach a mutual agreement, which will spare your land and your people the rigours of armed conflict with its inevitable damage and loss. He believes you will see the wisdom of attending a meeting for this purpose. His chief councillor, with an appropriate escort, will return here on the eve of next full moon to hold this meeting.” Next full moon. By my count, that was around twenty-one days from now. “Then his signature: Stephen de Courcy.” The message was an insult. His lordship wasn’t even planning to attend the meeting in person. Mutual agreement? What chieftain in his right mind would agree to this? “What will you do?” I asked, my throat tight.

The candle shook in Anluan’s hand; wax dripped onto the parchment. “Do?” he echoed bitterly. “Do? I suppose I will do just what my people expect of me, Caitrin: absolutely nothing.”

“But—” I began, shocked.

“Don’t say it!” It was a furious snarl, and I took a step backwards, my heart thumping.“Don’t tell me I can work a miracle here if only I have hope! You saw those men down the hill—you saw their weapons, their armor, their good horses, the discipline that kept them waiting as dusk drew close and Tomas no doubt regaled them with tales of demons and wraiths. Stephen de Courcy will have a hundred, two hundred such soldiers at his disposal, perhaps more. I have none. He could give me twenty-one days or ten times that: it would make no difference.This is the end for Whistling Tor.”

Deep breath, Caitrin. “If you decide it is, then I suppose it will be,” I made myself say.

“Oh, so this is all my fault? It’s my doing that this poxy foreign lord decides to ride in and take my land for his own? You expect me to pluck solutions from midair, I suppose?” A charged silence as he glared at me, the candle-holder clutched in his white-knuckled fist. My heart knocked in my chest. When a small, chilly hand crept into mine I almost leaped out of my skin.

Anluan looked down at the ghost child, who now stood pressed against my skirt, her thistledown head tucked against my side. His eyes rose to examine my face. “You’re afraid of me,” he said, blue eyes wide. “Caitrin, I’d never hurt you. Surely you know that.”

I swallowed.There was plenty I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

The chieftain of Whistling Tor looked down at his boots. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not ... I can’t ...”

I found my voice. “People won’t blame you for what’s happened with Lord Stephen,” I said. “And I don’t blame you. But you’ll be judged on what you do next. The Norman messenger said this was a household of few retainers, as if that were something to be sneered at.You are lucky in your retainers, Anluan. They love and trust you. Maybe the next step is to ask their advice.”

“You make it sound so easy.” In his voice I heard the child who had lost his parents all too soon; the boy who had shouldered an impossible burden at nine years old.

I took a step towards him and laid my hand on his arm. He did not shrug me off, though I felt him start at my touch. “Please don’t give up,” I said. “Please let us help you.”

“Would you number yourself amongst these loyal retainers, Caitrin?” He would not look at me.

“If you’ll have me,” I whispered.

“I don’t see the point in discussing this,” Anluan said a little later. The household was gathered as usual around the supper table, but nobody was eating the meal Magnus had hastily prepared.“Even if I were not burdened with the host, too much time has passed since the chieftain of Whistling Tor had the trust of his region and his people. To win that back could take years. I have twenty-one days. It is possible the folk of my settlements would prefer Norman rule to the way things are.”

“Bollocks,” said Rioghan. “Didn’t you notice Tomas and his friends down there, shivering in their boots at the sight of me, yet holding their ground? Those folk may not have a high opinion of you, Anluan, but they know you’re the same kind as they are. No Connacht man wants a bunch of mail-shirted foreigners lording it over him.”

“Quite true,” put in Magnus before Anluan could summon a contradictory argument.“With every step you take to bridge the gap, you’ll likely see one taken on the other side.That’s my opinion. But you’re right in one respect.Time is very short.”

“Too short,” said Anluan.

“As to that,” Eichri said, “it’s clear the Normans expect you to attend this meeting in person. A pity Stephen de Courcy won’t be returning that courtesy—we could have seized the opportunity to get rid of the wretch before this came to out-and-out war. I interpret the wording of the message to mean that if you fail to make an appearance when his councillor arrives, Lord Stephen will take it as capitulation. I believe there is one aspect of this we need to clarify, and I offer my assistance.”

“What aspect?” Anluan’s tone was not encouraging.

“What is the role of our own high king in the matter? How can such an act of aggression be sanctioned in the very territory of the Uí Conchubhair? Perhaps Ruaridh knows nothing about it. Perhaps, if he did, he might provide some support.We should at least ask.”

In the silence that ensued, I considered how long it might take to get a message to the high king’s court and bring back a reply, and which member of our small household might be spared to perform this task.

“You’d be surprised what one can find out at Saint Criodan’s,” Eichri said. “The current abbot, bless his curious heart, has a finger in a great many pies. I can be there and back a great deal quicker than Magnus can. Give me your permission to go, and I’ll find out whether an approach to Ruaridh Uí Conchubhair is likely to bear fruit.”

“The high king come to the aid of the chieftain of Whistling Tor?” Anluan’s tone was incredulous. “You’d be wasting your time.”

“There is no need to go.” This was Muirne’s first contribution to the discussion; she had sat demurely in her place throughout, expression calm. “Eichri need not go to Saint Criodan’s, and Anluan need not speak to these Normans. Whistling Tor is apart. That has long been the way of things.”

“And when Stephen de Courcy and his well-drilled army come storming up the hill?” asked Magnus.

“They will encounter the host,” said Muirne. It was obvious that, to her, this was the only answer we needed.

A weighty silence.

“Not quite as straightforward as that, is it?” said Olcan.

“She does have a point.” I was reluctant to support Muirne’s all-too-simple arguments, but I had seen the way the host drove Cillian off the Tor. I knew what terror it struck in the minds of the local people, a dread that lingered even in those who had never seen the spectral force at first hand. “Might not an encounter with the host change Lord Stephen’s mind about wanting to settle in these parts?”

“We cannot be certain of that,” said Rioghan. “And because we cannot be certain, the risk of attempting it would be too high.” He looked at Anluan. “Any appearance by the host would give Lord Stephen his justification for moving into the region by force. He could claim to be ridding the locals of a peril that has threatened them for generations.”

“It is premature to speak of such possibilities.” Anluan’s tone brooked no argument. “We can plan only as far as this meeting or council. I presume they intend to hold it down in the settlement. I cannot go down there. That would endanger the local folk and the people of the wider district. And I will not allow de Courcy’s emissaries to come up here.”

“Anluan,” I said, “you can’t let Lord Stephen walk in and take everything.”

“If you have a solution, Caitrin, you should set it out for us,” said Muirne.

I drew a deep, steadying breath. “Magnus,” I said, “how long is it since the host was off the hill? How long since they crossed that boundary line?” Nechtan’s accounts, and Conan’s, were strong in my mind: the destructive rampages, the rending and maiming, the carnage and death.“It’s some time, isn’t it? Ten years? Twenty? Fifty?”

“We won’t discuss this further,” Anluan said sharply. His face was suddenly ashen; his jaw was set tight.

In the silence that ensued, Magnus looked down at his platter. Eichri and Rioghan pretended to eat. Olcan went over to check the dog. I could feel Muirne’s eyes on me.

“But, Anluan—” I began.

“This is irrelevant!” Anluan snapped. “The host cannot be allowed to leave the hill. Not under any circumstances. That means I don’t leave the hill. Didn’t you hear me, Caitrin? I said we won’t discuss this!”

After a moment, I said, “You think if you don’t talk about a problem it will go away?”

“I could save the Tor and its inhabitants at the price of the settlement and all who dwell there.” His voice was icy; his fingers clenched themselves around a goblet from which he was not drinking. I struggled to see in him the man whose courage and gentleness had so touched me after Cillian’s attack. He’s afraid, I thought suddenly. He wants to fight this, but he believes he will fail everyone. He believes he will destroy all he cares about.

“What would your choice be, Caitrin?” he went on. “Would you preserve the fortress and its wretched chieftain, not to speak of the household of loyal retainers, at the price of a few hundred men, women and children, a few farms, a few cottages? We could save the region from Norman rule. Let the host loose beyond the confines of the Tor and it should send Lord Stephen and his men away screaming. Or he might march in with more men than even the uncanny army of Whistling Tor could combat. Either way, there wouldn’t be many folk left alive when it was all over.Which way would your choice lie?”

I rose to my feet. “It’s not my choice,” I said, making myself breathe slowly. “Excuse me, I’m going to bed.” I touched a taper to the fire and lit a candle. I gathered up the bundle I had left on the bench earlier: the remnants of Emer’s gown with Róise tucked inside. “It seems to me that what’s needed here is a display of leadership.”

Anluan stood up. I saw him clasp his hands together to still them, the left hand around the right. All was silence. Even Fianchu’s chewing had ceased. As I went out the door, the chieftain of Whistling Tor addressed my back.

“You expect too much of me,” he said, and I heard no anger in his voice now, only bitter sorrow. “I am no leader.”

You are, I thought as I walked through the empty rooms and deceptive passageways of the fortress, averting my gaze from a mirror in a corner, another on a wall, a third propped at a drunken angle atop a broken stool. You can be, if only you will believe in yourself.

I opened my bedchamber door to find the ghost child waiting inside. Her eyes went straight to the bundle I carried.

“All better now?” she asked.

“I’ll show you.” I unrolled the ruined gown, took out the mended doll and set her on the pallet. “I’ll make up a bed for you here, on the floor. I think you’ll be warm enough.” I busied myself laying out a cloak and a blanket, and rolling up a gown for a pillow. When I turned to look at the child, her little features were full of such longing that tears sprang to my eyes. She was kneeling beside my bed, gazing into Róise’s embroidered face. One skinny finger stroked the very edge of the new skirt I had made for the doll.

“If you want, you can hold her.”

She gathered Róise tenderly into her arms; rocked her as gently as any mother might a precious infant. She sang a whispery lullaby. “Oo-roo, baby mine ...”

“We’d have been warmer in the kitchen,” I said, talking mostly to quiet my own restless thoughts. Anluan’s bitterness had unnerved me. His mood slipped from sun to shadow with little warning. A chieftain was at a great disadvantage if his capacity to act was at the mercy of such a volatile temper. What if Muirne was right and he could not change? “At least there’s a fire down there.”

The child’s eyes went wide, startling me; the little body became rigid. “No! No fire!”

“It’s all right, hush, little one.” I went to her, crouching to embrace her. “There’s no fire up here. And the one in the kitchen is a safe fire, on the hearth. See the nice bed I made for you.Would you like to tuck Róise in?”

She snuggled under the meager warmth of the blanket, the doll clutched tightly to her breast. “Sing me a song,” she said.

It was the last thing I felt like doing. “All right, then. Close your eyes.” I sat down on the floor beside her, hugging my shawl around me and wondering if the others had continued the discussion without me. I made an attempt at the song about the lady and the toad, leaving out the rude parts.The girl lay motionless, lids closed, long pale lashes soft against pearly skin. How cold she was! It was as if winter’s breath had touched her deep inside.

I had reached the last chorus when I saw a flickering light out on the gallery and heard footsteps approaching. Magnus appeared in the doorway.

“Just checking that all’s well.” His eyes widened.“Got company, I see.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Magnus. I’m sorry I walked out.”

In the dim light, I could not read his expression clearly. “No trouble. Olcan said to tell you he’ll send Fianchu up. I heard you had a different kind of guard on the door today.”

“Who told you?”As far as I knew, nobody had been here while Cathaír was on duty.

“Word gets about.They all knew about it: Eichri, Rioghan, Muirne.”

“Magnus, I’m sorry I upset Anluan again. I just wish he would ...” My voice faded. Anluan had good reason to be angry with me. I wanted things to be different. I wanted him to be the man I had seen in the courtyard facing up to Cillian. Now, in the quiet of the bedchamber, it came to me how unrealistic that was. What he faced now was not a mob of bullies. It was a Norman lord, with all the power and authority that implied. It was the formidable force of men-at-arms such a lord was likely to have at his command. What did I want: that Anluan should perish, taking the folk of forest and settlement with him, simply to prove to me that he could be a man? “He told us not to discuss it,” I said miserably. “But I can’t think about anything else.”

Magnus folded his well-muscled arms. He had not advanced beyond the doorway. “We’ve weathered a lot here, you know. Terrible times; sorrowful times. I never thought I’d say this, Caitrin, but maybe this really is the end.Whistling Tor’s got no men-at-arms, it’s got no resources, it doesn’t even have the trust of its people to fall back on. He knows what he should do, but the risks are high. Step off the hill, even for the time it takes to walk to the settlement and attend a council, and he puts everything he cares about in jeopardy. Suppose he does that, and defies Lord Stephen. Then he’s committed to armed conflict. Where’s his army?” He waved a hand out towards the forest. “He’s only got them, and we know what happened when his ancestors tried to lead them into battle.”

“There must be a new way of looking at this,” I said. “I refuse to believe there’s no solution.” But then, hadn’t Anluan accused me of having persistent hope, hope that saw possibilities where there were none? “Magnus, if Eichri and Rioghan can go beyond the hill without dire consequences, doesn’t that mean the others could do the same, given the right conditions? Eichri just offered to go to Criodan’s, which is quite a distance from Whistling Tor.”

“Eichri and Rioghan are different.”

“But they weren’t always different. If they could change, why can’t the rest of them change?”

Magnus looked bemused. “With enough time and the will to do it, I’m prepared to admit that might be possible. We have less than a turning of the moon.”

I glanced down at the child on her improvised bed. I thought of the look in Cathaír’s troubled eyes as he’d marched back to the forest with his head held high. “All Anluan needs is for them to stay on the Tor while he goes to the settlement for a meeting,” I said.

“And what would you have him do when he gets to this meeting? Threaten the Normans with a fighting force of twenty villagers wielding pitchforks?”

“It sounds foolish, I know. But maybe, if he took that first step, the people down there would think better of him. And it’s not as if Lord Stephen himself will be here at full moon, along with his fighting men. Mightn’t Anluan have time to rally support in the district?”

Before Magnus could comment, Fianchu came bounding into the bedchamber and went immediately to the child. He turned a few circles, somehow managing not to step on her, then lay down gently beside her. Her uncanny cold did not seem to disturb him, but then, just as she was no ordinary girl, he was no ordinary dog.

“I’ll leave you in peace,” Magnus said. It seemed our discussion was over.

“Good night, Magnus.”

“Good night, lass. In the morning, maybe we’ll see this with fresh eyes.”

A fine, persistent rain fell over the towers and gardens of Whistling Tor, pooling in corners, trickling down stone walls, making me shiver as I walked between living quarters and library.The heart’s blood plant had put up three flower stems; the oaks were clothed in tender green. I counted the days as they passed: twenty days until the Normans came; nineteen, fifteen ... Not only was that time looming, but so was the first day of autumn. I had been hired only until then.

The spinning of my mind was unbearable. I tried to keep it at bay with work, plunging into my task with a feverish energy. Anluan spent much of the time shut away in his quarters. I would see him occasionally in somber conversation with Magnus or Rioghan, but he hardly spared me a glance. He did not come to the library; he did not sit under the birch tree in Irial’s garden. Muirne took him his meals on a tray.

At night, when my troubled thoughts kept me awake, I went out onto the gallery and looked across the courtyard. In the dark of the moonless night, Rioghan paced up and down in his nightly ritual. Across the pond and beyond the pear tree, I could see the glow of Anluan’s lamp. I whispered to him. “Why won’t you talk to me? I thought we were friends.”

I missed him. I missed the little glances he would turn my way; I missed his awkward conversation; I missed his crooked smile. Even his bouts of ill temper would be better than this absence, this silence. It extended to the rest of the household as well; I deduced that Anluan had ordered them not to discuss the looming crisis with me. I wanted to help him, to talk to him, to be a listening ear. But on the rare occasions when I happened to meet him crossing the courtyard or pass him in a hallway, he looked so grim and distant that I could hardly bring myself to speak.

I needed more time. The documents might still reveal a way of banishing the host forever and freeing Anluan from the curse. If there were no host, he could build ties with his neighboring chieftains. If there were no host, he could become the leader he was born to be. Then maybe he would have a chance of standing up to the Normans. If only I could find a counterspell. Fifteen days left.

Morning after morning, I was in the library as soon as there was light enough to read by, and stayed there until almost suppertime. In the evenings I worked in my bedchamber, making an Irish version of Irial’s margin notes on vellum pages I had cut and sewn into a tiny book. I had pored over everything the library contained in Irial’s hand, but this record remained incomplete. If there had indeed been two years between Emer’s death and her husband’s, some of Irial’s writings must be missing. Or he had ceased to keep this record for a season or so before his own demise. He had become too sad to set pen to page, perhaps. His last note read:

Day five hundred and ninety-four. The leaves of the birch, spiralling down, down. A lark’s pure notes in the endless sky. Is there a sleep without dreams?

Reading this, I thought not of forlorn Irial but of his son, and I considered the nature of love. I had once watched Anluan in the garden and seen an enchanted prince trapped in a dark net of sorcery. But this was no prince of ancient story. Anluan was a flesh and blood man, with a man’s virtues and flaws. The wounds Magnus had once spoken of, the hurts left on him by the past, were as much part of him as the limping leg and uneven shoulders.They made him the man he was.

I imagined the warmth of his body pressed against me, his face close to mine as I leaned over him to guide the quill. I considered how much it hurt to be shut out; more than it should, bearing in mind that I was a scribe hired for a single summer. I knew that whatever happened, leaving this place was going to break my heart.

My translation of Nechtan’s documents now covered a sizable pile of parchment sheets. I stored them between polished oak boards that Olcan had prepared for me, with a leather strap to keep them together. Between the long days of work and my constant anxiety, I grew thinner. My gowns hung loose on me. On the rare occasions when I looked in a mirror—generally by accident—and it gave me back a true reflection, I did not see the rounded, rosy person whom Eichri had called a lovely lady from an old tale, but a pallid creature with dark smudges under her eyes, brow furrowed by a frown, hair scraped back under a practical head-cloth. I recalled Nechtan’s cruel assessment of his wife: Soon, very soon, she’ll be a hag. I wondered what had happened to poor, well-meaning Mella after her husband’s great experiment went so disastrously wrong.

I had not expected to be lonely, but I was. Most days the ghost child kept me company, sitting on the floor in the corner where Irial’s books were kept, playing mysterious games with Róise. Cathaír had taken it upon himself to guard the entrance to my bedchamber through the daylight hours, and Fianchu kept guard at night.

In the evenings the household still gathered, without its leader and his shadow. But suppertime was not what it had been.We were all despondent and troubled. Olcan and Magnus exchanged a word or two about the work they planned for the next day. Rioghan sat silent, without his usual sparring partner, for Anluan had at last given Eichri permission to visit Saint Criodan’s. My appetite was gone. I ate only because I knew I must.

Twelve days until full moon. I entered the library to find an ink pot on its side and a pool of black all over the completed pages I had left on my work table the night before. The transcription was ruined. As I mopped up the spillage, I tried and failed to convince myself that this was some kind of accident. I always corked my ink and put it away before I left the library.Who could have been here? Who would come in at night? With a creeping sense of dread, I recognized this as a warning. But from whom, and why? Was I coming close to the heart of my search? If Nechtan had been so powerful, perhaps he had set some kind of spell on his documents to protect his secrets from curious eyes. If he could make those fell mirrors, he could surely do that. I considered what might be next. It would be something worse than the destruction of a day’s hard work, I was sure.

The ghost child was watching me, Róise clutched in her hands. Her big eyes were fearful, as if she had seen into my thoughts.

“It’s all right,” I said.“Just a little spillage. But maybe you should go up and stay with Cathaír today. I’m sure he gets lonely all by himself.”

Ten days until full moon. Eichri came back with a supply of excellent vellum and the unfortunate news that one of Lord Stephen’s daughters was betrothed to a kinsman of Ruaridh Uí Conchubhair. There was no need to expand on this. It meant the high king would not intervene on Anluan’s behalf.

I broke my self-imposed rule about no lamps in the library, and worked through suppertime. I read until my lids were drooping and the patterns of Nechtan’s strong script were blurring and bobbing on the page before me. From time to time I sensed presences in the shadows beyond the warm circle of lamplight, shapes moving and shifting: the restless host. My progress was slow. Perhaps they were growing angry.

Eventually I gave up and went to bed. I fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep, and did not wake until dawn. It was raining outside. Fianchu was already gone, and the door stood slightly ajar.The blanket bed the dog shared with the ghost child lay rumpled on the floor. No sign of the little girl.

I felt it before I saw it: something wrong, something out of place, beyond these absences. A moving shadow. Something above me swinging to and fro, to and fro. I looked up.

Róise was dangling in midair, her limp form suspended by the neck. My heart jolted. I had thought ... for a moment I had thought ... but then, people cannot die twice, not even if their ghostly forms have more substance than one might expect. But a ghost can suffer. A ghost can be hurt. I had learned that from Rioghan’s anguished retelling of his past, and from Cathaír’s darting eyes, and from the way the little girl clung to this treasure that had once been mine and had now become hers. I wanted the doll down before she saw it. Now, right now; the sight made me shudder. I glanced at the open door. Perhaps she had already seen it.

Too high to reach. Who had done this? Who could do it brazenly, while I slept only three paces away? Who could get past Fianchu? Only one of the host. But why? They wanted me to succeed, they wanted me to find a way to send them back.These were acts of wanton mischief, serving no purpose at all.

I found the child out on the gallery, squeezed into a corner, weeping. There was nobody else in sight, either up here or down in the courtyard. I went over to the little girl and squatted down beside her. “Are you all right? I couldn’t find you.Where’s Fianchu?”

She was curled tightly on herself, her body shaking with sobs, her soft pale hair damp with the rain that blew in through the openings above the courtyard.

“Little one? Where is the dog? What happened in the bedchamber?”

“Baby,” she murmured on a sob, and allowed herself to be gathered onto my knee. “Baby’s gone.”

Perhaps she had not seen it. I rose to my feet, holding her.“Rioghan?” I called softly. “Are you down there? I need help.”

At that moment Fianchu came lolloping up the steps to the gallery, tail wagging, expression not in the least contrite. I could hardly blame him. He had probably just seized the opportunity to go out and relieve himself when whoever it was left the door open. Someone he trusted? A member of the household? It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Caitrin.” Rioghan was here; I had hardly needed to raise my voice to summon him. “What is it? You’re white as a sheet.”

“There’s something in my bedchamber that I would like—adjusted—before we go back in there,” I said, looking down at the child in my arms. “I woke to find there had been a visitor. Could you attend to it, please, Rioghan?”

He went into the chamber without another word, and I waited, rocking the little girl and murmuring to her. In not much time at all, Rioghan came back out. He was winding the wire into a coil. “It’s all right to take her back in,” he said.“You’ll need to do some mending, Caitrin.The object in question was almost torn in two.”

“Thank you.” For some reason, I was close to tears myself.

“You must tell Anluan about this,” Rioghan said.

“There wouldn’t be any point.” I could not keep my voice steady.“He won’t even talk to me these days.”

“There’s a reason for that, Caitrin.Your presence here gives him pause. It makes him weigh things up a little differently.”

“It shouldn’t stop him from listening when I have something worthwhile to contribute. Anluan knows I’m not stupid.Why can’t he trust me?”

“You’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset! He might be about to lose everything, and he won’t let me help!”

“He has his reasons. If he wanted to tell you what they are, no doubt he would. Don’t think he’s shut up in his chamber brooding, Caitrin. He’s thinking, planning, working out whether he can take the risk he must take if he’s to save this place. Calculating, weighing up arguments. Hesitating, because that risk may simply be impossible for him to bear.What has occurred here this morning is likely to make him even less willing to involve you.”

“Involve ... you mean he’s leaving me out of this to protect me? But—”

“Baby,” whispered the child. “I want my baby.”

I got to my feet, keeping hold of her hand. “You’re sure it’s all right to go in there?”

“The doll is on the bed; the other evidence, I will remove. Caitrin, he should be told.”

“Don’t say anything, please. I’ll tell him if I get the chance. If he’s prepared to see me. And, Rioghan, thank you.”

“Glad to be of service, lovely lady. I know you have a guard up here by day. You might consider asking for another. Under present circumstances, it is possible some elements of the host may find the capacity for ... mischief. Believe me, that is the last thing anyone would want.”

I shivered. Could he mean that Anluan might be so upset by all this that he would start to lose the control he worked so hard all day, every day, to maintain?

“Don’t look like that, Caitrin,” Rioghan said. “Our boy is strong-hearted, despite appearances.We must have faith in him.”

“I do,” I said. “Despite everything, I do.”

Róise was seated on my bed, her back against the pillow. At first she seemed undamaged, but when the ghost child ran to gather her up, it became evident that the doll’s head had been almost severed from her body by the tightly wrapped wire. A warning. Next time ...

“She needs a stitch or two; then she’ll be fine,” I told the child.“I’ll do it now.Will you pass me that little box with my sewing things? You can be my helper.”

I left the little girl in Cathaír’s keeping again.They seemed to get on well, he watching over her with gentle tolerance, she content in his company, though I knew she saw it as second best. I judged that she would be safer with him than with me. There was no doubt in my mind that what had just happened had not been designed to upset the child, but as a warning to me. Meddle no further, or I will hurt those who are dear to you.

Nothing out of place in the library this morning, though I had held my breath as I went in, half expecting another unpleasant surprise. All was tranquil; beyond the window, the rain dripped from the trees in Irial’s garden.

With a sigh, I settled to the tedious task of rewriting the transcription the ink spill had ruined. As I worked, I considered Nechtan’s story, which was making more sense now that I had more of its pieces. In the years leading up to the birth of his only son he had become increasingly obsessed with his neighbor Maenach, chieftain of Silverlake. It started with a chance remark Maenach was said to have made about Nechtan, and grew in gradual steps to a full-blown enmity. Reading between the lines, I deduced that the ill will was far stronger on Nechtan’s side, for the last scene I had watched in the mirror, in which he struck his wife so cruelly, was not the only time Maenach had attempted to make peace. There had been messages, attempts at councils, approaches to the high king to intercede. Each had been interpreted by the chieftain of Whistling Tor as part of a devious plot against him. He saw enemies all around him, even in his own household.

His other neighbor, Farannán ofWhiteshore—by my reckoning, Emer’s grandfather—had been less of an enemy than Maenach in the early days. As for later, when the host was on the hill, it was clear that a catastrophic event had occurred. Nechtan did not waste many words on it; I sensed that even he found the details too unpleasant to dwell on.

In their frenzy they set upon Farannán’s priest.They tore the man limb from limb before my eyes. Others perished in like manner, or worse. I saw a woman reduced to little more than splintered bone. A clamour of voices from every side: Call them off! In the name of God, rein your evil servants in! I could not make the host obey. All I could do was ride for home.Where I go, they follow. Behind us we left a charnel house.

I sat a long while staring at the wall after reading this passage, one of the few Nechtan had written after he called forth the host. I asked myself why it was that in the face of such evidence I still believed there must be a way for Anluan to cross that invisible line at the foot of the hill without unleashing complete havoc on the district.Then I left the library and went in search of Eichri.

Today the green-faced scarecrow was in the garden with summer rain dripping off the dark hood of his cloak. I approached him. “I’m looking for Brother Eichri.”

The being pointed towards the east tower, then made his thin hands into the shape of a cross.

“Thank you for your help.”

The rain was growing heavier; the pond had broken its banks to form a spreading lake in the rank grass. The ducks huddled under a bush. I ran across to the tower, holding up my skirt in a vain attempt to keep the hem dry. My boots were leaking. I squelched up to the tower door, which was ajar, and came to a halt as I heard the singing.

Deep, mellow, like the tolling of a heavy bell or the hum of creatures deep in the sea; that was how it came to my ears. Men’s voices in perfect unison, carrying an ebbing, flowing line of melody.The words were Latin. They were singing plainchant.

I stood there awhile, surprised into stillness by the calm beauty of it.When the song came to a halt, I went in. I had not expected to find a chapel at Whistling Tor. But here it was: a plain stone chamber with a narrow glazed window, its altar an unadorned slab supporting a rough-hewn cross of oak wood. A subtle light touched the faces of the five brethren who knelt there, silent now, hands together in prayer. Those hands—so thin, so transparent, pointing to heaven—told their own story. These holy brethren belonged, not to the community of Saint Criodan’s or another monastic foundation, but to the host.

The sixth monk was not in pose of penitence. Eichri stood at the back, arms folded. Not a participant, an observer. I was accustomed to the expressions of his bony countenance: cynical, amused, inquisitive, malicious. In the moment before he saw me, I caught something new there. It was a look I had sometimes seen on the ghost child’s wan features: the yearning for a home that no longer existed.

“Eichri,” I whispered, moving closer. “May I talk with you?”

“Shh!” hissed one of the praying monks without turning his head.

Eichri took my arm and we walked out together, pausing by the door. “It’s rather wet,” he observed.

“Shh!”

“Oh dear.” Eichri raised his brows. “Shall we make a run for the kitchen?”

“This needs to be in private.” An idea came to me. “Could you escort me up to the chamber where the spare clothing is kept, at the top of the north tower? There may be a pair of boots there, something that will keep my feet dry.”

“With pleasure, dear lady.”

We sprinted through the rain, then made a damp progress up the winding stair to the tower room.The key was in the pouch at my belt; the door did not stick. I eased off my sodden boots and used them to prop it open. “Those monks,” I said. “They were a surprise.”

“Because they still pray? Because they have retained their faith?”

I struggled for an acceptable way to put this.“In Whistling Tor’s history the host is identified as evil. Demonic. Demons don’t sing psalms.”

He shrugged.

“Is this another thing Anluan has ordered you not to talk about? Eichri, I can’t bear this! How are we to help him if he won’t even discuss the problem? I care about him, I care about all of you! I can’t stand by and see everything lost!”

Eichri had settled on the floor, his back against the wall, his legs outstretched. He crossed his sandaled feet. There was no spark of dangerous red in his eyes now, no fearsome grin on his gaunt features. “Do you have a plan?” he asked.

At last, someone was prepared to listen.“Not exactly. An idea, that’s all. You could help by answering a question or two.”

“I will if I can, Caitrin. I’m bound to Anluan’s will, just like the rest of the host.Touch on a topic he’s forbidden me to speak of, and I will be unable to answer, even if I’m inclined to do so.You shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that I am not an ordinary man. I’ve learned to pretend, as Rioghan and Muirne have. We play at life so well that we sometimes delude ourselves into believing we are still part of it.That’s dangerous. Our nature limits our capacity to act.”

“And yet you are able to travel beyond the Tor without ...”

“Without running amok? That is true.We’ve worked on that skill over the years, Rioghan and I. It hasn’t been easy.”

I considered this as I took the embroidered slippers from the bigger chest and set them to one side.

“I always liked those,” Eichri said. “They were Emer’s.”

“Unsuitable for the rain. Besides, last time I wore Emer’s clothing, someone came into my chamber and slashed it. Perhaps I should leave her things here.”

There was an odd silence. I looked across at the monk. He was frowning. “Slashed? When was this?”

“A while ago. Other things have happened more recently.Warnings.At least, that’s what they seem to be.”

“You should have spoken to Anluan about this, Caitrin.”

“That’s what Rioghan said. I do have a guard.”

“One of the host.”

There were no boots in the large chest. I opened the smaller one and began to sort through its contents.

“Caitrin?”

“I trust Cathaír. As I trust you, Eichri.That brings me to my question. When I first saw the host surging out of the forest to terrify Cillian, you were leading the others. If I had not already known you to be a friend, I would have been frightened out of my wits. In life, were you some kind of warrior monk?”

He grinned disarmingly.“I grew up on a farm. I could ride by the time I was two years old.The other trappings are only for show.The overall effect does strike terror into the enemy.”

“So you wouldn’t actually have run anyone through? Made your horse rear up and strike a fatal blow with its hooves?”

“Run a man through?” He sounded deeply shocked. “Hardly. I can’t speak for the horse. I found the creature wandering in the forest some years ago and we took a fancy to each other.What he chooses to do is his business.”

“The host followed you.You led them into battle.”

“Anluan does occasionally call upon us, Rioghan and me, to act as leaders. Only on the hill, of course.”

“Have you ever tried it beyond the boundary?”

“Ah . . .” The monk lifted his hands, palms outward, and shook his head with a little smile.

“If that’s a forbidden question, how about this instead: couldn’t you and Rioghan keep the host under control while Anluan goes down to the settlement to talk to Lord Stephen’s emissaries? He’d only need to be off the hill for a short time. Magnus could go with him. Olcan and Fianchu would be here to help you.”

Eichri said nothing.

“Mightn’t there be others among the host who could assist as well? Cathaír for instance, and some of the other warriors, those older ones?” And when he still made no comment, I added, “If those monks can sing the name of God, they cannot be the devilish creatures folk make them out to be. The little girl who sleeps in my chamber is an innocent child. Cathaír is disturbed by dark memories, but he can still take pride in a day’s work.This could be done, Eichri.We could at least suggest it to Anluan. If he’d listen.”

“You don’t think this may have occurred to Anluan already, Caitrin?” Eichri’s tone was gentle.

“I don’t know what to think!” I said somewhat wildly.

“I wager at this moment he’s cursing the day he ever let you come up the hill.”

This jolted me. “Why?”

“Ah, now, don’t be upset. I meant he’s cursing the day you came here because you won’t let him give up.You’ve filled his mind with possibilities and he’s terrified he can’t make them real.”

I sorted through the second chest in silence, thinking of Anluan somewhere in the fortress brooding over the unwelcome change I had brought to his life. My folly seemed clear. I had taken on more than I had the capacity to deal with. I had lost sight of what was possible. I had meddled in what was beyond me, and brought nothing but trouble.

“The fact is,” said Eichri, “if you hadn’t come, Stephen de Courcy would still have wanted Whistling Tor. His emissaries would still be coming at full moon, and we still wouldn’t be ready for them.”

“Can you read minds?”

“I can read faces, gestures, glances.What you suggest is at least possible. But is it worth the risk if all it can achieve is a defiant statement from the chieftain of Whistling Tor that he won’t give up his land without a fight? There’s no point in that if Anluan can’t follow it up with an armed defense of his territory. He’s not going to use the host to wage war. And I don’t think he plans to give you the opportunity to present any ideas, even good ones. He doesn’t want you drawn into it.”

“I’m translating Nechtan’s documents,” I pointed out. “I’m in it already.”

“Caitrin, there’s more to this than you think. I may not be evil. Rioghan and your young guard and your little girl and most of those folk out on the hill may be no more devilish than any man or woman down in the settlement. But there’s a force among them with an ill intent: something that can turn the tide if Anluan is not there to counter it. I can’t tell you its nature, since I don’t know; none of us does.The fact is, if the host escapes the chieftain’s control, nobody’s spared. Nobody. It is this malign influence that tests Anluan’s strength day by day; it is this that exhausts and weakens him. I’ve felt the tug of this power on me. It’s strong. I fear it greatly. Oh, you’ve found some boots.”

I drew them out of the chest. They were of good leather and looked sturdy enough to cope with the wet and comfortable enough to wear indoors while I worked. I didn’t remember them from my last visit. As I sat on the closed chest to try them on, my eye caught the little mirror hanging on the wall.

“I have another question for you,” I said, “since you’ve been here since Nechtan’s time. Did he make every mirror in the house? Are they all bad?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Can an object like that be good or bad? Isn’t it more a matter of who’s using the thing and how he goes about it?”

Eichri’s words hung in the silence between us. They seemed important, as if there were a truth in them that went beyond their immediate meaning.

“There’s a mirror in the library so full of Nechtan’s sorcery that I can only think of it as evil,” I said slowly.“The ones in the great hall frightened me. I saw myself as an old woman, and ... there were other things, bad things. But that one on the wall there feels different. Once before, it gave me useful advice. I would be very surprised if Nechtan had made it.”

Eichri got to his feet and went over for a closer look.“The frame’s old oak,” he said. “Not much in the reflection; only blue sky. Advice, you say. The thing spoke to you?”

“Not aloud, but I could hear it. This chamber holds memories of the women who’ve lived at Whistling Tor, women whose lives had more than their share of ill fortune. Maybe the little mirror belonged to one of them.”

“This might be very, very old. Why don’t you take it downstairs and show it to Olcan? He’s been here longer than any of us.”

I considered this idea as I stood up and tried walking around in the boots.They were a perfectly good fit; perhaps they, too, had been Emer’s. I stopped in front of the little mirror and looked straight into it.

Lift me down carefully.And take some other things while you’re about it. Don’t you have a gown that needs mending? Choose with care. Remember them all.

“Did you hear that?” Despite what had happened last time, I had not expected the artifact to speak again.

“What?” asked Eichri.

“A voice.The mirror.”

“Perhaps it only speaks to females. Ah, you’re going to take it. Need a hand?”

It seemed appropriate to carry the mirror myself, but I gave Eichri a pile of other items to bear downstairs for me. Remember them all. As far as I knew there had only been three: Mella, Líoch and Emer. There was a girdle of dark gray wool that seemed to match Mella’s ancient gowns, and this I passed to Eichri. I took a skirt that had likely been Líoch’s—it was much too small for me—thinking I might combine the fabric with that of Emer’s ruined gown to make a wearable garment. I folded this and passed it to my companion. “That’s all,” I said, closing the two chests and picking up the mirror again.

“Women’s magic?” Eichri queried with a grin.

“I haven’t a magical bone in my body, Eichri.”

“You don’t know your own power,” he chuckled. “You’ve worked some changes here, Caitrin; changes we never thought to see in this lonely old place.”

“What do you mean?”

“I heard you brought a little doll with you to Whistling Tor, a treasure that contains the love of your family. And since you fashioned this poppet’s clothing anew, it holds Anluan’s family as well.”

“You seem to know rather a lot.” I was sure this was not what he had meant when he spoke of changes.

“As I said once before, word gets around.”

“Whatever it is, magic or only instinct, this feels right. You spoke of dangerous powers within the host, a force with ill intent. I’ll use anything I can to counter that. Women have suffered here at Whistling Tor because of Nechtan’s wrongdoing. It’s time someone remembered their strength. If that’s women’s magic, then it’s long overdue an airing.”

“If I were not so burdened, I would applaud you, Caitrin. Let us hope you can work a miracle.”

“You might ask those brethren of yours to offer up a prayer or two for good measure,” I said as we left the tower room.“A miracle is what Anluan needs.”