Heart's Blood

chapter nine

We waited in the courtyard as the light faded to the half-dusk of summer and the moon slipped out from a veil of cloud, turning the leaves to silver and setting a shimmer on the still water of the pond. The torches were lit. The table stood ready, a rich blue cloth spread across it: candles burning in a pair of ancient iron holders shaped like leaping salmon. Rioghan had unearthed these and the rod that lay beside them, fashioned of dark wood with bands of inlaid bronze. “To keep order,” he’d explained. “If things get unruly I’ll rap it on the table a couple of times.”

For a while, it seemed there would be nobody here but ourselves: Anluan, pale in the moonlight, with Rioghan next to him; Eichri stationed a few paces to his left with the monk who had been helping earlier; Olcan and Fianchu to the right. Anluan had asked me to stand beside him, but I had said no, for that did not seem at all fitting. Instead, I stood on the steps behind him with Magnus, and Muirne came out to join us. I greeted her, trying to conceal my surprise. She made no response.

Time passed. Cathaír came out from the trees, taking a place on the very edge of the circle, half in shadow. He seemed unable to stand still, but constantly shifted his balance, folding and unfolding his arms, looking back over his shoulder. I wished I had thought to offer him a clean shirt in place of his bloodstained garment, but perhaps wearing that remnant of some long-ago battle was part of the curse; perhaps it symbolized his unfinished business in the world of the living.

“Two,” remarked Rioghan, looking from Cathaír to the ghostly monk by Eichri’s side. “Well, it is early yet.”

“They won’t come.” Muirne’s voice was a murmur, but in the quiet of the courtyard it carried clearly. I could have hit her.

“Of course they’ll come,” I said. “I’ll lay a wager on it. Any takers?”

“Don’t be silly, Caitrin.” Muirne’s voice registered irritation, but I had made the men of the household smile.

“None of us is prepared to take you on,” Eichri said.“Of course they’ll come.They know what’s riding on this.”

“Give ’em time,” said Magnus. “This is new to everyone.” He had come back from the settlement just before supper. None of the villagers had been prepared to accompany him up the hill, but Tomas and the others had expressed a keen interest in the results of our council.They wanted Magnus to return in the morning with news.Tomas had suggested sending a message to Brión, chieftain of Whiteshore, to keep him abreast of things. Someone else had remembered a cache of old weaponry hidden somewhere down near the river. The thought that there might be a real possibility of mounting a defense against the Normans had sparked something new in the frightened inhabitants of the settlement. Magnus had counseled caution; they must wait for Anluan’s decision, he’d told them. They had sent him back up the hill with three loaves of freshly baked bread and a crock of honey, but none of us had been able to eat. That bounty, along with my pie, still lay untouched on the kitchen table.

It grew colder. The moon edged higher. Owls cried; creatures rustled in the bushes.

“There is no point in this,” said Muirne.

“We will wait until they are ready.” Anluan sounded quietly confident. It seemed he had conquered his earlier doubts. “All night, if need be.”

Muirne said no more. In the hush that followed, I could hear Eichri whistling between his teeth.

A little cough from Rioghan. Muirne tensed beside me.

“Here we go,” muttered Magnus.

Cathaír had been told to specify the number: no more than ten representatives from the host, exclusive of those who lived within the house. They manifested one by one beneath the trees, then moved up to take their places around the circle. Gearróg would not come; he had remained on guard outside my chamber, content to let Cathaír speak for him. But there were other warriors here: a tall man with a pike; an old, bearded one bearing a bow and quiver; a man with one leg, hobbling on a crutch, with a fearsome array of knives at his belt. His battered leather helm and breastplate and the great slashing scar across his face marked him as a combat veteran.With Cathaír, that made four; with the monk, five.

“Welcome,” Anluan said quietly. None of them spoke, but they acknowledged the greeting with a nod, a jerk of the head, a fist raised in soldierly respect.

A woman came next, her garb a hooded robe, her gray hair in long plaits. On her brow was tattooed a crescent moon.A wise woman, I guessed, perhaps a priestess of an older faith. She hesitated just beyond the circle of torches. Behind her was a younger woman with glittering ornaments around her neck and her hair artfully dressed, the kind of woman to whom men’s eyes must go instantly, though this one looked somehow faded, as if the brightness that had been hers in life had slowly leached away over the long years on the Tor, leaving a pale copy of her former self. A third stood by them, a personage of middle years clad in the practical homespun garments of a hardworking village wife. None seemed prepared to step into the circle.

“They are afraid, lady.” It was Cathaír who spoke.

Anluan turned to me. “Caitrin, will you bid them welcome?” As if I were the lady of the house. As if I were his wife.

I did not look at Muirne, but her voice was in my mind: You are not one of the women of Whistling Tor. “Come forward into the circle, please,” I called, smiling at the three. “Lord Anluan welcomes you all.”

They moved forward in silence to stand together, a little apart from the warriors.That made eight.

For a while, nothing stirred save the flames of the torches, turned to fiery war banners by the night breeze.

“Are there more?” asked Rioghan eventually, looking at Cathaír.

As if in answer another figure came forth from the trees, one who dwarfed even Magnus. His arms were muscular, his chest formidable. His skin was marked by many scars, not combat injuries, I judged, but burns. He was the kind of man whose features are handsome only to his mother. His physical presence, however, would be sure to prevent anyone from telling him this.

“Donn the smith, my lord.”The giant gave the very slightest of bows, and Anluan returned the courtesy gravely.“Representing the working men of the Tor.”

“I welcome you, Donn.We may have need of your expertise.”

“Likely you will, my lord.” The smith moved into position alongside Eichri and the other monk, and now there were nine.

“Our number is complete, my lord,” said Cathaír.

Rioghan frowned at him. “Only nine?”

As one, the representatives of the host turned their eyes towards a particular place in the circle, a place that seemed deliberately left vacant, the warriors to one side of it, the women, the smith and the clerics to the other.

“We are ten, my lord,” said the gray-haired woman. “We leave this place for one whom we love and respect; one who, like us, died with unease in his heart.We cannot see or hear him, but we sense his presence. He is not of the host. He watches over the Tor.”

My skin prickled. I heard Muirne hiss softly beside me, as if this frightened her where none of the rest of it had the power to do so. Magnus muttered something under his breath.

“Very well.” Anluan allowed his gaze to move around the circle, taking in everyone present.“All are welcome here, the seen and the unseen. Each is part of our community of Whistling Tor. You know why I have summoned you. A peril confronts us. I need your help.”

He set the situation out once more. As I listened I watched his audience, and very soon it became apparent to me that the host had not limited its representation to ten after all.Ten stood within the circle of lights, nine of them visible, one mysteriously not so, but in the moonlight beyond that circle were gathered many more. Anluan was surrounded by troubled souls.

He did not spend long on my theory about the host, and that was wise—this was not the time to remind these folk of the ill deeds in their past. He told them that he planned to visit the settlement at full moon. He outlined what he would say to Lord Stephen’s emissaries. He asked the spectral folk for an undertaking that they would stay within the boundaries of the hill while he was gone, obey the commands of those he left in charge, do no harm until he returned. Each of them would be given a job, a responsibility to carry out during that time, which would not be long, less than a full morning. As for what happened after that, it depended on Lord Stephen’s response. But very likely Anluan would have to ask more of them: a great deal more. His question was, could he trust them? He glanced at me.

“Caitrin has spoken to you before; you know her,” he said. “Indeed, without her influence it is unlikely we would ever have attempted this. She believes you trustworthy. She assures me that you can do what I ask of you. Caitrin, will you add your voice to mine?” He turned, holding out a hand towards me. I stepped down to stand beside him, facing the host, my heart thumping with a confusion of feelings.

“I greet you all with respect and in friendship,” I said, aware of the eyes watching me from out there under the trees, so many eyes.“I am not trying to belittle your difficulties when I tell you that I know how it feels to be afraid; to be so afraid that you cannot force yourself to move so much as your little finger. I think sometimes that happens here. And I think sometimes folk do things they don’t want to do, because on their own they are not strong enough to stand against . . . whatever it is that compels them to evil deeds. But we’re not on our own anymore. We’re all here together, we’re all Lord Anluan’s people, the people of the Tor, and there’s enough strength in us to do the right things and make the right choices. Tonight, all Lord Anluan asks of you is an undertaking to stay on the hill while he visits the settlement on the eve of full moon, and to do no harm while he is beyond the boundary. That doesn’t seem very much to ask, but of course it is—if you achieve it, you’ll have done something it seems the host has never done before. You’ll have taken control of your own destiny. You’ll have taken the first step towards solving all the difficulties that beset Whistling Tor and its chieftain. I know you can do it. That’s all I have to say.” I stepped back, and a clamour of voices broke out all around the circle.

A sharp rapping—Rioghan had got the opportunity to try out his rod. “One at a time!” he ordered, and the hubbub died down. “Step forth in turn and speak. All will be heard.” After a moment he added, “Keep it brief.”

Cathaír took two paces forward, his head high. He laid his arm across his chest, clenched fist against his shoulder. “I will stand strong, my lord,” he said, and his jaw was set firm, though the red of the torches flickered oddly in his eyes. “My fellow warriors stand with me. We are twice fifty in number, some with full weaponry, some partly armed. Although some bear old injuries that may hamper their fighting skills, all can make a contribution.”

“Good, Cathaír,”Anluan said.“I commend you for your industry. Have your men questions for me?”

Rioghan appeared ready to interrupt, but Anluan murmured,“Let him speak, Rioghan,” and the councillor fell silent.

“The same question is on everyone’s lips, my lord,” said Cathaír. “It concerns payment for services rendered.You know what we want, all of us. We know the lady’s looking for it, looking as hard as anyone can. But she might not find it. She said she’s leaving at the end of summer. It might take longer to find. It might not be here at all. I told them to set that aside, my lord. I told them we should do what needs doing and forget about what we might get out of it. I said it was worth doing just because you believe in us. But those ones out there, they want an answer.They’ve been waiting a long time for all this to end.”

I saw Anluan draw in a long breath, then let it slowly out. He spoke quietly. “I will not give you a false promise. I do not know if we will find the means to release you from your long time of imprisonment on the Tor. We will continue to try our best.”

The wise woman stepped forward, her long hair gleaming silver in the torchlight. “What if your best falls short of what is required, my lord?” she asked.

“Then I will have shown myself unworthy to be your chieftain. I do not know exactly what is required yet, only that I will put all that I am into defending Whistling Tor and my people, and into doing what is right.”

“Defending’s only part of it,” said the one-legged warrior.“You’ll want an attacking strategy for good measure. You’ll want barriers, traps, diversions. We need to think ahead.”

“You’re straying from the point,” said the tall man with the pike. “There’s three steps in this: challenge, fight, reward. What we’re talking about here is reward.We do the job, we get sent back where we came from. Simple. If his lordship here can’t send us back, we don’t do the job. Even simpler.”

Rioghan cleared his throat.

“If all goes to plan at full moon,” Anluan said, “we will hold another council, a bigger one, with representatives from further afield. Should an armed resistance be required, we must somehow involve the local populace and perhaps the neighboring chieftains as well.There are many challenges: challenges beyond anything we’ve ever dreamed. Caitrin and I will continue to search for the means to help you, I promise that. She believes there must be a way. I . . . I believe in her hope. Be quite clear on this: if we don’t manage to stand up against these invaders, it’s the end for all of us.Without us to help you, you’ll never be free of the curse. Without you to help us, we cannot save Whistling Tor.”

“By all means work on strategies for attack and defense,” Rioghan said to the warriors. “We’ll take all your ideas into consideration, but they can wait for a council of war. What Lord Anluan needs now is your assurance that you will submit to the control of his designated leaders at full moon. He wants an undertaking from the ten of you on behalf of the entire host.”

“You putting yourself forward as war leader here?” asked the ancient bearded fighter, scowling at Rioghan. “After what you did last time you got the chance?”

“Hold your tongue!” Eichri had taken three steps out into the center of the circle; the flickering torches made his eyes glow red, and I was reminded of his fearsome arrival on the day Cillian had nearly stolen me away from Whistling Tor.“Lord Anluan just asked us to work together, dolt, not to stir up suspicion and distrust amongst our own ranks. He needs a simple answer: yes or no.The rest of it can wait.”

The old man grimaced at him, but there was no real malice in it.

“Does anyone else wish to be heard?” Rioghan was fighting for calm; I heard the struggle in his voice.

“I’ll have a word.” Magnus stepped down to stand at one end of the table. He positioned himself so that he was facing neither Anluan nor the host directly. I thought he was trying to establish that he was neither leader nor follower here, but his own man. If anything, he was looking toward the gap in the circle, the place occupied by the invisible tenth. “First, I should tell you all that I’ve been down to the settlement today, and I’ve asked the folk there for their opinions. They’re wary, and that’s no surprise; they’ve had good cause for that over the years.They don’t trust any of the folk of the Tor, human, spectral or otherwise.” A nod towards Olcan and Fianchu with this last. “But they understand that there’s a new danger coming, and that we need to break old habits if we’re to have any chance of standing up to it. It’s vital that we get this next part right. If anything untoward happens while Lord Anluan is off the hill, if the people down there are given any cause for alarm, we’ll have lost all chance of winning their trust. And we need it.” Magnus squared his shoulders, looking out now towards the shadowy folk gathered under the trees, beyond the light from the torches. “I’m a fighter,” he said. “I haven’t used those skills much in recent times, but believe me, I still have them. I’m not a strategist like Rioghan here, but I know how to lead men. I know how to keep them going when the blood and the carnage and the misery seem fit to break the bravest and best. Chances are we’ll be fighting together before long.When we do, we’ll do it properly. You’ve got worthy warriors amongst you, leaders too, no doubt, and we’ll all work together. But not until the right time, and only if Lord Anluan bids us do it. He’s our chieftain. He gives the orders.And Rioghan’s his councillor. Anyone who wants to make comments about his fitness for the position can make them to me when we’re finished here.”

There was a brief, charged silence.

“That’s it.” Magnus turned and inclined his head to Anluan. “Thank you, my lord.” He walked back up to stand beside me.

“If others would express an opinion, now is the time,” Anluan said. Nobody responded. “Very well,” he went on. “I will ask for a formal declaration of your support. If you are prepared to provide that, I will speak to you again before full moon with further details of the plan. I believe that the control I exercise over certain elements amongst you will wane when I leave the confines of the hill.That is what has occurred with each chieftain in turn since my great-grandfather’s time. If I go to the settlement for this meeting, I must be confident that you will obey those I leave in charge. Those ten of you who represent the others, I ask you to raise a hand as indication of agreement to this.”

Cathaír’s hand went up straightaway, fist clenched. A moment later, those of each of the warriors standing beside him followed. Donn the smith lifted his brawny arm high.The women and the monk seemed hesitant.

“If you need time to consult those for whom you speak, we will wait now while you do so,” Anluan added. His tone had lost something of its confidence; I knew he was bone weary. “We must have a decision tonight.”

The monk raised his hand. It would have taken a brave man not to do so with Eichri at his side, baring those teeth.

“The will of the host is to support you, my lord,” said the wise woman. “But there is disquiet. Memories stir, memories some had hoped gone forever.”

“Most of it’s vanished into shreds and tatters,” put in the woman clad in homespun.“Most of us can’t recall much about our lives before, nor about the time you mention, my lord, when your antecedents were chieftains here. But some of it won’t go away.The best and the worst, those cling even in the minds of folk such as we are, in-between folk, neither one thing nor the other. Dark deeds, terrible deeds we’d give much to wipe from our memories. Our own deeds. If . . .” She faltered and fell silent, unwilling to give voice to the next part of her thought.

The third woman raised a hand to adjust her glinting neck-piece. “Lord Anluan,” she said,“there can be no certainty in our promise, no matter how strong our will to help you. A darkness hangs over each one of us, from the innocent child to the battle-scarred warrior; a force that tampers with our minds and leads us into evildoing. Without your guidance, we may be unable to resist it.”

Anluan looked down at his hands, clasped on the table before him. “It was my ancestor who began this,” he said.“I am that man’s flesh and blood. I have borne the weight of his ill deed every day of my life, and every night it robs me of sleep. It was the same for my father, and for his father before him. Under that burden it is all too easy to give in to despair. The history of my family makes that painfully clear.” He drew a shuddering breath and looked up, facing the circle of wan faces and shadowy eyes. “Enough of this. I have learned, this summer, that the most powerful weapon is hope. I understand the nature of your concern. Neither your promise nor mine can be made without reservations. Our bargain should be this: that each of us does the very best he can to be true to his word. I will be content with that.Will you?”

A rustling around the circle, not speech but restless movement, as of a trembling passing through the insubstantial forms of the host. “We will,” said the woman, and she and her companions raised their hands. Out in the darkness, a forest of pale arms arose in unison.

“I thank you,” said Anluan. His voice was a thread, but it was nonetheless the voice of a chieftain. I glanced at Magnus, and he smiled; I knew we felt the same pride.

“What of the tenth amongst you,” Rioghan asked,“the one whose voice we cannot hear? Is this entity in agreement with the rest of the host?”

All eyes turned towards the empty space in the circle. “Yes, my lord,” said the wise woman. “If there is a single certainty tonight, it is that.”

“Very well,” Rioghan said. “Our council is concluded and you are all free to go. Be sure you will be called again, for there are plans to make for full moon, and likely a great deal of work after that. For now, we bid you good night.”

“Again, thank you,” Anluan said. “Trust can be a hard lesson; hope still more difficult.We are all learning.”

When the host had dispersed and the torches were extinguished, we retreated to the warmth of the kitchen fire. Nobody had much to say. Magnus poured ale; I divided one of the loaves he had brought back and served up the cold pie. Anluan looked utterly spent. I had cut him only a small slice: his appetite was poor at the best of times. To my surprise, he worked his way steadily through it.

“Not a bad effort for a woman who reckons she can’t cook,” Magnus observed, reaching for a second helping. “Fancy another job, Caitrin?”

I managed a smile.“I have more than enough work already,” I told him. Tomorrow I would ask Anluan again if I could move those grimoires into the library. I must go through their contents, if only to prove they did not contain the counterspell. “But I’m glad you like the pie.”

“Makes a big difference, not having to do it all myself.” Magnus passed the bread down the table.“A little bit of help goes a long way.” He glanced at Anluan. “Sounds as if we’ve got a big job on our hands. We’d best put some strategies in place for this meeting of yours first; who goes where, who does what while you and I are off the hill. If we’ve got to find jobs for all of that lot, we’ll need to start working on it right away.”

“It’s late,”Anluan said.“I have no heart for more tonight. In the morning we will speak of it. I should thank you. All of you. It is not necessary that you continue to stand by me. It is a mystery to me why you do so. But Magnus is right. Each act of support, each gesture of friendship makes it easier to take one more step; to face one more sunrise. I’m tired. I’ll bid you good night now.”

As he stood up, all of us did the same. Anluan looked bemused, but the shadow of a smile touched his lips as he went out.A moment later Muirne, too, was gone.

“She still doesn’t like this,” I observed. “What is it that makes her so sure things will go wrong?”

“She’s worried for him,” Magnus said.“Not that the rest of us aren’t, but Muirne has more cause than most to be troubled. She spent a lot of time with Irial during those dark years after Emer’s death. Losing him broke her heart. I suppose she fears she may lose Anluan if this comes to war.”

“What is her story? She’s never talked to me about what her life was . . . before.”

“Nor to me, Caitrin. Muirne doesn’t talk much to anyone, except him.”

“Rioghan? Eichri? What do you know about her?”

Eichri ran a finger around the rim of his goblet, frowning. “We’re used to her always being about, but she keeps herself apart. She did tell me her story once. Nothing especially interesting. Born and brought up in one of the settlements, betrothed to a miller, died of a winter ague before they could be wed. Sad little tale. Don’t know what happened to the fellow.”

“Olcan, what about you?” I asked. He was finishing up the last of the pie, one bite for himself, one bite slipped to Fianchu, who was waiting just behind him, small eyes following every mouthful from platter to lips. “You’ve been here longer than anyone.”

“Never gave her much thought, to tell you the truth. She looks after Anluan, makes sure he’s not too much alone.That has to be a good thing. And as Magnus said, she did the same for his father.”

I felt a creeping sensation, a sudden inexplicable unease. “And for Conan before him?” I asked.

“She was around the place then, I seem to recall. It’s a long while ago, Caitrin.”

“One thing’s certain,” Magnus said. “She doesn’t much care for you.”

Rioghan sighed. “Nobody can criticize the girl for that. She wants what she can’t have: another life, a real one. In that she’s no different from me or from Eichri here. She’s hostile to you, Caitrin, because you’re what she can never be: a real woman. She fears you, with your rosy cheeks and red lips, your tumbling dark hair, your . . . well, you get my drift. Anluan will never look at her the way he looks at you.”

These words hung in silence for the space of three breaths. I did not know what to say in this roomful of men.

“Don’t let it trouble you,” said Magnus.“Muirne has her little oddities, but she’s a good soul underneath.”

“Mm,” I said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It troubled me that Muirne remained hostile to what Anluan was doing, but I did feel some sympathy for her.To die on the threshold of marriage was particularly sad.

“I’m going to bed now,” I said. “Poor Gearróg has been on guard for hours. May I have Fianchu again tonight, Olcan?”

The dog was up as soon as I spoke his name, ready to accompany me.

“Of course. Sleep well, Caitrin.”

Although he had seemed weary to death, Anluan’s lamps burned long into the night. I stood on the gallery in the moonlight, looking across the garden towards that faint glow and wishing I could break all the rules. He should not be by himself in that bare chamber with only Nechtan’s grimoires for company. I sighed, hugging my shawl around my shoulders. It seemed so simple, the idea of going down the stairs, running across the garden, tapping on his door, telling him I was lonely, cold, worried. Suggesting . . . what, exactly? If a young woman were to act in such a way, a man would put only one interpretation on it. Of course I would not go into his bedchamber at night, alone.The very idea was outrageous.

My body felt strange tonight, different. I was not so naive as to be ignorant of what it meant, even though such feelings were new to me. I had known, when Anluan put his arms around me for comfort earlier today, that a profound change had happened in me since I had come to Whistling Tor. It wasn’t only the relief of finding safe haven, the pride of doing a job well, the pleasure of good companionship, the delight of respect and friendship. I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.

Lust, came a whispering voice in my ear, freezing me where I stood. Crude animal lust.You couldn’t feel it before. Once you looked in the obsidian mirror, once you shared that man’s memories, his desire inhabited you like a hot flood, trembling and quivering and throbbing through that lush body.You know Nechtan’s mind; you feel his needs. No wonder your face goes hot when Anluan brushes close to you. No wonder you look at him as if he were a stallion and you a brood mare in heat. Don’t fool yourself that this is love, Caitrin.You don’t want Anluan, you just want that lust slaked, and he happens to be the only young man around.That hungry body of yours is full of Nechtan’s passion and Nechtan’s cruelty.

“Baby’s cold.”

I started violently. I had been transfixed by that voice, a voice that must have come from my own mind, for the gallery held only me, the ghost child now standing very close to me with the doll in her arms, and Fianchu waiting patiently by the bedchamber door for me to go back in so he could settle to guard the entry. If someone had been standing by me, taunting me as I stared down towards Anluan’s lonely lamp, that presence was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s cold because you got out of bed,” I said, taking the girl’s chilly hand and leading her back into my chamber.“Let’s tuck you in, shall we?”

I stayed long awake on my pallet, a candle flickering beside me, while the girl lay with eyes obediently shut and the big dog at her back. Fianchu could never warm her, but perhaps his body helped her remember how good that had once felt. As for me, I breathed every breath with Anluan; in my imagination I fitted the curves of my body to the straight, strong planes of his. I imagined his hands on my flesh, his fingers tangled in my hair. I touched the irregularities of his features tenderly, exploring that surprising landscape with wonder and delight. I felt our two hearts pressed close together, two drums keeping time to the same haunting melody. My body was full of unanswered pleas.

I blew out the candle before the sky began to lighten. In the dark, my body aching with need, I remembered Nechtan’s desire for his young assistant, his cruel dismissal of his wife, the pride and the obsessive fear that had overridden all. “It’s not true,” I whispered, as if the owner of that disembodied voice could hear me.“I’m not like him.What I feel is not selfish desire, it’s quite different from that, it’s . . .”

Fianchu stirred. He would be up at first light, wanting to be let out into the garden. The little voice of the ghost girl came in the semi-dark. “You sad, Catty?”

I had told her my name, but this was the first time she had attempted it. “No, not sad.” It was hard to say just what I felt. There was too much stirring in me, yet there was only one image before my closed eyes, and that was Anluan’s.

Three days passed in a blur. I read my way through page after crumbling page of unlikely sounding spells and incantations, while beyond the library doors Anluan and the others put in place their arrangements for the eve of full moon. I read until my back ached; until my eyes hurt; until my neck felt like a stick of dried-up firewood. I saw nothing of Anluan in the library, but several times when I went outside to stretch my cramped limbs I observed him in somber-faced conversation with Magnus and Rioghan. Once or twice it seemed to me their talk hushed as I came closer, as if what they were discussing must be kept from my ears, and that surprised me. But the need to get through the grimoires drove me hard, and I did not trouble the men with questions.

I learned how to put a spell on a rival that would make her hair fall out overnight, leaving her as bald as an onion. I discovered the means to turn a perfectly ordinary garment into one that would burn and torment anyone unfortunate enough to put it on. I read three different ways to find out if a person was lying and five theories on turning base metals into gold. I ploughed through a dissertation on the distinction between leprechauns and clurichauns. There were guides for the use of scrying vessels. There were instructions for making fire without smoke and smoke without fire. There were incantations to assist with the transfer of special qualities to mirrors of bronze or silver or obsidian—I did not read those in full, for it chilled me to be so close to the heart of Nechtan’s power. I stayed at my desk until I was almost weeping with exhaustion, but I found no charm for the release of unquiet spirits.

On the second day, I waylaid Eichri in the courtyard as dusk was falling. Since the council, much had changed at Whistling Tor. Warriors of the host patrolled the high walkways atop the fortress walls, in plain sight. Torches burned in iron sockets; I saw here a spear point, there an axe blade glinting in the uneven light. Down in the courtyard, knots of spectral folk gathered, muttering among themselves. A nervous anticipation filled the air, the scent of change.

“Caitrin,” Eichri said, halting as I put a hand on his sleeve. “You look tired.”

“Too long at the books. I have a question for you, Eichri.”

“Ask it, then. These days, everything’s questions. Pity there aren’t more answers.”

“I understand you can go in and out of the monastery at Saint Crio dan’s without anyone noticing.”

The monk nodded. “You need more supplies?”

“I don’t need you to steal for me. Not exactly. Can you go into any part of that building, even if there’s a locked door? I’m thinking of the secret part of the library, the place where it seems Nechtan obtained his incantation to summon the host.”

“Perhaps.”

“If the counterspell is to be found in writing anywhere, it might perhaps be there, alongside the original charm. I thought maybe you could . . .”

“Slip in, find it, memorize it, come quietly back? If only it were so simple, Caitrin.You forget one critical detail. I cannot read. Even if I were to take a little sharp knife with which to sever a page from a book and slip it under my habit, how would I know which page to choose?”

I felt more than a little foolish. “Can any of your brethren here at Whistling Tor read?”

“Never asked. I will if you like. It’s immaterial, really—they can’t go off the hill.”

“Wouldn’t it be safe, provided you went too? Those monks seem so peaceable.” But then, Eichri himself had been in that mob that came to Nechtan’s call, the day Mella died.

“We’re none of us safe.” He fiddled with his peculiar necklace, moving the little bones along the cord that held them. “The greatest fear for all of us, holy brothers included, is that we’ll be let off the hill and perform some deed there’s no forgiving, not if we wait an eternity of years. You heard what that woman said, the night of the council. Memories fade in time, and that makes it possible to bear each day as it comes. But some memories linger; some you can’t wipe away completely. We’ve all got our share of those, and we’re not keen to make new ones.”

I wanted to ask him what his own sin was, what deed had condemned him to become part of the host, but I couldn’t get the words out. It felt like asking a man to whip himself for my entertainment. If Eichri decided to tell me his story one day, as Rioghan had his, I would listen without judgment.

“I’m a sinner unrepentant,” Eichri said, shrewd eyes fixed on me. “What I did, I did purely for my own gain. I can’t in all sincerity say I’m sorry. If I’m not sorry, I can’t atone for my sins, supposing that’s why I find myself back in this world. If there’s no atonement, what choice have I but a return to that nothing place I was in before Nechtan performed his cursed experiment? I can’t face that, Caitrin. I want to stay here; I want to go on living the life I have at Whistling Tor. It’d suit me very well if you never found a counterspell.”

“A sinner unrepentant?” I echoed.“But you seem such a good person.”

“Ah, but you see good in everyone.”

After a moment, I said, “There is good in everyone.”

“Even in that fellow who trussed you up and tried to haul you away off down the hill?”

I grimaced. “It may be a long time before I learn to see the good in Cillian,” I told him. “If it’s there, it’s buried deep.”

The eve of full moon, and a chill morning. Atop the wall, men-at-arms from the host moved through shreds of mist, dark figures appearing and disappearing as they kept their watch. If this was summer, Whistling Tor must be a bitter place when winter sank its teeth into the land. I walked to the pump huddled in shawl and cloak, and instead of carrying a bucket upstairs in my usual fashion, I made do with a brief splash of face and hands before heading for the warmth of the kitchen fire. Fianchu went off into the garden on business of his own.

A sound of voices as I approached the kitchen door. I was not the only one up early.

“If it’ll set his mind at ease, I’ll stay up here with her.” Olcan’s voice. “Me and Fianchu both.”

“You’re needed down on the boundary.” Rioghan this time. I hesitated at the foot of the steps. “If anything goes wrong, you must be in position to call Anluan and Magnus back.”

“Maybe so,” Olcan said, “but if he doesn’t think Gearróg can do the job on his own, Anluan’s going to insist on one of us staying. If it’s not me, it has to be Magnus. And if Magnus stays, Anluan goes down there on his own.That’s not right.”

I walked up the steps and through the doorway.“If you’re talking about who’s supposed to watch over me this morning,” I said, “I don’t see why anyone need do so. I’ll do what I usually do, sit in the library and work.The inner door can be bolted and Gearróg can guard the other.”

“Anluan says Gearróg on his own isn’t enough,” Magnus said.“Cathaír’s been given the job of controlling the guards up on the wall. We’ve made various other suggestions, but Anluan doesn’t like any of them. Bit of a sticking point.”

I glanced from one man to another. Magnus had on the field armor he had worn the day I first saw him in the settlement, a protective chest-piece of old leather, padded clothing beneath it, and buckled leather strips bracing his forearms. His gray locks flowed over his broad shoulders. He looked every bit the warrior. There was a frown on his brow, and it was mirrored on Olcan’s features. Rioghan was tapping on the table with his long fingers.Time was getting short.

“I’ll be perfectly safe with Gearróg,” I said. “But if Anluan has doubts, why can’t Eichri stay?”

“Eichri’s required out on the hill, as am I,” Rioghan said. “Everyone has a job for the morning.”

“Well,” said Magnus, lifting the porridge pot from hearth to table, “whatever happens, I suppose we still have to eat. Might almost be simpler if you came down to the settlement with us, Caitrin. I think that’s what he wants.”

“That wouldn’t be right. These are councillors, not ordinary messengers. If they can’t speak Irish, they’ll bring a capable interpreter.”The idea of accompanying Anluan on his mission felt completely wrong. Whatever I might wish I could be to him, I was only a hired helper, one of the ordinary folk. “I’ll talk to him,” I said.

“Now might be a good time.” Magnus jerked his head towards the open doorway. Looking out, I saw the chieftain of Whistling Tor standing by the pump, gazing up towards the half-visible guards on the high walkway. His hair, neatly tied back with a cord, made a single bright note in the misty gray of the morning. He wore his long cloak over a somber outfit that matched the stone wall behind him.

I went out. As I approached he turned towards me and I saw the look on his face, tight-jawed, grim, apprehensive.

“It will be all right.” I reached to take his hands, heedless of who might be watching, and his mouth softened slightly.“We all have faith in you.You should have faith in us.”

“Faith,” he echoed. “It’s an elusive thing. I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

“You wouldn’t step back now, would you, right at the end?”

“No, Caitrin. I’ve set this in motion, and now I must be the leader it seems folk need here. It’s not the end, of course; today’s meeting is the beginning of something so big I can hardly bring myself to think of it. Caitrin, I spoke to you before about the risks, not just that I may lose my control of the host once I cross the boundary, but . . .You know what happened in the past. I’m worried about you.There are too many elements of this that we cannot predict.”

“I’ll be fine in the library. I’ll have Gearróg.” After a moment I added, “And Muirne, if she’s prepared to sit with me.”

“You mustn’t be in the library.” His tone was adamant. “Stay out of doors, but close to the house. The safest place for you is Irial’s garden. I’ll ask Olcan to leave Fianchu with you. Even so, this troubles me.”

He was thinking of what had happened to his mother, perhaps. But the situation was not at all the same. Besides, he’d said himself that Emer’s death might have been accidental. “I’m sure I’ll be safe,” I told him. “How soon are you going?”

He glanced up at the walkway again; the pacing forms of the guards flickered, dreamlike, amongst the shrouds of mist. “We’ve men on watch who will alert us when the Norman party rides into view,” he said.“That’s if anything can be seen through this mist. Magnus says we’ll have time to get down to the settlement before them, if they use the Whiteshore road.”

Magnus chose that moment to appear in the kitchen doorway.“Breakfast,” he said. “You can’t be a hero on an empty stomach.”

“Not much of a hero,” murmured Anluan. “But perhaps I can learn. Shall we go in, Caitrin?” He held out his arm.The gesture was formal, but as I slipped my arm through his, I had the curious feeling that each of us was incomplete without the other. Apart, we would always be wanting; together, we were whole.

Since I could not tell him this, I said,“Come home safely,” my voice so quiet that I might have been speaking to myself.

The sun rose higher and the mist dissipated. A call came from the sentries atop the wall, and Anluan and Magnus set off down the hill.With Fianchu following me, I went to Irial’s garden as Eichri, Rioghan and Olcan headed for their various positions. Everything had been planned to the last detail.

I settled on the bench with a basket of mending, needing an occupation for my hands. My stomach was tying itself in knots. I would not be at ease until I saw Anluan walk back in through that archway, smiling his crooked smile and telling me all had gone to plan.

Muirne had not been present at breakfast, but she joined me in the garden soon after the men left. She did not offer to help with the mending, simply sat at the other end of the bench and watched me, features grave, hands folded in her lap. Gearróg was stationed just inside the archway, spear in hand. Neither of them had much conversation today.

Time passed.A little breeze rustled the leaves of the birch tree. I patched the knee on a pair of Magnus’s trousers and repaired a seam on a gray tunic of Anluan’s.With my eyes on the plain linen, I saw instead his wan face, his troubled eyes, a lock of his hair escaping its cord to tumble down over his pale brow, frost and flame. I imagined him standing as straight as he could, facing Lord Stephen’s emissaries; in my mind, I heard his deep voice speaking with such authority that everyone sat up to listen. He could do it. Of course he could.

The tunic was done. I folded it neatly and put it back in the basket. I got up and stretched, glancing at the sky and trying to judge how much time had passed. I walked around the pathway, stooping to examine the heart’s blood plant. Buds were developing, their tight-furled forms barely hinting at the brilliant color to come. Within a turning of the moon, the blooms would be ready for harvest. There was a lean-to building against the garden wall, a low stone structure that I assumed might hold tools, including perhaps equipment for distillation and decoction; an herbalist like Irial must have had such paraphernalia. I’d never seen the place open; the door was bolted. Perhaps nobody had used it since his time. I entertained a brief vision of myself in there, making a perfect batch of heart’s blood ink. Then I returned to sit on the bench, thinking how long ago that day seemed when Anluan had accepted my wager.

“You appear agitated, Caitrin.” Muirne’s voice was calm as a millpond. “Are you having second thoughts about this plan?”

“Of course not!” I snapped, my fraying nerves getting the better of me. “The plan makes good sense. Everyone agreed to it.” Except you. I fished in the basket for more mending, something to stop me from getting into an argument with Muirne, which would achieve nothing beyond upsetting me further. “I’m sorry,” I made myself say. “I am a little edgy.” It seemed I’d even upset Fianchu. He’d been lying at my feet, but now his head was up, his ears were pricked, and a subterranean growling was issuing from his throat. “Be calm, Fianchu, lie down, good boy.”

The dog ignored me, scrambling up to stand alert, the warning growls becoming barks of challenge. Alerted by the sound, Gearróg came along the path towards us. “What is it—aaaghh!” His words were lost in a groan of pain as he crumpled to his knees, his spear falling with a metallic clang to the stones of the path. He doubled up, shielding his head with his hands. His chest heaved; a powerful shaking possessed his body.

I jumped to my feet, mending forgotten. “Gearróg, what’s the matter, what’s wrong?” He was in terrible pain, hunched over and moaning. Fianchu began to whine, as if he, too, was in agony. A moment later, as I was crouched beside Gearróg, trying to get him to kneel up, the big dog bolted out through the archway and off into the forest. “Muirne, help me!” My guard’s body was seized by retching spasms; he fought for breath. “Fetch someone, quickly! We need help!”

No answer. I glanced frantically over towards the seat, but nobody was there. During the commotion, it seemed Muirne had slipped away from the garden.

“Gearróg, I’ll get help.Try to lift your head, here . . .”

Gearróg swung out suddenly, catching me across the arm and chest. I went sprawling backwards onto the flagstones, jarring hip and elbow.“Stop, make it stop!” he yelled. “Keep away! No! No!” The arm swung again. I ducked my head to avoid it. His eyes were wild. Whatever he was seeing, it surely wasn’t me.

My heart hammering, I got onto one knee.Try to help him or run away as fast as I could? He swiped the air, then clapped his hands over his ears. His features were twisted in a grimace of agony.“Make it stop!” he screamed.

Somewhere out in the forest Fianchu was barking. I crouched just out of Gearróg’s reach.

“Gearróg, it’s Caitrin.” I hardly knew my own voice, it was shaking so much.“Caitrin, you remember? I’m trying to help you. Just hold on a little longer. I’m going to fetch someone—”

Shouts broke out on the walkway, not warnings of coming danger but cries of pain. I looked up. Men were staggering, falling, clutching onto whatever they could find to stop themselves from a long drop to the courtyard. Weapons clattered down as hands lost their grip. Two men were at each other’s throats, fingers squeezing, legs braced, eyes bulging. Another snatched up a fallen knife and charged along the narrow way, screaming.

“Muirne!” I yelled. “Muirne, where are you? I need help!” A warrior leaped up onto the parapet, spreading his arms as if to launch himself into flight, and there was Cathaír, seizing the man’s leg, shouting, “No, you fool! Hold fast! Hold fast, all of you!” One of the monks was cowering in a corner, trying to fend off a big fellow with an axe. Dear God, what was this?

A sudden chill by my right side. The ghost child was there, Róise clutched in one hand, the other slipping into mine.“Catty,” she whispered, “my head hurts.” And then, sharp and distinct, there came to my nostrils the smell of smoke. I whipped around, the child’s hand still in mine, Gearróg huddled on the pathway in front of me, and saw it seeping out under the library door, an insidious gray blanket. Through the glazed window something flickered, golden, deadly. The library was on fire. The manuscripts. The books. The grimoires—the ancient pages would go up like a torch. A burst of light, a flare of heat and the history of Whistling Tor would be gone.With it would go any chance of finding the counterspell.

“No!” shrieked Gearróg, rolling over, booted feet kicking, arms threshing. “Make it stop! Leave me be!”

Cold sweat broke out on my skin. From behind the library door I thought I could hear the crackling of hungry flames. I stood frozen as the child clutched at my skirt and began a piercing wail, “No fire! No fire!” Gearróg had come up onto his knees and was groping for his spear, which had rolled out of reach. His arm was twitching so violently that for now he had little chance of grasping the weapon.The smoke thickened around us. Blind panic was only a breath away.

“I need you to help me,” I said, squatting down beside the ghost child. “Take Róise up to my bedchamber right now. Run as fast as you can.You can get into my bed if you want. Stay there until I come, however long it takes.”

She obeyed, silent now, running across Irial’s garden through the drifting smoke and out through the archway. I turned back to find Gearróg on his feet with the spear in his hand, four paces away and facing me. His eyes were desperate. He would kill me without hesitation if he believed that would silence the voice in his head. Behind him the library burned.

“Gearróg,” I said shakily, “you’re a good man.You’re a warrior. Anluan needs you. He needs you to stand guard until he comes back up the hill. It won’t be long.”

The warrior shifted from foot to foot, his fingers clenching and unclenching on the spear shaft. His eyes darted from me to the walkway, where men still fought and yelled and fell.“Anluan doesn’t want me hurt,” I said.“I’m his friend. I’m your friend. Gearróg, the library is on fire. Please let me pass so I can save the books.” I edged forward; he stood immobile, blocking the way. God help me, if I didn’t get in there soon it would all be gone. “Gearróg, let me pass! Please!”

Gearróg lurched to one side, striking his temple with a clenched fist. “Stop your wretched ravings,” he muttered.This time he wasn’t talking to me. “Hush your poisonous prattling! Let a man do his work!”

Up on the walkway, someone started to sing. It was a ragged, desperate sort of song, dredged from old memory, the kind of tune a man reaches for when there is nothing else to keep the mind from tumbling right over into madness. Stand up and fight, men of the hill . . . A creaky old voice, not quite in tune, but raised high enough to cut through the mayhem of shouts and screams, scuffling and cursing:

“Stand up and fight, men of the hill

Dauntless in courage, united in will

Swing your swords proudly, hold your heads high . . .

Gearróg was staring up towards the walkway as new voices joined in, first one, then another, then more and more in an uncertain chorus.“Brothers together,” he muttered, “we live and we die . . .”

I dashed past him, along the path, up the steps, pausing for a moment to snatch my handkerchief from my belt and press it over my nose and mouth before I pushed open the library door. In my mind a desperate list of priorities was forming itself: Irial’s notebooks, which were nearest to the door and might not yet be damaged. The grimoires, left in a stack beside my work table. Nechtan’s documents and the transcriptions I had already completed.The box with the obsidian mirror . . .

The place was thick with smoke. I couldn’t see an arm’s length before my eyes. Choking, coughing, I groped my way over to the shelves where Irial’s notebooks were stored, ready to grab an armful and flee out into the garden with them. I had no chance of putting out the fire. By the time I fetched even one bucket of water, everything could be gone, and Gearróg was in no fit state to help. My arm swept along the shelf, but Irial’s records were not there—someone had moved them. Or was I in the wrong place? The smoke was stinging my eyes, making my nose run, creeping into my throat. My breath rasping, I screamed, “Muirne! Anyone! Help!”

No books on the floor beneath the shelf; nothing at all of Irial’s. Smoke wrapped me in a clinging shawl; I could no longer see the open doorway. I fumbled blindly towards the place where I had piled up the grimoires. My head felt odd. I could see patterns in the smoke, faces with gaping mouths, hands with rending claws . . .“Muirne,” I whispered, or maybe I only spoke in my mind. Someone come . . .

I fell to my knees and crept forwards. Every instinct told me not to breathe, but I had to, and with every breath my chest hurt more. Keep going, Caitrin. The grimoires . . . I couldn’t let the counterspell be burned to nothing . . . You can do it, Caitrin.This way . . . this way . . .

I reached the stack of books and collapsed beside it, eyes stinging, chest heaving. Dimly, I registered surprise that I could see no flames in the library, only the dense, choking cloud of smoke. My hands fastened around a book; one seemed to be all I had the strength to lift. Now out, out into the garden and fresh air . . . Which way? I turned my head, but the place was full of the suffocating blanket. Where was the door? My head reeled; the smoke swirled around me. I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. You’re going to die, Caitrin.You’re going to die for a book full of ridiculous love potions and improbable straw-to-gold charms.

I dropped the grimoire and began to crawl, trying to feel my way out. The leg of a table. A box—the chest holding Nechtan’s wretched mirror. My head struck something hard: the bench. A chair. A smaller table. Not far now.

The door slammed shut. The air seemed to tremble around me. The smoke thickened. I covered the last distance on my belly, retching, feeling the poison seep into my lungs. I clawed my way up the wall, clutching for the iron bar that held the door closed. I wrenched at it. Why wouldn’t it move? Why were my hands so weak? Around me everything dimmed, as if the day was already over. My fingers could not hold on to the latch. Help, I mouthed. Someone help me. But all that came was the dark.