Heart's Blood

chapter ten

Orifting. Dizzy. Sounds coming and going, lancing through my head. Voices, muffled. A clanking of metal. Trying to swim up . . . A heaviness holding me down.

“Don’t move, Caitrin.You’re safe. Lie still.”

His voice.Tears running down my face. Every breath a little mountain to be climbed, a new test of courage.

“You’re safe, Caitrin. Don’t try to move.”

No breath to speak.There was something I had to say, but all that came out was a croak. “Books . . .”

His hand against my cheek, warm, strong. “As if the books mattered,” he said.

“Tell . . .”

“The books are safe. Don’t try to talk. If you can, take a sip of water. Here.”

A cup at my lips. Sip, swallow. Fire. Pain. Something wrong with me.

“Lie back, Caitrin. I’m here, and so is Magnus. Rest now.”

“. . . hold . . .”

His fingers laced themselves through mine. I turned my head against the pillow and fell back into the dark.

Swimming up again, not so slow this time. Eyes open. Beams, stones, spider webs. A man in a blue cloak riding into battle; a hound at the horse’s heels. A little draft stirred the embroidered panel. Dust danced in lantern light. My own chamber, and late in the day. Nobody holding my hand, but someone in the room with me. I turned my head. Magnus was sitting on a stool a few paces away, a big sword across his knees. He had a cloth in his hand, and was polishing the blade. A blood-red glint in the shining metal. Signs of war.

“Magnus.” My voice crackled like an old woman’s. “Can I have some water?” It still hurt to breathe, but maybe not so much as before.

His hand lightly against my back, steadying me as he reorganized the pillows.The cup at my lips again. I drank deep, relishing the coolness. My throat felt as rough as dry leather.

“It’ll hurt for a while.”The big man’s tone was matter-of-fact.“Smoke does that.You’ve been lucky, Caitrin. Seems you somehow locked yourself in. Gearróg broke the door down.We got back just as he was carrying you out.” It was clear to me that Magnus did not believe this fairly simple account of what had happened.

“Anluan?”Why wasn’t he here? Had I imagined those soft words, that gentle touch?

“You’ve had quite a few folk anxious over your state of health, and him more than anyone. I packed him off to rest. He didn’t go willingly.”

“Magnus, what . . .” It seemed an immense effort to ask; there was so much I needed to know.

“All in good time.” His gaze was the calmly assessing one of a person who has cared for more than his share of the sick and wounded. “Drink some more of that water first, and we’ll get you a bowl of broth.” He went to the door, stuck his head out and said, “Caitrin’s awake. Send someone down to the kitchen for supplies, will you, lad? Broth is all she can take right now.There’s a pot beside the fire.”

“Who’s out there?” I asked. In my head was the image of men from the host up on the walkway, striking out at random as if the whole world was their enemy. I saw Gearróg writhing, his eyes full of demons. My arm was sore.When I rolled back the sleeve of my gown, it was to reveal a deep purple bruise.

“The first thing he’s going to ask you is who gave you that.” Magnus pulled the stool up beside my bed and sat down. He had placed the sword atop a chest, his hands careful.

“It was an accident. Magnus, are they all safe? The men of the host, I mean? There was a . . . they seemed to . . .”

His mouth formed a grim smile. “We’ve had an account of it; there’s been no reason to doubt that story. Safe? If you mean, has anyone died twice over, I don’t think that’s possible. As for the fire, that was an odd thing, very odd. Some of your documents sustained a bit of damage from the smoke, but nothing was burned.The whole thing seemed . . . conjured; not quite real.”

“The smoke was perfectly real,” I said, my skin prickling with unease. “What are you suggesting, Magnus? That it was all just . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to say it. It was devised with the sole purpose of getting rid of me. I remembered Róise swinging, swinging from the wire.

“I’m not suggesting anything,” he said, but he was avoiding my eye. “Caitrin, this has shocked Anluan badly. Both of us, to tell the truth.When Olcan called out to us from the barrier, and we came out and saw the smoke, it was . . . It brought back some very unwelcome memories. I’ve never run so fast.”

I scrutinized my companion more closely, seeing what I had not taken in before: the pallor of his strong features, the frown between the bushy gray brows, the set of his shoulders, not as square as was customary. “Fianchu raised the alarm?”

“He raced down to where Olcan was on guard, and Olcan came to fetch us. We ran back up the hill. Anluan couldn’t keep up; he made me go on ahead. God, Caitrin, I expected to find the same thing as last time, the very same, the house half burned away and you lying dead in the embers.”

“What are you saying?” My voice was a whisper.

“Emer died in a fire.The circumstances were much the same. Perhaps you’ve thought Anluan weak or cowardly for his reluctance to leave the hill, especially when there was such a need.You might have wondered why I didn’t encourage him to try it earlier.”

“I never thought him weak, Magnus. Will you tell me the whole story?”

He got up and began to pace, as if the chamber were too small to contain what he was feeling. “It was in the time when Emer’s brother was chieftain. As I told you before, he had a low opinion of Irial; couldn’t forgive his sister for marrying Nechtan’s kin. Irial recognized the need to forge new links, since Whiteshore was no longer the ally it had been. We discussed it at length, and when he got an unexpected invitation to attend a council at Silverlake, to the southeast, he decided to risk going. I went with him, since he had to have a personal guard. Emer was expecting another child; she didn’t want to undertake a long ride. She insisted she’d be safe here with Olcan and Fianchu and the small number of other folk we had working at Whistling Tor in those days. It was a sort of test. If the visit went well, Irial planned to hold a council of his own involving a much wider group of local chieftains. He had hopes that Whistling Tor could regain the status it had before Nechtan’s time. An ambitious plan. Risky, of course, but the host had been quiet in Irial’s time, and like you he was prepared to trust them. Emer was so proud of him, Caitrin. It shone in her eyes as she bid us farewell.

“The council went well. Irial spoke with conviction; folk listened to him. We rode home with high hearts. What we found was the great hall blackened and burned, Emer dead, young Anluan shrunk to a little shadow with his eyes full of death and terror. He wouldn’t say exactly what he’d seen, and none of the others had witnessed it—everyone had been elsewhere, busy, only realizing that there was a fire and that she was trapped when it was far too late to save her. Anluan wasn’t hurt, not physically, but . . . he wasn’t the same.There was some damage in him, deep down.”

The woman in the mirror, screaming . . . Oh, God . . . No wonder Anluan had struggled so hard with the decision to risk going off the hill. No wonder he’d had that look on his face this morning.

“When we saw the smoke today, both of us expected the same thing,” Magnus said. “That run up the hill was . . . I’ve never seen him so angry with himself, cursing his lame leg, cursing his own poor judgment, cursing the host . . . We were sure we’d find you dead. Me, I was looking ahead, seeing him the way his father was when he gathered up what was left of Emer . . . Sitting on the ground, cradling her poor burned body to him, specks of ash floating around them like dark snow . . .I’ve seen a lot, Caitrin, and I’ve heard a lot.War is my calling, and a warrior gets his fair share of blood and sorrow. I’d never heard a man make the sort of sounds Irial made that day. I took Anluan away; tended to him in my own quarters. Olcan looked after the farm.The others helped with what had to be done. Muirne was the only one Irial would take any heed of. He had nothing left for his son. He was consumed by grief and guilt. Such a loss can make a person selfish. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the man like a brother. But Anluan had sorrow of his own to bear, and so did I.”

“You never found out who was responsible for that fire?”

He shook his head. “There were no witnesses, save possibly Anluan, and he wouldn’t talk, or couldn’t. I found no clues. But Irial was convinced the host was responsible; that by leaving the Tor, he had brought down this fate on Emer. It seemed to me that fire might just as likely have started with a draft and a candle. After today, I’m not so sure.”

“Why would the host, or anyone else for that matter, want to harm me? I’m nobody.”

“You’re somebody to us,” Magnus said quietly.“Caitrin, I’ve talked too long.You’re not well, you should be resting.”

A tap at the open door.There stood Cathaír, holding a laden tray. Beside him, her hair turned to a pale nimbus by the sunlight behind her, was the ghost child, clasping a little jug in careful hands.

“Bring it in,” Magnus said, but Cathaír did not move beyond the doorway. The child came in, stepping over to set the jug on the storage chest. She crept to the foot of my bed and stood there, eyes downcast, fingers pleating little folds in the blanket. There was something in her stance, and in that of Cathaír, that troubled me greatly.

“How long was I unconscious?” I asked as Magnus retrieved the tray. The moment he took it from Cathaír, the young warrior backed off and vanished along the gallery.

“A while. Don’t trouble yourself with all this now, Caitrin. Eat and rest. We’ll keep you safe.”

I drank the broth in cautious sips. My throat felt as if it had been scraped bare. It hurt to breathe, but the warm liquid was soothing.“Where is everyone?” I asked.“Rioghan and Eichri? Olcan and Fianchu?” I realized that I had forgotten the most important question of all. “The Normans! What happened down at the settlement?”

“Funny the way things play out sometimes. It went well. The host stayed within the boundaries of the hill.Anluan made his speech, the Normans listened, they said their piece, he stood up to them. They were just getting into the next part, about how foolish we’d be to build this into an armed conflict, since they’d be sure to make mincemeat of us all, when we heard Olcan bellowing from beyond the barrier, and the fellows they’d left on guard yelling back at him.Then we came outside and saw the smoke.”

“Anluan defied Lord Stephen’s emissaries? He refused to give in to their demands?”

Magnus turned a very level look on me. I wondered that I had not noticed before how like his eyes were to my father’s. “What else did you expect?” he said simply.

“So it’s war.”

“When he thought he’d lost you, it seemed to me for a bit that he’d give up the fight. I was wrong. He won’t step back from this now, Caitrin, not after rallying the host, not after making that speech of defiance to the Norman councillors. If war comes to Whistling Tor, we’ll fight and fall under the banner of a true leader.”

The afternoon passed. I coaxed the ghost child to perch on the end of my bed, with my shawl wrapped around her. Magnus raised his brows but made no comment. I wondered that he did not go off to attend to his usual work, but I did not ask. His strong, quiet presence made me feel safe, and I wanted him to stay.

Olcan came up to see me, Fianchu by his side and apparently none the worse for wear.The forest man had a long look at the mirror on my wall, the one I had brought down from the tower, but he made no comment on it, merely nodded sagely as if its presence in my bedchamber was exactly what he would have expected.

At a certain point I heard Rioghan calling from down in the garden, and Cathaír came to the door again.

“I’m wanted down there.” The young warrior had his eyes downturned, his head tilted away, as if he didn’t want me to notice him.“Permission to leave my post?”

“Go,” Magnus said.“You’ll be asked to give your account of what happened, no doubt, along with the rest of them. Tell the truth; that’s all you need do.”

“Cathaír,” I put in,“is all well with you? How is Gearróg?”The image of my guard writhing in pain, hands pressed over his ears, was strong in my mind. It hardly seemed consistent with the story that he had broken down a locked door to save me not long afterwards.

Cathaír gazed fixedly at the wall. “We’re not worthy of your interest, lady. Nor your compassion.We failed.”

A moment’s silence. “Because a voice tormented you, gave you intolerable pain, made the men crazy?” I asked him quietly. “I saw you doing your very best to control them up there, Cathaír. I saw how Gearróg wrestled with it. From what Magnus tells me, no lasting harm was done. I did think I heard singing, as if you men were making an effort to hold together against difficult odds.”

“That was the old fellow, Broc. He pulled us out of it. Fact remains, when the frenzy came on us the men broke ranks, lost their discipline.”

The frenzy. Nechtan had used the same word, describing the host running amok in its bloody attack on Farannán’s people.Whatever this was, it had been here a long time. “You kept to the hill and nobody was hurt,” I said. “You achieved what you agreed to at the council.”

“You were hurt.” Still he would not look at me.“We couldn’t help you; couldn’t see or hear straight.We can’t put the blame on the frenzy. If a man loses his courage in battle, if he doesn’t stick to his post, he’s got nobody to blame but himself.”

Magnus cleared his throat. “Go and account for yourself to Rioghan, lad. He’s a councillor of long experience, he’ll weigh things up fairly. Lord Anluan was angry before. He said things he may possibly regret later. He’ll realize in time that he took a calculated risk, as we all did, Caitrin included. If things didn’t turn out quite as he hoped, at least part of the responsibility is his. Go on, now. As for the future, our chieftain’s just committed us to war, and if we’re not to repeat today’s errors, we need to put all our strength and skill into working out how.”

“My lady,” Cathaír muttered, then turned on his heel and was gone.

“Anluan was angry? What exactly did he say to them?”

“You know how he can be,” said Magnus. “Tore into them for not coming to your aid; told them they were worthless and wayward, and a lot more of the same.They just stood there and took it.This frenzy, I’ve heard them talk of it before. The voice, some of them call it. Either it gives you a blinding headache, or it fills your mind with bad things from your own past. Or both at once. It’d be hard work staying at your post and keeping alert while that was playing havoc in your head.”

“Where do you think it comes from, this voice?” Snippets from the documents started to come back to me. Sweet whispers; I must not heed them. A voice, yes, but it hardly sounded like the same phenomenon. Night by night a whispering in my ear. It tempts me to despair. “It must be very powerful if it can disable the entire host all at once.” I wondered, not for the first time, if Nechtan could have left an enchantment that continued its fell work long after his death. “Were Rioghan and Eichri stricken by it?”

“Only to the extent of a headache. Muirne was more badly affected. A pain that drove out all reason, that was how she described it.”

Muirne had suffered the same pain as Gearróg? That was not what my memory told me. But then, she had been behind me when he fell, and then she’d disappeared. I should give her the benefit of the doubt, at least. “I would like to speak to Muirne, Magnus. Do you think she would come up here?”

“She was looking a bit shaken. Leave it till later, that’s my advice.You shouldn’t be doing anything but resting, Caitrin. Lie down again.” He glanced at the ghost girl, huddled under the shawl with not much more showing than wisps of white hair and frightened eyes.“I don’t suppose she saw how the fire started?”

“I sent her away.The voice drove Gearróg a little mad. I was afraid for her; she’s so small.”

Magnus folded his arms and gave me a shrewd look. “So Gearróg did hit you,” he said.

“Not me. He struck out at something he thought was there. He had a kind of convulsion, a fit. I happened to be in the way.”

“Mm-hm.”

“It’s true, Magnus. I saw how all the men were behaving, Gearróg included. This thing is powerful.” I lay back on the pillows, considering what I had learned. Nechtan had been so sure he had got things right. He’d been so careful in his preparations. But somehow the great experiment had gone awry. I saw the aftermath, the wayward host, the battles, the slaughter, the blood and hatred that had flowed from one man’s obsession. I saw the accidents, the errors, the fire and flood and careless cruelty. “Magnus,” I said, “this voice, the one that wreaks havoc within the host—that alone could have caused almost everything that has gone wrong since Nechtan brought them forth. Whoever’s doing it would wait until Nechtan or Conan was out in the field, in the midst of a battle, and then it would speak to the host, and they’d go into what they call the frenzy. Gearróg said it turns them upside down and inside out, so they don’t know what they’re doing. The frenzy could make people light fires. It could . . .” It could send people into such despair that they would kill themselves. I would not say that. But it seemed to me the voice that caused this frenzy could also speak to the living. Indeed, perhaps I had heard it myself, telling me I had been corrupted by Nechtan’s fleshly desires. It was not only cruel, it was clever. “Is that the family curse?” I asked him. “The ever-present voice, meddling with people’s attempts to set this right? Does Anluan hear it?”

“You’d need to ask him that. It doesn’t speak to me, nor to Olcan. Is it the curse? I can’t say. Nobody knows who laid the curse on Whistling Tor, or what exactly was meant by it.The way I see it, there’s one brighter note in this. Folk always said it was a hundred-year thing, Whistling Tor condemned to a hundred years of ill luck or failure or sheep diseases or whatever interpretation people decided to put on it. Seems to me the hundred years must be nearly up.That’s a powerful reason for Anluan to follow through on his defiant statement to Lord Stephen. If you take such things as curses seriously.”

I thought about this awhile. “You mean this might all come to an end even without the counterspell?”

“Maybe. The way Anluan was speaking not so long ago, he’s seeing things a bit differently since you nearly got yourself killed. I doubt if he’ll want you to go on looking through those books of spells.What happened just now has shaken him badly.”

“I should talk to him,” I said.“I have to get up anyway, I must go to the privy. Besides, you shouldn’t be spending your time watching over me.”

“You’ll have a hard time convincing him it’s safe to leave you on your own.”

“Maybe if he sees me walking around . . .” I swung my legs over the side of the bed, smoothed down my skirt and rose to my feet.The chamber spun; my knees buckled. Magnus caught me before I fell.

“Then again,” he said,“if he sees you like this he might order you back to bed for a few days and stand guard over you himself. I’ll carry you.”

Down in the courtyard the warriors of the Tor were assembled in all their strange variety, listening to Rioghan as he paced up and down before them.

“. . . techniques for dealing with this kind of thing. It can be something quite simple—counting in your head, repeating a rhyme, concentrating on a pattern you’ve remembered, anything to block out the distraction.”

“Distraction. Is that what you call it?”That was the tallest of the men-at-arms, the one who usually carried a pike.

“That’s the way you have to treat it, even if it hurts fit to blow your head apart.” Rioghan’s tone was measured; if I had been one of the men, I would have found it reassuring. “That’s what Broc knew and the rest of you didn’t.You’ve him to thank for getting you out of this mess, him and the fact that he’s seen more battles than Donn here’s seen iron nails.”

A ripple of appreciative laughter.Then Cathaír spotted Magnus walking towards the main door with me in his arms. Heads turned towards us, and a sudden hush fell over the courtyard. Rioghan nodded respectfully in my direction, then resumed his address. “You see what can result if you lose concentration. You were lucky this didn’t turn out any worse. Next time around, we won’t just be manning the defenses and keeping ourselves out of trouble, we’ll be fighting a battle. If the frenzy comes on you just as you’re about to run a Norman through with your spear, are your bowels going to turn to water? Are you going to attack the comrade standing next to you? You are not. And I’ll tell you why not. Because every day, between now and the time we march down there to defend Whistling Tor, you’ll all be working so hard you won’t have time to listen to anything but your leaders’ orders. If you didn’t like what Lord Anluan had to say to you before, make sure you don’t give him cause to say it again.”

“Magnus,” I murmured as he maneuvered me inside and out of view, “I didn’t see Gearróg there.”

“He may have saved your life, but he wasn’t looking happy when we first came up the hill. Off somewhere on his own having a think, that’s my guess. Same as Anluan.”

“I thought you said Anluan was resting.”

“I said that’s what I told him to do.You know and I know how likely it is that he followed my advice.”

After a visit to the privy and a wash, I felt strong enough to walk on my own, though it was still an effort to catch my breath. Magnus was all for taking me straight back to my chamber, but I persuaded him that one of his herbal drafts would be good for me. I sat at the kitchen table to drink it while he chopped vegetables for a soup. He worked with one eye on me, as if he expected me to collapse the moment he looked away. I wondered whether I would have died if Gearróg had not broken the library door down, and who would have taken the news to my sister.There was a sudden powerful need in me to see Maraid again, to tell her I forgave her for deserting me. I was coming to understand that people make extreme choices, for good or ill, and that there are sometimes good reasons for them. I wanted to know that she and Shea were happy. I was by no means sure the life of a traveling musician would suit Maraid, a woman whose home hearth was precious to her.

“Do you have sisters or brothers, Magnus?”

The big man paused, knife in hand. “A couple of brothers. I haven’t seen them in long years; don’t even know if they’re still alive. Both fishermen, back home in the isles.The sea’s a hard mistress; she doesn’t discriminate.”

“Haven’t you thought of going home, at least for a while?”

His smile was resigned rather than bitter.“I can’t, Caitrin. I left that life behind when I joined the gallóglaigh. I told my mother to count me gone for good; didn’t want her spending her days in hope of a sight of me and being constantly disappointed. Anluan needs me here.”

“You must have been proud of him this morning.”

“I was.” He resumed cutting up the onions.

“And he’s going to need you even more now he’s committed Whistling Tor to standing up against a Norman attack. He’ll need all of us.”

“As to that,” Magnus said, “there might be a few hard choices ahead.”

“What do you mean?”

“Talk to Anluan, lass. He’s going to go through with this, but he’s not happy with what it means. I expect he’ll come to find you again later, explain it all to you.”

“I’ll talk to him now.” I got to my feet, steadying myself with one hand on the table. “Where do you think he is?”

“You’re not going anywhere on your own,” Magnus said.

A slight form appeared in the outer doorway: Muirne, with purple marks like bruises under her eyes. She hadn’t been lying when she spoke of a debilitating headache.

“You are recovered, Caitrin.”

“I’m feeling somewhat better, thank you. Is your headache gone?”

A wintry smile. “It will pass.”

“You left the garden rather quickly, earlier.”

“You could not understand. The pain is such that one does not act sensibly. I was unable to help you.”

Magnus was concentrating on his cookery, leaving the awkward conversation up to the two of us.

“Muirne, do you know where Anluan is?”

She took a step into the kitchen, then turned to adjust some cups on a shelf so they were perfectly in line. “Yes,” she said.

“I need to talk to him. Will you walk there with me?” I glanced at Magnus, expecting him to order me straight back to bed.

“Where is he, Muirne?” the big man asked.

“Through there.” Muirne waved a hand vaguely towards the inner doorway. “Close by.”

“I suppose it’s all right, provided Caitrin doesn’t go on her own,” Magnus said. “He’ll likely have words with me for letting you get out of bed so soon, Caitrin. Muirne, make sure you look after her.” He was lifting the ham down from the hook where I had hung it.

“Of course.” Muirne’s brows went up, as if it were ridiculous to suggest she would be anything other than the most caring of companions. She took my arm—her touch chilled me—and we went through the inner doorway into the maze of chambers and hallways beyond.

I was foolish, perhaps. Once before, up in the tower, I had imagined her pushing me over the edge and down to oblivion. I had suspected her of shutting me in. I had even wondered if she was responsible for the damage to my belongings, though it was hard to imagine such a self-possessed creature shredding a gown or ripping out a doll’s hair. As for her sudden disappearance earlier, just before I noticed the fire, she had a perfectly plausible explanation for that. I had seen how the frenzy affected the host, causing those men on the walkway to turn on one another, sending the steady Gearróg suddenly mad. I should be grateful to Muirne. If she had not removed herself from Irial’s garden, she might have been driven to attack me.

“Something amuses you, Caitrin?”

“Not really. This has been a difficult day. I thought the whole library would be lost.”

“That would indeed be bad, since you seem to believe the host can be dismissed if only you find the right page. If the records were gone, you would have no reason to stay.”

After a moment I said, “Fortunately, it seems nothing was burned. Some smoke damage, that was all. Not a real fire. Something else.”

“This is Whistling Tor. It is not like the outside world.” She stopped in front of a tall bronze mirror, hung flush with the stone wall.Verdigris crept across its surface like a spreading canker.

“In many ways that is true,” I said. “But Whistling Tor exists in the outside world; it cannot be forever isolated, keeping only to its own rules. Without Magnus’s trips down to the settlement and the readiness of those folk to send supplies back with him, this place could not keep going. Now the Normans are coming, and Anluan is going to put up a fight for his lands. He has gone into that outside world, Muirne, and he’s made a pledge that he’ll confront the threat bravely, he and the host together. Times are changing.”

Muirne had her hand flat on the wall beside the bronze panel. There was a small frown between her neat, pale brows. “You’ve never really understood, have you?” she said, and the mirror swung away from the wall to reveal a shadowy space within, and steps going down. “Anluan is down there. Come quietly.”

The hairs on my neck rose in unease.There was something deeply unsettling about this hidden entry, a menace, a wrongness. I hesitated, warning bells ringing loud in my head.

“Afraid?” Muirne said softly, her hand on my sleeve. “It’s quite safe. Come, I will show you.”

Something in her eyes led me down the steps after her. At the bottom a heavy iron-bound door stood ajar.We halted. Lamplight shone from within. The chamber was deep in the ground; there would be no windows here.

I took a breath to ask what the place was, but Muirne’s cold fingers were suddenly against my lips, rendering me silent and still. Her eyes moved from me to the gap in the doorway, and when I followed her gaze I saw that Anluan was within the chamber. He sat on a bench, quite still, his back to us. He was staring into a mirror. I wondered why he had not immediately seen our reflections and turned.Then I glimpsed a swirl of movement and color on the surface before him and realized that this was another of Nechtan’s artifacts, showing something quite different from what stood before it. I should not be here watching. I should retreat or make a sound to alert him to my presence. But I couldn’t. The images that held Anluan there were plainly visible, and they gripped me as it seemed they had him. Beside me, Muirne stood quiet as a shadow.

This was a mirror of glass with a reflective surface behind it, an object such as one would find only in the wealthiest of homes.The images within it were as clear as if seen through a window on a sunny day.There was Anluan astride a tall black horse, riding fast along a dappled forest pathway. He sat straight, his shoulders square, his head high and his flame of hair streaming out behind him. A sword hung at his belt, a bow was slung over his shoulder.Two sleek hounds ran at the horse’s feet. Behind him a company of men-at-arms rode two by two, one of them bearing a banner: a golden sun on a field the hue of a summer sky.

The image wavered and changed. I saw the same group of men, dismounted and at ease in a forest clearing, with the horses grazing nearby. While some of the warriors tended a camp fire and others rested under the trees, most stood in a circle watching a wrestling match—Anluan and another young man, half naked and locked in a tight bout, strength against strength. I saw at a glance that the Anluan of the vision had two strong arms, two strong legs, a stance that was straight and even, a perfect balance. He was in every respect a fine example of healthy manhood. For a moment he seemed to look straight out into the subterranean chamber, and I saw that his features were quite regular, with no trace of the odd lopsidedness that afflicted the real Anluan. It was so well balanced a face that it was completely lacking in character.

This was wrong. I should not be spying on the man I cared about most in all the world. I made to turn away, and Muirne put her hand on my shoulder. I started; I had forgotten she was there.There was a powerful, silent message in her touch: Not yet, Caitrin.

And then, ah, then came the third vision. Pale flesh in graceful rise and fall, dark hair curling down over a body all curves and softness, bright locks spilling across strong male shoulders. Hands stroking, caressing, tender at first, then more urgent as desire mounted fast. A confusion of limbs, a cascade of discarded garments. Lips touching, parting, touching again, clinging, tasting; tongues exploring. A body lifting; another plunging deep. I felt my face flame with heat.That was me in the vision, me naked and exposed, opening myself to him, straining him to me, giving him everything I had with joyous abandonment. The finely made man who tangled and tumbled in intimate embrace with me was Anluan; not the Anluan I knew and loved, the man of sun and shadows, my friend, my companion, whose oddities and troubles had shaped both his form and his character, but the perfect Anluan, the first among warriors, the one who could do all the things a true chieftain should do: ride, fight, lead. Make love to a woman.

The real Anluan drew a deep, ragged breath, then punched forward violently with his good left fist.The mirror shattered into a thousand pieces. There was blood on his hand; he looked at it as if he scarcely knew what it was. In the moment before I turned and fled, I glanced about the chamber and saw that it was indeed familiar. Shelves lined the walls; on them stood dusty paraphernalia: books, scrolls, jars, crucibles, strange instruments whose uses one could only guess at.A clever chimney to vent smoke; a row of pegs for the hanging of garments; a table big enough to hold a person, lying down. A pallet in a corner. I had seen this before. It was Nechtan’s workroom.

I ran. I did not stop until I was almost back at the kitchen door, and even then I only halted because I knew I would faint if I didn’t take time to catch my breath.The hallway spun around me. I forced myself to breathe slowly, leaning on the wall for support.

“The mirror of might-have-been.” Muirne had followed close behind me and now stood opposite, her hands behind her back, her face quite calm. She spoke in an undertone. “One of Nechtan’s cruelest. Anluan sees himself as he would be had the palsy not struck him: a man straight and tall, a handsome man, the kind others follow.The kind who can make his mark in that outside world you think so important, Caitrin. Of course, Anluan can never be such a man. Before you came here, he had accepted that.”

I had to stop myself from grabbing her shoulders and giving her a good shaking. “Why did you show me this? He’d be mortified if he knew we were watching! I only want to help him, Muirne. I care about him. I thought you did, too.”

“Oh, Caitrin. No matter how much I care, I cannot change the way things are, and nor can you. Anluan will never be that fine man in the mirror. He will always have crooked shoulders and a hobbling leg. His right hand cannot hold a quill, let alone a sword. The palsy ruined him. He has nothing to offer a woman like you. Do you understand what I mean? A real woman wants children. She wants to be . . . satisfied. If you want a real man, Caitrin, don’t look here.”

Her careless cruelty was as brutal as a blow. I found words, perhaps not wise ones, but they came from my heart.“I thought you loved him,” I said quietly.“I see now that I was wrong. I pity you, Muirne.You don’t seem to understand what love is.” I turned my back on her and walked away.

I hadn’t wanted to trouble Magnus further, but when I went into the kitchen, my mind still reeling from what had happened, he took one look at me, scooped me up in his arms and carried me back to my bedchamber, muttering that he should never have let me out of his sight.

“You weren’t gone long,” he observed once I was lying down under the covers. “Did you speak to Anluan?”

“No, I couldn’t find him. Magnus, you don’t need to stay. I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep now.” A lie twice over. I was far from fine and I would not sleep. But I did need to be alone so I could try to come to terms with this. How could I so much as look at Anluan now? My newfound knowledge must be painted all over my face. How could I speak to him? The simplest good morning must surely tremble with pent-up emotion.The vision still burned bright in me, and the bitter aftermath had lodged itself deep in my heart.

Magnus gave me a penetrating look, but evidently decided further questioning was not in order. “You can’t be left on your own, lass. It may not be strictly proper, the men of the house tending to you up here, but Muirne’s the only female amongst the inner circle and I don’t think she’d excel at this job. I’ll call Rioghan. I do need to finish what I started in the kitchen.”

A piercing whistle from the doorway brought Rioghan, who seemed quite happy to sit with me now that he had finished briefing his unlikely army. He told me he’d sent the men of the host off to discuss matters amongst themselves. They were to return tomorrow with a preliminary plan for dealing with the frenzy next time around. It all sounded quite practical; oversimple, perhaps, but I did not say so. He was the strategist, after all, and right now I was a tired and sorry mess.

“Since I’m here,” Rioghan drew the stool closer to the bed and settled himself on it, his cloak making a carpet of crimson around him,“we might talk further about your home situation, Caitrin, with these distant relatives who apparently believe themselves entitled to take control of your affairs. I feel that matter needs clarification.”

Why was he raising this now, out of the blue? Ita and Cillian seemed far away, hardly worth considering any longer. My heart was full of Anluan. “I may not have much to contribute,” I said, managing a weak smile.

“All you need do is listen,” Rioghan said.“And perhaps answer a small question or two.”

“All right.”

The ghost girl was at the door, looking out. I wondered if she was expecting Gearróg, who had been kind to her.Where was he?

“Now, Caitrin,” Rioghan said, “I understand you and your sister were your father’s only children, is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“The house where you were living was not tied in any way to your father’s employment? It belonged to him outright?”

“It did. He never attached himself to a particular patron, though there were many who would have liked his exclusive services.We worked independently. That was what Father preferred. It gave us more control.”

“And the unpleasant Cillian and his mother are not close kin? What is the connection, exactly?”

This was more than a small question or two. “Ita is a distant cousin of Father’s. But she said that because Cillian was the only male kinsman, he had control of Father’s property.There wasn’t much. Really just the house. And the tools and materials in the workroom. She sold most of those.”

Rioghan turned his dark eyes on me. He clasped his long hands together, elbows on knees. “This Ita lied to you, Caitrin,” he said.

“About Father’s assets? How can you know that?”

“Where the assets are concerned, I cannot be certain, but I think it likely a skilled craftsman such as your father would possess far greater resources than you suggest, unless he was a heavy drinker, a lover of games of chance, or had some other vice on which to squander his earnings.”

If I’d had the energy I would have laughed at this. “None of those. Father was a clean-living, hard-working man. Even if he’d wanted to do those things, he never had time.”

Rioghan nodded. “I thought as much. You would not speak of him with such love and pride if he were anything else. Now let me tell you a fact or two. There is an established law on inheritance, and it still holds in all parts of Erin not under Norman rule. If a man has no sons, his daughters inherit, at the very least, a lifetime share in his estate.Your father’s house, his land and all the chattels within should be yours and your sister’s, in equal share. A distant cousin has no claim on your family home, Caitrin, nor on the tools of your father’s craft, nor on stock or furniture or anything else your father owned.The fact that Cillian is a man makes no difference.”

So Ita had told me barefaced lies. This would once have been a stunning revelation, for the news held out the wonderful gift of independence, an entitlement to go on living in the house where we had once been the happiest of families. Perhaps, in time, I might have established myself as a scribe in my own right, earning a good living. Some part of my mind knew it was welcome news, but that life seemed so distant now. I tried to imagine myself returning to Market Cross to present the facts to Ita. I tried to picture her and Cillian being removed from the house they had taken under false pretenses. But all I could see was Anluan’s fist striking forward, and shards of glass flying through the air in that underground chamber. All I could hear was Muirne’s precise little voice saying: If you want a real man, Caitrin, don’t look here.

“Caitrin?”

I glanced over at Rioghan. He deserved a better response from me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s hard for me to concentrate, I feel so weak still. It’s a pity I didn’t know this before. But it doesn’t matter now, since I don’t intend to go back to Market Cross.”

He did not reply at first, and there was something awkward in the silence. Then he said,“I’m tiring you; I should let you rest.Think about this, at least.When such a wrong has taken place, it seems to me one should try to see justice done.What about your sister, who has also been deprived of her entitlement and is, I presume, unaware of that? Wouldn’t you confront these wrongdoers for her sake, if not for your own?”

Suddenly I felt so weary I couldn’t lift my head from the pillow. A tear rolled down my cheek and I hadn’t the strength to wipe it away. “Some time. Maybe,” I murmured, but I knew I would never go back. Not for Maraid. Not for anything.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.The daylight faded; Eichri came and replaced Rioghan. Magnus came to the door with a tray of supper for me and left it in the chamber to go cold. Eichri departed and was replaced by Olcan. Fianchu settled on the floor. Beneath lowered lids I watched the ghost child creep over to curl up beside the massive hound. Outside, it was night.

At some point there was a quiet conversation out on the gallery: Olcan and Magnus discussing whether Fianchu would provide adequate security for me overnight.A belated fit of propriety had come over them, it seemed. They were still trying to decide which of them would spend the night outside my door when a deeper voice spoke.

“I’ll stay up here.You both need your sleep.”

Anluan. My heart gave a wrenching leap and subsided, thumping painfully. He had come back at last. The maelstrom of feelings surged in me again.

“What about you?” I heard Magnus protest, not steward to chieftain but father to son. “You need rest far more than either of us. Besides, this isn’t your job.”

“No arguments, Magnus. Is Caitrin awake? Has she eaten supper?”

“She’s been sleeping since before I brought her tray up. Upset, I think, as well as hurt. Anluan, this is not . . .” Magnus hesitated.

“Not proper? Not correct according to the rules of that world out there, the one we don’t live in?” I hated it when Anluan used that sharp, antagonistic voice. That he would address the loyal Magnus thus was terribly wrong.

“It might seem improper to Caitrin, lad,” said Magnus quietly. “She didn’t grow up at Whistling Tor.”

“Magnus,” Anluan said, “you can go.”

With my eyes shut, I heard two sets of footsteps retreating, Magnus’s long stride, Olcan’s steady pace, and then silence save for the slight whistle of Fianchu’s breathing.The door closed.Anluan moved about the chamber for a little; I could not tell what he was doing. Eventually he drew the stool up to the bedside and sat down. In the silence that followed I counted my heartbeats and wondered what he was thinking. After what seemed a very long time, he took my hand, lifted it to his lips, then set it down again. I heard him let out a long breath, like a sigh.

I opened my eyes and looked up into his. Summer lake blue; I could drown in that color.There was a difference in his face, as if the day’s events had stripped away a layer. He looked a new man. He had been strong at the council. Now he seemed . . .formidable. Before, we had spoken easily, like close friends. Now the gap between us yawned wide and deep, and in it lay the splintered vision of what could never be. I could think of nothing at all to say.

“You’re awake.” His voice cracked on the simple statement. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Water. Let me get you some water, Caitrin.”

As he went to fill a cup I reached for my shawl, then realized the ghost child was wrapped up in it.The chamber was full of little drafts.

“You’re cold.” He was beside the bed, holding the cup.“You should be in a chamber with a fire, not up here.” He put the cup in my hand, then took off his cloak and laid it around my shoulders. His arm did not linger.

“Thank you, Anluan.You must be tired. Magnus said it went well this morning, with the Norman emissaries.” My words sounded awkward, artificial, as if I were making polite conversation with someone I hardly knew.

“So they’re telling me.” He moved to stand awkwardly by the wall. He looked as if he wanted to be somewhere else. “Caitrin, there’s something I must say to you. I need to do it before I . . .” He glanced at the sleeping Fianchu and the little spirit curled up beside him. “I need to do it right now.”

Now I was really cold; chill to the bone. “Go on, then,” I said.

“This morning I spoke words of challenge down in the settlement. I vowed that I would lead my people against anyone who tried to take our land and our independence. I committed myself and my household to action. Most likely that means armed conflict. I did what you challenged me to do, Caitrin. I acted like a chieftain.”

“I know how much courage that took,” I said, but my voice was small amid the shadows of the chamber.The image in my mind, his hand smashing the mirror, his cruel visions of the man he could never be, did not fit with this grim-jawed stranger. There was a core of iron in his voice. “I always knew you could do it, Anluan. They will follow you, I’m sure of it—not only the host, but your people all over your territory. We’ll stand by you, whatever happens . . .” I faltered to a halt. He had turned to look at me, and what I saw in his eyes made it impossible to go on. “What?” I croaked. “What’s wrong? What is it you need to tell me?”

“Caitrin, you can’t stay here. I want you to leave.”

I couldn’t have heard right. “What did you say?” I whispered.

“Your work is done here at Whistling Tor. You cannot stay any longer.”

“But—” In my visions of the future, some less realistic than others, I had not once considered the possibility that I might leave before summer’s end.

“You wanted me to be a leader. A leader makes decisions, and this one is made. There’s no point in arguing about it. I regret the inconvenience, but you must go as soon as possible. It will take a day or two to make some arrangements for you.”

This was a bad dream, it couldn’t be happening. It made no sense at all. “What about the grimoires? What about the counterspell?” Even as I spoke, it dawned on me that he had been working up to this for some time. Magnus had said, There might be a few hard choices ahead. Rioghan had made a point of explaining my legal rights and taxing me with the idea of going home.They’d known, the two of them. Perhaps even Muirne had known. “I haven’t finished the job you hired me for!” I protested. “You said I had until the end of summer!” I love you; please don’t send me away.

“We won’t discuss this any further, Caitrin. The search for a counterspell has been overtaken by the probability of war.The grimoires must be set aside until the question of Stephen de Courcy is resolved one way or another. There’s no longer any work for you at Whistling Tor. There’s no reason for you to be here.”

“But, Anluan, even if there is no work, even if—”

“No.” The word cut off my hopes with brutal sharpness. “I hired you for a job, Caitrin, and the job is done, as far as is possible.There is nothing else for you here.”

“But . . . I had thought . . . I had hoped . . .” With the images from the shattered mirror in my mind, I struggled for a response. “Anluan, why—”

“Don’t press me on this, Caitrin.”The tone was a warning.

I sat motionless.This was no well-meaning attempt to send me out of harm’s way until the conflict was over. I would not be coming back in time of peace. He was banishing me forever.

“You will be paid for the whole summer, of course,” he said, almost as an afterthought. “You’ll need funds to travel home.”

“Home,” I said blankly. “Home.” Cillian slamming my head into the door frame, making my teeth rattle; Ita pinching the tender flesh of my breast, setting her own mark on me as she hissed vile insults. Myself cringing, trembling, silent. Helpless, voiceless, cowardly Caitrin. I drew a deep, steadying breath and felt anger come alight inside me, a small, hot flame. “Home?” I said, getting to my feet. “How dare you order me to go back to Market Cross, knowing Cillian is there? How dare you give me your trust and your friendship, and let me help you, and tell me . . .” Remembering the tender words, the gentle touches, I almost lost that fire. I’ve never met anyone like you, he’d said. His eyes had been soft then, soft with what I had foolishly thought might be the same feelings that had throbbed through my body as he held me. All I could see in those eyes now was cold determination.

The flame flared up, hot and indignant, and with it came a flood of words, words that, before tonight, I would never have believed I could say to him.“How dare you! How dare you offer me payment, as if all I needed was a bag of silver to take away from here and a pat on the head for a job well done! How dare you take that arrogant tone with me, when you made me a friend! Is this the way you treat your friends, sending them back to a place where they’ll be beaten and abused and terrified? What kind of man does that?”

His eyes darkened. His mouth tightened. He took a step towards me, bunching his left hand into a fist. I forced myself to keep still, holding his gaze. I will stand my ground. I will not flinch. I will never be cowardly Caitrin again.

“There’s more of Nechtan in you than I thought,” I said.

It was as if I had slapped him.The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale as winter. A single lock of fiery hair was hanging down over his brow; he pushed it back with some violence, then turned on his heel and strode to the door, where he paused with a hand against the frame, as if to steady himself.“You believe that of me.” He spoke with his back to me, his tone incredulous. “You think I would dispatch you back to Market Cross, into the arms of that—that vile oaf. Since your opinion of me is so low, you’ll be relieved that it’s Magnus making the arrangements: an escort to Whiteshore initially, then safe carriage to the place where your sister and her husband are staying.You are too free with your challenges, Caitrin.You ask much of me.And yet, you are afraid to face your own greatest challenge, the one that sent you running up Whistling Tor and into my garden.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but Anluan was gone into the night. He did not shut the door behind him; where the gallery was open to the outside I could see the dark field of the sky, sown with bright stars. Fianchu had lifted his head while we argued; now he gave a token growl and settled again. By his side the ghost child lay with eyes wide open, staring into the dark.