Heart's Blood

chapter fifteen

It was a day of triumph and of loss, of jubilation and of mourning, a day that would furnish fuel for a hundred years of fireside tales. Anluan led his ragtag army back up the hill and into the courtyard with his head held high.The men of the settlement marched behind him, shields carried with pride, weapons gripped in hands more accustomed to wield hay fork, scythe or fishing net than bow and spear. The men of the host came after, with a new light in their shadowy eyes.They had held fast; they had stood by their comrades.They had obeyed their orders and kept to the plan. Rioghan looked stunned. Perhaps he had not quite dared to believe that this time his audacious strategy would bring victory and deliver his lord home safe and sound.

The makeshift infirmary filled up.The stunning success had not been achieved without casualties, and the spectral monks went to and fro with their basins and bandages, splints and potions, tending to the wounded from the settlement and from the force Magnus had brought for the surprise attack.

I had barely time to greet Anluan before he was surrounded by a press of excited folk. As I moved across the courtyard, the tale came to me in fragments. All across the Tor folk were talking, talking, trying to put it together. The chieftains of Whiteshore and Silverlake, with their remaining troops, were even now dealing with the ragged remnant of the Norman army. Cleaning up, I heard someone call it. The horses having bolted, the enemy was fleeing on foot, disordered and terrified. No doubt Stephen de Courcy had heard the tales of Whistling Tor before he decided to lay siege to the place. That was not the same as waking from sleep to find oneself doing battle with an army like Anluan’s. Magnus was of the opinion that Lord Stephen would already have decided against claiming the hill for his own. Just in case he had not, Brión of Whiteshore and Fergal of Silverlake were out there reminding him of the wisdom of such a choice.

Anluan’s first party, led by Cathaír and made up entirely of spectral warriors, had entered the Norman encampment while the enemy was sleeping, then manifested abruptly, spooking the horses and causing general pandemonium. Though the Normans had greatly outnumbered their attackers, they had not had time to assume their fighting formations or establish sufficient order to strike back effectively. While the host was still wreaking havoc among them, the substantial forces led by Brión and Fergal had mounted their surprise attack, driving the enemy up onto the hill. There Anluan’s second force, under his personal command, had fallen upon the Normans with much screaming and wailing, vanishing and reappearance, trickery and surprise, not to speak of the traditional use of arms—by all accounts, the warriors of the host had put their combat skills to fine use.The men of the settlement had played their part bravely. Fighting alongside those who had been the stuff of their worst nightmares had been a challenge, but their time on the hill had prepared them for it, and they were proud of their efforts. I did hear several men ask how long it would be before they could go back down to the settlement and see what was left of their homes and belongings. They had lost four of their own, and one of them was Tomas the innkeeper.We would be burying him and Orna side by side.

Olcan’s face warned me of a further loss. His ruddy cheeks were ashen, his good-natured smile quite gone. Four men of the host carried Fianchu on an old door.The dog’s breath rasped in his throat. He lay quite still save for the labored rise and fall of his chest.

“What happened?” I asked, going over to lay a hand on Fianchu’s neck. There was life in the small eyes yet, but it seemed to me they were clouding, dimming by the moment.

“He saved Lord Anluan’s life,” one of the bearers said.“Leaped forward as a poxy gray shirt swung his sword, took a heavy blow to the back.Where should we take him?”

This last was addressed to Olcan, who pointed towards the house. I was stunned. I had thought both Olcan and Fianchu would go on forever. Somehow I had not imagined an ordinary death of this kind could befall either—they had been on the Tor forever, or so I had believed. I watched Olcan follow his dying friend to the front door and inside.The courtyard was full of folk and abuzz with talk; the forest man moved through the crowd as if he were quite alone. Anluan and Rioghan were surrounded by people from the village. Eichri was deep in conversation with another monk, not one of his spectral brethren but a flesh and blood cleric who must have accompanied the wounded up the hill. I hesitated, thinking of Aislinn and the news I must impart to Anluan as soon as I could extricate him from the crowd. Olcan must not keep this last vigil without friends by his side.

Magnus came up beside me. He was clad in full battle gear, his garments showing the stains of a fight well fought, his hair dark with sweat where the leather helm had covered it, his gray eyes calm. “Poor old Fianchu,” he said.

I nodded, holding back my tears.A chieftain’s wife needed to be strong at such times, and if I was not wed to Anluan yet, I would be soon. “I’m going inside to keep Olcan company,” I said. “But I need to talk to you, and to Anluan, Rioghan and Eichri, as soon as possible. It’s urgent. Even if Fianchu is dying, I’m afraid this can’t wait.”

Magnus glanced towards the steps, where the chieftain of Whistling Tor was facing a new kind of siege, from folk who realized at last that here was a leader who could help them, and were now asking all the questions they had been saving for years. Beside him, Rioghan was attempting to maintain control, while Cathaír stood guard behind. “We might have trouble getting him away,” he said.

“Tell him it’s about the counterspell.”

“It is?” His brows rose. “I will, then. Welcome back, by the way.”

“You, too.You’ve achieved remarkable things here while I was gone; I can hardly believe it. Magnus, I need to warn you about Muirne. It may be hard for you to believe, but she tried to poison Anluan. Certain things happened while the battle was going on, and that’s what I need to explain to you all.”

In fact, word of my discovery was spreading like wildfire through the host, for Gearróg had been unable to hold back the news. I heard them murmuring one to another as I crossed the courtyard with Magnus at my side—she’s found it, maybe tonight, she thinks we can all go, at last, at last—and in my mind I repeated the words of Nechtan’s Latin charm, on which it all depended. I wondered why Aislinn had risked keeping any part of the answer written down. She was clever; she must have realized that even those fragmented scribblings might allow a scholar, someone who knew Latin, to find the answer to the puzzle and lift the curse she had laid on Whistling Tor. It would have been far safer to keep the charm in her memory, where only she could find it.

But no. I recalled that terrifying moment in the vision when she had tried to speak the words that could free her from Nechtan’s spell. Dying and unable to remember. Dying and unable to save herself, even though she had discovered the remedy without her mentor’s aid.When she found herself, after death, entrapped in her own curse and bound to each chieftain of Whistling Tor in turn, likely she no longer trusted her own memory. So, instead of destroying the book that held the feverish notations of that earlier self, the one who wanted above all to impress the man she idolized, Muirne had hidden it away, locked in the special place where she thought nobody would ever look. Even Irial, who had used the stillroom regularly for his work, must not have known it was there. She was clever, no doubt of that. I hoped she had no more tricks to play on us.

We found Gearróg and charged him to make sure the message was passed on to Anluan as soon as possible. Then Magnus and I made our way to the kitchen where, as I had expected, Fianchu had been laid in his familiar corner by the fire. He had a blanket over him, and Olcan sat cross-legged by his side, murmuring. In his soft undertone I heard a catalogue of Fianchu’s good deeds, his many acts of kindness, strength and loyalty. I settled myself beside the forest man, my eyes streaming. Magnus, ever practical, busied himself putting on the kettle and clearing the table, saying nothing.The women from the village had gone off to start packing up for the return home, which would happen as soon as Fergal and Brión sent word that it was safe to leave the Tor.

We stayed as we were awhile. Olcan’s voice made a steady counterpoint to the labored sound of Fianchu’s breathing, each rise and fall a harder mountain to climb. Always a little slower, a little fainter . . .

The others came in one by one. Eichri was first. He knelt to lay a comforting hand on Olcan’s shoulder. “Remember that time he saw off a whole pack of wolves?” the monk said with a little smile. “They didn’t rightly know which side was up and which was down.You’ve got a big heart, Fianchu.”

The dog lay quite limp under his blanket; it was by no means sure that he could hear anymore, though Olcan kept murmuring to him and stroking his neck. “Brave boy. Dear old friend. Best dog in the world.You have a good rest now—that’s it . . .”

Magnus stepped over and passed me a handkerchief. I mopped my face and blew my nose.We waited.

It was not so long.Against all expectations Fianchu lifted his head for a moment, and Olcan bent to whisper in the dog’s ear, so softly that I could not hear what he said. Fianchu put his head down again, relaxing on the blanket, and Olcan bent over him.There came a rattling and rasping as the dog’s breathing faltered, and then silence.

“He’s gone,” Eichri said. “May he rest well; he deserves no less. A valiant hound, loyal and brave.”

“I’m so sorry, Olcan,” I managed.“He was a wonderful friend to all of us, so gentle when he needed to be, yet fierce and strong enough to play his part in battle . . . I’m sure there’s never been another like him.”

Olcan muttered thanks. He had moved so Fianchu’s head was on his knees.The dog lay limp, the tip of his tongue protruding from his mouth. Olcan’s hand continued to move gently against the hound’s neck, but he was silent now.

Anluan and Rioghan came in soon after that. Anluan looked dead on his feet. His face was a mask of exhaustion, the bones prominent, the eyes too bright. He had not even had the chance to change his clothes. I wanted to throw my arms around him, to weep against his shoulder, to tell him over and over how proud and relieved and happy I was. But this was not the time for that. I simply looked at him with all the love I had in me.

Anluan put a hand against his leather breast-piece, over his heart, and smiled his crooked smile.The weary eyes softened; I had never seen such a blend of pride and tenderness. Then he went over to Olcan and Fianchu, and crouched down beside them.

“I know there are things that need to be talked about,” Olcan said.“Go ahead, don’t mind me. I’ll just sit here a bit.”

“You put up a brave fight down there yourself, Olcan,” said Rioghan. “Expert hand with the axe.”

“Did what I could.Wish I could have saved him.”

“Fianchu showed exemplary courage,” said Anluan. “He was a dear friend to us all. I owe him my life. I owe the two of you a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid.This is not your struggle.”

“Ah, well.” Olcan accepted the ale cup Magnus offered him. “Maybe it’s not, but I feel like part of your family now, and so did he. He was a good dog, Fianchu.” His simple epitaph spoken, he lifted the cup, drank, set it back down. “Welcome home, Caitrin. Didn’t think to say it before. It’s good to see you.”

“Gearróg said you had urgent news for us, Caitrin,” Anluan said. “He’s standing guard beyond the door there, and we’ve sent Cathaír round to the other side, so we’ll be warned if anyone comes. Tell us what has happened.”

We seated ourselves at the table, though Olcan stayed on the floor. I told them the tale of Nechtan’s experiment, so nearly successful but turned awry by the girl who had not wanted to give up her life so her mentor could have his uncanny army; her discovery of the counterspell, her delight at her own cleverness, her despair when she could not use the words to save herself. The curse pronounced in silence, the curse whose form I knew because the obsidian mirror gave me a window into the mind of whoever had written the text that lay beside it. One hundred years of ill luck; one hundred years of sorrow; one hundred years of failure.

“And she had the power to make it work,” I said, as my audience sat around me hushed and still.“She had learned far more from Nechtan than he probably ever realized; she was as apt as he was at the casting of spells. I will shadow your steps and those of all you hold dear, that was part of it. She has done so for four generations, stirring up the host and whispering words of despair to each chieftain in turn. She has used her skills in sorcery to add to the chaos.”

“But . . .” Anluan’s arm was tense against mine. “How could I not see this? How could I not recognize it? You’re saying all of it, the voice they fear so much, the frenzy that causes them to lose their minds and attack at random, has been entirely her doing?”

“I believe so,” I said.

“Great God, Caitrin!” exclaimed Anluan. “If anyone other than you had told me this I would have dismissed it as sheer fantasy. Whispering words of despair. That rings true. I have been all too ready to believe them. To claim them as my own. I must have been blind.”

“I suppose,” I said, “that part of her skill may be in making others see her as perfectly harmless.” She hadn’t tried very hard with me; her enmity had been plain from the start. Still, it had taken me a very long time, almost too long, to realize the extent of her malice and her power.“It seems your father spent time with her, perhaps even seeking her help with his botanical work and welcoming her companionship after your mother died. But . . . well, there’s something I found that I think you should read now. It was stored away with Muirne’s personal things.” I fished Irial’s last notebook out from the pouch at my belt, opened it at the first page and gave it to him.

In the silence that ensued, Magnus got up and poked the fire, I refilled people’s cups, and Olcan sat quietly with his old friend. Rioghan and Eichri looked at each other across the table, the shadow of a looming farewell removing all trace of their customary sardonic humor. When Anluan had finished reading, he sat in silence for a little. Then he said flatly, “She killed him. He wanted to live, and she killed him.”

“I believe so.Your father died from the same poison she used on you.” I glanced at Magnus, whose eyes had widened. “In this letter, Irial writes of making the decision to step out from his fog of grief; he tells the shade of Emer that he will never forget her, but that he will watch her live on in Anluan. It is not the message of a man about to kill himself from despair. Aislinn—Muirne—chose to keep this from Anluan, and from you, Magnus. She loved him, and she wanted to keep everything the way she believed it should be here on Whistling Tor. It was bad enough that Irial loved Emer as he could never love Aislinn.When he wanted to bring hope to the Tor and the folk who lived here, when he wanted a life for his son that would be better than his own, Aislinn must have seen it as a betrayal. She couldn’t bear it. So she ended it. I believe she was responsible for your mother’s death as well, Anluan. That could never be proven, of course.” I said nothing of Conan and Líoch.This was more than enough for now.

“Holy Mother of God,” muttered Magnus. “The uncanny fire; the way nobody saw a thing until it was too late . . .”

“Fire without smoke; smoke without fire. The method is in one of those grimoires. As I said, she was—is—an able practitioner of sorcery.”

Anluan had bunched his good hand into a fist. His eyes were cold as frost. “There is no doubt that Nechtan wronged her,” he said. “But this is indeed a long and bitter vengeance.Where is she now?”

Seeing the fury on his face, no less alarming for the obvious control he was imposing on himself, I was glad I had not mentioned that Aislinn had threatened me with a carving knife. “I don’t know,” I said. “But she’ll be watching. We need to be careful right up until the words of the counterspell have been spoken. She doesn’t like things to deviate from the pattern she has established here. She will fight to keep her curse in place, though I think it has caused her only misery. She tried to make me give her the book by tormenting Gearróg, and then by hurting the little girl. In the end I passed it over and she ripped it up.”

A silence; five pairs of eyes were turned on me in question.

“So she believes we can’t do it,” I said. “She saw me using the obsidian mirror with her book open; she must know, or guess, that I’ve seen the ritual. But from what she said, it’s plain that she doesn’t credit me with the wit to remember the words of Nechtan’s invocation after one hearing and a glance at her book. The counterspell is very simple: the chieftain must speak the Latin invocation backwards. I imagine the other elements of the ritual would need to be the same, the pentagram, the snake circle, the herbs and so on. There is a woman of the host who might be able to assist with that.”

Anluan was still staring at me. “You memorized it? All of it?”

I nodded.“And now you must do the same,” I said.“In private, behind closed and guarded doors. Aislinn won’t want us to do this. If she believes it’s a vain attempt based on little more than guesswork, we might manage to finish it.”

“Are you certain this will work, Caitrin?” Eichri’s voice was unsteady.

“Not certain, no. But I am sure I have the words correct, and I am sure about the form of the ritual.What remains to be tested is Aislinn’s conviction that the counterspell is something so obvious. It seems surprising that Nechtan did not think to try it.”

“He probably didn’t want to,” Magnus put in. “He may never have given up the idea that he could some day turn the host into the mighty army he wanted.And if that was his thinking, he probably never told Conan the words of the original invocation—why would he? Most likely, there was no written record of it apart from these notes of Aislinn’s. Of course, there was the book Nechtan got it from in the first place, but Conan may not have known about that.”

“Besides,” I said,“she did pronounce the curse, a hundred years of sorrow and so on, and perhaps the counterspell wouldn’t have worked until that time was up.”

“Which it is tonight,” observed Olcan from his corner. “All Hallows’ Eve.”

“If Muirne—Aislinn—is as clever as you say,” Eichri said, “she must know that.Why is she fighting against it?”

I could not think how to put it into words: my conviction that Aislinn was trapped in her own spell, that her wish to punish and hurt each chieftain of Whistling Tor in turn went parallel with her love for them. I imagined her dropping the poison into the jug as tears welled in her eyes.

“Aislinn is not part of the host,” Eichri pointed out.“The counterspell might not work on her. She might linger on forever, casting a blight on the Tor and all who dwell here. Don’t look at me like that, Caitrin.”

“She will be gone from here before the sun rises again,” Anluan said, his voice like iron. “As for the threat today, while I am on the Tor Muirne must comply with my will.We must prepare to enact this ritual, and when we need her to come, I will summon her.” He looked at the others, each in turn, his eyes resting last on Eichri and on Rioghan. “You understand that I must do this,” he said.

“Ah, well,” said Eichri with a forlorn attempt at nonchalance,“I’d best claim on that last wager, Councillor. Pay up!”

Rioghan thrust a hand into his robe and drew out a shining silver coin. It danced across the tabletop into his old friend’s hand.

“What was that one for?” I asked, blinking back tears.

“Whether you’d be back before or after Anluan won his battle.”

I stared at them. “You all believed I would come back?”

“You belong here.” Anluan’s fingers tightened around mine. “Sending you away was the worst error of my life, as our friends here have been reminding me regularly ever since the day we found you gone. I did not consider that in losing you, we lost our beating heart.”

“It was right for me to go.And right for me to come back.”

“Did you find that sister of yours?” Magnus asked. “I liked the sound of her.”

“There’s a whole story there, part sad, part happy, part in between. When we have time, I’ll tell it.” I glanced at Anluan. “I should teach you the charm. It’s in Latin, and you have to say it backwards.”

“Brighid save me.We’d best start straightaway.” Anluan rose to his feet. “Or almost straightaway; I must wash and change, at least. Olcan, will you need help . . . ?”

“I’ll help him,” Magnus said. “You’ve more than enough to do. Brave fight.You showed your colors as a leader, in my opinion.”

Anluan inclined his head in acknowledgment, his cheeks flushing red. Magnus’s words had been akin to a father’s recognition that his son had proved himself a man.

“We’ll be needing to receive Brión and Fergal up here some time later,” Rioghan said. “Word is that they’ll report in person once the Normans are driven beyond the borders. Since you’ll be busy, Magnus, I’ll make some arrangements for that; look out the best mead and so on.”

“Thank you,” Anluan said. “Caitrin, I’ll send Cathaír across for you as soon as I’m fit for company. I want you to keep Gearróg with you at all times. Call him in now; stay in sight of him.”

Then he went away to his quarters, and Eichri headed off to look for the mead and some other supplies suitable for visiting chieftains. After speaking quietly to Olcan, Magnus called in two burly men of the host to help lift Fianchu. I gave the hound a little kiss on the nose, and Rioghan grasped Olcan by the arm, saying,“A grievous loss, old friend. I wish you strength.” Then they bore the dog away for burial.

Rioghan and I were alone in the kitchen save for Gearróg standing guard just inside the back door. It felt necessary to do something, to keep my hands busy, so I found a cloth and wiped down the table, thinking that if Orna had not volunteered to come with me last night she might still be here stirring a pot or ordering her assistants about. I hoped their losses would not sit too heavily on the folk of the settlement. It would be important to maintain the extraordinary trust it seemed had developed during the time of the Norman threat. Anluan would be very busy indeed, and so, I supposed, would I.

“Caitrin.” Rioghan had seated himself at the table again, long hands clasped before him. He sounded unusually tentative.

“Mm?”

“Do you truly believe this will work? This counterspell?”

“I hope so,” I said. “As I said, there’s no certainty to any of it. But I believe we must try.”

The silence drew out. I turned to look at him, surprising a strange expression on his pallid face. He looked as if he had found a long-sought treasure, and at the same time as if he were about to lose what he loved best in the world.

“You’ve helped Anluan achieve something truly remarkable today,” I said. “In the eyes of the outside world, his winning that battle must seem the stuff of an impossible dream.”

For a long time Rioghan did not speak.Then he said,“I’ll miss him. I’ll miss you. I’ll even miss that disreputable excuse for a monk. I used to think that if the counterspell was ever found I’d fight it with all my strength. But . . .I think perhaps I’m ready to go.Today was a stunning success. My plan worked perfectly. But I don’t feel jubilant. I don’t feel vindicated. I just feel tired.”

“If it works, you might see him again,” I said softly.“Your lord, Breacán. For certain, you will not go back to that in-between place. Not after this.”

“You think not?” His smile was doubtful.

I sat down opposite him, reached across and took his hands in mine. “I’ve seen what a good person you are, Rioghan. Loyal, brave, kind . . . You’ve been strong in your support for Anluan. I truly believe your past error will not haunt you beyond this point.”After a moment I added,“This place won’t be the same without you.”

“Ah, well.” He shook his head as if to rid it of doubts.“All I can say is, thank God you’re here, Caitrin, to keep our boy company. As for the rest of us, we’re probably best forgotten.”

“Don’t ever think that,” I said with a lump in my throat. “If nobody else sets your stories down in writing, I surely will.You’re part of the history of the Tor. Now stop this or I’ll be crying too hard to act like a lady when these visitors get here. And I want to make a good impression.”

Anluan and I spent the next hour or two shut up in his quarters together. Doubtless the folk from the settlement had their own ideas about what we were doing.We did not emerge until Anluan had memorized the form and words of the ritual, though he did not practice saying the counterspell aloud. He would do that only tonight, when all was ready. We talked at length about what must be done and came to one conclusion. We could make every aspect of the ritual as close as possible to last time, but there was no knowing whether the result would be as we wished. All the same, we must try.

There was a great deal to be done.The wounded still lay in what had been the chapel, and needed attention. The folk of the settlement were getting ready to go home, bearing their dead with them.And the materials for the ritual must be prepared. Fianchu had been laid to rest down at the farm, and now both Magnus and a red-eyed Olcan turned their attention to helping with the preparations. Magnus collected the herbs we needed. I remembered the names of only two or three of them, but the wise woman offered her grave advice as to which would aid the transition between worlds. Olcan obtained clean sand from a supply at the farm. Under my directions he marked out the pentagram with its enclosing snakelike circle. The wise woman went to harvest the herb called goldenwood. No matter, she said, that it was not the sixth day of the moon—gathered with the correct form of words, the herb would be equally effective. She was away for some time before walking out of the forest with the small branch across her outstretched hands.

These activities halted for a while when Brión of Whiteshore and Fergal of Silverlake came up the Tor to greet Anluan and to tell him Lord Stephen’s forces had withdrawn from all three territories. The two chieftains drank some of our mead and spoke of the future. If there was a slight unease in their demeanor, it was well concealed, and their manner toward Anluan was both courteous and respectful. Anluan agreed that a council should be called before winter weather made traveling too difficult. Stephen de Courcy would likely be only the first of many upstart foreigners wanting a bite of good Connacht land. Mention was made of Ruaridh Uí Conchubhair, and of how things might be different if one of his sons took his place as high king.The local leaders must stand strong and united until that time came. I listened intently as I smiled and passed around the mead, but my mind was on tonight, the ritual, Aislinn. Where was she? Did she still possess some means to undo our efforts?

The visiting chieftains did not stay long. Each was keen to head home with his fighting men now the job was done. Anluan thanked them for their support and expressed his deep regret for their losses. Brión left us two healers who had accompanied his army, since he knew our household was small and would be stretched in providing the necessary support for those who lay wounded. When our visitors were gone, we bade farewell to the folk of the settlement, who were ready to leave the Tor. Tomorrow, Anluan said, we would go down and attend a ritual for their dead. After time for mourning, he would be wanting to speak with them about the future. I saw that already new leaders were stepping up to take the places of Tomas and Orna. Duald, who had once been so afraid of a wandering scribe, was one of them, and Orna’s friend Sionnach seemed to be speaking up on behalf of the women.There would be a path forwards for all of us. If the counterspell worked; if Aislinn had been right about it. If I had remembered correctly. If nothing else got in the way. Seeing the hope in the eyes of Gearróg and Cathaír and the others, I prayed that I had not made a terrible mistake.

As dusk fell, the host began to gather in the courtyard: men, women and children in little groups or alone, waiting. The buzz of excited talk that had broken out earlier in the day was gone, replaced by a hush of anticipation. Anluan had told me he wanted to talk to the host before the ritual began, and he was doing so now. He wasn’t making the kind of grand speech people expect a victorious chieftain to deliver on his return home. Instead, he was walking among them, a tall figure clad all in black, giving each in turn what time he could, listening to each, telling each how sorry he was that his ancestor’s ill deed had condemned them to a hundred years of misery. I watched their faces from where I stood with Magnus by the circle. I saw no anger there, no sorrow, only respect, acknowledgment and a dawning hope. Tonight, this very night we will be at rest.

“This must work,” I muttered. “It has to.”

“What if Muirne doesn’t make an appearance?” Magnus asked quietly. “It sounds as if it can’t succeed without her.”

I had discussed this point with Anluan at some length: what Aislinn’s part must be, whether she should stand in the center again and what would happen to her if she did. She would not be willing. She’d have to be coerced to take her place, and that felt wrong to me.

“She’ll do it if I bid her,” Anluan had said. “Caitrin, the girl is a murderess several times over. She must be banished with the rest of them. If Nechtan’s spell of summoning required her to stand in the middle of the pentagram, then we must do that again.”

“I suppose she will come if Anluan calls her,” I said now. “She has always obeyed him.” But still, in the depths of my mind, I wondered if this was right. Anluan had not seen that last vision in the obsidian mirror. He had not felt Aislinn’s utter terror as she realized Nechtan would not save her, that he didn’t want to save her, that her life was the price of his success. Yes, she had performed evil acts; she was a killer.Yet I knew that if it were up to me to make her step into the center tonight, I would not be able to do it.

I made my own farewells as dusk darkened to night.The cool light of the moon shone down into the courtyard, illuminating the wan faces of the host. The wise woman: I thanked her for her calm assistance and she bowed her head in grave acknowledgment.Why this self-possessed, serene creature had found herself amongst Nechtan’s host, I could not understand. The monks, who now emerged from the chapel to join the others: I thanked them for their skill with the wounded. “And for your singing,” I added. “When I heard that, it seemed to me that God was present even here, in this place folk call accursed. I remembered that when we go astray, he leads us home.”

“Bless you, child,” said one, and the others said, “Amen.”

Anluan was talking to Eichri now, a hand on the cleric’s shoulder. Rioghan stood alone, his red cloak a bright note in the moonlight. I walked over to him, remembering the day the two of them had met me on the road and showed me the way.

“Rioghan.”

He had never been given to smiles, and he did not smile now, but there was a warmth in his dark eyes.“Caitrin, lovely lady.You’ve brought our boy great happiness. Be happy yourself, my dear. Live your life well.”

“I will, Rioghan.You’ve been a wonderful friend. I want to thank you for your loyalty to Anluan.” Curse it, I had thought myself strong enough not to shed tears; there would be time enough for them later, when this was done. “I wish you could stay with us. I hope you find what you most long for. Surely you have earned that by now.”

“You’ve a great deal of kindness in you, Caitrin. May the world treat you as kindly.As for what unfolds next, for me, for that wretch of a monk,” the glance he cast Eichri’s way was affectionate,“for the rest of this motley bunch, who knows what we can expect? A different ending for each of us, perhaps.You are right to use the word hope.That is all we can do.”A shiver passed through him, and he pulled the cloak more tightly around him.

Next, Cathaír. He had changed since the day I fled the Tor to confront my own demons. His eyes still darted about; his pose remained restless, the weight shifting from foot to foot. But there was a purpose in his face, a strength and repose in the contours of it. He had been at the very forefront of the attack today, leading the warriors into the heart of the enemy camp. He had played a vital part in the victory. I saw confidence in his look, and a new self-respect. Anluan’s trust had transformed him.

“You will be glad to go, Cathaír,” I said.

“I have waited long for sleep, lady.Yes, I will go joyfully to the land beyond the gray. Yet I would not have been without this day. These last days. Watching the Tor come alive again; singing the song of battle . . .” He fell to one knee before me.“Lord Anluan is a true leader. It has been an honor for me to serve him. But you . . .” His voice faltered, then grew strong again. “You came here with love in your heart. From the first we were real to you, as real as when we wore the flesh and blood of our living bodies.You did not look on us with judgment, but with compassion.You gave us hope.”

My tears were really flowing now. I laid my hand on his shoulder. “You’re a fine man, Cathaír,” I said.“You’ve served him with great courage. I wish you peace.”

This was getting harder and harder. I caught Anluan’s eye as he clasped Eichri in an embrace. He smiled, and I saw that if it was a trial for me, it was far more for him. He had lived amongst these folk all his life. They were his family.

As Anluan moved away, I went up to Eichri and, abandoning the conduct of a chieftain’s wife, threw my arms around him. A chill embrace, but my heart felt only warmth.“Dear Eichri, I’ll miss you every single day. I’m so sorry you have to go, you and Rioghan.” I stepped back, my hands on his shoulders. Immediately I saw that something was different.The strange necklace with its cargo of bones and unidentifiable shrivelled objects was gone. In its place my friend wore a strip of leather from which hung a plain wooden cross.

Eichri saw me looking and grinned.“Never thought you’d see the day, did you, Caitrin? No doubt I convinced you I’d forever remain a sinner unrepentant. I almost convinced myself.”

“How did you . . . ?” I could not find the right way to ask the delicate question.

“Brión of Whiteshore brought a priest with him to tend to the injured and speak prayers over the dying.We talked. I had been asking myself certain questions for some time, Caitrin; going over my past errors. We are taught that God forgives sinners. I did wonder if a sinner such as myself could ever be deserving of such mercy. I haven’t been sure, in the past, that I even wanted it. Something changed in me while you were gone. Perhaps it was the pattern of goodness that you brought with you. Perhaps it was the flowering of hope on the Tor. At any rate, I spoke to Brother Oisín of my past. He listened and gave his opinion that I was wrong about God’s mercy. So I’m working on repentance. Just as well, as it turns out. I pray that this ritual does not condemn me to a hundred years more in that gray place halfway between here and there. More than the fires of hell, I fear boredom.” He regarded me soberly, then flashed his big teeth in a new grin. “And no, I didn’t ask Brother Oisín about a certain secret library. He seemed the kind of man who would be deeply shocked by such a notion.”

“Anluan will never seek it out,” I said, glancing over to where the chieftain of Whistling Tor was now bidding a grave farewell to Rioghan. “He will conduct tonight’s ritual because he must; nobody else can make it work. I believe that after this he will shun the least exercise of magical arts. He fears becoming his great-grandfather all over again. I think he will destroy the grimoires.”

“Mm.” A look of speculation entered Eichri’s shadowy eyes. “This place is full of magic, Caitrin. Whistling Tor was a place of eldritch tales long before Nechtan came along to dabble in sorcery. Such a long cloak of uncanny history is not so easily cast aside. Anluan should keep his books, just in case he needs them.That’s my opinion. Farewell, my dear. Look after that fine man of ours.”

“I will.” I scrubbed a hand across my cheeks.

“It’s time.” Anluan’s deep voice sounded across the darkening courtyard and a hush descended. Magnus lit a torch from the little brazier and climbed the steps to set it in a socket near the door of the house. The flickering red light sent Anluan’s shadow across the ritual circle to touch the empty space in the center. The people of the host began to gather between snake and star, five silent groups of men, women and children. I had wondered how the spaces Olcan had marked out could accommodate so many, but there they were within the lines of sand, a somber, shadowy throng. Rioghan slipped off his red cloak, dropping it onto the flagstones where it lay like a pool of dark blood. Eichri was waiting close by.The two old friends embraced, looking long into each other’s eyes.

“I’ll wager two silver pieces we end up together again, Councillor,” Eichri said, and Rioghan said, “Done, Brother!” But all they exchanged was a smile. Eichri’s brethren were forming a small procession, their lips moving in silent prayer. He stepped into the line, and they moved into the circle as if entering a chapel. Rioghan placed himself with the warriors, who clasped his hand in greeting and farewell, each in turn.

Gearróg was at the foot of the steps, keeping guard over Anluan until the very last moment. I went to stand beside him.

“Thank you, Gearróg,” I said. “For keeping Anluan safe for me; for courage beyond the call of duty. For being yourself. I hope you will see your dear ones again soon. I wish you happiness, my loyal friend.”

If he could have spoken at that moment, he would have. I could see that there was too much in his heart to allow words. He gave a nod, then moved away to take his place amongst the host.

On the bottom step close by me a small figure crouched, head down, shoulders hunched, bundle in her hands. Trying to be overlooked; trying to be invisible.

“It’s time, Caitrin,” Anluan said, glancing at the child, then at me.

I sat down on the step beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. It was like plunging my arm into ice water. “Sweetheart,” I murmured, “you have to go now. You need to step into the circle with the others. Time to say goodbye.”

Frost-white face turned up towards mine; shadowy eyes fixed on me. “Go where?” she asked.

“Somewhere good,” I told her, feeling like a liar and a traitor. “You might see your mama again, maybe.”

“I want to stay with you,” the ghost child said, her little voice clear and true. “You can be my mama.”

A spear straight to the heart. I could not find an answer, for none was right.

“Come, little one.”The wise woman reached out a hand.“Step over to me. Take care not to set your feet on the sand; lift them up high, as if you were dancing.”

The child did not look at me again. She walked across, stepping neatly, carrying my mother’s embroidered kerchief and the last fragments of Róise, token of my sister’s love. She stood beside the wise woman, between two points of the star. Her eyes stared into nowhere.

“We’re ready to begin,”Anluan said quietly. Magnus stood on his left. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, then took up my position on his right. Olcan was by the brazier. “I will call her.”

But there was no need to call. From the archway to Irial’s garden Muirne stepped forth.The neat concealing gown and veil were gone. She wore an ancient garment that had once been white, a high-waisted gown with an embroidered hem. Its skirt wafted around her as she approached. Her hair was loose, a shimmering waterfall. A little wreath of greenery crowned her head. Her eyes shone in the moonlight. “I’m here, my lord,” she said.

My skin prickled. Aislinn come of her own accord to help us? Aislinn already clad in her ritual garments, calm and willing? We had been certain Anluan would need to summon her, and that she would have to be forced to play her part. We had anticipated reluctance, fury, perhaps fear. Not this.

“There is much I could say to you, Muirne,” Anluan said, keeping his tone level; no trace in it of the bitter fury I knew he bore towards her for the deaths of his beloved parents, the attempt on my life, the long years of suffering.“But I will say only this. For the wrong my great-grandfather did you, I am sorry. For the wrong you have done to me and my people, God will judge you.”

She watched him calmly, not a flicker of emotion on her face.

“Tonight is All Hallows,” Anluan said.“One hundred years have passed since you cursed the family at Whistling Tor, and it is time for the doom you set upon us to be lifted.”

“You are no Nechtan,” Aislinn said. “Try, by all means. Try and fail. You’re so good at that.”

Anluan took a deep breath, held it a moment, released it slowly. “Take your place in the center, Muirne. Regrettably, it seems we need your assistance.”

“It seems so,” she said, and turned to walk across, lifting up her skirt so it would not brush the ritual markings out of place.The folk of the host shrank back as she passed, and someone hissed. In the very center of the pentagram, Aislinn halted and stood facing us, hands clasped demurely in front of her. “I’m ready,” she said calmly.“Attempt your little spell by all means.”

Anluan fixed her with his gaze. “You will be silent,” he said, and she was.The faint smile that played on her lips troubled me; it was as mocking as her words. If she was prepared to stand there, in the very spot where she had suffered betrayal and death, she must be quite certain we would fail.

Olcan had strewn the ritual herbs on the brazier, and the air was filling with their scent, pungent, compelling, startling the mind to wakefulness. Anluan commenced his slow progress around the circle, pausing at the quarters. I knew from the grimoires that for a spell of banishment the circle must be cast the other way, so he walked contrary to the sun’s path, and the form of words we had chosen was different, too.

“Mystical spirit of water, we honor you!”Anluan moved past the ghost child, who stood beside the wise woman in the west of the circle. The little girl had bowed her head and was staring at the ground. “Purifying spirit of fire, we honor you!” He passed the warriors, who stood tall in pride at today’s achievement. “Life-giving spirit of air, we honor you!” He walked by the monks, who knelt with hands together in prayer. Several ghostly women were supporting one another with joined hands or arms linked; their eyes followed his progress.“Nurturing spirit of earth, we honor you!”

Anluan had completed the circle and now began to pace out the lines of the pentagram, walking with care so the sand was not disturbed. In keeping with Nechtan’s ritual nobody stood within the points of the star, but all huddled in the spaces between, save Aislinn, alone in the very center, looking like a winter princess from an old tale, all white and gold.

Anluan’s slow walk was done. He turned at the final point, standing where the lines joined in the north; he lifted his arms and spread them wide. “Divine essence of the soul, source of all goodness and wisdom, we honor you!”

He paused, drawing a deep breath. It was time for the counterspell. His voice rang out anew, deep and compelling. “Erappa sinigilac oigel! Mitats ihim erappa!”

A shiver went through the people of the host, a shadow of memory. The words held power.They hung in the air, conjuring the unknown.

“Egruser!” Anluan called. “Egruser!”

He waited a little, and the air grew colder around us. He spoke the words of banishment again. I sensed a darkening, though no cloud had covered the full moon. As Anluan opened his mouth to speak the words a third time, it seemed to me that something was pulling towards the circle, as if it would draw us all into that world beyond death. My jaw was tight; my heart hammered. Now . . . now . . .

“Egruser!” Anluan cried, and the spell of dismissal was complete.

Silence. Nothing stirred. Nothing changed, though the bone-deep chill remained over us all. Then Aislinn’s laugh came like a peal of bells. “What did I say?” The look she turned on Anluan was almost affectionate, like that of a wife teasing a husband for his endearing clumsiness.“Caitrin got it wrong.You got it wrong.You are no sorcerer.” She turned in place, surveying the folk of the host, folk who had just seen their dearest hope dashed. “He’s failed you,” she said.“You were fools to expect anything else.”

“Shut your poisonous mouth!” roared Gearróg, stepping towards her with hands outstretched as if to take her by the neck and throttle her. Others moved too, the old warrior Broc, one or two of the younger men.

“Hold still!” called Anluan, and they did. “Do not disturb the pattern!”

“This is over, Anluan,” Aislinn said. “You can’t do it. Admit it. Your foolish woman there has made a promise you can’t keep.This does not end so easily.”

“Be silent!” Anluan roared. Out in the circle the ghost child began to cry, a little, woeful sound.

“What do we do now?” muttered Magnus.

Think, Caitrin. The Latin words had been right, I was sure of it.The pattern was right; the herbs were as close as we could get them.The elemental greetings had been carefully worded—Anluan’s reluctance to tread the path of sorcery had made that essential.This was the right place, the right time . . . I gazed across the circle, desperate for an answer, and met the limpid eyes of Aislinn. I remembered Nechtan’s lust for her, the way he’d seen her every move as an invitation. She’d been young, pretty, desirable—for him, perhaps more desirable because she was also clever. That girl in the first vision had begun to lose her conscience, but she was far from the evil being who stood amongst us now. Nechtan had wanted her. He had chosen not to bed her. He had known that to do so would ruin his great work of magic.

And that was the answer.There was only one thing wrong here, and it was not the spell of banishment. “Anluan,” I said, “we must do it again.”

He looked at me, face ashen white in the moonlight, the irregularity of his features more marked than usual.

“But not with Aislinn in the center,” I said. “That’s why she was so willing, because she knew it was wrong.When Nechtan was preparing for the ritual, he needed her as an innocent, a maiden untouched—he resisted temptation to keep her that way.That must have been a requirement of the spell.After the evil she has wrought here over a hundred years, Aislinn can no longer play this part. Someone else must stand there: a young girl who is untainted by sin.”

A restless whispering among the folk of the host. A stir in their ranks, and the ghost girl was pushed gently to the front.

“No!” I cried, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Not this little one, so frail, so tender. She had trusted me, whispered her sorrow to me, taken refuge in my bed. She had asked me . . . My heart skipped a beat. Dear God, this was what we had to do. This, which felt so wrong, was the way to work the counterspell. It was the opposite of what had happened the first time.This was no living girl, but a spirit. If she stood in the center, she would be left behind, left in this world when the others departed.And that was just what she wanted. “Anluan,” I said, “I think this is right. But first we must make the child a promise.”

His eyes were on Aislinn, and when I followed his gaze, I saw a dawning horror on her face. “I’m sure it’s right,” I added in an undertone.

Aislinn moved, lightning quick, bolting out of the center heedless of the pattern. Sand scattered. Before she could break through the folk of the host, two pairs of strong arms halted her flight: Cathaír’s on one side, Gearróg’s on the other.

“A promise,” Anluan said. “What promise?”

“That if she stays, we will be mother and father to her.” I considered the long years ahead with a child who could never get warm, a child who would remain as she was, five years old, while Anluan and I grew old and weary. She was a spirit; how could it be otherwise?

“Men, hold Muirne there,” Anluan ordered. “Olcan, please step into the circle and remake the pattern for us.”The authoritative tone gave way to a gentler one. He moved down the steps, stood by the outer edge of the pattern, squatted down. “Little one,” he said, “come forward.”

The child approached, careful to keep her feet clear of the lines of sand. Not too close; she was not quite sure of him.

“We need you to help us,” Anluan said. “You’ll have to be very brave; as brave as Olcan’s big dog who saved me today. Can you do that?”

A bob of the thistledown head.

“The others are going away,” he said carefully. “Cathaír and Gearróg, Rioghan and Eichri and all these people, they’re going to another place. If you want, you can stay with Caitrin and me.You can stay here.We will be your mother and father. Is that what you want?”

“No!” Aislinn’s scream cut through the air, brittle as fine glass. “You can’t do this!” Held fast in the two men’s grip, she thrashed and fought, her fair hair flying.

“Be still, Muirne! Hold your tongue!”

She obeyed; Anluan had always been able to command her on the Tor, and his control still held, though her eyes were desperate.

“Don’t be scared,” Anluan said to the little girl. “Just whisper it to me, yes or no.Will you help us? Would you like to stay?”

The child nodded, her solemn gaze locked on his pale face. She whispered something, but it was only for Anluan’s ears.

“Very well,” he said, rising to his feet. “You must go over there, to the middle of the big star, and stand very still until I say you can move. Can you do that?”

Aislinn’s lips were moving, though she made no sound. I imagined her words: Don’t send me away, please, please! I love you! But Anluan was watching the little girl as she picked her way across the lines of sand.

The child stood in the center, feet together, bundle tight against her chest. The moonlight shone on her gossamer hair. Olcan had swept the sand back into place, then retreated to the brazier; the pattern was remade. Anluan came back up the steps, turned, raised his arms. The host stood ready once more.

“Erappa sinigilac oigel! Mitats ihim erappa!”

A shifting, a swirling all around the circle.The chill was as deep as the harshest frost of winter. Time seemed to falter in its tracks; sudden cloud extinguished the moon. The child gave a wail of terror and dropped the embroidered kerchief. An eldritch gust caught the little bundle, skidding it across the flagstones to an inner corner of the pentagram, close to the spot where the two warriors held Aislinn captive. Quick as a heartbeat,Aislinn’s foot came over the line to kick the bundle beyond the child’s reach.

“My baby!” shrieked the little girl. “I need my baby!”

“Come and get her, then,” taunted Aislinn, her voice reedy and ragged, as if it cost her dearly to disobey Anluan’s command. “Come on, you’re supposed to be brave, aren’t you, little spy? Just run over and grab your precious baby. Didn’t look after her very well, did you? She’s only a bundle of rags now.”

The little girl stood shaking, trembling, full of the urge to rush across and snatch back her darling, but holding still because she had promised. Beside me, Anluan drew an uneven breath. All hung in the balance. One word wrong, one gesture out of place and we would fail again. We could not ask the child to do this a second time; there had been a note of utter terror in her voice.

Gearróg muttered something and let go of Aislinn. Cathaír held firm. Gearróg stooped to retrieve the bundle, then moved into the center of the pentagram, kneeling to put the kerchief in the child’s hands. She was sobbing with fright. He picked her up; settled her on his hip. “It’s all right, little one,” he said.“We’ll do this together, you and me. A game of pretend. We’re pretending to be brave dogs on guard, like Fianchu.” He gazed over at Anluan and nodded as if to say, You can go on now.

No going back. No thinking beyond this moment.

“Egruser!” Anluan called. “Egruser!” and as he spoke the ritual words a scream ripped across the circle, a wrenching wail of anguish: “Nooooo!” Even as she fought against the charm, Aislinn faded. Shadows danced.The torch blew out, leaving the circle in near darkness.The wind gusted again. The leaves shivered on the trees; the pattern of sand went whistling away across the flagstones.

From one breath to the next, the host was gone. Between the points of the ritual star the spaces were empty. In the center, a stalwart figure stood with feet planted and head held high, and in his arms was a smaller person, whose hair was no longer gossamer-white but dark as fine oak wood.

“Magnus,” said Anluan in a voice unlike his own, “light the torch again.”

“Gearróg?” I stepped down, not quite sure what I was seeing there, but knowing I had just witnessed an act of such selfless courage that it took my breath away.

Light flared as Magnus touched the torch to the brazier and lifted it high.

“By all the saints,” he said in tones of awe.

Gearróg set the child down and she ran to me. Her hair shone glossy brown in the torchlight; her face was rosy.When I lifted her, she felt warm and real. Gearróg was examining his hands, moving his feet, touching his face as if hardly able to believe he was still here.

“I’m . . .” he said, disbelieving. “I can . . .”

Without a word, Anluan strode across to throw his arms around the guard. Olcan fetched another torch, and it became apparent that something truly astonishing had occurred. Here before us were two living beings: a little girl of five, a sturdily built man of perhaps five-and-thirty. Blood flowed beneath their skin; their bodies were solid flesh. Gearróg put a hand against his chest.“Beating like a drum,” he said in wonder.“Sweet Jesus, my lord, you’ve wrought a miracle.”

“If this is a miracle,” Anluan said, his hand on Gearróg’s shoulder, “it is not my doing. I cannot believe such a wondrous change could be made by speaking a charm whose origins lay in a dark work of sorcery. This . . . this transformation was not wrought by my fumbling attempt to reverse Nechtan’s spell, but by your act of selflessness, Gearróg, and by the child’s loving trust.” He looked across at me, and at the girl in my arms. I saw that after the long and testing day, he was close to tears. “We must find you a name, little one,” he said. “We cannot have a daughter with no name.”

“It’s late,” I said, struggling to grasp onto the real world with its practical challenges and its comforting routines. “She should be in bed.” Emer, I thought as I carried our new daughter indoors. If Anluan agreed, we would give her his mother’s name.

Nobody had much to say.The immensity of what had occurred had set a deep shock in all of us.We were too stunned to feel joy at our success, too awestruck to absorb the consequences of this night of deep change. Each of us took refuge in ordinary things, the little things that help us deal with what is too large for our minds to encompass. Gearróg carried the child over to Anluan’s quarters while Magnus found a small straw pallet and a blanket or two. She was asleep even before we laid her down in this improvised bed. I tucked the embroidered bundle in beside her. Anluan went to the chapel to check that all was well with the wounded and their attendants, and returned to say that even the most sorely injured was holding his own. Gearróg offered to stand guard overnight while we slept. Anluan thanked him gravely and said he would not dream of it. If Gearróg was concerned for our safety, we would promise to bar the door until sunrise. “You, too, must sleep,” he said.

“Sleep,” Gearróg muttered in astonished tones. “I haven’t slept in a hundred years.” A vast yawn overtook him.

“Come on, then,” Magnus said from the doorway, where he stood with Olcan. “We’d better find you a bed. The three of us might share a jug of ale first, eh?”

Anluan closed the door, pushed the bolt across, stood very still a moment without turning.

“Are you all right?” I asked him. Magnus had brought us a candle; its wavering light sent shadows dancing around the chamber. Someone had tidied the place, straightening the bedding and removing the remnants of that desperate effort to save Anluan’s life.The memory of it would be with me forever.

“I think so, Caitrin. So much has happened today, I may spend the rest of my life making sense of it all. Such immense change. I feel as I’ve been turned inside out and upside down. And yet . . .”

I sat down on the edge of the bed and began to unfasten my bodice.

“And yet, all I seem to be able to think of is what an opportunity I will be missing tonight, since I am too weary to do more than climb under those covers, put my arms around you and fall fast asleep.”Anluan sat down beside me and bent to pull off his boots.

“There’s always tomorrow,” I said. “Let me help you with that.”