Morrigan’s curse! I couldn’t think of a less appealing spot. ‘She’d have to be mad to agree,’ I said.
‘Been up there once before,’ said Grim. ‘Come and take a look. Might be all right.’
We climbed around the bank, followed the rise, clambered with difficulty between the young birches and through the tangle of undergrowth. Up on this side, it was hard to get a clear view more than two strides ahead even by daylight. I muttered a prayer, thinking that what we were planning was likely to disturb whatever spirits dwelled in the place, and that they were surely dark and devious ones. A spider goddess, maybe, or something that liked to pop out unexpectedly, cackling. Gathering herbs in Dreamer’s Wood was all very well; I always did so with respect, offering the right words, taking only what I needed. But this felt perilous.
‘See?’ said Grim as we came out of the thicket, and there it was, sudden and surprising amid the tangle of growth: a patch of greensward, level and soft, surrounded by sheltering ferns, and just enough room for two people to lie down comfortably together.
‘This has been here all the time?’ How had I not found it before? Conmael, you meddler, I thought, but did not say it.
‘Mm-hm. Good spot to sit and think. That’s if the strangeness doesn’t get to you. Careful!’
It was a sharp warning. I halted and looked down. At one end of the sward, the ferns masked a sudden drop to the waters of Dreamer’s Pool. In this spot, the bank stood more than the height of two men above the surface, and it was sheer. There would be no easy scrambling out. The place might have been created just for our purpose. ‘Danu save us,’ I muttered. ‘But what about getting up here? It’ll be dark.’
‘Path,’ Grim said. ‘Over there. Come in that way, saves the scramble through the trees.’
‘You might have mentioned that before I got all these scratches.’ My heart was pounding, and not only from the climb. ‘I don’t know what scares me more: the thought that it won’t work, or the thought that it will.’
‘Just one thing,’ said Grim. ‘What if it rains that night? She won’t be wanting to come out here if it’s soaking wet.’
‘It won’t rain.’
He gave me a straight look. ‘Conmael?’
‘If Conmael chooses to help, that’s his business. I’m not asking him for any favours. I’ll make sure the rain holds off.’ I’d been able to do it, long ago; natural magic, the kind that lets you use what is already present, the power of earth, air, fire and water, to help you in times of need. Small tricks, maybe, but deep ones. Whether I could summon that skill again was yet to be seen. I might need to have a word with the spider goddess, or the hole-dwelling surprise spirit, or the shade of Holly, if she lingered close by. I would need all the help I could get to make this work. Only not Conmael’s. I was in enough debt to that supercilious know-it-all already.
‘If you say so,’ said Grim with perfect confidence.
I let five days go by before I told Flidais the story. I judged that still left long enough for her to pluck up her courage and put the proposition to Oran, and for him to make a convincing show of reluctance before agreeing to it. That evening I tapped on her door after supper, and Mhairi let me in.
Flidais was examining two gowns laid out on the bed. One was deep violet blue, with a lilac over-tunic trimmed with fur. The other was pine green with a yellow tunic elaborately embroidered in leaves and flowers.
‘For your hand-fasting, Lady Flidais?’ I could not have been less interested. But I’d been practising saying the right things, using the right tone.
She straightened, turning to face me. ‘Do you have anything for me? Any news yet?’
‘As it happens, I do, my lady. I met some of the travelling folk – you’ll have heard that they’re camped near Silverlake at present. There’s a very old woman among them, whom I was asked to tend to. And it turned out she’d known the wise woman who once lived in my cottage, Holly, her name was.’ The lie would be more convincing if I kept it as close as possible to the truth. Flidais was not going to visit the travellers to check my story. She was not going to ask anyone about it; the matter was far too personal, and she had too much to lose. Besides, we had only a few days left.
‘And?’
‘She told me a story everyone else has forgotten. A strange bit of lore, to do with Dreamer’s Pool.’
Flidais shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. ‘That place! I don’t even want to think about it.’
‘You might need to, my lady.’ I tried for a kindly tone. ‘Because the story I heard was that if a woman wants to be sure of conceiving a boy, she should lie with her lover at Dreamer’s Pool under a full moon. The crone said folk knew about it in Holly’s day, and so many of the local women put it into practice that it could be hard to find a private spot in the wood, especially on the full moon nights of summer. But Holly’s dead and gone. She’s forgotten by most folk in these parts, and it seems this wisdom died with her.’ Flidais was staring at me, utterly silent. One thing was plain: this had caught her attention completely. ‘Of course,’ I added, not wishing to seem too enthusiastic, ‘this is hardly the best time of year for it. If you wanted to try, it would be wiser to wait until spring.’
‘Sounds like an old wives’ tale,’ said Mhairi. ‘Are you sure you’re not making this up, Mistress Blackthorn?’
‘Why would she do that?’ Flidais, at least, was captured by the idea. And Flidais was the one who mattered. ‘Mistress Blackthorn, do you mean it has to be by night? In the dark? What if it’s cloudy and the moon can’t be seen? What if it’s raining?’
‘I would take it to mean you should do it at a time when the moon can be seen in the night sky, my lady. Clouds – I do not think they would make a difference, provided the position of the veiled moon could be judged. As for rain, I have been in Dreamer’s Wood in wet weather. The trees provide quite good shelter, even at this time of year. You would certainly need to wear a woollen cloak and take a warm blanket to lie on.’
‘I cannot believe you’re considering this, my lady,’ Mhairi said. ‘What if you catch your death of cold, just before the hand-fasting?’
‘It’s not up to you to decide!’ Flidais snapped. She must be strung tight indeed to lose her temper with her trusted maidservant. What had these two been before the transformation – fellow servants or close friends? Mhairi could not be ignorant of the full truth, surely. She must be Ciar’s accomplice in the deception.
‘Of course,’ I went on, ‘if you delayed this until after you returned from the hand-fasting, it would spare you from having to lie with the prince again for a little longer. I do not imagine Prince Oran is in such a rush to father a son that you need do this now, before you leave for Cahercorcan. The weather is indeed inclement.’
‘Exactly,’ said Mhairi. ‘It’s a foolish idea. Besides, how could you possibly convince Prince Oran to go along with it? Full moon – that’s the day of his council. It’s the day before we ride off to court.’
‘I’m doing it,’ Flidais said. ‘And you’ll support me, Mhairi, if you know what’s good for you. I will persuade him. He’s been a little kinder, these last few days. And of course he wants a son. His whole family are hoping for that. Lady Sochla hints about it all the time.’
Mhairi had gone white. A threat, that had been. Stay on my side or . . . what? You’ll lose your favoured position, or be packed off back to Cloud Hill? If Mhairi did know the truth, Flidais was foolish to threaten her. Should she choose to tell, Mhairi had the power to create utter chaos.
‘Flidais,’ said Mhairi, not even bothering with my lady, ‘if you do this, everyone will know.’
The words hung in silence for a moment, frightening in their implications.
‘Know what?’ asked Flidais in a shaky voice.
‘That you and the prince have lain together,’ said Mhairi. ‘That you’ve anticipated your wedding night. That
’s no way to start a marriage to the king’s son.’
I breathed again. ‘Maybe not,’ I said, ‘but there’s a way of doing this and keeping it quiet. May I tell you?’
‘Of course. Mhairi, fetch the mead. Bring a cup for Mistress Blackthorn. And let us all sit down.’
We sat. Mhairi, now tight-lipped and silent, poured mead for the three of us.
‘Now tell us,’ said Flidais, ‘how can this be done?’
I set it out for her. First she must work on the prince in private, telling him the tale about Dreamer’s Pool, playing the part of a starry-eyed young bride desperate to give her new husband a boy. She must persuade him to try this at the next full moon, which was the night before they were to leave for court. She must ensure they took only one attendant each: Mhairi for her, Donagan for him. Yes, it might seem odd to the household that they would ride out at dusk. But we could invent a story to explain it. Prince Oran was known for his interest in the natural world, the fields and woods and lakes of the district and the wild creatures that lived there. Perhaps he might want to show his betrothed a white owl he’d glimpsed in the wood, or simply share with her the beauty of the landscape under the full moon. Or I, in my role as wise woman, might offer a special full moon blessing for the happy couple. The explanation would only be needed if someone happened to ask. Donagan could make the practical arrangements, such as having horses ready.
‘I imagine,’ I said, ‘from what you have told me about his behaviour, that the prince will be eager to avail himself of this opportunity. It will be hard for you to go through with this, my lady, after what he did to you. I understand that, and I salute your courage. Keep your thoughts on what you will gain from it, and say a word to the ancient guardians of Dreamer’s Wood, who provide the magic that makes such things possible.’ Gods, if my old mentor could hear me she would be horrified. This was a travesty of a wise woman’s counsel.
‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn,’ said Flidais. ‘You are so kind. I’m sorry I judged you harshly when you first came here.’
‘I’m used to it,’ I said, rising to my feet with my mead barely begun. ‘Now, if I may, I’ll leave you to your deliberations over the wedding gowns. Who did the embroidery on the yellow tunic? It’s very intricate.’
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ said Flidais with a crooked smile. ‘It was Ciar.’
39
~ORAN~
Blackthorn’s unlikely plan fell into place with a curious ease. It was as if a force beyond the human had sprung into being, sending us hurtling toward what might be triumph or catastrophe. It sent my mind back over old tales of wonder and enchantment, and the price that could be exacted if a man or woman meddled unwisely with nature’s mysteries. I did not feel in the least wise, only strung tight with the knowledge that if this succeeded, my Flidais, my own, dear Flidais, would be returned to me on the night of full moon.
I managed to dissemble. So much hung on this, I could not afford to make the least blunder. So, when Flidais – Ciar – came to me in private and told me, with blushes and hesitation, a very strange tale about Dreamer’s Pool, I heard her out. Then I told her, gently, that I feared it was no more than an old wives’ superstition, and that she should not get her hopes up when she was likely to be disappointed. Later, she came to me again, and when she put her arms around my waist and leaned her head against my chest, I made myself stroke her hair and speak words of tenderness. I told her I had not been myself lately; that the added responsibility of a marriage, and perhaps children, on top of my role as heir to the throne, had for a little while felt too weighty to bear, especially since my falling-out with Donagan. I told her I was sorry, and kissed her on the lips. And I felt such a confusion of emotions that I wondered how she could possibly believe my lies. But it seemed I played my part well enough.
As for Donagan, he listened to me, which as much as I had hoped for. He listened while I told him the old tale of the brothers and the boar and explained what it might mean, and he listened while I told him what I had not told Blackthorn: the shameful and bitter story of how false Flidais had come to me by night, twice, and how I had let desire be my master. When I was finished, he said, ‘I know,’ and poured me a cup of mead. And when I asked him to come with me on the night of full moon, and to arrange horses for four, and explained what he should say if anyone asked why we were riding out at such an hour, he said he would do it. He did not tell me whether he believed the plan might work and I did not ask. I simply accepted what he offered and felt my heart ease a little.
It was as well there were no grave matters to be heard at the council, for my mind was leaping here, there and everywhere. Donagan helped, as did Aedan, keeping the proceedings moving along, asking the questions I forgot to ask, making suggestions when I had none. Ciar sat beside me, demure in a gown of russet brown with her hair in a plait down her back. She smiled and nodded, contributing little. The mood was muted, and the council concluded early.
Our departure for court in the morning would require a great deal of work. I let the folk of the district know that after the next council we would have a feast, with music and dancing. We provided mead and oatcakes, then sent them all home. The folk of the household busied themselves with packing up and preparing for the journey. They were too busy to think of asking awkward questions.
The most difficult moment, for me, was encountering my aunt, with Bramble, in the hallway. Aunt Sochla asked if I was planning to take the dog with me to Cahercorcan or leave her here at Winterfalls.
‘I know Lady Flidais has lost her enthusiasm for the creature,’ she said. ‘If you prefer, Bramble can ride along with me and I will house her with my other dogs. It will be a shock to her at first, I imagine, but she’ll cope. Bramble may be happier there, Oran. Your father’s court is full of hunting hounds and the like. And Flidais . . .’
It was as much as I could manage not to gather Bramble up and hug her close, bear her away and open my heart to her somewhere in private. Which was, in fact, not so very different from what I had already been doing from time to time, before I knew anything about her true nature. ‘Thank you, Aunt,’ I said. ‘We’ve decided to leave Bramble here until we return. Aedan and Fíona will make sure she’s looked after. She has many friends at Winterfalls, don’t you, lovely girl?’ I bent down to caress her soft head. She licked my hand. Her bright eyes seemed to me full of knowledge; of truths that could not yet be spoken. If tonight’s endeavour did not work, if it was a disastrous failure, my heart would shatter in pieces.
‘Very well, Oran.’ I could see Aunt Sochla was disappointed. ‘If you change your mind at any time, just let me know. I always have room for one more. Especially a well-behaved little soul like Bramble. It really defies belief that . . .’ She let her words trail off. ‘Ah, well, I have a great deal to do. And the morning will be chaotic. It might be best if Bramble went to Aedan and Fíona’s cottage tonight, don’t you think? The departure is sure to disturb her. Why don’t you take her now?’
‘Of course.’ Whether my aunt sensed something odd, or whether this was another of those turns of events that made me suspect uncanny interference in our affairs, there was no doubt it was convenient. ‘I will. And . . . thank you for being here this last while, Aunt Sochla. Your presence has provided a welcome dash of common sense. And you have been kind to Bramble.’
‘Kind but firm,’ my aunt said. ‘Makes them feel safe. Does wonders for their behaviour. Goodbye, little one.’ She turned on her heel and walked off without another word. I suspected my formidable kinswoman was holding back tears.
I broke my promise to Blackthorn. I went to my bedchamber, with the dog at my heels, locked myself in, and sat on the edge of my bed holding her. Stroking her. Whispering to her of what was to come, and how she would need to be very brave, and how I knew she would be when the time came. Explaining that she would have to leave me now, but that soon we would be together again. For the rest of our lives. P
erhaps she understood my words; perhaps she retained her human awareness while she was in canine form. If she could not understand, she was at least soothed by my tone; her neat, small form was warm and relaxed against me. ‘Soon,’ I murmured. ‘Soon this nightmare will be over.’
Then I sent for Grim, and he took her away.
Before dusk, we rode out to Dreamer’s Wood; Ciar and I, Donagan and Mhairi. All of us were quiet. The day was chill but dry, and the fields were fading to purple-grey in the last light. The horses’ breath made little clouds in the freezing air; the sound of their hooves was muffled on the muddy track. It seemed to me the others might hear the pounding of my heart, which felt like the wild drumbeat of a charge to battle.
‘Are you warm enough, Flidais?’ I asked.
‘Fine.’ She was wrapped in a thick woollen cloak with rabbit fur around the hood, and looked utterly charming, her cheeks pink with the cold. Let this not fail, I prayed. Let Blackthorn not be wrong about this.
The wood lay in stillness, shadowy, forbidding.
‘We’ll tie up the horses by Mistress Blackthorn’s cottage,’ I said to Donagan, who knew every part of the plan.
‘Nobody home,’ he observed as we rode up to the little house, which had been expertly repaired and looked, against the gloom of the wood, almost reassuring in its neat homeliness. ‘Never mind. Should be enough light from the moon, and I don’t imagine you’ll be very long.’
‘Who knows?’ I said, attempting a smile. ‘Let me help you down, Flidais. Careful now.’
The next part was awkward. Blackthorn had told me where to go, and both Donagan and I knew the wood well enough to find the place. But with our purpose being so intimate, it did not seem quite right for me to suggest that he and Mhairi come with us all the way.
‘I’ll walk you in, my lord,’ said Donagan, staunch as ever. ‘Don’t want to leave you and the lady in the wood all alone; doesn’t feel right. Mhairi and I can wait at a distance, down by the water. I have a flask of mead to keep the chill out.’