“What kind of bridge?” Finbar asked. It was too dark now for me to see his expression, but his voice sounded cautious, as if he were judging how much was safe to tell me.
“A long one made of withies, with nothing to hold on to,” I said. “Bear and I crossed it. We hadn’t seen Badger since he left the nemetons with you, but much later, after Bear and I had traveled a long way on foot, we found him again. He couldn’t have swum over the river; it was broad and swift flowing. But he wouldn’t have used the bridge. He’s terrified of bridges.”
After a brief silence, Finbar’s voice came to me in the darkness, solemn, weighty for all its childish note. “There’s more than one bridge, Maeve. There’s more than one way in and out.”
Those words were the small, cold claws of something deeply unwelcome, something perilous. I shrank from them even as I made myself ask, “In and out of where?”
“Here,” said Finbar. “The Otherworld.”
My jaw dropped. “What?”
“The Otherworld. Didn’t you know that was where we were?”
“What are you saying? That we are already over that margin, that we left our own world when we crossed that river? Why didn’t you tell me before? We’ve been eating these nuts and drinking the water! I ate mushrooms. I ate—”
“It’s all right, Maeve.” Finbar’s hand came out to rest against my sleeve. “I’ve eaten things here before and it didn’t do me any harm.”
“You what?” Horror upon horror. Unless he meant when he was a tiny baby. But I thought the story was that Mac Dara had found him a human wet nurse.
Finbar did not reply. He realized, perhaps, that this was one of the things he was not supposed to say.
“Finbar, look at me.”
Perhaps he turned his head; it was too dark to be sure.
“I know you wouldn’t lie to me. If you say we’re in the Otherworld, I have to believe it. We’ve lost Bear and Badger, and Swift, too, and we need to get home safely. You must answer my questions. Never mind if someone said you shouldn’t talk about this, or about your visions, or about anything at all. Whoever that someone was, he probably didn’t foresee that we’d get into this sort of situation. Have you really been here before? I mean, apart from that time when you were a baby?”
“I’m not supposed to tell.” It was scarcely more than a whisper. “It’s dangerous. You don’t understand.”
I drew a slow breath. I would be calm. “Dangerous for whom? Or can’t you tell me that, either?”
“Everyone,” he said simply. “You shouldn’t ask me.”
“All right, I’ll ask a different question. You said a light guided you, showed you the oak tree with the hollow. And you slept there last night. What about the night before? Where were you? Was Badger still with you then?”
“That’s three questions.”
“I’m hoping you’ll answer all of them. Finbar, someone’s playing games with us. Someone lured us here. If you know who it was, or if your story can give us any clues, that could be very, very helpful.” After a moment’s silence, I added, “I have something to tell you, too. I met a woman of the Fair Folk, the first night I spent out here. She gave me this cloak and this blanket, as well as some food and drink. She said it was safe to eat; that I wasn’t over the border. And maybe that was true, because Bear and I didn’t cross the bridge until the second day.”
“Oh.” My brother spoke in a tone of complete surprise. “But—”
“But what?”
“But I’ve only been here one day and one night. I ran after Swift, and Badger came with me. We ran and ran, but Swift was too fast and he went out of sight. We got to the place where I—we came to a little wooden bridge over a stream, and I went over it but Badger splashed across in the water. We walked through the oak forest. Later on, we heard barking—I thought it was Bear—and Badger ran off and didn’t come back. I kept walking, and I saw a light in the distance, and when I reached it there was the big tree. I climbed up and found the nuts and the waterskin. I ate and drank and then I went to sleep. I woke up when I heard Bear and Badger barking, and then I saw you.”
It was a curiously simple account. “But, Finbar,” I protested, “I’ve spent two nights sleeping rough; this is the third. I’ve walked for two days, not counting that first day when Swift ran away. It doesn’t add up.” He sleeps as the squirrel sleeps. “Maybe you were asleep for longer than you thought. Two nights and the whole day in between. And most of today as well.” The thought made my skin prickle. On the other hand, sleeping in the tree, he’d been safe from the unwelcome attentions of the gray-cloak people, whoever they were, not to speak of predators such as wolves. Perhaps whoever had put him there was a friend. I thought of Caisin Silverhair’s face, uncannily perfect, and those limpid eyes that seemed incapable of guile.
“Finbar.”
Silence.
“Why did you say you couldn’t get down from the oak tree by yourself? Why did you make me climb up to get you?”
“I’m not supposed to—”
“Finbar, tell me.” I struggled to hold on to my temper.
A silence. Then he said, “Luachan says I shouldn’t talk about what I see in the water or in the fire. He says I get mixed up. I might tell you something was going to happen, and you’d be scared, and it would only be a story.” Another silence. “But sometimes it isn’t a story, it’s true. It was like that with the tree. In the water, I saw myself sleeping up there. I knew I had to stay until you came and got me down, because that’s the way it was in the vision. The way things were meant to happen.”
He still wasn’t telling me the full truth; I was sure of it. “I don’t understand,” I said. “You say this is how things are meant to happen. But if I hadn’t been up in the tree, Bear and Badger wouldn’t have been taken, and…” I made myself stop, just a little too late.
“I’m sorry.” Finbar’s voice was small and shaky.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said. “If Bear and Badger couldn’t fight them off, I don’t suppose I could have. Finbar, what Luachan says about visions—that’s reasonable, I suppose, since you’re still young. But if you see something that frightens you, something that makes you worried about the future, you shouldn’t keep it to yourself. Staying silent isn’t always the right thing to do.” It could be perilous, with Mac Dara playing his evil games. But I did not say that aloud. “Luachan is your tutor, so I suppose you must follow his rules. But sometimes it seems as if you have another set of rules to follow, rules that nobody else knows about. If you would tell me about those, it might help us get safely home.”
“It’s all rules, Maeve.” Finbar edged out from under my cloak and lay down on the blanket as if ready for sleep. “Don’t go beyond the nemetons; always sit beside Luachan at supper. Don’t go out riding without Father. Stay in sight of the keep.” He waited a little, then added, “That’s one of the things I like about you. You don’t care about rules.”
“And look where it’s got me.” He still hadn’t provided an explanation. But I thought that if I pushed any further I would make him cry. And most likely he still wouldn’t tell me what I needed to know. “I think I’m a bad example,” I said, lying down next to him and doing my best to pull the cloak over the two of us. “I’m sure you never broke rules before you met me. But when Swift ran off, you did exactly what I would have done.”
“No, Maeve.” In the darkness, Finbar’s voice was a forlorn thread of sound. “If you’d done it, you would have caught Swift by now, and you’d be safely home with him, and Bear and Badger, too. You’re brave enough to stand up to anyone.”
I turned on my side and put my arm over him. “I’ve been well taught,” I said. “But you’re brave, too, Finbar. Only a very brave boy would have done what you did. And tomorrow we’re going to be brave together.”
I waited until he was asleep before I let myself cry again. I wept bitter tears for Bear and Badger, and for the errors I had made, and for the sorrows Mac Dara had laid on my family a
nd Cruinn’s. But especially I wept for Bear: for the warm body that should have lain beside mine; for his shining, hopeful eyes; for the love and friendship he had shown me every step of the way. What human comrade could ever be so loyal? What man could ever love me the way Bear did? It did not matter to Bear if I was ugly or beautiful, scarred or perfect, uncouth or demure. He loved me exactly as I was. He loved as only a dog can love, with heart and soul, without reservations. As Bounder had loved me. But this felt different, because I was not a child anymore, and I understood how rare it was and how precious. I knew the value of what I had lost and I mourned for it.
The cold and my sorrow kept me awake, though I snuggled close to Finbar, hoping that between the blanket, the cloak and me, he would be warm enough. My mind went around in circles, trying to make sense of what little he had told me, trying to work out why Mac Dara might want the two of us in the Otherworld and why Caisin Silverhair had given me the instructions that led me to Finbar, without warning me that those same instructions would carry me over the border into Mac Dara’s realm. I could not get past the fact that she’d known where he was but had not taken the simple—for her, surely it was simple—step of bringing him home.
In the middle of the night, when I was drifting uneasily between sleep and restless half-slumber, I looked up through the network of thorny branches that sheltered us and saw lights in the sky. An eerie music sounded, like hundreds of tiny bells. I was gripped by an uncomfortable sensation, as if the points of many needles were gently brushing my skin. The lights brightened, their hue now the green of the deepest forest, now the blue of the broadest lake, now the red of a sunrise yet to come. I edged toward the opening of our makeshift shelter, gazing up into a dark, soft sky in which, here and there, a star peeped down between the clouds. The moon was a dim glow behind the veil. The forest lay still around me.
The music grew louder. I could hear a harp and a flute over the tinkling bells, and strange, high singing. The lights drew closer, coming from somewhere under the oaks, perhaps the direction in which the dogs had been taken, but perhaps not. I crouched there frozen, torn between curiosity and caution. Were these the gray-cloak people Finbar had spoken of? Might they be bringing Bear and Badger back? Or had they returned for me and my brother? It was hard to stay under cover and see out at the same time. Should I wake Finbar? Maybe we should run before they came close enough to spot us.
I was not quite sure what I expected to see, but I had heard many old tales in which the Fair Folk moved in formal cavalcade across the land or through the sky by night. Sometimes they had human captives riding along with them…There was a tale of a girl who had run out and seized her beloved, and held on as he changed from man to bear to snake to fire-breathing dragon, until at last the fey queen released him from her service. But didn’t those rides always happen at full moon? Tonight, clouds veiled a moon that was still waxing.
I listened for hoofbeats, wondering whether the gray-cloak people were behind Swift’s disappearance. An uncanny woman like Caisin Silverhair would look very fine riding such a horse—he would match her long locks perfectly. She’d have a hard job training him to the saddle. I prayed that they were treating him kindly. Perhaps the Fair Folk used magic to discipline their creatures. Bear. Badger. My brave boys.
Perhaps I really should wake Finbar. It did seem he knew more about this place and its rules than I did, perhaps because he’d had a druid as a tutor. Or maybe something had rubbed off on him during that time as an infant in Mac Dara’s hall. But he was sound asleep, peaceful under the cloak. I would wait.
The riders emerged from beneath the trees, a long double line of them, not in gray cloaks, but in glittering, shimmering raiment of gold and silver, in deepest purple and sky blue and emerald, in rose red and oak brown and sunny buttercup yellow. Some bore lanterns; it was the light from these I had seen earlier. It was curiously changeable in color, as if responding to the mood of the party, or perhaps to the music, in which harp, flute and bells had now been joined by the compelling beat of a drum. Filthy, unkempt and heartsick as I was, I felt a tingling in my body, an itching in my feet, and with them a ridiculous urge to run out into the open and dance. The music was a drug; it was as dangerous as those fungi Aunt Liadan had warned me about. I must stay where I was, in the protection of the thornbushes with my brother sleeping by my side. But despite my better judgment, I edged forward.
The riders were so close now that I could see the silver clasps and ornaments on their horses’ harness; I could see the jewels in the ladies hair, formed into the shapes of glinting beetles, iridescent butterflies, brilliant bees. The men were equally dazzling, adorned with golden armlets, glittering bracelets, finger rings studded with gems as big as pigeons’ eggs. The folk themselves were uniformly tall. All were beautiful, their faces perfectly proportioned, their skin translucent and without blemish, their eyes lustrous and their hair falling in glossy waves or piled high in elaborate confections of ribbons and gauze and feathers. One lady had a bird nestled in her auburn tresses, as if in a nest; I thought it a toy until it opened its beak and let out an elaborate cascade of song.
I saw a woman who might be Caisin, but she was wearing a hood, and without that waterfall of silver hair I could not be sure of her identity. The women’s faces were as alike as those of sisters. Shivering, I tried to pick out Mac Dara; but with no real idea of him, I could not. Was he a man whose features showed instantly the evil at his heart? Or could he put on the semblance of goodness as easily as he might don a hat or a pair of shoes?
A sleek-haired woman had a dog before her on the saddle, a slender white hound in a jeweled harness. Its eyes were bright, but there was something in its demeanor that troubled me. It was not natural, surely, for a creature to stare fixedly ahead like that, as if it hardly saw the whirl of activity around it. Was it deaf to the music and the voices? It perched there perfectly still. Not once did it turn its head, look up at its mistress, shift its pose. But, like the bird, this was no toy; I saw it blinking, breathing. I felt a sudden urge to gather the little dog to me, to pet and soothe it, to gentle it back to itself. Foolish. I knew nothing of these folk or of their creatures.
They would soon ride by and be gone; I might never again see such a sight. I might never again hear the music that tugged me forward, filling my body with the crazy desire to dance. Me. Maeve Claw-Hands. Out there among those perfect people, making a complete fool of myself.
The riders did not pass me by, but halted not far from my bolthole, their mounts drawn into a circle. Or almost a circle, for on the side nearest to me there was a gap that seemed perfectly arranged to give me a clear view to the open ground in the middle of their group. The music grew louder, the drumbeat more insistent. If the instruments could have spoken, they would have been calling, Come out, Maeve! Come out and join us! Forget your sadness and dance!
I did not move. Someone had stolen my horse and my dogs. Someone had led my brother astray. Someone had tricked me into stepping over the border into the Otherworld and eating what grew here. Someone had made my brother sleep for longer than any human child should sleep at a stretch. In this situation, I had no doubt Uncle Bran would advise caution. Stay under cover. Observe. Hold your silence.
And yet…and yet…Oh, gods, what was this? I was as still as stone, as quiet as a mouse; I could feel the sleeping form of Finbar right beside me. But at the same time, I saw myself out there, in the middle of that circle of magnificent folk on their stately horses, the object of all eyes as I danced. One foot forward, the other foot forward, turning, prancing, arms up over my head, hands moving with fluid grace…A perfect Maeve. No claw fingers there, no disfigured face, for the dancing Maeve was lovely as a wildflower, her pale skin lightly freckled, her fiery curls rippling down over her shoulders, her green eyes bright with pleasure as she followed the heart-quickening beat of the drum. In my hiding place, I wrapped my arms across my chest, clenching my jaw tight to keep myself quiet. I watched her. I watched the lovely vision of myse
lf. She was not clad in the filthy, tattered remnant of a gown that I had worn for the last three days and nights, nor the evil-smelling, damp shoes I had not dared remove. Dancing Maeve was in a gown the color of moonlight, of lilies, of snowdrops. She wore a simple ornament on a chain around her neck; I could not see it clearly, only the sparkle of it as she turned in the light of the fey lanterns.
Now there was a man dancing with her. With me. His hand in mine; his every movement a complement to mine, so that we seemed like two parts of the same being. He was a big man, well built, broad shouldered and tall. Dark haired. Somehow, whichever way he turned, I could never quite see his face. And yet he looked familiar. He looked like someone I should know. The flute soared like a lark; the shimmer of the bells was a waterfall in springtime. The drum beat heart-deep. The singing was over; around the circle, the watchers were silent now, their lovely countenances grave as they observed the dancers. Why couldn’t I see the man’s face? Who was he? And who was that other Maeve, the one who looked as I might have done if the past had been different? Why would I be shown this?
The music reached a peak and fell to a quiet ending. Flute, bells and drum whispered into silence. Graceful Maeve rose on tiptoes to give her partner a little kiss on the cheek, and I saw the sweet tenderness on her face as she looked at him. You will not cry, I told myself. This is false. It’s fey magic. You’ve known since you were a chid that you couldn’t have this. Shut your eyes. Don’t look at these lies.
But I did look. I kept on looking as the horses moved again, and as the uncanny procession re-formed, and as the Fair Folk lifted their lanterns high and rode off under the trees. I kept on looking, hoping I might glimpse the face of that man at whom Graceful Maeve had looked with her eyes soft with love. But both he and she were lost in the group, and if they mounted horses and rode off with the others, I did not see them.