I laid my head on Artagan’s shoulder. Warmth spread through me, tugging me toward sleep. “Then I owe your people a debt,” I told the little being. “Your foresight has given me the greatest gift of all my life, and I honor you.”
“Weary.” Cat Mask spoke for the first time, its tone suggestive of the creature whose face it wore, for it was rich and soft, cream and sunshine. “Rest soon.” It lifted one of its odd little hands and made a kneading motion, flexing the fingers. “Later, bend. Like this. Stretch. Work.”
“Me? There would be no point in that; I can’t move my fingers at all. I haven’t been able to since I was burned as a child. They are quite stiff; look—” I held out my free hand again, wondering that the creature’s close examination had not made this obvious.
“Like this,” said Cat Mask, demonstrating again. “Bend. Stretch. Work. Every day.” The creature turned its odd eyes on Artagan. “Salve,” it added. “Song. Love. Every day.”
“But I—” I fell silent. “For how long?”
“How long is hope?” purred the creature. “Weary. Rest now.”
The two small beings inclined their heads to Ciarán and departed from the pavilion. The long coarse spines of the hedgehog-dwarf rattled faintly as it passed; Cat Mask padded behind on silent feet.
I worked hard not to disgrace myself by weeping. This particular hope, I had long ago set aside; I knew it could never be fulfilled. And I had made it quite plain I would not accept a magical cure.
“Would you not attempt what they suggest?” asked Ciarán, evidently reading my distress in my face.
“I told you, I’ve already done all of it, poultices, stretching, salves, leeches, a hundred things, every one of them useless. There was no lack of love or of knowledge. Aunt Liadan is the most expert of healers. We tried for two years. When she told me I would not regain the use of my hands, she told me the truth. I could spend the rest of my life trying to move just one finger. I could be eaten up by forlorn hope. Isn’t it better to get on with things the way I am?” A pox on it, now I really was crying. I was too tired for this.
Artagan wiped away my tears with his fingers; his lips brushed my temple.
Finbar regarded me with troubled eyes, and I regretted speaking out. Ciarán appeared to be deep in thought.
“I have no doubt Liadan is the most expert of human healers,” he said eventually. “I’m certain she applied all her knowledge and skill, and I’m sure you did everything she asked of you. But there are branches of healing unknown to humankind, Maeve. I do not imagine that during those ten years in Britain you consulted the healers of the Fomhóire, the Old Ones.”
“Of course not.” I sniffed back more tears. Finbar took a piece of cloth from Ciarán’s basket and hooked it between the fingers of my good hand. I dried my eyes and wiped my nose. “But I can’t accept a magical cure from them, Uncle Ciarán, any more than I could have from Caisin. It’s…it’s not right. It’s too much; it’s too easy.”
All three of my companions studied me in silence. Then Ciarán said, “It is possible the Old Ones could use their earth magic to restore your hands instantly. Possible, but unlikely. I doubt they have such power over humankind, and I doubt they would choose to use it thus if they did. Indeed, I do not believe Caisin Silverhair had the skill to do for you what she implied she could. The illusion, she might have created; but not the reality. What you have been offered now is the expertise of a different kind of healer. A salve to which Liadan would not have access; a regimen of exercises that requires you to love and to hope. You have not been promised a complete cure. Indeed, they promised nothing, but these are good folk, and if they suggest you may gain some benefit by taking their advice, I believe you should at least consider acting as they recommend.”
“But I can’t move my fingers at all! How can I—”
“I would help you.” Artagan spoke against my hair; he had wrapped his arms around me, careful not to jolt my damaged hand. “I have hope enough for two.”
“This time it’s not a bribe,” said Finbar. “It’s a gift of thanks. You did just save them from Mac Dara. You changed all their lives for the better. That’s not a little thing. And all they’ve said is that you could try the salve and the stretching, so it would be you doing this yourself, not someone doing it for you.”
Ciarán’s somber features were transformed by a sudden smile.
“You understand your sister well, Finbar,” observed Artagan.
“It’s a conspiracy,” I said, looking from one to another. “Do I really seem so set on doing everything myself?” A yawn overtook me.
“No more for now,” Ciarán said. “All of you must rest.”
“I don’t feel tired at all.” Finbar did indeed look rosy-cheeked and alert; he seemed a different child. “Can I go out and talk to that boy again, Uncle Ciarán? Will I be able to come back here and see him, and the other folk?”
Unusually, it seemed Ciarán was lost for words. The silence was full of things unsaid.
“You’re going to lie down for a while, at least,” I told my brother. “That’s what Mother would expect under the circumstances. Come on, we’ll walk over to the sleeping quarters together.” With Artagan’s assistance, I rose to my feet. My hand hurt less than before. Something was working: the salve, the draught, the warmth of Artagan’s arm around me, sheer relief that this was almost over. “Thank you, Uncle Ciarán,” I said, and I saw in his eyes that he knew I was not only referring to the salving and bandaging, or indeed to his kindness and care for us.
“We’ll talk more in the morning,” he said. “I hope by then we will have news of the horse. Now go to your rest, all of you. This has been a long journey. A long test. Sleep well.”
We left him standing in the pavilion, gazing out toward the darkness of the oak forest. Shadows gathered in the garden, turning verdant green to gray and violet and brown. Had the afternoon vanished already? Ciarán’s face was that of a statue in pale stone, high-boned, authoritative, deeply sad. And yet, within, the flame burned bright. I sacrifice my life among humankind, he had said. My bonds of human kinship; my ties of human friendship.
I wanted to run back, to throw my arms around him and say how sorry we were, to tell him we understood what this must be costing him, to thank him again. But I did not. How could I begin to understand the depth of such a loss? Tomorrow I would talk to him. Right now, the most I could manage would be to stay awake long enough to reach a bed.
“Wonder what was in that draught…” I murmured. I felt myself lifted up in Artagan’s arms. Then I was in a lamp-lit chamber and a woman in a red robe was easing my arm out of the sling, helping me undress, slipping a night robe over my head. She tucked me into a soft bed. I sank into sleep.
CHAPTER 17
Waking, I thought myself still meshed in dreams, for around the bed hung filmy curtains, too fine to be of human make. Within the gossamer fabric, jewel-bright spots glowed, perhaps insects, perhaps only an illusion. The vine-wreathed walls of the chamber and the soft cushioning of the bed made me feel as if I were in a nest. I lay still awhile as it all came back to me. My arm was resting on a pillow; the hand Luachan had smashed with his stone lay there in its neat bandage, and I could feel every bit of damage he had inflicted. The draught had given me long and peaceful sleep, but morning had brought back the pain.
Today we would be going home. Somehow that felt the oddest thing of all. It came to me, as I maneuvered myself to an upright position, that it was not only Tiernan, Artagan and Daigh who had been changed, but all of us. Ciarán’s life had turned upside down. Cathal had watched his father die; he had seen Ciarán take the burden Mac Dara had intended for his son. Luachan had earned a long penance. He had told bare-faced lies to me and to my family. His betrayal of Finbar had been unforgivable. And yet I had some sympathy for the man. With his sisters under threat, he had faced a terrible choice.
As for me, I had found love, and that was a gift worth suffering for. Whether I could learn to bend was st
ill to be determined; but I could try.
And Finbar…I had seen a new light in his eyes, and I prayed that it would keep shining. How much had he known? What terrifying secrets had he hugged to himself, lest he reveal his knowledge to Luachan or to Caisin? How could a child so young be so unutterably brave?
Without a helper I could not wash or dress. There was a fine shawl by the bedside, a swathe of delicate gray, soft as swansdown. I managed to get it around my shoulders, though the awkward movement made my hand throb anew. I felt a sharp pang of longing for Rhian, with her capable hands and droll humor. Perhaps she would not want to come to Tirconnell. Harrowfield was home for her, close to her mother and brothers. Perhaps I should let her go.
I needed the privy; I hoped I could find it on my own. I walked to the doorway, parted the curtain of dangling fronds that covered it and almost fell over the man who lay across the threshold, fast asleep. He was wrapped in a cloak, apple red with an ornate border worked in gold thread—toadstools, acorns, tiny birds complete in every detail. The bright color made Artagan’s cheeks look wan; he had bruise-like shadows under his eyes. A lock of dark hair had fallen across his face. His head was pillowed on his hands. My faithful Bear.
“Sleep softly, dear one,” I whispered, then stepped over him and left him to his rest.
There was a woman in the bathing chamber to help me wash and dress. She offered me an elaborate red and gold gown with trailing sleeves and rich embroidery. When I suggested it was not suitable for a journey through the forest, she brought out a skirt and tunic that were very slightly plainer in style, but still somewhat grand, with decorative borders that were small, strange forests in themselves, all curly trees and big-eyed, peering creatures. I half-expected to see the owls and badgers and not-quite-squirrels moving about. Under this, a shirt of fine linen, and for my hair a cloth of the same stuff with lacy edging. Good stockings and pretty shoes of red felt that seemed unlikely to last as far as the bottom of the garden, let alone all the way home.
When I was dressed to the woman’s satisfaction, she combed and braided my hair, then tied on the head cloth. Lastly, she did a creditable job of securing my arm in the sling. I thanked her and headed out into the garden. If everyone else was still abed, I would sit quietly in the pavilion awhile and make a start on coming to terms with it all.
Someone was there before me. Ciarán stood gazing out across the grass as the first rays of dawn began to filter through the trees. A bird sounded a tentative note; another answered. Time! Time! Awake! Another voice joined them, then another. The garden filled up with song.
“I don’t want to disturb you—” I said, halting at the foot of the steps.
“Not at all, Maeve. I wanted to see you. I have something to ask you.”
I came to stand beside him. Behind us in the house there were sounds of folk stirring now.
“I’m afraid there is no news of Swift as yet,” Ciarán said. “We will continue to search.”
“Thank you, Uncle Ciarán.” My heart sank. Swift would have been beside himself after that ordeal. Likely he had plunged over a drop or into a mire and done himself damage there was no repairing. That lay squarely on my shoulders.
“Maeve, Luachan has asked to speak to you.”
I said nothing. I was not sure how I felt about this.
“It is your decision, yes or no. If you agree to see him, I will ensure someone else is present—Cathal, or Artagan if you prefer, or a guard. But I will understand if you do not wish to allow Luachan this opportunity. He asked to speak to Finbar, too. I said no to that.”
“Uncle Ciarán…”
“What is it?”
“Finbar…How much do you think he knew of what was to happen? He often seemed aware of things he could not have seen, except in visions. And when I asked, he would say, I’m not supposed to tell. And sometimes he’d say, This is the way it’s supposed to be, even when we were making a choice that seemed unwise. I know a seer’s visions don’t show exactly what will happen. I understand that they can be symbolic, or that they might show past, present and future mixed up together. And when it’s the future, it’s only a possible future. Sibeal explained it to me long ago. More than once, Luachan said Finbar was too young to interpret his visions correctly, so it was better for him to keep them to himself. But maybe he said that to stop Finbar from talking too much. Maybe he was becoming aware that Finbar suspected him.” That made me cold to the core. How the knowledge must have weighed on my brother.
“I believe Finbar knew, in essence, that Mac Dara would not be defeated unless you and he were both present,” Ciarán said. “I have spoken to him a little, not much, for he needs time to come back to himself. He may seem well and happy, but this has tested him severely. I doubt if his visions would have shown him clearly what Luachan was, or that Caisin was as ruthless as Mac Dara. But Finbar knew enough to be wary of Luachan. Until the truth came out, I had wondered why they were not better friends.” His lips twisted. “It is hard to believe I missed this. Even a day ago, I still thought Luachan trustworthy. He is an expert dissembler. What shall I tell him, Maeve?”
“I’ll listen to him,” I said. “But not for long.”
They were in a chamber with a long table of polished oak and benches to either side. A curious lamp stood in the table’s center, fashioned in the shape of two birds with necks intertwined, their heads supporting the light. One was of silver and one of gold; their eyes were fashioned of gleaming gems. A fine oak chair stood at the head of the table, but nobody was seated there. Cathal stood by the far doorway, arms folded, jaw tight, dark eyes baleful, as if he would snap the head off anyone who dared to speak.
Luachan was seated at the table, staring down at his hands. When I came in, he jumped up. “Maeve!”
“Be silent,” said Cathal. He spoke quietly, but it was nonetheless an order. “It’s for Maeve to speak and for you to answer. If she wants to hear your excuses, she’ll let you know.” He looked at me. “You may wish to be seated,” he said. “Tell me when you’ve had enough and I’ll take him away.”
I reminded myself that this intimidating person was my sister’s husband, and that his hostility was not meant for me. I sat down opposite Luachan and made myself look him in the eye.
“Sit down,” I said. “I don’t want an apology. No apology would be adequate for your betrayal of my brother, or your complicity in a plot that could have seen both me and Finbar dead. If you want to set the facts before me, this is your chance. I don’t imagine I will see you again after today.”
At first he found it hard to get the words out. I did not help him, simply waited. Then, once he began, the story tumbled from him, an outpouring of fear, guilt and shame. How he had been in the habit of wandering into the forest when the intensity of his druidic training became too overwhelming; how one day Caisin’s people had found him when he strayed beyond the protection of the nemetons. How they had threatened his family if he did not comply with Caisin’s plans. He had been newly appointed as Finbar’s tutor then; Caisin had seen how useful it would be to have a willing agent in the heart of my father’s household. She knew that if the geis were to be used, Finbar must be part of it, and she learned soon enough how difficult it would be to get him away. Luachan would be the key to that. My arrival with Swift, so near to the next Grand Conclave, had excited her greatly, for now she could see it all falling into place: the two dogs, the brothers of the geis, or so Caisin believed; the matchless steed; the girl with claws for hands, who happened to have one rare talent. For Luachan, the pressure became more intense, the threats more dire as the conclave approached.
“You encouraged me to move down to the cottage,” I said, remembering how it had been. “Just me and Rhian, without a guard. And later, it was you who suggested Finbar come to the nemetons as well. You manipulated all of us.” I could not believe I had been taken in by him. I had even been somewhat flattered by his interest, since the attention of a young man, druid or no druid, was rare for me. How gull
ible. What a fool. I should have seen through it instantly.
“That day, Caisin’s people lured Swift away with the scent of a mare in season,” he said. “The moment was chosen with care, so that Finbar must follow or lose the trail; we knew you would go after him. And where you went, the dogs would follow. Caisin’s people captured them later, to be sure they were ready at the conclave.”
“You came searching for us. But you weren’t searching; you were trying to keep us from reaching home. No wonder you were so inept at finding shelter. No wonder you couldn’t locate the way back.” Oh, this was a bitter draught to swallow.
“That night, after you refused to help Caisin, she asked me what incentive she could offer that would possibly weigh more than a promise to restore you to health and beauty.”
“And you told her not to offer me a bribe, but to tell me a hideous falsehood…You knew that would make me so angry I would do what she wanted right then and there, no need to consult Father, no need to wait as any sensible person would have done…That was cruel, Luachan. If it were not for the fact that I know you acted out of love for your sisters, I woud think you did not understand love at all.”
He looked down at his hands. “I know no apology can be adequate,” he said. “I do not ask you to forgive me, Maeve; I do not deserve that. Only that you listen for a little longer.”
I waited.
“I know I’ve done wrong. I know only a lengthy period of service here can win me back my life in the human world. I know I will never be more to you than the man who betrayed your trust and almost got you and your brother killed. If I must live with that burden, then so be it. But…” He drew a ragged breath. “If you could find it in yourself to…perhaps to understand, just a little…My youngest sister is only twelve years old, Maeve.”