Morning after morning, I was in the library as soon as there was light enough to read by, and stayed there until almost suppertime. In the evenings I worked in my bedchamber, making an Irish version of Irial’s margin notes on vellum pages I had cut and sewn into a tiny book. I had pored over everything the library contained in Irial’s hand, but this record remained incomplete. If there had indeed been two years between Emer’s death and her husband’s, some of Irial’s writings must be missing. Or he had ceased to keep this record for a season or so before his own demise. He had become too sad to set pen to page, perhaps. His last note read:Day five hundred and ninety-four. The leaves of the birch, spiralling down, down. A lark’s pure notes in the endless sky. Is there a sleep without dreams?
Reading this, I thought not of forlorn Irial but of his son, and I considered the nature of love. I had once watched Anluan in the garden and seen an enchanted prince trapped in a dark net of sorcery. But this was no prince of ancient story. Anluan was a flesh and blood man, with a man’s virtues and flaws. The wounds Magnus had once spoken of, the hurts left on him by the past, were as much part of him as the limping leg and uneven shoulders.They made him the man he was.
I imagined the warmth of his body pressed against me, his face close to mine as I leaned over him to guide the quill. I considered how much it hurt to be shut out; more than it should, bearing in mind that I was a scribe hired for a single summer. I knew that whatever happened, leaving this place was going to break my heart.
My translation of Nechtan’s documents now covered a sizable pile of parchment sheets. I stored them between polished oak boards that Olcan had prepared for me, with a leather strap to keep them together. Between the long days of work and my constant anxiety, I grew thinner. My gowns hung loose on me. On the rare occasions when I looked in a mirror—generally by accident—and it gave me back a true reflection, I did not see the rounded, rosy person whom Eichri had called a lovely lady from an old tale, but a pallid creature with dark smudges under her eyes, brow furrowed by a frown, hair scraped back under a practical head-cloth. I recalled Nechtan’s cruel assessment of his wife: Soon, very soon, she’ll be a hag. I wondered what had happened to poor, well-meaning Mella after her husband’s great experiment went so disastrously wrong.
I had not expected to be lonely, but I was. Most days the ghost child kept me company, sitting on the floor in the corner where Irial’s books were kept, playing mysterious games with Róise. Cathaír had taken it upon himself to guard the entrance to my bedchamber through the daylight hours, and Fianchu kept guard at night.
In the evenings the household still gathered, without its leader and his shadow. But suppertime was not what it had been.We were all despondent and troubled. Olcan and Magnus exchanged a word or two about the work they planned for the next day. Rioghan sat silent, without his usual sparring partner, for Anluan had at last given Eichri permission to visit Saint Criodan’s. My appetite was gone. I ate only because I knew I must.
Twelve days until full moon. I entered the library to find an ink pot on its side and a pool of black all over the completed pages I had left on my work table the night before. The transcription was ruined. As I mopped up the spillage, I tried and failed to convince myself that this was some kind of accident. I always corked my ink and put it away before I left the library.Who could have been here? Who would come in at night? With a creeping sense of dread, I recognized this as a warning. But from whom, and why? Was I coming close to the heart of my search? If Nechtan had been so powerful, perhaps he had set some kind of spell on his documents to protect his secrets from curious eyes. If he could make those fell mirrors, he could surely do that. I considered what might be next. It would be something worse than the destruction of a day’s hard work, I was sure.
The ghost child was watching me, Róise clutched in her hands. Her big eyes were fearful, as if she had seen into my thoughts.
“It’s all right,” I said.“Just a little spillage. But maybe you should go up and stay with Cathaír today. I’m sure he gets lonely all by himself.”
Ten days until full moon. Eichri came back with a supply of excellent vellum and the unfortunate news that one of Lord Stephen’s daughters was betrothed to a kinsman of Ruaridh Uí Conchubhair. There was no need to expand on this. It meant the high king would not intervene on Anluan’s behalf.
I broke my self-imposed rule about no lamps in the library, and worked through suppertime. I read until my lids were drooping and the patterns of Nechtan’s strong script were blurring and bobbing on the page before me. From time to time I sensed presences in the shadows beyond the warm circle of lamplight, shapes moving and shifting: the restless host. My progress was slow. Perhaps they were growing angry.
Eventually I gave up and went to bed. I fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep, and did not wake until dawn. It was raining outside. Fianchu was already gone, and the door stood slightly ajar.The blanket bed the dog shared with the ghost child lay rumpled on the floor. No sign of the little girl.
I felt it before I saw it: something wrong, something out of place, beyond these absences. A moving shadow. Something above me swinging to and fro, to and fro. I looked up.
Róise was dangling in midair, her limp form suspended by the neck. My heart jolted. I had thought ... for a moment I had thought ... but then, people cannot die twice, not even if their ghostly forms have more substance than one might expect. But a ghost can suffer. A ghost can be hurt. I had learned that from Rioghan’s anguished retelling of his past, and from Cathaír’s darting eyes, and from the way the little girl clung to this treasure that had once been mine and had now become hers. I wanted the doll down before she saw it. Now, right now; the sight made me shudder. I glanced at the open door. Perhaps she had already seen it.
Too high to reach. Who had done this? Who could do it brazenly, while I slept only three paces away? Who could get past Fianchu? Only one of the host. But why? They wanted me to succeed, they wanted me to find a way to send them back.These were acts of wanton mischief, serving no purpose at all.
I found the child out on the gallery, squeezed into a corner, weeping. There was nobody else in sight, either up here or down in the courtyard. I went over to the little girl and squatted down beside her. “Are you all right? I couldn’t find you.Where’s Fianchu?”
She was curled tightly on herself, her body shaking with sobs, her soft pale hair damp with the rain that blew in through the openings above the courtyard.
“Little one? Where is the dog? What happened in the bedchamber?”
“Baby,” she murmured on a sob, and allowed herself to be gathered onto my knee. “Baby’s gone.”
Perhaps she had not seen it. I rose to my feet, holding her.“Rioghan?” I called softly. “Are you down there? I need help.”
At that moment Fianchu came lolloping up the steps to the gallery, tail wagging, expression not in the least contrite. I could hardly blame him. He had probably just seized the opportunity to go out and relieve himself when whoever it was left the door open. Someone he trusted? A member of the household? It didn’t bear thinking about.
“Caitrin.” Rioghan was here; I had hardly needed to raise my voice to summon him. “What is it? You’re white as a sheet.”
“There’s something in my bedchamber that I would like—adjusted—before we go back in there,” I said, looking down at the child in my arms. “I woke to find there had been a visitor. Could you attend to it, please, Rioghan?”
He went into the chamber without another word, and I waited, rocking the little girl and murmuring to her. In not much time at all, Rioghan came back out. He was winding the wire into a coil. “It’s all right to take her back in,” he said.“You’ll need to do some mending, Caitrin.The object in question was almost torn in two.”
“Thank you.” For some reason, I was close to tears myself.
“You must tell Anluan about this,” Rioghan said.
“There wouldn’t be any point.” I could not keep my voice steady.“He
won’t even talk to me these days.”
“There’s a reason for that, Caitrin.Your presence here gives him pause. It makes him weigh things up a little differently.”
“It shouldn’t stop him from listening when I have something worthwhile to contribute. Anluan knows I’m not stupid.Why can’t he trust me?”
“You’re upset.”
“Of course I’m upset! He might be about to lose everything, and he won’t let me help!”
“He has his reasons. If he wanted to tell you what they are, no doubt he would. Don’t think he’s shut up in his chamber brooding, Caitrin. He’s thinking, planning, working out whether he can take the risk he must take if he’s to save this place. Calculating, weighing up arguments. Hesitating, because that risk may simply be impossible for him to bear.What has occurred here this morning is likely to make him even less willing to involve you.”
“Involve ... you mean he’s leaving me out of this to protect me? But—”
“Baby,” whispered the child. “I want my baby.”
I got to my feet, keeping hold of her hand. “You’re sure it’s all right to go in there?”
“The doll is on the bed; the other evidence, I will remove. Caitrin, he should be told.”
“Don’t say anything, please. I’ll tell him if I get the chance. If he’s prepared to see me. And, Rioghan, thank you.”
“Glad to be of service, lovely lady. I know you have a guard up here by day. You might consider asking for another. Under present circumstances, it is possible some elements of the host may find the capacity for ... mischief. Believe me, that is the last thing anyone would want.”
I shivered. Could he mean that Anluan might be so upset by all this that he would start to lose the control he worked so hard all day, every day, to maintain?
“Don’t look like that, Caitrin,” Rioghan said. “Our boy is strong-hearted, despite appearances.We must have faith in him.”
“I do,” I said. “Despite everything, I do.”
Róise was seated on my bed, her back against the pillow. At first she seemed undamaged, but when the ghost child ran to gather her up, it became evident that the doll’s head had been almost severed from her body by the tightly wrapped wire. A warning. Next time ...
“She needs a stitch or two; then she’ll be fine,” I told the child.“I’ll do it now.Will you pass me that little box with my sewing things? You can be my helper.”
I left the little girl in Cathaír’s keeping again.They seemed to get on well, he watching over her with gentle tolerance, she content in his company, though I knew she saw it as second best. I judged that she would be safer with him than with me. There was no doubt in my mind that what had just happened had not been designed to upset the child, but as a warning to me. Meddle no further, or I will hurt those who are dear to you.
Nothing out of place in the library this morning, though I had held my breath as I went in, half expecting another unpleasant surprise. All was tranquil; beyond the window, the rain dripped from the trees in Irial’s garden.
With a sigh, I settled to the tedious task of rewriting the transcription the ink spill had ruined. As I worked, I considered Nechtan’s story, which was making more sense now that I had more of its pieces. In the years leading up to the birth of his only son he had become increasingly obsessed with his neighbor Maenach, chieftain of Silverlake. It started with a chance remark Maenach was said to have made about Nechtan, and grew in gradual steps to a full-blown enmity. Reading between the lines, I deduced that the ill will was far stronger on Nechtan’s side, for the last scene I had watched in the mirror, in which he struck his wife so cruelly, was not the only time Maenach had attempted to make peace. There had been messages, attempts at councils, approaches to the high king to intercede. Each had been interpreted by the chieftain of Whistling Tor as part of a devious plot against him. He saw enemies all around him, even in his own household.
His other neighbor, Farannán ofWhiteshore—by my reckoning, Emer’s grandfather—had been less of an enemy than Maenach in the early days. As for later, when the host was on the hill, it was clear that a catastrophic event had occurred. Nechtan did not waste many words on it; I sensed that even he found the details too unpleasant to dwell on.
In their frenzy they set upon Farannán’s priest.They tore the man limb from limb before my eyes. Others perished in like manner, or worse. I saw a woman reduced to little more than splintered bone. A clamour of voices from every side: Call them off! In the name of God, rein your evil servants in! I could not make the host obey. All I could do was ride for home.Where I go, they follow. Behind us we left a charnel house.
I sat a long while staring at the wall after reading this passage, one of the few Nechtan had written after he called forth the host. I asked myself why it was that in the face of such evidence I still believed there must be a way for Anluan to cross that invisible line at the foot of the hill without unleashing complete havoc on the district.Then I left the library and went in search of Eichri.
Today the green-faced scarecrow was in the garden with summer rain dripping off the dark hood of his cloak. I approached him. “I’m looking for Brother Eichri.”
The being pointed towards the east tower, then made his thin hands into the shape of a cross.
“Thank you for your help.”
The rain was growing heavier; the pond had broken its banks to form a spreading lake in the rank grass. The ducks huddled under a bush. I ran across to the tower, holding up my skirt in a vain attempt to keep the hem dry. My boots were leaking. I squelched up to the tower door, which was ajar, and came to a halt as I heard the singing.
Deep, mellow, like the tolling of a heavy bell or the hum of creatures deep in the sea; that was how it came to my ears. Men’s voices in perfect unison, carrying an ebbing, flowing line of melody.The words were Latin. They were singing plainchant.
I stood there awhile, surprised into stillness by the calm beauty of it.When the song came to a halt, I went in. I had not expected to find a chapel at Whistling Tor. But here it was: a plain stone chamber with a narrow glazed window, its altar an unadorned slab supporting a rough-hewn cross of oak wood. A subtle light touched the faces of the five brethren who knelt there, silent now, hands together in prayer. Those hands—so thin, so transparent, pointing to heaven—told their own story. These holy brethren belonged, not to the community of Saint Criodan’s or another monastic foundation, but to the host.
The sixth monk was not in pose of penitence. Eichri stood at the back, arms folded. Not a participant, an observer. I was accustomed to the expressions of his bony countenance: cynical, amused, inquisitive, malicious. In the moment before he saw me, I caught something new there. It was a look I had sometimes seen on the ghost child’s wan features: the yearning for a home that no longer existed.
“Eichri,” I whispered, moving closer. “May I talk with you?”
“Shh!” hissed one of the praying monks without turning his head.
Eichri took my arm and we walked out together, pausing by the door. “It’s rather wet,” he observed.
“Shh!”
“Oh dear.” Eichri raised his brows. “Shall we make a run for the kitchen?”
“This needs to be in private.” An idea came to me. “Could you escort me up to the chamber where the spare clothing is kept, at the top of the north tower? There may be a pair of boots there, something that will keep my feet dry.”
“With pleasure, dear lady.”
We sprinted through the rain, then made a damp progress up the winding stair to the tower room.The key was in the pouch at my belt; the door did not stick. I eased off my sodden boots and used them to prop it open. “Those monks,” I said. “They were a surprise.”
“Because they still pray? Because they have retained their faith?”
I struggled for an acceptable way to put this.“In Whistling Tor’s history the host is identified as evil. Demonic. Demons don’t sing psalms.”
He shrugged.
“Is this another thing Anluan has ordered you not to talk about? Eichri, I can’t bear this! How are we to help him if he won’t even discuss the problem? I care about him, I care about all of you! I can’t stand by and see everything lost!”
Eichri had settled on the floor, his back against the wall, his legs outstretched. He crossed his sandaled feet. There was no spark of dangerous red in his eyes now, no fearsome grin on his gaunt features. “Do you have a plan?” he asked.
At last, someone was prepared to listen.“Not exactly. An idea, that’s all. You could help by answering a question or two.”
“I will if I can, Caitrin. I’m bound to Anluan’s will, just like the rest of the host.Touch on a topic he’s forbidden me to speak of, and I will be unable to answer, even if I’m inclined to do so.You shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that I am not an ordinary man. I’ve learned to pretend, as Rioghan and Muirne have. We play at life so well that we sometimes delude ourselves into believing we are still part of it.That’s dangerous. Our nature limits our capacity to act.”
“And yet you are able to travel beyond the Tor without ...”
“Without running amok? That is true.We’ve worked on that skill over the years, Rioghan and I. It hasn’t been easy.”
I considered this as I took the embroidered slippers from the bigger chest and set them to one side.
“I always liked those,” Eichri said. “They were Emer’s.”
“Unsuitable for the rain. Besides, last time I wore Emer’s clothing, someone came into my chamber and slashed it. Perhaps I should leave her things here.”
There was an odd silence. I looked across at the monk. He was frowning. “Slashed? When was this?”
“A while ago. Other things have happened more recently.Warnings.At least, that’s what they seem to be.”
“You should have spoken to Anluan about this, Caitrin.”