“About the eagle,” said Bridei, “it means more than what I said. Those men who died, the ones I saw in the Dark Mirror—that day, you said they never stopped believing in Fortriu even when they knew they were all going to die. I think that’s what the eagle is, and that’s what the link is in the augury: the spark inside each of us that makes us part of the land. It’s what we get from our ancestors, what we give to our children. It makes us strong even when we’re losing. It makes us kin whether we belong to north or south, whatever faith we adhere to. Maybe if everyone remembered that, we could stand firm against the invaders, if they come again. That day at the Vale of the Fallen, I didn’t really understand. I was only a child.”
“In years, yes,” Broichan said, regarding Bridei with an odd expression. “As you are still. Most men would view you as a child, even now”
Bridei felt his cheeks flush. He said nothing.
“Your interpretation of the augury, however, is that of a man,” his foster father said. “The sticking point, of course, lies in religion. If our land ever falls to an invader it will be because that weakling in Circinn opened his borders to missionaries preaching the doctrine of the cross. If we give way to that, Bridei, perhaps we deserve to fall. If we turn our backs on the wisdom of our ancestors, do we merit survival?”
“My lord, you do not believe our people would do that, surely?” Bridei protested. “Set aside Bone Mother and the Shining One, and the wisdom that governs every choice we make in our lives? Here in the north we are strong in our faith. Drust the Bull would never do as the other king did and let his people abandon the old ways. Erip even said he—” He broke off.
“Erip even said what?”
“That King Drust still observes the sacrifice at Gateway. In the Well of Shades. He said that while the wise women go down to the shore to keep Bone Mother’s vigil, the king makes an offering to the Nameless One, the darkest power of all, that dwells beyond and beneath the Otherworld. A sacrifice made in living flesh.”
“Erip said that, did he?”
“He hinted at it. And Wid told him such things were best not spoken aloud, even in the company of trusted friends.”
“Both Erip and Wid were right. You should put this from your mind for now. You’ll have other matters to occupy you soon enough. We’re having visitors for Midsummer.”
“AND SO,” BRIDEI told Tuala some days later, “I have to put everything I’ve learned into practice.” It was evening, and they were sitting in a shadowy corner of the hall, trying to be unobtrusive so nobody would order Tuala off to bed. “Every single thing,” he went on. “These people who are coming are the sort of folk you meet at court: clever, subtle, tricky. Often what they really want from you isn’t what they say they want at all. Often what they say isn’t what they mean. Interesting people. People who know a lot about the world. Broichan says it’s a chance for me to try out what he and Erip and Wid have taught me.”
“A test,” said Tuala, nodding her small head sagely. “A trial.”
Bridei frowned. “I wouldn’t say that. They’re Broichan’s friends, as far as I can tell. More of an opportunity.”
“A test,” Tuala repeated, not to be shaken.
“Well, maybe. It’ll be good to have some new faces here.”
Tuala did not reply. She had been increasingly quiet these last few days. There had been no solitary excursions into the woods to discover hidden wildflowers or a thrush’s nest or a scattering of spotted toadstools. Now that Bridei thought about it, since the news that there would be visitors to Pitnochie, Tuala had been spending most of her time close to the house or yard, waiting for him like a small, silent shadow.
“Is everything all right?” he asked her now, realizing how caught up he had been in the excitement of anticipation.
Tuala nodded, saying nothing. She was hugging her arms around herself, as if to keep out a chill. Her eyes took on the faraway expression they sometimes had, as if they held secrets an ordinary boy could never hope to share.
“Are you sure?”
Another nod.
“You should tell me if something’s troubling you,” he said, unconvinced.
“I will, Bridei.” The voice was very small and rather remote.
“You’re tired out. Look at those big bags under your eyes. How about a story, and then you can go off to bed?” Tuala slept now in the tiny chamber that had once been Brenna’s, and before that a storeroom. Mara had relented in time and now shared her quarters with Brenna quite willingly, another of the surprising changes that had occurred in the pattern of things at Pitnochie since that midwinter night.
“Yes, please.” Tuala snuggled closer, leaning against him, resting her dark head against the sleeve of his tunic.
“All right, then,” Bridei said. “Don’t go to sleep before I’m finished, mind.”
“No, Bridei.” The little voice was warmer now; nonetheless, there was something in the way her arm wrapped itself around his, like a vine clinging for purchase to its tree, that made him uneasy.
“What story do you want?”
“How you found me in the moonlight,” she whispered.
“Again?” He had told this so many times over it had become a ritual.
“Mm.”
“Once upon a time there was a boy . . .”
“. . . called Bridei . . .”
“. . . who thought he was all alone. His life was not so bad, really; he had a place to sleep, and enough to eat, and he was getting an education. But there was something missing. Bridei wasn’t even sure what it was.”
“. . . a family . . .”
“Yes, but he didn’t know that, not until later. Bridei was a good boy. He did his lessons, he worked hard, he tried to please everyone. Then, on the night of the winter solstice, everything changed.”
“The moon came in his window.”
“Yes, the Shining One woke him up, and he went outside, even though it was so cold . . .”
“. . . so cold even the owl was hiding away . . .”
“. . . so cold the Urisk’s tears turned to ice the moment they fell from his eyes . . .”
“. . . so cold the trees were shivering . . .”
“. . . so cold that Bridei’s ears and nose began to ache the moment he poked his head outside the door; cold enough to freeze your toes off, if you were silly enough to go out barefoot, which was what Bridei did. When he looked down to check if his toes were still there, he saw what the moon had brought him.”
“A baby”
“That’s right; a strange little baby, all wrinkled and ugly like an old apple . . .”
“I was not!”
Bridei grinned. “Just checking if you were listening properly. No, it was a nice baby, the sort of infant you’d expect the Shining One to leave you as a gift for Midwinter. She was in a funny little cradle made out of all the things of the forest: tufts of grass and skeleton leaves . . .”
“. . . crow feathers, owl feathers . . .”
“. . . a twist of ivy and a sprig of goldenwood . . .”
“. . . green berries and cobwebs . . .”
“. . . and stones with holes in them, threaded on rushes . . .”
“Bridei?”
“Mm?”
“Where is the cradle now?” She had never asked this before.
“It was stored away somewhere,” he told her, not wanting to lie, but reluctant to give the full truth. He had never told her about the key, nor the spell he had made to win her a home. “It might have crumbled away by now; after all, that was more than six years ago.”
Tuala nodded. “Go on,” she said.
“So Bridei took the basket, and the baby in it, and brought them inside.”
“Because it was too cold out on the doorstep.”
“Much too cold. He kept the baby warm until the others woke up, and then Brenna came, and the baby had a home. And Bridei wasn’t alone anymore.”
“He had a family,” Tuala said through a wide yawn.
&nb
sp; “Yes,” agreed Bridei, “and now it’s bedtime. I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Tuala.”
She detached herself from his arm and stood up, rubbing her eyes.
“Go on,” he said. “You’re asleep on your feet.”
“What if it had been cloudy that night?” she asked suddenly. “You would never have found me.”
“But it wasn’t cloudy.”
“Yes, but it might have been.”
“Then whoever put you on the doorstep wouldn’t have put you there.”
“They didn’t care. They would have let me freeze all up, like the birds that fall out of the trees in winter.”
“They did care,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. Her expression was alarmingly bleak; it was not a look that sat well on the face of a little child. “That’s why they gave you to me to look after. Because they knew they could trust me to do a good job of it. And part of that’s making sure you get enough sleep. Come on, I’ll walk through with you.”
MIDSUMMER WOULD BE a night of full moon. It was an auspicious conjunction. As the festival drew closer, Broichan’s household began yet another metamorphosis. The anticipated guests were four: three men and a woman. As personal friends of the druid, they could not be asked to lodge communally with the men at arms. The earth-walled barn was cleaned as well as could be managed—there were still mice—and the men shifted their bedding out there, leaving their quarters for the male visitors. Erip and Wid pleaded creaky joints and troublesome backs and were granted dispensation from moving. And Bridei, to his delight, was allocated a spot in a corner of the barn next to Donal. His small chamber would be turned over to the visiting wise woman, whose name was Fola. Those who knew of her by reputation whispered of Fola the Fierce, but never in Broichan’s hearing.
In the kitchen, ever a busy realm, the pace now quickened further. Ferat wished the offerings of his table to reflect Broichan’s standing as a senior druid and landholder of considerable importance. Trout were brought up from the lake to be smoked, cheeses were retrieved from the storage caves, blood sausages were mixed and hung in bladders, and the carcass of a prime steer jointed and salted away. Puddings were planned; the spice box grew lighter.
In preparation for the visit all of Bridei’s teachers were applying pressure. Where there had once been time, most days, for a walk, a game, an exchange of news, now there was no time for anything but study, meals, and sleep.
Tuala watched and listened. She was good at making herself unobtrusive, at blending into the shadows as if she were really somewhere else entirely. She stood under the oaks as Bridei and Donal battled with staves. Donal’s tattooed features and leather cap gave him a ferocious look, but Bridei, his soft brown hair fastened back in a disciplined plait, his blue eyes narrow and intent, was giving his tutor a real challenge. He nearly managed to topple Donal with a clever sweep of the staff at knee level, but Donal sprang away at the last moment, blocking the blow with a counterswing. Bridei rocked in place, fighting for secure footing and, in a moment, finding it. Master and student clasped hands, grinning. The bout was over, but Tuala did not stir. Today there would be no time to talk to Bridei; tomorrow there would be no time. Nor the day after, nor the day after that. Broichan would call for his foster son straight away and keep him busy until suppertime. It was on purpose. It was to stop her from telling Bridei she was going away. It wasn’t fair. Broichan should know that she would not tell; it was he who had made her promise. There was no need to rob her of these little gifts of time. There was no need to steal her one treasure.
Tuala was not afraid of very much. She loved all creatures, even the mice in the barn and the small, scuttling insects in the thatch. She had no fear of spiders or bats and only a natural wariness of more dangerous animals such as wolves, snakes, or wild boar. But Broichan filled her with a terror that was deep in the bone, a numbing, chill feeling that turned her mute and helpless whenever the druid looked at her. Tuala thought nothing of heading off alone for long excursions through the woods. She could climb the tallest tree, scramble up the steepest rock face; she was used to walking on small, confident feet across the walled field that housed the horned stud bull. The dogs were Tuala’s devoted friends, and she was a favorite with the men at arms. Mara tolerated her; Brenna tended with firm kindness to her small needs. Ferat was a reliable source of honey cakes although, as the cook said, Tuala ate barely enough to keep a wren alive.
Broichan was different. It wasn’t as if he spoke to her much. Most of the time he acted as if she were not there. But she could feel his dislike; she could sense that he did not trust her. She could feel his power, and that made her afraid as nothing else could.
He had called her in some time ago, when the talk of visitors first began. Brenna had brought her, after a hurried replaiting of the tousled hair and a whisking of a damp cloth over the small, pale face. It was the first time Tuala had been inside the druid’s private quarters. The room was full of interesting things, but the hammering of her heart meant she could not look at them properly. Bridei had gone out riding with Donal and would be away all day. She wished Bridei were there.
Brenna was standing quietly, hands behind her back. Tuala edged closer to the young woman’s skirts, pretending she was invisible. The druid was standing by the hearth, tall, so tall in his night-black robe. His eyes were dark as sloes and his mouth was pressed thin, as if he were angry or in pain. Tuala had seen Donal tighten up his lips like that, the time Lucky kicked him by accident and raised a lump like an egg on his shin. There were candles set about the chamber; they made the bottles on the shelves glow mysteriously, half revealing contents that might be pallid snakes, or a wrinkled little form with a goblin face, or layer on layer of fat, green slugs. There were stoppered stone pots and iron implements and beakers of baked clay. The place smelled of pungent herbs. Tuala began to count numbers in her head to keep the terror at bay. She could count up to fifty now: Bridei had taught her.
“. . . family farther down the Glen?” Broichan had been saying something, but Tuala had missed most of it.
“Yes, my lord,” Brenna said, sounding a little flustered. “My mother and my aunt—Cinioch’s mother, that is—live at Oak Ridge, where the track branches up to the Five Sisters.”
“An isolated spot,” Broichan commented. “So much the better.”
Tuala was watching his hands; the fingers were long and bony, and there was a silver ring on one of them with a snake’s head on it, with pale green eyes. She blinked at the snake, and thought it blinked back.
“How is the child progressing?” The druid’s eyes were suddenly on Tuala, piercing, searching; she pressed herself back against Brenna, but there was no escaping that gaze, and she would not look away. That would be like giving up. She must be brave, as Bridei would be.
“She’s a good child, my lord.” Brenna seemed unworried by the question; she moved Tuala away from her a little, made her stand alone for inspection. “She’s very quiet. Never a nuisance. Everyone likes her.”
“Hmm,” mused Broichan. “Nonetheless, she is what she is. Easily visible; visibly different. At such times as this, a distraction we cannot afford.”
“With the visitors, my lord?” Brenna had reached out to take Tuala’s hand now; her warm grasp was comforting. “I can keep her well out of the way while they’re here. She can sleep in with us, Mara and me—”
Broichan silenced her with a raised hand. “It is not the disturbance of my guests that principally concerns me. It’s the disruption to Bridei.”
Outrage flooded Tuala’s heart. Whatever a disruption was, it sounded bad, and she would never do anything bad to Bridei. He was her family. “I wouldn’t—” she began, and clamped her mouth shut at the look on Broichan’s face.
The druid spoke to Brenna as if the two of them were alone in the chamber. “You will take leave from the household until the dark moon after Midsummer. You’ll take the child on a visit to your mother. Ferat will arrange a basket of food from the ho
usehold, a gift for your family—no need to thank me, you’ve earned it. I want the child confined to the environs of your mother’s house and her presence there kept quiet. We don’t want all sorts of tales up and down the Glen. I know I can rely on your discretion, Brenna. I understand there’s some talk of a betrothal in the near future?”
Brenna’s fair cheeks flushed scarlet. “Yes, my lord,” she murmured. “Fidich was planning to speak to you after it’s all over, the visit, I mean . . .”
“Then there’s a certain amount riding on your compliance with my instructions. If all goes to plan, I can see you well settled, with some additions to the comforts of Fidich’s cottage, which are somewhat slight at best. If not . . .” He left this unfinished. “I’m sure you understand the need for caution in this matter.”
“I do, my lord,” Brenna said. “For Tuala’s own sake as much as anything. When did you want us to go?”
The druid frowned. “Unfortunately, Cinioch can’t be freed to escort you until closer to the feast day, but as soon as I can manage without him you’ll leave. Mara knows my intentions in this, as do Ferat and Donal. It’s not to go any further as yet. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, my lord,” Brenna said. “But—
“But what? The instruction is clear enough, surely.”
“My lord, the two of them are very close. Tuala and Bridei. You don’t tell one of them a bit of news without the other knowing within a day.”
Broichan’s mouth settled in a grim line again. “There’s one priority in this household,” he said, “and that is Bridei’s education. What occurs at Midsummer is critical to his future. There can be no distractions. You will go, and the child will go, and once you are on your way I will inform the boy of your absence. How he deals with the news will be a test in itself, a test of his maturity. Prior to your departure nothing’s to be said. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord,” Brenna said. “I won’t breathe a word, I promise. But—”