Tuala shook her head.
“You’re cautious,” the stranger said. “I understand that. Let me introduce myself. My name is Fola. I’m not of your kind; that much is obvious to you, I expect. Yet you don’t run away.”
Tuala’s heart gave a lurch. Not of your kind . . . that meant this was, indeed, one of the forest folk, one of those tricky beings who showed you a glimpse of a white hand or a fluttering wing, a shadow of cobwebby cloak or a glint of silver hair then, when you tried to look properly, were gone as if they had never been. But no; that was wrong. She had come from the forest, she was the one who was Other. This woman, Fola, was from the human world, and thought she had stumbled on a child of the Good Folk. Words of explanation sprang to Tuala’s lips, I live with human folk, I live in a druid’s house, but she bit them back.
“Not talking today?” Fola inquired calmly. “I expect you do understand me, for all that. I have a lot of interesting things to tell; that’s part of my work, teaching the young what wisdom I can. The world is changing fast. Things get forgotten if we don’t work at them.”
Tuala nodded again. She had heard much the same argument from Bridei. He had told her that, in the south, many folk no longer performed the rituals to honor the gods; that people were forgetting the wisdom of the ancestors.
“Here in the forest you know little of such matters, I suppose,” Fola went on, hugging her knees with her neat, small hands. For a grown-up woman she really was remarkably little; little enough to be quite reassuring. Tuala was so much smaller than everyone else at Pitnochie, even Bridei. “History is precious; ritual is precious. Lose that and we lose the knowledge of our own being,” Fola said. “Lose the thread of ancestry, lose the tales, and we are adrift without identity. How old are you, child? Perhaps that’s a silly question; you do not keep time as we do.”
Tuala held up one hand, five fingers, and the thumb of the other hand.
“Ah. Six years old. An excellent age. With one ear you can still hear the magic of earth, sky, and ocean in its true, pure form; with the other, you can begin to comprehend a more formal kind of knowledge: logic, judgment, numbers, language, and signs. Or would do, if you were a human child and given the right opportunities. The youngest of my own students are not so many years older than yourself. That interests you, I see; it makes your eyes sparkle. You are eager for learning?”
Tuala nodded vigorously. Her hands were clasped tightly together now. This was exciting; she could hardly wait to tell Bridei about it.
“If only . . .” Fola mused. “If only there were a place for one of your kind among us, how much we could learn, both you and I . . . I would never attempt such a thing, of course. Have no fear of that. There’s nothing more cruel than taking a child away from all it’s known and loved, merely because someone believes it’s for the best. All of my students come to me willingly. You can’t learn unless your heart’s in it. Of course, some people do say education’s wasted on a girl.”
“It’s not!” Tuala burst out, for Broichan’s dismissal of her aspirations had left a wound unhealed within her. “I wanted to learn and I could have—Erip and Wid wouldn’t have minded—but he wouldn’t let me!” She clamped her mouth shut, but it was too late. She had broken her promise. She had spoken to a stranger.
Something in this speech had caused Fola’s gaze to sharpen. “Who wouldn’t let you?” she asked carefully. “Come, child, it’s safe to tell me. I’m harmless.”
“Broichan,” whispered Tuala.
There was another pause, and then Fola asked, “And who is Broichan? Your father?”
Tuala shook her head. “No, he’s Bridei’s foster father. And Bridei’s getting an education, he spends all day learning, but when I asked if I could, Broichan was angry with me. He said all I need to know is cooking and sewing. But I’m no good at those things. It isn’t fair.”
“What things are you good at?”
“Not fighting and sports. Bridei learns those: he’s the best archer at Pitnochie. I’m a good rider. Bridei taught me. And I’m sure I could do what you said, rituals, history, numbers, and languages. All I want to do is sit there while Erip and Wid are teaching Bridei. I’d be quiet. I wouldn’t interrupt at all. But Broichan won’t let me. Bridei tries to teach me things, but he’s so busy, there isn’t enough time.”
“Interesting,” Fola said. “Was I wrong about you? About what you are?”
Reluctantly, Tuala shook her head.
“Yet it’s clear you do not live here in the woods.”
Tuala shook her head again, realizing she had already said far more than anyone would have wished, save the old woman herself. Maybe Fola was not what she said at all. Maybe she was an enemy trying to set a trap. Hadn’t someone tried to kill Bridei once, long ago?
“What is your name, child?”
“Tuala.” That could hardly make a difference now.
“A splendid name, fit for a princess. This Broichan of yours has misjudged you, I think. Men can be rather prone to that, even the more intelligent ones. Now tell me. If you live at Pitnochie, what are you doing all by yourself halfway up to the Five Sisters, in wolf territory?”
“You’re all by yourself in wolf territory, too,” Tuala pointed out.
“I’m grown up and responsible for myself. I answer only to the gods,” Fola said calmly. “You, as you mentioned, are six years old, and not the wild sprite I thought you at first, but a member of a druid’s household. Tell me, did he send you away?”
A nod.
“Ah, yes. I see it clearly. An embarrassment. He took you in, he was prepared to break the rules to that extent, but making it public is beyond him. That’s men for you, ever bound by convention.”
There was one point here that must be corrected. “Broichan didn’t take me in. Bridei did. The Shining One showed him where to find me.”
Fola was listening attentively. “Bridei,” she mused. “The boy?”
Tuala nodded. “He’s bigger than me,” she said, “and very good at everything. Broichan said I would be in the way. That I would disrupt his education.”
“Did he now? Well, perhaps there was a grain of truth in that. So, I suppose you are staying away until after Midsummer, is that it?”
“How do you know that?” Tuala challenged. “And how did you know Broichan was a druid?”
“I’m a wise woman, Tuala. It’s my business to know things. And now,” rising to her feet and shaking out her long gray cloak, “I must be on my way and hope the wolves decide they’re not hungry. Oh, I have something here that you might like. Where is it, now?” Fola had a pack with her, a bulging cloth bundle fastened with cords. “Here we are,” the wise woman said, reaching into a side pocket and bringing her hand out full of something furry, gray, and unmistakably alive. “I found her on the way,” Fola said. “I already have a cat of my own, and Shade doesn’t take kindly to usurpers. This one should suit you; she has a marked streak of independence.”
Tuala took one look at the creature’s soft coat, its neat pink nose and big, strange eyes, and fell instantly in love. She reached out her hands and brought the kitten, not struggling at all despite its period of confinement, in to snuggle against her breast. Its tail was like a brush, the hair long and feathery.
“She’s no farm cat, but a wild thing, a forest creature,” Fola said. “I think she’ll go with you, as she did with me. Like knows like. Now I must be off; it’s a fair walk to Pitnochie.”
Tuala, absorbed in her wondrous, unexpected gift, took a moment to react. “Pitnochie? Is that where you’re going?”
Fola nodded, her lips curving in a little smile. “Indeed. Your druid is well known to me, but I’ve yet to meet the lad, his foster son. As for you, you’re a complete surprise. Any messages you want delivered?”
There were several. For Bridei, I miss you. I miss the stories. For Broichan, I want to come home. Neither could be sent. Balancing the little cat with one hand, Tuala reached into the pouch at her belt and brought out a scrap of
ribbon that had once been blue-dyed, but now was faded beyond color. Her hair had already come quite unplaited and hung wild about her shoulders.
“Could you give this to Bridei? Not when Broichan’s there, he wouldn’t like me to send messages.”
“Just give it to him?”
“And tell him I’m happy here.”
“You would send this friend a message that is a lie?” Fola asked. All at once she seemed taller, and her expression was stern, almost as stern as Broichan’s.
Tuala said nothing. Against her breast, the kitten felt warm and comforting; its purring was vibrating through its whole body and into hers.
“You’re not happy at all; one look at you and your friend could see that,” Fola said. “You don’t want to be here, you want to be home. You don’t want to cook and sew, you want to be a scholar. Why say things are other than they are?”
“I don’t want him to worry about me,” Tuala said gravely. “Just because I’m sad, there’s no need for him to be sad too. And . . .” No, this she would hold back at all costs. She must not tell of her promise to Broichan, the promise on whose keeping depended her whole future at Pitnochie.
“Very well,” said the wise woman, slipping the ribbon away and hoisting her pack onto her back. “I’ll tell him I’ve seen you, and that you said to say you’re thinking of him and looking forward to coming home. A compromise, and honest. I don’t convey messages that are untrue.”
“Thank you,” Tuala said as Fola bent to pick up a staff that had been lying unnoticed among the oak roots. She noticed the way the length of willow rose of itself to settle in the wise woman’s hand. “Thank you for the cat and thank you for the message. I’m sorry I . . .” She trailed off, unsure how to put her thoughts into words.
“Sorry you mistrusted me? Sorry you thought me other than what I was? Don’t apologize for that, Tuala. A little caution is always wise. Besides, I, too, was mistaken in my first impressions of you. Look after that creature well. It’s a rare one, and may stand you in good stead one day. Farewell now. May the Shining One light your way, child.”
“May Bone Mother hold you in her hands,” Tuala replied. The pattern of the ancient farewells was one of the very first things Bridei had taught her.
Fola smiled. “I hope we’ll meet again some day”
“Me too,” Tuala whispered, knowing how unlikely that was while her future lay in Broichan’s hands. The kitten wriggled; she glanced down, stroking its tiny head with her fingers, and when she looked back up, the wise woman had vanished as if she were no more than a dream.
FROM HIGH IN the branches of the oak, two pairs of eyes had looked down on this exchange with keen interest. One pair was luminous, liquid, the owner silver-haired, cobweb-gowned, and unmistakably female. The other eyes were round and nut-brown, those of a red-cheeked lad whose form was wreathed in leafy creepers and fronds of fern. Neither was of human kind.
“She grows apace,” the girl remarked. “She is strong, clever, and wise, as we should expect.”
“This meeting was fortuitous,” commented the boy “It could be used, later. A time will come when the druid’s fear of this child’s influence will outweigh his loyalty to the Shining One. And the wise woman wants the girl. She sees her strength and recognizes her potential.”
“You go too fast,” the girl said with a toss of her shining hair. “Tuala is an infant yet, Bridei himself still a child. Each must be tested long and rigorously The calling that awaits the boy demands the highest self-discipline, the deepest devotion to the gods and, more significant still, the ability to make his own decisions. To trust his own judgment.”
“Tuala’s part in it will be every bit as difficult,” said the boy. “She’s unhappy Already she is set a test, and not by us.”
“This?” the girl scoffed. “A little trip away from home in the company of a kindly nursemaid? Don’t be so soft! Wait until this scrap of a thing reaches womanhood; then we will really test her. Bridei must prove worthy of the Shining One’s trust; Tuala must equal him in strength. Each faces trials. They have been chosen, and the goddess expects no less.”
The boy was silent awhile, swinging his legs as he perched on a high bough of the tree. Far below, Tuala sat cross-legged with the little cat on her knee, a tiny figure between the gnarled oak roots. “Mm,” he murmured. “There will come a time when Broichan will send her away again, and there will be no coming back. When he is dying, the druid will weep hot tears for that.”
The girl flashed her pale eyes at him. “You think him so blind?”
“He is blind in this one particular. His mind is all on Bridei; on the task of preparation.”
“Just as well,” the girl said. “There is not so very much time for that. Come! No need for us to linger here. Tuala will return to the woods; to the secret places. She cannot but do so. They are in her blood, as in ours. We can use that to our advantage. The call of kinship is our key to proving her strength.”
“Maybe,” said the boy, with a last look downward. The small figure was making her way back toward the hollies, her new treasure cradled carefully in her arms.
“Come!” the girl cried again, and with a flash and a snap of silvery wings the messengers of the Shining One were gone.
SO, WE ARE GATHERED at last,” Broichan said. The five of them were in his chamber, with Aniel’s man Breth on the other side of the door and the household quiet beyond. Outside, the moon shone on a summer night of murmuring birds and soft breezes; the Shining One was yet a day or two from her perfect fullness, but the solstice was almost upon them. Tonight the air of the druid’s sanctum was heavy with conspiracy. They had waited long for such a council.
“Indeed.” Aniel was seated at the oak table and had a parchment, goose quill, and ink pot before him. “And best make the most of this opportunity, for there’s no doubt I, for one, am watched by my adversaries, and I know the same goes for Broichan. Should the least hint of our meeting reach the wrong ears, the entire venture could be in jeopardy and years of effort wasted. I still say this might better have been done openly from a far earlier stage, perhaps at court, with King Drust’s public support.”
“We know you’re of that opinion, Aniel.” Fola stood before the fire, her slight, upright figure outlined by flames. The withering look in her dark eyes was one she had often used to devastating effect on her more recalcitrant students. “If you believe your own words, you won’t waste time going over the way things might have been, but focus on the present and the future. Nor do you and Broichan have a monopoly on risk, I assure you. I am, after all, a teacher of the daughters of the powerful. Now tell me. I haven’t had a chance to meet the lad yet, being late come. Give me your verdict, if you’ve reached one. Is Broichan’s smug look justified?”
“Fola the forthright.” Talorgen chuckled. “Speaking for myself, I like what I’ve seen of young Bridei. Already he speaks like a grown man, fluently and with prudence. He’s knowledgeable and not afraid to engage in debate, but he knows his limitations. And he’s uncommonly skilled with a bow.”
Aniel gave a wintry smile. “He knows when to win and when to lose,” he said. “In time, I believe he will have the capacity to win the hearts of men. He’s young yet; the maturity of his manner is deceptive. The lessons of the next few years must be harder. The decisions of his adulthood will tax him severely; he must develop the fortitude to make them without flinching.”
Outside, a hunting bird gave a high, echoing call as it flew by over the forest. The fire sputtered, and Fola moved aside to let its heat reach the men, for even on this summer night the air in Broichan’s chamber was chill.
“Uist?” Fola raised her brows in question.
The old druid stood by the window, staring out through the narrow slit as if he could only survive if some part of him, at least, were still free from the confines of human habitation, of stone and thatch. When he turned back toward them, his eyes were vague and unfocused.
“It’s a hard journey for a good
boy,” he said quietly. “A road of many twists and turns, of knives in the back, of false friends and disloyal allies. Simple honesty, nobility of purpose, wit and compassion will carry him a certain distance. The lad knows the ancient powers, loves and respects them. Men will honor him for that. They’ll flock to follow him. That should please you; it’ll give us the result we’ve planned for all these years. But Bridei will pay a price. I see a choice ahead for him that would break the strongest man in all Fortriu. Remember that, for when it comes he’ll need every friend he’s ever had.” Uist turned back to the window; a shower of small particles dislodged itself from his clothing, falling to the well-swept floor of the chamber.
“My foster son will be strong enough for any choice.” Broichan’s voice was deep and sure. Uist made no reply.
After a little, the chieftain Talorgen spoke once more. “Midsummer will be a test. The gods may show us whether the boy is worthy of the future we intend for him. There will be many claimants when the time comes. If we are certain Bridei is the one, we must plan for what comes next. His upbringing has been sound, that much is obvious in every word he speaks. But the lad needs further opportunities now—”
“His education is in my hands.” Broichan’s tone allowed no challenge. “We agreed to that when we made the decision to take this path. What opportunities are presented to Bridei, and when, are for me to determine.”
“Talorgen has a point,” Aniel said, fixing his gaze on Broichan. “You’ve kept the lad hidden here long enough, and you’re beginning to sound as if this is a personal quest of your own. We are a council of five. None of us should lose sight of that. We share responsibility for this; we share the good or ill consequences of our scheme, and as a team we provide our own checks and balances. The boy must learn to think for himself. Donal tells me Bridei has never been down to the settlements, nor along the lake, nor to the homes of other lads of like age and breeding. He’ll need that if he’s to be a leader of men. It’s not a druid you’re educating here, my friend, but a king.”