Heart's Blood (29 page)

“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.

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.

“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.”

“That’s what Rioghan said. I do have a guard.”

“One of the host.”

There were no boots in the large chest. I opened the smaller one and began to sort through its contents.

“Caitrin?”

“I trust Cathaír. As I trust you, Eichri.That brings me to my question. When I first saw the host surging out of the forest to terrify Cillian, you were leading the others. If I had not already known you to be a friend, I would have been frightened out of my wits. In life, were you some kind of warrior monk?”

He grinned disarmingly.“I grew up on a farm. I could ride by the time I was two years old.The other trappings are only for show.The overall effect does strike terror into the enemy.”

“So you wouldn’t actually have run anyone through? Made your horse rear up and strike a fatal blow with its hooves?”

“Run a man through?” He sounded deeply shocked. “Hardly. I can’t speak for the horse. I found the creature wandering in the forest some years ago and we took a fancy to each other.What he chooses to do is his business.”

“The host followed you.You led them into battle.”

“Anluan does occasionally call upon us, Rioghan and me, to act as leaders. Only on the hill, of course.”

“Have you ever tried it beyond the boundary?”

“Ah . . .” The monk lifted his hands, palms outward, and shook his head with a little smile.

“If that’s a forbidden question, how about this instead: couldn’t you and Rioghan keep the host under control while Anluan goes down to the settlement to talk to Lord Stephen’s emissaries? He’d only need to be off the hill for a short time. Magnus could go with him. Olcan and Fianchu would be here to help you.”

Eichri said nothing.

“Mightn’t there be others among the host who could assist as well? Cathaír for instance, and some of the other warriors, those older ones?” And when he still made no comment, I added, “If those monks can sing the name of God, they cannot be the devilish creatures folk make them out to be. The little girl who sleeps in my chamber is an innocent child. Cathaír is disturbed by dark memories, but he can still take pride in a day’s work.This could be done, Eichri.We could at least suggest it to Anluan. If he’d listen.”

“You don’t think this may have occurred to Anluan already, Caitrin?” Eichri’s tone was gentle.

“I don’t know what to think!” I said somewhat wildly.

“I wager at this moment he’s cursing the day he ever let you come up the hill.”

This jolted me. “Why?”

“Ah, now, don’t be upset. I meant he’s cursing the day you came here because you won’t let him give up.You’ve filled his mind with possibilities and he’s terrified he can’t make them real.”

I sorted through the second chest in silence, thinking of Anluan somewhere in the fortress brooding over the unwelcome change I had brought to his life. My folly seemed clear. I had taken on more than I had the capacity to deal with. I had lost sight of what was possible. I had meddled in what was beyond me, and brought nothing but trouble.

“The fact is,” said Eichri, “if you hadn’t come, Stephen de Courcy would still have wanted Whistling Tor. His emissaries would still be coming at full moon, and we still wouldn’t be ready for them.”

“Can you read minds?”

“I can read faces, gestures, glances.What you suggest is at least possible. But is it worth the risk if all it can achieve is a defiant statement from the chieftain of Whistling Tor that he won’t give up his land without a fight? There’s no point in that if Anluan can’t follow it up with an armed defense of his territory. He’s not going to use the host to wage war. And I don’t think he plans to give you the opportunity to present any ideas, even good ones. He doesn’t want you drawn into it.”

“I’m translating Nechtan’s documents,” I pointed out. “I’m in it already.”

“Caitrin, there’s more to this than you think. I may not be evil. Rioghan and your young guard and your little girl and most of those folk out on the hill may be no more devilish than any man or woman down in the settlement. But there’s a force among them with an ill intent: something that can turn the tide if Anluan is not there to counter it. I can’t tell you its nature, since I don’t know; none of us does.The fact is, if the host escapes the chieftain’s control, nobody’s spared. Nobody. It is this malign influence that tests Anluan’s strength day by day; it is this that exhausts and weakens him. I’ve felt the tug of this power on me. It’s strong. I fear it greatly. Oh, you’ve found some boots.”

I drew them out of the chest. They were of good leather and looked sturdy enough to cope with the wet and comfortable enough to wear indoors while I worked. I didn’t remember them from my last visit. As I sat on the closed chest to try them on, my eye caught the little mirror hanging on the wall.

“I have another question for you,” I said, “since you’ve been here since Nechtan’s time. Did he make every mirror in the house? Are they all bad?”

“I couldn’t tell you. Can an object like that be good or bad? Isn’t it more a matter of who’s using the thing and how he goes about it?”

Eichri’s words hung in the silence between us. They seemed important, as if there were a truth in them that went beyond their immediate meaning.

“There’s a mirror in the library so full of Nechtan’s sorcery that I can only think of it as evil,” I said slowly.“The ones in the great hall frightened me. I saw myself as an old woman, and ... there were other things, bad things. But that one on the wall there feels different. Once before, it gave me useful advice. I would be very surprised if Nechtan had made it.”

Eichri got to his feet and went over for a closer look.“The frame’s old oak,” he said. “Not much in the reflection; only blue sky. Advice, you say. The thing spoke to you?”

“Not aloud, but I could hear it. This chamber holds memories of the women who’ve lived at Whistling Tor, women whose lives had more than their share of ill fortune. Maybe the little mirror belonged to one of them.”