Heart's Blood (36 page)

I managed a smile.“I have more than enough work already,” I told him. Tomorrow I would ask Anluan again if I could move those grimoires into the library. I must go through their contents, if only to prove they did not contain the counterspell. “But I’m glad you like the pie.”

“Makes a big difference, not having to do it all myself.” Magnus passed the bread down the table.“A little bit of help goes a long way.” He glanced at Anluan. “Sounds as if we’ve got a big job on our hands. We’d best put some strategies in place for this meeting of yours first; who goes where, who does what while you and I are off the hill. If we’ve got to find jobs for all of that lot, we’ll need to start working on it right away.”

“It’s late,”Anluan said.“I have no heart for more tonight. In the morning we will speak of it. I should thank you. All of you. It is not necessary that you continue to stand by me. It is a mystery to me why you do so. But Magnus is right. Each act of support, each gesture of friendship makes it easier to take one more step; to face one more sunrise. I’m tired. I’ll bid you good night now.”

As he stood up, all of us did the same. Anluan looked bemused, but the shadow of a smile touched his lips as he went out.A moment later Muirne, too, was gone.

“She still doesn’t like this,” I observed. “What is it that makes her so sure things will go wrong?”

“She’s worried for him,” Magnus said.“Not that the rest of us aren’t, but Muirne has more cause than most to be troubled. She spent a lot of time with Irial during those dark years after Emer’s death. Losing him broke her heart. I suppose she fears she may lose Anluan if this comes to war.”

“What is her story? She’s never talked to me about what her life was . . . before.”

“Nor to me, Caitrin. Muirne doesn’t talk much to anyone, except him.”

“Rioghan? Eichri? What do you know about her?”

Eichri ran a finger around the rim of his goblet, frowning. “We’re used to her always being about, but she keeps herself apart. She did tell me her story once. Nothing especially interesting. Born and brought up in one of the settlements, betrothed to a miller, died of a winter ague before they could be wed. Sad little tale. Don’t know what happened to the fellow.”

“Olcan, what about you?” I asked. He was finishing up the last of the pie, one bite for himself, one bite slipped to Fianchu, who was waiting just behind him, small eyes following every mouthful from platter to lips. “You’ve been here longer than anyone.”

“Never gave her much thought, to tell you the truth. She looks after Anluan, makes sure he’s not too much alone.That has to be a good thing. And as Magnus said, she did the same for his father.”

I felt a creeping sensation, a sudden inexplicable unease. “And for Conan before him?” I asked.

“She was around the place then, I seem to recall. It’s a long while ago, Caitrin.”

“One thing’s certain,” Magnus said. “She doesn’t much care for you.”

Rioghan sighed. “Nobody can criticize the girl for that. She wants what she can’t have: another life, a real one. In that she’s no different from me or from Eichri here. She’s hostile to you, Caitrin, because you’re what she can never be: a real woman. She fears you, with your rosy cheeks and red lips, your tumbling dark hair, your . . . well, you get my drift. Anluan will never look at her the way he looks at you.”

These words hung in silence for the space of three breaths. I did not know what to say in this roomful of men.

“Don’t let it trouble you,” said Magnus.“Muirne has her little oddities, but she’s a good soul underneath.”

“Mm,” I said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It troubled me that Muirne remained hostile to what Anluan was doing, but I did feel some sympathy for her.To die on the threshold of marriage was particularly sad.

“I’m going to bed now,” I said. “Poor Gearróg has been on guard for hours. May I have Fianchu again tonight, Olcan?”

The dog was up as soon as I spoke his name, ready to accompany me.

“Of course. Sleep well, Caitrin.”

 

Although he had seemed weary to death, Anluan’s lamps burned long into the night. I stood on the gallery in the moonlight, looking across the garden towards that faint glow and wishing I could break all the rules. He should not be by himself in that bare chamber with only Nechtan’s grimoires for company. I sighed, hugging my shawl around my shoulders. It seemed so simple, the idea of going down the stairs, running across the garden, tapping on his door, telling him I was lonely, cold, worried. Suggesting . . . what, exactly? If a young woman were to act in such a way, a man would put only one interpretation on it. Of course I would not go into his bedchamber at night, alone.The very idea was outrageous.

My body felt strange tonight, different. I was not so naive as to be ignorant of what it meant, even though such feelings were new to me. I had known, when Anluan put his arms around me for comfort earlier today, that a profound change had happened in me since I had come to Whistling Tor. It wasn’t only the relief of finding safe haven, the pride of doing a job well, the pleasure of good companionship, the delight of respect and friendship. I had learned how it felt to want more than the sweet touch of hand to cheek or lips to palm, more than a kiss, more than an embrace. I was starting to discover that it is not only the mind that understands love, but also the body.

Lust
, came a whispering voice in my ear, freezing me where I stood.
Crude animal lust.You couldn’t feel it before. Once you looked in the obsidian mirror, once you shared that man’s memories, his desire inhabited you like a hot flood, trembling and quivering and throbbing through that lush body.You know Nechtan’s mind; you feel his needs. No wonder your face goes hot when Anluan brushes close to you. No wonder you look at him as if he were a stallion and you a brood mare in heat. Don’t fool yourself that this is love, Caitrin.You don’t want Anluan, you just want that lust slaked, and he happens to be the only young man around.That hungry body of yours is full of Nechtan’s passion and Nechtan’s cruelty.

“
Baby’s cold.”

I started violently. I had been transfixed by that voice, a voice that must have come from my own mind, for the gallery held only me, the ghost child now standing very close to me with the doll in her arms, and Fianchu waiting patiently by the bedchamber door for me to go back in so he could settle to guard the entry. If someone had been standing by me, taunting me as I stared down towards Anluan’s lonely lamp, that presence was nowhere to be seen.

“She’s cold because you got out of bed,” I said, taking the girl’s chilly hand and leading her back into my chamber.“Let’s tuck you in, shall we?”

I stayed long awake on my pallet, a candle flickering beside me, while the girl lay with eyes obediently shut and the big dog at her back. Fianchu could never warm her, but perhaps his body helped her remember how good that had once felt. As for me, I breathed every breath with Anluan; in my imagination I fitted the curves of my body to the straight, strong planes of his. I imagined his hands on my flesh, his fingers tangled in my hair. I touched the irregularities of his features tenderly, exploring that surprising landscape with wonder and delight. I felt our two hearts pressed close together, two drums keeping time to the same haunting melody. My body was full of unanswered pleas.

I blew out the candle before the sky began to lighten. In the dark, my body aching with need, I remembered Nechtan’s desire for his young assistant, his cruel dismissal of his wife, the pride and the obsessive fear that had overridden all. “It’s not true,” I whispered, as if the owner of that disembodied voice could hear me.“I’m not like him.What I feel is not selfish desire, it’s quite different from that, it’s . . .”

Fianchu stirred. He would be up at first light, wanting to be let out into the garden. The little voice of the ghost girl came in the semi-dark. “You sad, Catty?”

I had told her my name, but this was the first time she had attempted it. “No, not sad.” It was hard to say just what I felt. There was too much stirring in me, yet there was only one image before my closed eyes, and that was Anluan’s.

 

Three days passed in a blur. I read my way through page after crumbling page of unlikely sounding spells and incantations, while beyond the library doors Anluan and the others put in place their arrangements for the eve of full moon. I read until my back ached; until my eyes hurt; until my neck felt like a stick of dried-up firewood. I saw nothing of Anluan in the library, but several times when I went outside to stretch my cramped limbs I observed him in somber-faced conversation with Magnus and Rioghan. Once or twice it seemed to me their talk hushed as I came closer, as if what they were discussing must be kept from my ears, and that surprised me. But the need to get through the grimoires drove me hard, and I did not trouble the men with questions.

I learned how to put a spell on a rival that would make her hair fall out overnight, leaving her as bald as an onion. I discovered the means to turn a perfectly ordinary garment into one that would burn and torment anyone unfortunate enough to put it on. I read three different ways to find out if a person was lying and five theories on turning base metals into gold. I ploughed through a dissertation on the distinction between leprechauns and clurichauns. There were guides for the use of scrying vessels. There were instructions for making fire without smoke and smoke without fire. There were incantations to assist with the transfer of special qualities to mirrors of bronze or silver or obsidian—I did not read those in full, for it chilled me to be so close to the heart of Nechtan’s power. I stayed at my desk until I was almost weeping with exhaustion, but I found no charm for the release of unquiet spirits.

 

On the second day, I waylaid Eichri in the courtyard as dusk was falling. Since the council, much had changed at Whistling Tor. Warriors of the host patrolled the high walkways atop the fortress walls, in plain sight. Torches burned in iron sockets; I saw here a spear point, there an axe blade glinting in the uneven light. Down in the courtyard, knots of spectral folk gathered, muttering among themselves. A nervous anticipation filled the air, the scent of change.

“Caitrin,” Eichri said, halting as I put a hand on his sleeve. “You look tired.”

“Too long at the books. I have a question for you, Eichri.”

“Ask it, then. These days, everything’s questions. Pity there aren’t more answers.”

“I understand you can go in and out of the monastery at Saint Crio dan’s without anyone noticing.”

The monk nodded. “You need more supplies?”

“I don’t need you to steal for me. Not exactly. Can you go into any part of that building, even if there’s a locked door? I’m thinking of the secret part of the library, the place where it seems Nechtan obtained his incantation to summon the host.”

“Perhaps.”

“If the counterspell is to be found in writing anywhere, it might perhaps be there, alongside the original charm. I thought maybe you could . . .”

“Slip in, find it, memorize it, come quietly back? If only it were so simple, Caitrin.You forget one critical detail. I cannot read. Even if I were to take a little sharp knife with which to sever a page from a book and slip it under my habit, how would I know which page to choose?”

I felt more than a little foolish. “Can any of your brethren here at Whistling Tor read?”

“Never asked. I will if you like. It’s immaterial, really—they can’t go off the hill.”

“Wouldn’t it be safe, provided you went too? Those monks seem so peaceable.” But then, Eichri himself had been in that mob that came to Nechtan’s call, the day Mella died.

“We’re none of us safe.” He fiddled with his peculiar necklace, moving the little bones along the cord that held them. “The greatest fear for all of us, holy brothers included, is that we’ll be let off the hill and perform some deed there’s no forgiving, not if we wait an eternity of years. You heard what that woman said, the night of the council. Memories fade in time, and that makes it possible to bear each day as it comes. But some memories linger; some you can’t wipe away completely. We’ve all got our share of those, and we’re not keen to make new ones.”

I wanted to ask him what his own sin was, what deed had condemned him to become part of the host, but I couldn’t get the words out. It felt like asking a man to whip himself for my entertainment. If Eichri decided to tell me his story one day, as Rioghan had his, I would listen without judgment.

“I’m a sinner unrepentant,” Eichri said, shrewd eyes fixed on me. “What I did, I did purely for my own gain. I can’t in all sincerity say I’m sorry. If I’m not sorry, I can’t atone for my sins, supposing that’s why I find myself back in this world. If there’s no atonement, what choice have I but a return to that nothing place I was in before Nechtan performed his cursed experiment? I can’t face that, Caitrin. I want to stay here; I want to go on living the life I have at Whistling Tor. It’d suit me very well if you never found a counterspell.”

“A sinner unrepentant?” I echoed.“But you seem such a good person.”

“Ah, but you see good in everyone.”

After a moment, I said, “There
is
good in everyone.”

“Even in that fellow who trussed you up and tried to haul you away off down the hill?”

I grimaced. “It may be a long time before I learn to see the good in Cillian,” I told him. “If it’s there, it’s buried deep.”

 

The eve of full moon, and a chill morning. Atop the wall, men-at-arms from the host moved through shreds of mist, dark figures appearing and disappearing as they kept their watch. If this was summer, Whistling Tor must be a bitter place when winter sank its teeth into the land. I walked to the pump huddled in shawl and cloak, and instead of carrying a bucket upstairs in my usual fashion, I made do with a brief splash of face and hands before heading for the warmth of the kitchen fire. Fianchu went off into the garden on business of his own.