Son of the Shadows (28 page)

I had intended to do just as they wished: return to Sevenwaters, take up the threads of my old life and do my best to forget all about the Painted Man and his followers. But something had changed. I would not offer unquestioning obedience to folk who dismissed the anguish of those dear to me as too paltry for consideration. Somehow I knew I could not agree to their request.

"I must make my own decisions and go my own way," I said. "For now, I will indeed ride home to Sevenwaters and can see no reason why I

would not stay there. But the future—that is unknown; who knows what may come to pass? I will make you no promises."

Their voices came again, with an angry power that sent a deep shudder through my body. The mare felt it, too; she trembled under me.

You will do as we command, Liadan. Indeed, you must

. But I did not reply; and the next time I looked behind me, they were gone.

It was late afternoon, almost dusk. I had reached the road and followed it southward as the sun set in a brilliant display of gold and rose. What was the old saying? Red sky at night, shepherd's delight. Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning. I smiled to myself. No doubt where I had heard that one. My father, holding me up in his arms as he stood on a hilltop with his young oak trees around him, showing me how the sun went down in the west, over the land of Tir Na n'Og beyond the sea. Every night it went down, and tonight's sky would tell of tomorrow. Learn to read the signs, lit tie one, he told me. The Fair Folk had chosen him as the father of a child they wanted born, had chosen him for his strength and patience.

Surely, then, Bran was mistaken. The Big Man, so quiet and deep, with his reverence for all things that lived and grew, could never have committed some act of evil that blighted a man's whole existence.

The mare whinnied softly and came to a sudden halt. There was a disturbance ahead of us on the road.

Men's voices, hoofbeats, the clash of metal. We retreated in silence under the shelter of the trees, and I

dismounted in the shadows. The sounds came closer. In the fading light I could distinguish four or five men in dark green and one dressed in a strange garment of leather and wolfskin, a man with a half-shaven head who fought like a mad thing, so that at times you might almost believe he would be a match for them, outnumbered as he was. A man whose great height and massive build gave him an advantage, but not such an advantage that he could not at length be unhorsed and disarmed and at the mercy of his enemy. There were shouts of derision and words of defiance. There were growls and hisses and oaths, and somebody yelled something about retribution, and there were cries and curses as weapons found their mark. But at the last, there was near silence, save for the thud of kicks and blows raining down on the man who lay huddled in the road, with his attackers around him in a tight circle. There was nothing I could do. How could I step out and identify myself? How could I seek to prevent this one-sided act of barbarity without, at the same time, revealing where I had been? What cause would a good girl like myself possibly have for defending a thug of an outlaw? Besides, in the bloody melee they might well not notice me before I fell to thrusting sword or swinging axe myself. So I stood completely still, with the horse obediently silent by me, until one of them said, "Enough. Leave him to stew in his own juice." The men in green mounted, took the other man's horse by the bridle and rode away to the south.

I came out cautiously. There was not much light left; I found him as much by the faint, bubbling
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sound of his breathing as by sight. I knelt down beside him.

"Dog?"

He was lying on his side, face contorted in agony. He had both hands on his stomach, and something lying on the ground by him. Blood, and . . . Diancecht help me, his belly had been slit two ways and spilled his vitals forth, and he strained to hold his very self together.

There were words, gasped out on a desperate, squealing mouthful of air.

But I could only make out one.

". . . knife . . ."

And I found that, when it came to the point, there was indeed no choice. My hands shook violently as I

out took the little sharp dagger my father had given me.

"Shut your eyes," I whispered shakily. I knelt by his convulsing body in the fading light, and I touched the point of the dagger carefully to the hollow below his ear. Then I shut my eyes and drew the blade across his neck, fast, pressing down with all my strength, while my heart pounded and my throat tightened and my stomach heaved in protest. Warm blood gushed over my hands. The horse shifted uneasily. Dog's body went limp, and his arms fell away from the great slicing wound in his belly, and ... I got up abruptly and backed away, and for a long time I could only lean against a tree, retching, gasping, emptying my

stomach of its contents, eyes and nose streaming, head throbbing with outrage. Logical thought was not possible. Only a blazing resentment, a gut-wrenching revulsion. The Painted Man.

Eamonn of the

Marshes. It was six of one and half a dozen of the other. Between them, they had made sure there would be no tomorrow for this man. It would be I who bore the scar of this on my spirit, while they shrugged it off and went on with their mindless pursuit of each other.

At last the moon spread a faint silver light over the desolate stretch of road, and I felt the mare nuzzle my shoulder, gentle but insistent.

"All right," I said. "All right, I know." Time to move on. But I could not leave him like this.

Could not shift him; too heavy. In the delicate light his face was peaceful, the yellow eyes closed, the pockmarked features at rest. I tried not to look at the gaping wound in his neck.

"Dana, take this man to your heart," I muttered, slipping off the borrowed shirt I wore over my gown.

Something glinted hi the moonlight. The leather strip was severed neatly; when I lifted the necklace it left blood on my fingers. "Fierce as a great wolf," I said, as my tears began to flow.

"Strong as a fearless hound that gives its life for its master. Gentle as the most faithful dog that ever walked by a woman's side.

Go to your rest now." I laid the shirt over his face and chest. Then I struggled back onto the mare and we made our way southward until I judged it was far enough. There was a place of shelter in the lee of a stack of straw. I unrolled Bran's coat and put it around me. I lay down, and the horse settled beside me, as if she knew I needed her warmth to keep away the dark. I had never come closer to wishing I would fall asleep and never wake up.

The next morning I rode farther south, and I saw a few farmers in their carts and one or two other travelers; and all looked at me curiously, but nobody spoke. I suppose I did look a bit of a sight, with my hair straggling down my back, and my clothes marked with blood and vomit.

Some crazy woman. When

I judged I was near enough to Littlefolds, I stopped by the way, and I opened my mind to my brother at last. Showed him just enough, with images carefully chosen, so he could find me. I sat down under a rowan tree and waited. He cannot have been so far away. Before the sun was at its peak, there was a thundering of hooves on the road, and Sean was there, leaping off his horse, hugging me hard, and looking searchingly into my eyes. But they were as carefully guarded as my
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thoughts. I had reached out to him; but I had told him nothing. After a while I noticed that Eamonn was there, too, and several of his men. Eamonn's face wore a strange expression; eyes burning, face ash white. He did not embrace me;

that would not be correct. But his voice shook as he greeted me.

"Liadan! We thought—are you harmed? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I said wearily, as the men in green brought their horses to a halt behind him.

"You don't look fine," said Sean bluntly. "Where were you? Who took you? Where have you been?" My brother knew I was keeping him out, and he used all the tricks he knew with his mind to try to make me open up.

"I'm fine," I said again. "Can we go home now?"

Eamonn was looking at my horse; and he was looking at the big gray coat I wore, a man's coat.

He was frowning. Sean was looking at my face and at my bloodstained hands.

"We'll ride as far as Sidhe Dubh," he said soberly. "You can rest there."

"No!" I said a little too vehemently. "No," I added more carefully. "Home. I want to go home now."

The two men exchanged glances.

"It may be better if you ride ahead with your men," Sean said. "Get word to the Big Man. He'll want to meet us. We'll rest by the way, take our time."

Eamonn gave a curt nod and rode off without another word. The men in green followed him.

There was just my brother and two men at arms and me.

All the way home Sean questioned me. Where had I been? Who had taken me? Why wouldn't I tell him;

didn't I understand there must be vengeance if I had been harmed in any way? Did I forget that he was my brother? But I would not tell. Bran had been right. You could not trust; not even those closest to you.

So I rode back to Sevenwaters on the Painted Man's horse, with his coat to keep me warm, with a necklace of wolf claws in my pocket and blood on my hands. So much for being able to change things.

So much for the Fair Folk and ancient voices and visions of death. What was I but one more powerless woman in a world of unthinking men? Nothing had changed. Nothing at all, save deep inside, where nobody could see.

The day after I came home, I made a candle. There was nothing so remarkable about this; such crafting was a regular part of the household's work. But I was supposed to be resting. Mother checked my bedchamber, found the floor swept clean and the quilt neat and flat, and sought me out where I worked in the stillroom, my newly washed hair drawn back tightly by a linen band. If she saw my lips swollen and bruised, if she recognized bite marks on my neck, she did not comment on them. Instead, she watched my hands as they marked one side of the beeswax methodically in an intricate design of spiral and whorl and cross-hatching. The other side was plain. I said nothing. When it was done to my satisfaction, I set it in a sturdy holder, and around the base I tied the severed strip of leather with wolf claws strung on it and a little garland I had fashioned. At last my mother spoke.

"This is a powerful charm: dogwood, yarrow, and juniper, apple and lavender. And are those the feathers from a raven's wing? Where will this candle burn, Daughter?"

"In my window."

Mother nodded. She had asked me no real questions.

"Your beacon has been made with herbs of protection and herbs of love. I understand its purpose.

Perhaps it is as well your father and brother do not. You close yourself off from Sean. That hurts
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him."

I glanced at her. Concern was written on her small features, but her eyes, as usual, were deep and calm.

Of them all, only she had believed me when I said I was all right. The others saw the fading bruises on my wrist, the bite marks, the stains on my clothing, and leapt to conclusions. Their anger burned bright.

"I have no choice," I said.

"Mmm." Sorcha nodded. "And it is not yourself you are protecting. You have a great capacity to love;

you give freely, Daughter. And like your father, you lay yourself open to hurt."

The candle was finished. It would burn for many nights. It would burn steadfast at dark of the moon, lighting the way home.

"I have no choice," I said again, and as I went out I bent to kiss my mother's brow. Her shoulder under my fingers was fragile as a bird's.

There were many questions. Liam had questions. How were you taken? What manner of men were they?

Did you know three of my men were slain guarding you? Where did they take you? North?

Morrigan curse your stubbornness, Liadan! This could be vitally important! Sean had his own questions, but after a while he stopped asking them. I felt his hurt and his worry as if it were my own, for thus it always was with the two of us. But this time I was unable to help him.

As for my father, with him I needed all my will to remain silent. He sat quietly in the garden, watching me work, and he said, "For all that time I did not know if you were alive or dead. I have lost one daughter already, and your mother walks in shadow. I would do anything in my power to keep you safe, Liadan.

But I will wait until you are ready to tell me, sweetheart."

"You might have a fair wait."

Iubdan nodded. "As long as you are home, and safe," he said quietly.

Eamonn came to visit, and I refused to see him. Maybe that was discourteous of me, but nobody insisted. It was put down to my feeling poorly after my experience and needing to rest. What Eamonn said, I did not know, but the men of the household were rather tight-lipped after his departure. In truth I

had recovered remarkably quickly and soon found myself full of energy, eating heartily, and sleeping sound as a child while my candle conjured strange shadows on the walls around me. The one thing I

could not come to terms with, for it was a feeling quite new and strange to me, was the ache within me, the longing to be held, the need to touch and be close and at length to rise again to that peak of joy that no words can describe. It is hard to explain. There was no doubt I felt the lusts of the body, the hot urge of a creature for its mate. But that was not all. I had seen the hand of death over Bran, and over myself, at the mouth of the ancient barrow. I sensed our fates were intertwined; we were closer than any mates or lovers or partners. This was a link that would transcend death, an unbreakable bond. This seemed ever clearer to me, a certainty that could not be questioned. It made no difference that he had sent me away. This was and would be. And as for the Fair Folk, if they wanted me to make some sort of commitment, they would need to provide better explanations. Unquestioning compliance with their wishes was not my idea of common sense.

I longed for Niamh to be home. Some things you can talk of only with your sister. I wanted to tell her that