The Dark Mirror (45 page)

He called out softly to Fokel, announcing his presence; to approach such a man from behind in silence was to invite a knife between the ribs. Bridei walked across, boots quiet on the grass. They stood side by side as the torchlight played over the tale of Fokel’s ancestors, the true custodians
of Galany’s Reach.

“I feared I would never see this as a grown man,” Fokel said, his voice oddly constrained. “That the gods would not grant me an opportunity to witness it: the sacred trust for which my father fell, and my uncles, and so many others of my kin. I was a child of three years old when the Gaels took our lands; too young to understand what it was we had lost. Here, take the torch.
Show me the other side.”

In silence they circled the monolith; it was indeed imposing, a massive thing taller than the tallest man and nearly two handspans thick. It must be lodged deep in the earth, close to Bone Mother’s heart, to have held so strongly to the land. They regarded the riotous pattern on the south side, creatures of earth and ocean, stream and hillside and woodland, crag and cave
and the vast reaches of the open sky. In that wild creation was captured Bridei’s own imagining, in which he stood on a hilltop and saw the Glen with the clear vision of the soaring eagle, and felt the heartbeat of Fortriu under his feet. And although he had not planned to say it, although the day’s events still weighed so heavily in him that there was scant room for anything else, he spoke the
words. “We should take it with us.”

“What?” It was clear from Fokel’s tone that he had only half heard; had not understood.

“We can’t leave the stone here; that’s admitting defeat. We know we can’t hold Galany’s Reach with the forces we have; we know the time’s not ripe for that. But we can take the stone back. Back where the Gaels cannot touch it.”

“You really are mad.” Fokel stood next to
the stone, his brow resting against its tall, cool form, his hands spread flat on its face, as if by this closeness he might absorb some of its ancient power. “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard. What are you, a mythical hero with the strength of fifty giants? You can see the size of this, the weight of it. Or are we going to use druid magic?” For all these words, the torchlight revealed a change
in Fokel’s eyes; somewhere in their darkness was a spark of excitement, an answering madness.

“That, and more practical means,” Bridei said calmly. “It will be a lot of work and we don’t have much time. But we do have a considerable number of men, that’s if we can convince Talorgen and the others. Here’s how we’ll do it . . .”

W
ELL,” SAID FOLA, “YOU’RE
here at last. You’re such a small thing, it’s hard to believe you’re in your fourteenth year, but Broichan tells me its so. Welcome to Banmerren, child.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Tuala was trying very hard to sound calm. It had been difficult coming into this strange, stone-walled compound, with girls everywhere looking at her in amazement, and even more difficult hearing
her presence announced by the intimidating ?reseida, who had entered Fola’s sanctum first “We’ve brought that strange child from Pitnochie.” Now Ferada and her mother were both gone, escorted away to see the section of Banmerren where the daughters of noble blood were lodged, those who did not require the more esoteric parts of the education offered here. Tuala stood before the wise woman with
only one other in attendance, a brusque person of middle years who had given her name as Kethra. For all her misery, Tuala was struck by the quiet of the place, the mellow stone of the buildings, the little figures set in niches here and there, each different, each surprising, the hanging garlands of herbs and the curiously wrought lamps.

“You may call me Fola. We don’t stand on ceremony here;
all are equal under the gaze of the Shining One. Are you happy to be here, Tuala?”

This difficult question had come out of nowhere. “I’m grateful for the opportunity, my la—Fola.” It felt odd to be addressing the wise woman thus as if she were a familiar friend. Small as she was, Fola looked grander and more imposing than Tuala had remembered her: her hair, unhooded, revealed itself as silver-gray
and long, coiled up in a heavy bundle at the back of her head, and around her neck, over the soft gray robe, she wore a moon disc clasped by a clawlike silver setting and suspended on a fine chain. Fola’s eyes were as before, of a darkly assessing intensity. Her smile was warm. Behind her, on a stone shelf, was curled a pitch-black cat of enormous size; its tattered ears and scarred visage seemed
the equivalent of a warrior’s tattooed features. It watched Tuala through half-closed yellow eyes.

“But?” Fola queried.

Tuala looked straight at her. “I’ll work very hard,” she said, “and learn all I can. I owe that to you for being prepared to have me here. I owe it to those who have taught me before.”

“You’re not being quite honest with me, child,” Fola said. “I know you’ll work hard. Those
who are not prepared to do so find their stay at Banmerren short. Kethra can vouch for that.” She glanced at the other woman, who stood to the side, hands folded before her, and Kethra’s lips twitched in something that did not seem much like a smile. “Tell me, Tuala. If there’s a reservation of some sort in your mind, I need to know it now Here at Banmerren we are all servants of the Shining One.
She commands our whole selves: body, heart, mind, and spirit.”

Tuala bowed her head. “I am her daughter,” she said. “I serve her in all things. If it is her will that I become her priestess, then I will apply myself to that calling as well as I can. But it was not my choice to come here. Not my true choice.” Images came flooding into her mind: Pearl in the stables, nuzzling at Tuala’s neck, unaware
that it was the last time; Mist yowling in complaint behind a closed door, as if she knew Tuala was leaving her; the moon through a small window and an eagle feather on the sill. She glanced at the silent Kethra, who stared back, impassive.

“You may leave us, Kethra,” Fola said. “Ask Odha for a small pot of her peppermint infusion, will you, and some honey? Thank you.”

Kethra swept out, straight-backed,
disapproval in every corner of her body.

Fola sighed. “Kethra is in charge of the younger students,” she said. “My principal assistant. Now sit down, Tuala. You’ve had a long journey; the
lady Dreseida has told me something of it. And since her own daughter Ferada is to stay with us a while, there will be at least one familiar face here for you among us.”

Tuala managed a tight nod.

“However,”
Fola went on, “I think it is more than weary days on the lake and in the saddle that gives your eyes that desperate look. I know you’ve told the truth so far. But there’s more to it than that, surely.”

“It was supposed to be a choice,” Tuala blurted out. “But it was his choice, not mine.”

Fola waited a moment, and then said, “His choice? Broichan’s?”

Tuala nodded miserably. “To come here, or
marry a man with a face like a turnip. I’m sorry, that’s not fair. He seemed a good man. But I didn’t want to get married and I didn’t want . . .”

“You didn’t want to come to Banmerren?” Fola asked gently.

“To go away,” Tuala said in a whisper. “To be sent away from Pitnochie. He doesn’t understand. I need to be there.”

There was a tap at the door; a girl came in with a little tray. She wore
the blue robe Tuala had seen on most of the young women at Banmerren. There had been many of them walking across the garden, hurrying along pathways or busy with scrolls or basins or bunches of herbs. A few were in green; only the older ones, like Kethra and Fola herself, wore the wise woman’s gray. The girl put the tray down and departed in silence. The cat stirred itself, stretched expansively
and jumped down, strolling over to investigate what the visitor had brought.

“I see.” Fola took up a little pot from the tray, poured a steaming, aromatic beverage into two tiny cups, spooned honey, handed a cup to Tuala. Finding no food available, the cat had lost interest and was washing itself.

“I am obedient to the Shining One,” Tuala said. “I love her; why would I go against her will? But
I never believed she wanted me to leave Pitnochie. If this was what she intended, for me to serve her as a wise woman, why did she make sure it was Bridei who found me, all those years ago?” She heard her own words, too many words, and clamped her mouth shut.

Fola sipped her drink calmly. “Let us say Broichan acted in error,” she said. “We must bear in mind that Broichan is not known for lapses
in judgment; his purposes can seem obscure at times, but that is generally because his schemes are more far-reaching than we ordinary mortals can grasp.” It was hard to tell if she was joking or not. “But let us say the Shining One does
not wish you to be her priestess. What, then, does she intend for you, do you think?”

Tuala remained grimly silent.

“I wonder,” said Fola, setting her cup back
on the tray “Drink it, child; it will give you heart. Broichan has ever been fond of reminding folk that there is learning to be had even in the most trying experience; even in the most desperate disappointment. You will learn something here at Banmerren, and I expect the rest of us will, too; we’ve never had a child of the forest among us before. It won’t be easy for you. A challenge; no doubt
you enjoy those. Drink up. Then I’ll call Kethra back to show you where you’ll be sleeping. You can rest before supper. After that it’ll be all hard work. In time, no doubt the Shining One will make her purpose known.”

In Kethra’s wake, Tuala walked through passageway and eating place and hall of study, through a storeroom where a frankly staring girl handed her a pile of folded garments, a blue
robe at the bottom, other things on top; she passed through the gardens again, noting more girls tending a vegetable patch, forking straw, tying up straggling vines; she heard singing coming from inside somewhere, a pure, clear sound of young voices lifted in a hymn to the maiden All-Flowers. From an open doorway wafted a wholesome aroma of new-baked bread.

The whole of the Banmerren compound
lay within a wall; stone set its boundaries and effectively blocked off the world outside. The only entry Tuala could see was the way she had come in, a heavy iron gate with bolts across it. There had been a place outside she’d have liked to explore, a place as different from the craggy hills and blanketing forest of Pitnochie as a gull was from an owl: she’d glimpsed wide, empty sands and beyond
them a whispering sea. From within these walls, nothing of that could be seen.

Several girls, not uniformly robed but clad in fine skirts and tunics of varied hue, were sitting on a bench in the garden talking among themselves. As one, they turned to stare as Tuala went past, her feet moving swiftly to keep up with the brisk strides of her impatient guide. She heard the whispers, the suppressed
laughter. She could not catch the words. A girl who was sitting alone smiled at her, a warm smile in a face notable for its fine gray eyes and natural serenity. This girl had hair that gleamed like spun gold in the sunlight, falling in a ripple down her back. She was clad in palest cream with a touch of blue at neck and wrists. Tuala nodded courteously. To summon a smile in return was more than
she could manage right now.

“Up here,” Kethra said. She had made it abundantly clear she had no time to spare and did not appreciate the requirement to play nursemaid to this particular new arrival. It felt depressingly like those last days at Pitnochie. “Fola says you’re to sleep in the tower. It’s been empty a while. Maybe it’s best. The others will be wary of you. I suppose you know that.”
She led the way up a steep flight of stone steps on the outside of the building, along a perilously narrow walkway and into a small chamber whose doorway was almost level with the top of Banmerren’s outer wall. It was quite dark. A scurrying sound in the corner ceased abruptly as they went in.

“You’ll need a candle,” Kethra said. “Ask in the kitchen when you come down for supper.”

“When—?”

“Next bell. Wear the blue. It’ll be a long time before you need the green. If ever. Anything else?”

Tuala cleared her throat. There was a wooden bed frame in the chamber with a straw mattress on it; she could not see any other bedding. There was no fire.

“Could I—?”

“Speak up!” Kethra said. “I’ve work to do. I expect you’re used to folk running around after you, picking up for you. There’s none
of that here. We all do our share, no matter what we are.”

“A blanket,” Tuala said firmly, deciding she would not be intimidated. “Two, if that’s allowed; I see there’s no hearth up here. I’ll come down and fetch them myself, there’s no need to—”

“Anything else?”

“Not just yet,” Tuala said politely.

“You’ll have to wait; the storeroom is locked now and everyone’s busy. After supper, ask again.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.” Kethra turned on her heel and was gone.

Tuala dropped her bag onto the pallet and pulled her cloak tighter around her. Resting was certainly not going to be possible; it was so cold in here that her breath made a little cloud before her mouth. It seemed an odd place to have been allocated for her own. There were many girls here, and among the
chambers glimpsed during her hurried tour had been several long rooms for sleeping, housing pallets in rows. She was pretty sure she had seen hearths there with turf laid ready for burning. She had expected to be lodged with other girls, living communally as the men at arms did at Pitnochie. Perhaps
this isolation was meant to underline still further her difference. In truth, bleak as the small
chamber was, Tuala was much relieved to be alone.