Juliet Marillier - Heart's Blood

“Would you accuse me of lying?” His tone was wintry. “Answer my question.What did the mirror show you?”

I forced myself to tell the tale of blood, death and vaunting ambition. Anluan listened in silence to my halting account, and when I was finished he said calmly, “You must continue the work. I will put this mirror away before tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I needed more than that. “What can you tell me about Nechtan? Magnus explained that his documents are the ones you want me to look at. It will be easier to pick them out if I know a little of his history. Magnus told me you are the only person here who can read, my lord. Otherwise I wouldn’t trouble you with my questions.”

“Nechtan was my great-grandfather. The oldest writings are his.You will find a few by my grandfather, Conan, and then there are my father’s notebooks.”

“What was your father’s name, my lord?”

“Irial.” His tone shut off further questions.“I will deal with the mirror now.You should take time to compose yourself. Start the work afresh tomorrow, and heed Magnus’s warnings in the future. Stick to the job you’ve been hired to do, and don’t interfere with what doesn’t concern you.You can’t expect to understand everything here at Whistling Tor, and there’s no need for you to do so. It’s a place unlike other places. Or so I’m told. I need you to stay. I need the work done.”

He rose and limped into the library, leaving me alone in the walled garden. Irial’s garden, Magnus had called it. My father’s notebooks . It seemed likely Irial had written those meticulous botanical notes I’d looked at earlier, and executed the tiny, exquisite drawings that accompanied them. I glanced at the little book Anluan had left on the seat, wondering if he had been reading his father’s work. It was bound in fine calf leather, tooled with a pattern of leaves, but when I lifted the cover to peep inside, the writing I saw crawling across the creamy parchment was not the spidery script of the gardener’s notebooks, but Anluan’s irregular, labored hand. Someone gave a little cough. I shut the book hastily, not wanting to be caught prying. Muirne was standing about four paces from me, a cup in her hand. She had a disturbing ability to move about with scarcely a sound.

“Thank you,” I said, getting up to take the water from her. Her fingers were cold. “I’m much better now.”

“You saw something that scared you.” It was a statement, not a question. “A mirror?” When I nodded, she said, “There are many stories here. Many memories.This is not an easy place.”

“I’m beginning to realize that,” I said, glad that she was taking the time to speak to me, even if her manner was a little odd.“I suppose I’d better go; I know this is Lord Anluan’s private garden.Will someone call me when it’s suppertime?” I took a sip, then set the cup down on the bench.

“I suppose someone will,” Muirne said.

“Thank you.” Should I add my lady ? I had no idea where she belonged in this unusual household, only that if I did not make an effort with her, the summer was going to seem very long. I had thought she might be Anluan’s wife, but he had treated her like a servant. I smiled at her, then walked out under the archway with my mind full of unanswered questions.

chapter three

Icouldn’t p luck up the courage to explore, even though Anluan had given me the rest of the day off. I retreated to my unwelcoming bedchamber and sat on the pallet, thinking. Even with the mirror gone, I could hardly bear the idea of stepping back over the library threshold.The job would surely involve delving deeper into Nechtan’s extremely unpleasant life.The little chest might well contain the next part of his journal, in which the experiment he was working up to might be explained in full, repellent detail.

The thought disgusted me. And it fascinated me.To my horror, I realized I wanted to read on. Did Nechtan and his assistant open whatever portal it was and bring forth a fearsome army? Was that even possible? If I used the mirror again, would it open the same window into that man’s dark thoughts? What might I see there?

I shuddered, remembering. Sickening as the scene in the vision had been, equally appalling was the fact that Nechtan had evidently taught his assistant not just the skills of sorcery but also his own warped moral codes. She was the one who had fetched the little dog; that had been her idea. She had chosen to stay in the chamber and watch as Nechtan demonstrated his expertise in torture. In the mirror vision, she had been a presence in the shadows, a figure leaning over to scrub the table, a fall of golden hair. I had never quite seen her face. But her voice had revealed her approval, her admiration, her slavish willingness to help. If Nechtan was the one who had made her that way, Anluan’s great-grandfather had truly been an evil man.

As it began to grow dark, I ventured out to fetch water from the pump, carried it up to my chamber in a bucket and washed my face and hands. I combed and plaited my hair, pinning the braids up on top. With no fresh gown to change into—the one I’d worn for travel needed sponging and airing—the best I could do was give the green one a brushing down. If I stayed here, I was going to need additional clothing to see me through the summer. I had a nightrobe and a change of smallclothes. Apart from those, my pack had held only an embroidered kerchief that had belonged to my mother and the doll Maraid had sewn for me after Mother died. Róise was only a handspan tall. Her features were worked in fine thread and she had dark silky hair, the same color as mine. Her nut-brown skirt was made from one of my mother’s, her cream linen tunic from one of my father’s shirts.A favorite blue ribbon of Maraid’s formed her sash. I could not look at Róise without thinking of my family. The doll made me sad and happy both at once. In the dark time I had clutched her to my breast all night long. I had soaked her embroidered face with wretched, helpless tears.

I set Róise on the pillow. She looked somewhat out of place in this bare, dim chamber. I must ask Magnus for a lamp, or at least a candle; those steps would be treacherous at night. As for the question of clothing, the first spell of wet weather would see me in difficulty. I had not anticipated spending so long in a place where there would be no opportunity to sew or to borrow suitable garments. It was further evidence of how poorly I had planned my flight from Market Cross. Perhaps the practical Magnus would have an answer. He’d probably tell me to ask Muirne. A chieftain’s wife—if that was what she was—generally did distribute her own old clothing to the poor and deserving, but even on the unlikely chance that Muirne would put me in that category, there was no way her garments could be made to fit me. She was of slight build, while I had a smaller version of my sister’s figure, my bosom and hips generous, my waist narrow. Ita had once remarked that it was a whore’s body.

Suitably tidied, I made my way to the kitchen where the table had been cleared of cooking paraphernalia and was set with seven bowls, seven spoons and seven goblets. Magnus was stirring a pot on the fire.

“Can I do anything to help?” I asked.

Before he could answer, a familiar figure in a red cloak and gold chain made a regal entrance into the chamber.

“Rioghan!” I exclaimed, finding myself well pleased to see a familiar face, even one fairly new to me.

“Welcome to Whistling Tor, Caitrin,” Rioghan said, and swept into his well-practiced bow. “What a delight. We see few visitors here, and even fewer comely women.”

I felt myself blush scarlet.

“You’re embarrassing the girl, Rioghan,” said Magnus, setting his pot on the table. “She’s not one of your flirtatious court ladies.”

“I was merely speaking the truth,” Rioghan said. “Please be seated, Caitrin. There is a woeful lack of ceremony to our repasts here. Our welcome is nonetheless genuine.”

“Thank you,” I said, and sat. The king’s councillor took the place opposite me.

The forest man, Olcan, came in next, with Fianchu in close attendance. The enormous hound went straight for a corner by the hearth, where a meaty bone lay beside a pile of old sacks. Fianchu settled on the sacks and began a purposeful crunching.

“Ah, Caitrin,” said the forest man. “So you found the house. Staying?”

“For a trial period. I’ve been given some work to do in the library.”

“Good,” observed Olcan, seating himself beside me. “Hope you stay awhile. Fianchu likes you. Don’t you, boy?”

Intent on his bone, Fianchu made no response.

“That smells good, Magnus,” I said.

“The meal will be humble, alas,” said Rioghan in melancholy tones. “Times have changed at Whistling Tor. This was once a fine household, Caitrin. Supper was consumed in the great hall. Ale flowed copiously.The floors were thick with sweet-smelling rushes. Bards entertained the crowd with harp and pipe. After the meal there was dancing.” He sighed.

Magnus had begun to ladle out the contents of the pot, serving each of us in turn. It seemed odd to me that we were starting without Lord Anluan or Muirne, for both of whom, by my count, places had been set. But it was not for me, the newest arrival, to say anything about it. When I heard footsteps in the hallway I thought they had arrived, but it was Brother Eichri who entered, looking even thinner and paler than before. There was a transparency about his skin that enabled me to see clearly the bones beneath. His high frontal tonsure rendered his head skull-like. Yesterday he had worn a cape over his habit. Now, with that garment gone, I noticed that in place of a monk’s cross he was wearing a peculiar necklace. There were odd little objects hanging from it, things I was not sure I wanted to identify. They reminded me of the unpleasant scene in the obsidian mirror.

Brighid save us, the man was gaunt. His bones seemed to jangle as he settled himself on my other side.“Caitrin, daughter of Berach,” he said with a toothsome smile. “What a pleasure. Villagers scare you off, did they?”

“No, they let me in,” I said, realizing that I had in fact shown some courage over the last day or so. “I stayed down there overnight and came up this morning.”

“She’s working here,” Magnus said. “Scribing for Anluan.Trial period. Remember your manners, you two.”

“I’m happy to see you again, Brother Eichri,” I said.The presence of a holy man in this place of shadows and whispers was reassuring.

Across the table, Rioghan’s dark brows shot up to supercilious heights. “Brother?” he echoed. “He’s long since relinquished any claim to such a title. Eichri might more accurately be dubbed sinner, evildoer, transgressor, apostate, criminal—” He halted, perhaps seeing my expression.

“I thought the two of you were friends,” I said, shocked by his outburst.

“They are,” said Magnus, setting a platter of bread on the table. “They go on like this all the time. Don’t let it bother you.” He sat down beside Rioghan. “I heard you had a little problem with a mirror.”

“I did.” The memory made me shudder. “What it showed me was so horrible I’m afraid I bolted out into the herb garden and was violently sick. Fortunately, Lord Anluan was there and I was able to explain what had happened. He said he’d put away the mirror before I have to start the work again.”