The Well of Shades Read online

  Now his father stood before him. Conor’s eyes were both stern and loving as he set his hands on Faolan’s shoulders and gazed at him. “Go with my blessing,” he said. “A safe journey.” He touched his lips to his son’s brow. Then his glance went to Eile, who was bidding a grave farewell to Donnan and the old man. “That’s a fine young woman,” the brithem said. “Or will be, once she learns the whole world isn’t against her.”

  Faolan held back tears. He had shed a few since he came home, over swift-passing days and nights into which they had done their best to cram ten years of vanished time. Today, it was not possible to stand here without remembering that other departure, the morning after Dubhán’s death: the drained face of his mother as she’d given Faolan a little bundle of food for the road; his father’s helpless despair; the fact that his sisters had not come out to say good-bye. He looked into Conor’s eyes now and saw the same memory; he saw the same unshed tears.

  “Faolan,” the brithem said gravely, “never forget that you are my son, and that I love you. Even in the darkest moment, that was always so. Wherever you travel, and I think that will be far, you carry your family with you. Keep us in your heart, and make your way home to us one day.”

  At that moment control escaped Faolan long enough for a single tear to fall, and he embraced his father, saying something, he didn’t know what, some kind of promise. He hugged Líobhan, who was managing to smile.

  “You’ll come back, Faolan,” his sister said, holding him tightly. “I know it. There’ll be a time.”

  He took his farewell of his grandfather, and Donnan, and Phadraig, who had gone uncharacteristically quiet. He thanked Donnan for procuring the horses that would take them quickly beyond the borders of Laigin. He had told nobody, not even his father, where they were going; it was safer that way.

  It was time. He helped Eile onto her horse. His father was right; she was becoming a fine young woman not just in her honesty and strength, which Faolan had seen from the first, but in other ways, too. A little good feeding and a temporary sense of security had begun to turn the half-starved wretch of Cloud Hill into a thin but healthy-looking girl with a long sweep of glossy hair the hue of oak leaves in autumn. The green eyes were bright, though still wary; her skin had a better color now. She was quiet this morning. He knew she would have liked to stay.

  “Saraid ride horsey?” a small voice asked. “Please?”

  He lifted the child onto the saddle in front of her mother. “All right?” he asked Eile. “Just follow me; we’ll take it slowly.”

  “Mm.”

  “Look after him, Eile,” said Líobhan.

  “Well, then,” Faolan said, “I suppose it’s time to go.” His voice was less steady than he had intended. He took one last look at his family. It was nearly his undoing; if his father had asked him at that moment to stay after all, he knew he would have been hard put to say no. He mounted in a rush, turning his horse so the others could not see his face. “Come, then, Eile,” he said, and they rode away to the north.

  AT WHITE HILL the festival of Maiden Dance, celebrating the very earliest stirrings of spring, passed by with no more than token observance. A severe storm had blanketed the region in heavy snow. Chill, flailing winds made venturing beyond the shelter of homes and walled gardens a test of endurance; stock not housed in the safety of barns was at the mercy of Bone Mother’s last assault for the season, and early lambs perished in their dozens.

  Within the king’s household the atmosphere was tense; there was a threefold sense of expectation. Tuala’s baby was due within a turning of the moon. Nothing had been heard from Broichan since his precipitate departure some months earlier. Word about the household was that, if he planned to return, it would surely be as soon as the weather cleared and blessed All-Flowers breathed the warm air of spring through the Great Glen once more. If the druid did not walk into White Hill as the first flowers peeped out beneath the budding trees of the forest, then perhaps he would not return at all. Some believed he had gone out of his wits, as druids were inclined to do sometimes, and had perished in the dark chill of the winter woods. Tuala had shared her vision only with her husband and Aniel. In her opinion, what happened next was Broichan’s choice, and it fell to his family—that, it seemed, was what she and Bridei were—to be patient about it.

  The third cause for the edgy sense of anticipation was Carnach, and a growing rumble of unrest that made itself known to Bridei through the spies he sent out to glean what they could in village drinking halls and the gathering places of powerful men. Carnach himself had sent no messengers. Bridei knew his kinsman had spent the winter at his home in Thorn Bend, far to the southeast. His spies had brought him the news that Carnach had not made a claim for the kingship of Circinn; the best intelligence was that it would go to one of Drust the Boar’s brothers, as Aniel had anticipated. But Carnach was too quiet. By now he should at least have let the king know his intentions for spring and summer; for the conduct of the garrison at Caer Pridne and for the ongoing defense of Fortriu’s borders. Leave it too long, and Bridei must seek another man to be his chief war leader. To do so would be the equivalent of slapping his influential kinsman in the face. He did not wish to be forced into it.

  Meanwhile, the weather prevented much movement in and out of the king’s stronghold and the children who lived there, deprived of their usual outdoor activities, were driving everyone crazy. Tuala kept Derelei’s lessons brief and to the point, for she was often weary now in the last days of her pregnancy. They had learned much together, but she felt, always, that insistent tug at the limits she set for her son, the urgent need to delve deeper. He wanted to cross boundaries and she refused to let him. Without her controls to guide him, Derelei had the capacity to cause havoc. It was exhausting. Once the new baby arrived, she thought she might not have the energy, or the will, to keep it up.

  Thus, when there came a day on which the air seemed a touch warmer and the wind a little less biting, the queen sent a messenger to Fola at Banmerren, requesting the wise woman’s presence at court as soon as convenient. The official reason was the imminent arrival of the king’s second child. Banmerren could furnish midwives, since this was a function the healer priestesses of the Shining One performed regularly in their neighborhood. Fola knew Broichan better than almost anyone now living, and she would understand that Tuala needed counsel as well as midwifery.

  It was still too cold for the children to be long outdoors. The three little boys, Garth’s twins Galen and Gilder, with Derelei, had taken to running along the passageways of White Hill at top speed, hurtling up and down stairs, barreling into anyone who might be in the way and erupting into ear-splitting squeals of overwrought laughter at the least provocation. The nursemaids were tearing out their hair. Garth’s wife, Elda, who was expecting another child herself, could be heard lecturing her sons from time to time, after which all would be quiet for a little before mayhem broke out again. Derelei tended to have scraped knees and bruises on his arms and legs, and a wildness in his eye that Tuala did not much care for. Whenever she could, she took him to play with Ban in the garden, or to watch the men at wrestling games in the hall. But Derelei’s restlessness went beyond the forced inactivity of winter. Tuala wondered if Broichan had been right when he had first raised the subject of the child’s special talents. Perhaps her son should be sent away, baby as he was. Perhaps he did belong with the druids of the deep forest, who could tutor him with wise discipline, free from distractions. Her heart quailed at the prospect.

  Help for the immediate problem came in an unlikely form. The warrior chieftain of Raven’s Well, Talorgen, was both old friend and trusted supporter of Bridei and had recently arrived at White Hill with his two sons. One morning, Bedo and Uric came to see Tuala in her private apartment. The inquisitive lads she had known when they were seven or eight and she a shy thirteen had now grown into lanky, red-haired young men with grins every bit as disarming as Talorgen’s own.

  “Bedo, Uric, how good to se
e you! I would say, ‘How you’ve grown,’ but I’m sure you must be tired of hearing that. Is your stepmother here, too?”

  “Yes, Brethana came. She didn’t really want to, but Father said she’d like court when she got used to it.” Bedo, the elder of the two, came into the chamber and, at Tuala’s nod, seated himself by the fire. His brother leaned on the chimney piece, a picture of studied nonchalance.

  “I’ll look forward to meeting her when she’s got over the journey,” Tuala said. “It’s good to see your father so happy.” Talorgen had recently remarried; the story of his first wife was not aired in public. Dreseida had been set aside by her husband and banished from Fortriu over a plot to put her own eldest son on the throne in place of Bridei. That son, Gartnait, had died in the strange course of dark events that followed. It had been largely through the courageous intervention of Tuala’s close friend Ferada, Talorgen’s daughter, that Bridei had survived to become king. “I’m hoping your sister will be here at court soon,” Tuala said. “I’ve invited her to keep me company when the baby’s born.”

  “Ferada hates babies,” Bedo said with a grin. “You’ll be doing well if you can prize her away from her new project. Everyone’s talking about it; the first secular school for women in all Fortriu. Trust my sister to take on something nobody else would touch. She misses bossing me and Uric around, you realize, that’s the only reason she’s doing it.”

  At that moment there was a roar of children’s voices outside the door, and a sound of running footsteps accompanied by hysterical barking.

  “Derelei!” Tuala’s tone was unusually sharp; she was feeling queasy and uncomfortable today, and it didn’t help to be constantly worried about her son either bothering folk or managing to hurt himself again.

  “Mine!” a twin shouted, beyond the door.

  “No, mine!”

  “Is not! Give it to me!”

  A wail: Derelei. He still had few words, and this made it difficult for him to hold his own with the twins, a year older and not only bigger but much more fluent.

  A scream. Tuala was on her feet and wrenching the door open before she could think, for the sound had indicated utter dread. She stepped into the hall, Uric and Bedo at her shoulders.

  Derelei was standing with his back to the wall and his hands outstretched in front of him. Opposite him, pressed against the other wall, was Gilder, preternaturally still and very red in the face. He couldn’t move; his eyes were terrified. The screams came from Galen, who stood a little way off, a straw-packed leather ball in his small hands. Ban stood stiff-legged, his barks escalating.

  “Derelei, no!” Tuala snapped, her heart thumping.

  Derelei moved his hands, closing them into loose fists. Gilder’s rigid form relaxed; he fell to the flagstones, a sob of fright breaking from his lips. Tuala stepped forward.

  “Doggy,” said Derelei calmly, and in an instant Gilder had disappeared, and there were two dogs in the hallway. It was as if Ban had spawned a twin. There was no telling them apart. A new frenzy of barking broke out as they circled each other, hackles up. Galen had wisely backed away, still clutching the ball.

  Uric gave a long, slow whistle.

  “Holy hailstones,” said Bedo in what seemed to be awe.

  “Derelei!” Tuala’s voice was close to a shout. “Bring Gilder back! Now!”

  Perhaps she had been too angry. Derelei looked up at her. His mouth crumpled; his eyes brimmed with tears. At once, he seemed no more than an overtired two-year-old. It was unusual for Tuala to reprimand him; he was always so good.

  “Do it now, Derelei. No doggy. Bring boy back.”

  “Ball,” Derelei said tremulously, glancing at the other twin, who hugged the disputed item to his chest.

  It would be an easy matter to take the ball and give it to her son. The less Bedo and Uric saw here, the better. But she could not allow that; Derelei must not learn that he could use magic to get his own way.

  “No,” said Tuala. “You can’t have the ball. Derelei, bring Gilder back.”

  Derelei brushed past her and went into her chamber, where he could be seen retreating to crouch under the table. Uric bent down to separate the two dogs, which were snapping at each other in preparation for a serious encounter. Bedo had picked up the frightened Galen and moved him out of harm’s way.

  Someone was approaching; Tuala could hear voices, probably Elda in search of the twins. “Ban!” she ordered crisply. “Sit!”

  After a moment’s hesitation, one dog lowered its rump obediently to the floor, a resentful growl still issuing from its mouth. Uric grasped the other by the scruff of the neck, wincing as the snapping teeth came close to removing a finger.

  This had better work. Tuala pointed in the small dog’s direction, closed her eyes, and whispered a few words. There was a moment’s hushed silence, then an ear-splitting wail. As Elda and a maidservant came around a turn of the hallway, Uric crouched down beside the hysterical Gilder, holding him firmly by the arms.

  “You’re all right,” he said. “You’re not hurt. Be a man.”

  “What’s wrong? What have they been up to this time?” Elda sounded as exhausted as Tuala felt.

  “Just a fight over a ball,” said Bedo calmly. “We’ve sorted it out. I think.”

  “It was Derelei’s fault,” Tuala told the twins’ mother. “I’ll be having a few words with him. Maybe you should take the twins away for a bit, Elda. They’re quite upset.” She hoped very much that any small tales of turning into creatures would be dismissed as the products of an overwrought imagination.

  When the sobbing Gilder and the sniffing Galen had been borne away, Tuala looked at Talorgen’s sons, and Uric and Bedo looked back at her.

  “I won’t lie,” she said. “I’d have been far happier if you hadn’t seen that. Folk know Broichan’s been training Derelei. But none of us knew he could do that.”

  “Remember that time when we were little,” Bedo said, “and you told me you were going to turn me into a newt?” After a moment he added, “My lady.”

  “I did no such thing,” Tuala said repressively. “You asked if I could, and I said I’d try if you wanted. And you went green in the face. I remember it well.”

  Uric chuckled. “But you could have, couldn’t you? Like you undid the dog thing. Just as well Bedo didn’t ask to be a monster or a powerful sorcerer or something. What if you did a spell and couldn’t reverse it?”

  “Or wouldn’t,” commented Tuala grimly. “Now, boys, you must understand something.”

  “Don’t tell anyone?” Bedo was smiling.

  “I’d be most grateful if you kept this to yourselves. This kind of thing doesn’t happen often here. What these little boys need is diversion. They need to be kept so busy they have no opportunity to get into mischief.”

  There was a brief silence.

  “Don’t look at us,” said Uric.

  “I don’t know.” There was a distinct glint in Bedo’s eye. “It does get pretty boring here in bad weather. I wonder if those carts are still here somewhere, you know, the ones we brought from Raven’s Well a couple of years ago? They’d go well on the slope down to the main gate, don’t you think? And we could show them dodge-the-ball.” He turned to Tuala. “The carts have iron wheels. We got the blacksmith at home to make them for us. They’re good for races.”

  “As long as nobody gets hurt,” Tuala told him firmly. “No broken bones, no serious bruises. And no annoying other folk about their daily business. Ferada was full of stories about you two. I’ve heard them all.”

  “We’re not so bad,” said Bedo with a crooked grin. It seemed to Tuala that, for all Uric’s practiced air of coolness, it was this brother who would have all the girls after him in a year or two.

  “And you let me know straight away if there are any… problems.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  These boys had surely changed during their years under their older sister’s guidance, Tuala thought as the two of them strolled away, all rela
xed good humor. Ferada had made fine young men of them; she seemed to have wiped away the shadow that had touched that family at the time of Bridei’s election to kingship. Ferada would be coming to White Hill for the birth of the royal baby. Tuala must remember to congratulate her friend on a job well done.

  Right now there was Derelei to deal with; Derelei who was curled in a tight ball under the table, silent. Tuala walked into the room and closed the door quietly behind her. She moved across and seated herself on the floor, a little awkward with the bulk of the unborn child to balance.

  “Derelei?” She kept her voice low. “I’m not cross anymore. Gilder’s all better. Come out now.”

  No response. She could feel the tension emanating from her son, even from two arm’s-lengths away.

  “Derelei, you mustn’t use magic when you’re angry. It hurts people. Gilder was scared. He didn’t like being a dog.” Gods, if only he were a little older, a little more able to talk and to understand. “Come out, sweetheart. Mama isn’t angry.”

  Ban went under the table and began to lick the child’s face. Nobody could stay still long under such vigorous attentions. Derelei uncurled, whimpering, and crept out. Tuala had no lap left to sit on; she gathered him to her as best she could. “Who taught you that?” she asked him. “Boy into dog? We never tried that, and I’m sure Broichan never did, either.” Then, after a silence, “Derelei?”

  “Doggy.” His tone was mutinous.