The Well of Shades Read online

  “Garth,” he said quietly, “seal up this chamber for tonight, and don’t let anyone tramp about in here. It could be important.”

  “Of course. We should take Eile to the women’s quarters, yes? And call for Fola.”

  “I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Faolan said. “Take her to her own chamber. I will watch over her, at least until morning. If that’s considered improper, too bad. We do need Fola; will you tell Bridei what’s happened and ask him if she can come?” They began to walk up the pathway, Garvan leading with Eile in his arms, Dovran beside him with a torch.

  “Garth?” Faolan murmured.

  “What, friend?”

  “Bring Saraid. Even if she’s asleep.”

  “You are both healer and nursemaid now?”

  “Please.”

  “Very well. I think you need a healer yourself. I’ve never seen you shed tears in public before.”

  “This merits more than tears,” Faolan said. “Derelei is still lost. We don’t know what damage has been done to Eile. I am beginning to see answers. But I won’t do anything until Eile’s hurts are salved and she is safe and warm again. And you must sleep. I promised you rest. Instead, this. It is no life for a man with a wife and children.”

  HE WANTED TO stay by Eile every moment, to do everything that was needed, to watch over her constantly, to ensure he would be by her side when she regained consciousness. He wished to be there to allay her fears and soothe her hurts. He wanted to tell her what he had not dared to put into words before.

  Fola, however, had other ideas, and before her formidable will and indubitable competence Faolan retreated to the smaller chamber, the one with the green blanket, biting his nails. In the chamber which had once been Ana’s, a fire was made up on the hearth and candles lit; he watched through the half-closed connecting door. More blankets were fetched. Under the wise woman’s calm instructions, men brought warm water for bathing and a supply of plain food and drink. Elda arrived bearing a basket of salves and lotions and a clean nightrobe. Then the two women shut the connecting door and Faolan was left to pace alone.

  As time passed he thought he might go mad. They were taking so long; what was wrong? He imagined her slipping away from him between one breath and the next. He thought of her waking, confused and terrified. He thought of her not waking at all. He imagined the chain and the hand that had wielded it, a wicked, arbitrary hand. He was on the point of bursting through into the other chamber to say he knew not what, when there was a tap at the outer door, then Garth’s voice.

  “We’re here.”

  Saraid was not quite asleep. She was in her little nightrobe with a blanket around her and Sorry in her arms. “Mama?” she said in a tiny, doubtful voice.

  “I told her Mama was back, but sleeping,” Garth said.

  Faolan nodded, taking the child in his arms. “Thank you. You’ve spoken to Bridei?”

  “I’ve told him what we know. I understand Fola has seen something, too; something suggesting Derelei is indeed outside the walls and may still be alive. You know what that means, Faolan.”

  “Another day’s searching tomorrow.”

  “Will you come?”

  Faolan looked down at the solemn face of Saraid. He listened to the soft, capable voices of the women from the adjoining chamber. He was Bridei’s chief bodyguard; he was responsible for the king’s family. “I’ll face that choice in the morning,” he said. “I take it you’ve decided not to continue the search inside these walls tonight?”

  “The king says no. He believes Fola’s vision to be accurate.”

  “You’d best go to your bed, then. Thank you for everything. You’re a true friend.”

  Garth nodded. “You’d do the same for me,” he said.

  When Garth was gone, Faolan and Saraid sat side by side on the bed and he sang her the Sorry song. In the newest verse, Sorry was put on guard in the forest, watchful and silent, and when Faolan passed she alerted him and the brave dog Ban to peril. Thus Saraid was rescued and brought home. He spun it out, wanting the child to see her mother before she went to sleep, but they reached the end and still the door remained closed.

  “Mama?” Saraid asked. “House on the hill?”

  “Mama’s too tired to tell a story tonight. I will tell it. We’ll wait till Mama’s ready. We’ll do it all together.”

  “Faolan?” The door opened a crack, and Fola was there. “Oh.” She glanced at Saraid. “Can I speak in front of the child?”

  He was chill again. “It’s ill news?”

  “Not so ill, though Eile has not yet regained full consciousness.”

  “Then tell me now. May we see her?”

  “Sit down, Faolan. You can go in shortly. I can’t remain with her overnight, and nor can Elda. As you’ve refused other help, I must explain to you what is required. I know you won’t listen once you’re in the other chamber. Go on, sit. That’s better.” She came in to seat herself on the storage chest. The sleeves of her gray robe were rolled to the elbow. “We’ve warmed Eile up and tended to her cuts and bruises. She seemed to respond to the bathing and the heat of the fire; she managed to swallow a few drops of water. It’s important that you keep offering her something to drink each time she comes to herself sufficiently to swallow. But not too much at once. There’s plain bread and a little broth there; you can warm the pot over the fire. It doesn’t matter if she takes that or not. Tomorrow will be soon enough for eating. But she must drink.”

  “Will she—”

  “Let me finish. We’ve examined her closely to see what harm has been sustained. Apart from the blow to her head, it seems there’s been some damage to the left shoulder; she didn’t like us touching it. I don’t think anything’s broken, or she couldn’t have climbed so far. She’ll lose a few fingernails.” Fola glanced at the round-eyed Saraid. “There is no sign of abuse. I can’t tell you how she sustained the wound to her temple. Perhaps in the fall. On the other hand, it could be that blow caused her to fall. There are certain markings…”

  “Yes,” said Faolan. “What damage has been done by that, apart from the flesh wound?”

  “I can’t tell you. There may be no long-term damage. It’s astonishing that she sustained no broken bones, Faolan.” The wise woman regarded him gravely.

  “You saw the mark on her head. I believe she was rendered unconscious before she went into the well. That can reduce the damage caused by a fall. I don’t want to make the particular details of the head injury public until I’ve asked a few more questions.”

  “If you’re saying what I think you’re saying,” Fola commented, eyes shrewd, “you’d best not take too long over your investigations. Tonight, you’ll need all your energies for Eile. She’ll be confused and distressed when she wakes fully. Keep her calm. Elda’s left you a salve for her hands and feet. Apply it often. And call one of us if there’s the slightest need, Faolan. I will come back in the morning.”

  “We’d like to see her now.”

  Fola smiled. “You’ve been patient. Don’t expect much sleep tonight.”

  “Garth said you saw something. About Derelei. Can you tell me?”

  “I do not generally share my visions with the world,” the wise woman said, getting up. “But I see a difficult choice for you at dawn; love in conflict with duty. I saw Derelei, yes.”

  “Where? Was he safe?”

  “He was walking through deep, dark woods, all alone. He made his way with utter confidence. It seems to me his mother’s theory was correct. Derelei has not been abducted. He has not run away or wandered off and become lost. At two years old, he’s gone on a mission.”

  “Derry’s gone,” said Saraid, nodding sagely.

  “Where did he go, Squirrel?” Faolan’s heart was in his throat, but he kept his tone light.

  “Derry’s gone. Gone in the woods. All dark.”

  He looked at Fola; she regarded him calmly. A decision was made, without need for words, that no more questions would be asked tonight.
/>   “Saraid,” said Fola, “Mama’s very tired. She’s having a big sleep. You can go in and see her, but don’t wake her up. Good luck, Faolan. Don’t hesitate to ask for help if you need it. I sense that doesn’t come easily to you.”

  But he had already moved to the other chamber, where Eile lay tucked up in the big bed, a slight form beneath layers of woollen blankets. The flickering fire, its light playing on woven hangings depicting trees, flowers, and creatures, gave the room a good feeling, bright, safe, cozy. Saraid climbed onto the bed and wriggled in under the covers, as close to her mother as she could get. “Mama’s home,” she said. A moment later she started to cry, a small, repressed sound that soon grew to unrestrained sobbing as she clutched on to Eile and buried her head against her mother’s breast.

  Faolan did not allow himself time to think. He lay down on Eile’s other side, on top of the covers, and wrapped his arm over the two of them. “Hush, Saraid,” he whispered. “It will be all right. I promise. Everything will be all right.” A terrible weariness came over him, made up not simply of the ache in his leg, the gritty feeling in his eyes, the weight of too many sleepless nights. He sensed how small and powerless they were before the violent and arbitrary acts of destiny. It took him back to Fiddler’s Crossing and the night his whole life had changed.

  Saraid’s weeping died down. He stroked her hair, and Eile’s, and felt his own tears flowing anew. After a while a little voice said, “Story now. Please.”

  He drew a shuddering breath and let it go. “All right, I’ll try. You’ll need to help me. I don’t know it as well as Eile does. Once upon a time there was a girl who lived with her mother and father…”

  “In a house on a hill.”

  “It was a little house, just big enough for three.”

  “Chickens,” said Saraid. “Cat.”

  “It was just the right size for everyone. Three chickens, one black as coal, one brown as—as mud…”

  “One brown as earth.”

  “And one white as snow. And a cat. Fluffy, is that right?”

  “Mm. Garden.”

  “She… she pulled up weeds and staked up beans and in between she stared into the pond, dreaming.”

  Eile stirred, making a little sound.

  “I think Mama’s waking up.” He lifted his arm away, slowly so as not to startle her; he eased himself off the bed.

  “More story. Papa away. Eggs.”

  He watched Eile as she raised a hand to touch her temple; as her eyelids fluttered and she tried to swallow. “When her Papa came home she cooked eggs for him,” he whispered, “and put in all the good herbs she had grown in her garden; I can’t remember the names.”

  “Thyme, sage, calamint,” said Saraid sleepily.

  “And when she gave it to him, he said, That’s my girl. Then she knew her mama and papa loved her, and that she was the luckiest girl in the world. Eile, are you awake?”

  “Faolan?” Her voice was a croak, dry and painful. “What’s happened? My head hurts. And I’m thirsty.”

  He fetched water; put an arm behind her shoulders to help her sit up; held the cup while she drank. “Not too much.”

  Eile looked at him over the rim of the cup, her eyes shadowy in a face that seemed that of a ghost, pallid and shrunken.

  “You had a bad accident; we didn’t find you straightaway,” he said carefully. “You got very cold. We need to take things slowly.” He set the cup aside; moved away again to sit on the very edge of the bed.

  “What happened? I can’t remember anything. What day is it? How long—?” She began to shiver.

  “Mama fell. Down, way down.”

  “Oh gods, Faolan. Was Saraid hurt?” Eile drew her daughter closer.

  “She’s not hurt. She was missing for a little, but no harm’s been done. She can’t tell us what happened. Eile, you were with the two children that day, Saraid and Derelei, out and about in the grounds. Then you vanished, the three of you…” He told her what he knew, without mentioning Breda. “And we found you, just now, by the rim of the well. Look at your hands, Eile. Can’t you remember?”

  She stared at her hands, slathered with salve and wrapped in bandages. Her eyes were confused.

  “Mama’s hurt,” said Saraid.

  Eile’s shivering became convulsive, fierce bursts racking her body.

  “Lie down again. Under the blankets. Let me…”

  “I’m so cold, Faolan. I don’t think I’ll ever be warm again.”

  He went to lay more wood on the fire. The chamber was warmer than was entirely comfortable. When he turned, Eile was sitting up again.

  “You were lying here before, weren’t you, with your arm around us?” she said. “I wasn’t so cold then. And I felt safe. Who else is here, Faolan? I thought I heard some women.”

  “Fola was here, with Elda. Now it’s nighttime and it’s just the three of us.”

  “Come and lie down next to us. Keep us warm.”

  So he did, staying on top of the covers, and very soon Saraid was asleep, cheeks pink, one arm around her mother’s and the other around Sorry. But Eile and Faolan stayed awake. It is like the dream, he thought. The good dream, where I wake with her in my arms. But cruelly changed. What will she say when she knows the truth: that Breda tried to kill her? For he knew in his heart what had happened; instinct and the evidence matched too neatly for there to be any other explanation.

  “Faolan?”

  “Mm?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For being here. For looking after me. For coming to find me. Faolan, I… You said the top of the well. I think I can remember climbing up. Did I just imagine that?”

  “No, mo cridhe. You climbed to the top. It was a feat of matchless courage. But when you got there, I think your strength gave out. Don’t thank me for finding you. It was my error that brought us there so late.”

  “What error? How long was I there?”

  “Almost two days and a night, Eile. It’s no wonder you’re thirsty.”

  He felt sudden tension run through her body. “Derelei? What about Derelei? Is he safe?”

  It had to be the truth. “We don’t know. We think he’s outside the walls, but our search has found no trace of him. Fola saw a vision, and in that he was alive and well, somewhere in the forest. We’re hoping very much that it was accurate.”

  Eile said nothing for a little. Then her voice came, shaky and faint. “I was looking after him. This is my fault. Why can’t I remember? A well. Why would I go anywhere near a well with the two of them?”

  Faolan’s lips were against her hair; his arm lay loosely across her, careful not to jar her injured shoulder. Quietly, he told her about Tuala’s search, and the arrangements that had been made to keep it secret.

  “I can’t remember anything,” she whispered. “Except… I think my father was there. Down in that place. I just wanted to lie there. Everything hurt. He said, Fight. He wouldn’t let me give in.”

  “So you climbed up.”

  “I suppose I did. My hands are a mess, aren’t they? Why does my head hurt so much, Faolan?”

  “You’ve got a lot of cuts and bruises. You’re lucky you didn’t break anything.” He got up, moving to the hearth. “Do you want some soup?”

  She shook her head, wincing with pain. “I don’t want anything. I feel sick. I should have kept him safe. They trusted me and now he’s lost. He’s only little—”

  “Shh, Eile. We’ll talk about this in the morning. Lie down now.”

  “Faolan?”

  “Mm?” He was banking up the fire; he must not let her get cold.

  “You look exhausted.”

  “I’m fine. I don’t need much sleep.”

  “Rubbish. Leave that, come and lie down.”

  “I can sleep on the floor.”

  “I need you here, next to me. Please.”

  There was no chance at all, in his current state of exhaustion, that desire would create any kind of difficult
y before morning. All the same, the only items of clothing he removed were his boots. When he was lying down, Eile shifted so her head was on his shoulder. She curled against him. The fire set a rosy glow on the tapestry at the foot of the bed, a piece of Ana’s making, an image of a plum tree in full spring bloom with a family of ducks foraging beneath.

  Faolan held Eile closer; his fingers twined in her hair.

  “I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,” she said. “I can’t get it out of my mind, Derelei all alone out there. It’s so cold at night.”

  “Tuala may already have found him.”

  “But—”

  “Do I need to sing a song and tell a story to get you to sleep?” he asked her.

  “You can if you want,” she said, and there was a smile in her voice.

  There was a silence. “I’m worried that I’ll fall asleep halfway through. And there’s a thing I have to tell you. I—”

  “Shh. Not now.”

  “A story, then. Once upon a time there was a man who had lost his way. When he was young he’d had a blow, and for a long while, years and years, he’d been following wrong paths, and all that time the world had been rushing by him, and he’d never bothered to stop and do little things. Hugging a child. Sitting quietly with a friend, talking. Singing songs. He’d gone so far down a track to nowhere, he hardly knew who he was anymore, and although he was not yet thirty, he was told he looked old.”

  “I never said that.”

  “Not in so many words, maybe, but it was what you meant. Anyway, to cut things short, he met someone—two someones—who suddenly made his life very complicated. They were always doing things that surprised him. Sometimes they scared him. Sometimes they brought tears to his eyes, tears he could not shed, because he had forgotten how. It became impossible to lead the life he had before. They were a nuisance and a hindrance and they made it necessary to throw away his carefully devised rules, the rules that held him safe, the ones that stopped him from feeling. He tried to let the two of them go, thinking they’d be better off without him; thinking it would be easier for him without them. Then he felt something odd, as if a part of him long closed had at last been exposed, raw and painful beyond belief. He thought maybe that was the sensation of his heart breaking.”