Den of Wolves Page 7

  Even if she could make the words come out, Father would think her arguments childish. And those promises, the ones about being obedient, would be lies. The forest drew her; it was her true home. The trees and the birds and the great stillness calmed her spirit. Did that mean there was something wrong with her? A girl in a tale might sicken and fade away if she was taken from the forest. A girl in real life, a landholder’s only daughter, did not give in to such fancies. At least, not according to Father and Aunt Della. And, kind though Lady Flidais was, it was clear that she and her attendants found Cara odd. Perhaps she really was sick. Perhaps she had some disease of the mind. Or maybe she was under a spell. A charm spoken over her cradle, binding her to Wolf Glen. Maybe an evil spirit had attended her birth, causing her mother to die and Cara to be forever different, a stranger in her own world. Perhaps she really did need to talk to a wise woman. If she could get the words out.

  Then Lady Flidais got distracted. A messenger rode in from the south with some kind of bad news. Nobody told Cara what the news was and she didn’t ask. But both Flidais and the prince were looking solemn and thoughtful. There were meetings behind closed doors, and people from court, councillors and the like, coming to Winterfalls to talk to Prince Oran. With so many visitors, the grooms were busy and so were the serving people, from Aedan the steward and his wife Fíona right down to the scullery maids. Nobody asked Cara about riding over to see the wise woman, or about an escort, or about whether she was still feeling sick. Nobody had time to bother with her, which suited her perfectly.

  She chose a day when they were all especially busy. She didn’t say a word to anyone, just packed a few things in a little bag and wandered up the hill toward the birches as if she were going for a short walk. And when she judged that there were no eyes on her, she climbed over the gate and slipped away toward Dreamer’s Wood.

  7

  ~Blackthorn~

  The day was fine, the sun was shining and I was out in the wood gathering mushrooms. Several kinds grew here, some perfectly edible, others, such as the ones locally known as screamers, very much the opposite. Screamers had plain pinkish caps with a darker blush at the edges, set on sturdy stalks. They looked harmless, even appetising. But eaten in sufficient quantity, screamers could kill. They would at the very least send a person mad. I had seen folk tear at their own skin until it bled, bash their heads against solid walls, run about blindly, shrieking in terror. Hurt themselves. Hurt other folk. One way or another, a person who ate screamers would never be the same again.

  My basket was full. Its contents were entirely edible. I turned for home, my mind on what story I would use for tonight’s reading lesson. A flash of colour under the trees brought me abruptly back to the here and now.

  There was a girl at Dreamer’s Pool. A girl in Dreamer’s Pool, a young woman with her shoes off, paddling in the shallows. The last time anyone had gone in there, they’d been changed forever. The pool was fey. Perilous. Forbidden.

  Best not call out. If I frightened her she might lose her balance and fall right in, all the quicker to become a fish or a dragonfly or a goat. How could she be so stupid? Everyone knew to keep out of the pool. Everyone . . . I walked down the path toward her, staying as quiet as I could. As soon as she saw me I would warn her to get out. But in a calm tone, so she wouldn’t be startled.

  As I came closer it struck me how still she was, as much a part of the woodland as stone or water or tree. And . . . was that a bird on her finger? Yes, a redpoll perched there with complete confidence, while on the young woman’s shoulder, half-concealed by her cloud of wispy brown hair, a yellow-breasted siskin preened its feathers. I sucked in a breath; my steps faltered. Perhaps this was not a foolish human girl who had strayed where she should not, but one of Conmael’s folk.

  Something alerted her. She turned her head toward me. The redpoll took flight; the siskin darted away. The girl was on the verge of doing the same – I could see it in her eyes. She came quickly out of the pool, keeping her gaze on me as if fearful I might attack.

  ‘I’m sorry if I startled you,’ I said, walking down to the flat ground beside the water, the only spot where a person could easily venture in. ‘I must warn you. Dreamer’s Pool is not a safe place to go wading or swimming. You should keep out of the water altogether.’

  She was slipping on her shoes, tugging her hem out of her girdle, thrusting items back into her bag. In a hurry to leave. ‘Why?’ she asked, not looking at me. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  ‘If the tales are to be believed, and experience tells me they are, then this pool is full to the brim with magic,’ I said, thinking maybe I could guess who this was. ‘It changes things. Man into creature. Creature into woman. And there’s no way to reverse it. At least, no way known to humankind.’ She had hitched the bag onto her back. ‘But perhaps you are not from these parts,’ I added. ‘You may not know the tales. Is your name Cara, by any chance?’

  ‘How . . .?’ Her response was as quick as a blade, but faded before she finished it. She might have been daydreaming back there in the water, but now she was on high alert. I did not think she was fey, after all; her features looked human, if unusual. She was tall, willowy, awkward in her movements now she knew she was not alone; a girl who had not yet grown into her woman’s body. Her pale skin was dotted with freckles. She had a big mop of wavy hair with many shades of brown in it, and wide, wary hazel eyes, now full of the wish to be somewhere else. She seemed afraid of me. Why would that be? I had tried to speak kindly.

  ‘How do I know your name?’ I said. ‘I know because Lady Flidais told me about you. That’s if you are the young woman who’s come from Wolf Glen to stay in the prince’s house. I am Mistress Blackthorn, the healer.’

  ‘Oh.’ She relaxed a little; unfolded the arms that had been tight around her body. Bobbed her head in a sort of nod.

  ‘Lady Flidais spoke to me about finding you a tonic. Something to help you feel better.’

  No reply to this. She stood there staring, on the verge of flight. I recalled what Flidais had told me about Cara’s reluctance to speak.

  ‘Why not come back to my cottage now and we’ll talk about it? It’s not far. You do need to be careful in Dreamer’s Wood. It may sound odd but it’s true. Nobody goes in the pool. They should have warned you.’ But then, wasn’t she forbidden to ride beyond the prince’s walls without an escort? ‘Do you have anyone with you?’

  She shook her head. ‘I should be going.’ It was a whisper.

  ‘Going? Where?’

  She shrugged. I could not tell if that meant, I don’t know, or It’s none of your business. But I could guess. She was out alone, against the rules her father had set out to Flidais.

  ‘I think you might be running away. Heading for home, perhaps. On foot. Let’s say the prince’s folk don’t catch up with you. You might get there before dusk. But I doubt that; it’s a long walk. And, from what I’ve heard, a difficult one. You might find yourself out in the forest after dark, which wouldn’t be ideal.’

  Cara stared at me, silent. I couldn’t help thinking of a wild creature cornered. What did that make me? A fearsome wolf, a ferocious boar, a monster?

  ‘They will send someone after you very soon,’ I said. ‘Probably have done already. If you come with me, back to my cottage, we can sit down together and talk or just have a brew, and when Donagan or whoever it is arrives, you can tell him Lady Flidais suggested you come to see me and you forgot you were meant to take someone with you. Better, surely, than being apprehended and escorted back in disgrace.’

  ‘I could get there. I know the way. I just need to reach the forest. Our forest. After that they wouldn’t find me.’

  So she could talk, sometimes at least. ‘Shall we make a wager?’ I asked. ‘I’m betting that by the time we reach my cottage, we’ll be able to see someone from the prince’s establishment riding in this direction.’

 
‘But that means . . .’

  ‘That you can’t go where you were planning to go? Yes, it does. However, when you consult a wise woman, you can expect to do so in private. By the time whoever it is gets here, we’ll be sitting indoors by the hearth fire, and he will have to wait for you out in the garden, where he can’t possibly hear our confidential discussion.’ When she still looked as if she might make a run for it – and if she did, there’d be no catching up with her; she had youth and long legs on her side – I added, ‘Truly. If you try to run now, it can only end in failure. Which would probably make any future attempt much harder. And who knows? I might be able to help.’

  She came with me. Shoulders drooping, face closed, every part of her heavy with disappointment. As I opened the cottage door, she looked over her shoulder. I followed her gaze. Across the fields came two men on horseback, heading our way.

  ‘As I said.’ I ushered her inside, closed the door, went to build up the fire.

  Cara mumbled something.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I said, I’m not a child!’

  Morrigan save us. Was that the choice, to be silent or to snap like an ill-tempered terrier? Had I been like that at fifteen? I filled the kettle, not looking at her. ‘What would you prefer,’ I asked, ‘to speak with me for a while in private or wait outside for your escort?’

  ‘You’ll tell her. Lady Flidais.’

  ‘If that’s what you think, you don’t know much about wise women. Keeping confidences is a necessary part of the work we do. Lady Flidais didn’t ask me to report back to her, only to talk to you. If you want to chat about the weather, that’s fine. If there’s something else on your mind and you want to tell me about it, go ahead. Either way, you have an excuse for being here when they ask. No need to mention you were bolting for home.’ Not that it had looked that way when I’d first seen her. She had appeared entirely at peace with herself and the world. Had she forgotten, standing in that perilous place, that she was running away?

  I got out the jar of dried peppermint leaves and the crock of honey. Two cups. Two spoons. ‘As for the part about heading off without an escort,’ I told her, ‘I’ll leave you to work out what to say. Please sit down. You’re making me edgy.’

  Cara seated herself on the bench, bolt upright, her hands clutched together on the table before her. The kettle boiled. I made the brew, filled the cups and sat down opposite her. She didn’t say a word.

  Horses outside, and men’s voices. ‘What shall I tell them?’ I asked, not getting up.

  ‘What you said. Before.’ And after a moment, ‘Please.’

  I went outside, shutting the door behind me, to find Donagan and one of the prince’s men-at-arms dismounting. Donagan was one of the few who knew the strange truth about what had befallen Flidais at Dreamer’s Pool. He had stood by Prince Oran in times of great difficulty. And he’d been kind to Grim. Courtier though he was, I viewed him as a friend.

  ‘Cara’s here, Donagan,’ I said straight out. ‘She’s safe. But we’ve just sat down to a brew, and I need to talk to her privately. Can I bring you two a cup?’

  ‘Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn,’ Donagan said, his crooked smile telling me far more than he was prepared to say. ‘That is a great relief. Don’t bother with the brew. We’re happy to wait out here and rest the horses. Is Grim somewhere about?’

  ‘Away on a job. All day.’ I remembered, just in time, that it might not be wise to mention he was at Wolf Glen. From what Grim had told me, the situation up there was odd and the landholder had placed all kinds of restrictions on what could be said and to whom. Add the fact that the same landholder’s daughter was currently in my house and behaving oddly herself, and it seemed best to keep my mouth shut about the whole strange affair.

  ‘In demand,’ Donagan said.

  ‘In high demand. Word gets around quickly when a man’s a good worker.’

  At first, when I went back inside, I thought Cara had given me the slip, fled out the back door and off into Dreamer’s Wood. But no; she was standing in a corner, in the shadows, with something cupped in her hands. She was holding one of Grim’s little carvings, a hedgehog done with meticulous care, right down to the suggestion of prickles and an enquiring expression on its beady-eyed features. The girl’s wary look was gone; now her face was all wonder and tenderness. For a moment, the beauty in that expression stopped my heart.

  ‘My friend made it,’ I said. ‘The one who lives here with me. Grim, his name is.’

  Cara stroked the little creature with one finger, as gently as if it were alive. ‘I make things too,’ she whispered. ‘At home. I used to.’

  If I asked too many questions, and there were plenty I could think of, chances were she’d go silent again and we would get nowhere. ‘I’d enjoy hearing about that,’ I said. ‘But only if you want to tell me. Come, let’s sit down and finish this brew.’

  She sat, the hedgehog still in her hands. I sipped my tea and held my tongue. This girl was something of a puzzle. Despite my dislike of complications, she intrigued me.

  ‘I make birds, mostly,’ she said, not looking at me. ‘An owl. A raven. A finch. That was the hardest. So small.’

  ‘From wood?’ It would be unusual for a girl to be taught wood carving. This girl had long-fingered, capable hands; they were more the hands of a craftswoman than a person born to be lady of the house.

  ‘Mm. Only I can’t do it at Lady Flidais’s house. I couldn’t bring my tools.’ Cara drew a shuddering breath. ‘Father made me pack and leave in a rush. He wouldn’t let me go out to the barn. He wouldn’t let me say goodbye.’ Another breath; she was plucking up courage for something. ‘Does Grim have tools? Knives and chisels, small ones?’

  ‘He does. But I couldn’t let you use them without asking him first. And you’d need to do it here.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her shoulders slumped again.

  ‘I didn’t say no. I only said we must ask Grim’s permission. You must know how a craftsman values his tools.’

  ‘I – I just –’

  It really did seem hard for her to shape the words; to get them out at all. But when she spoke she did so clearly enough, despite the mouse-like timidity. Was there someone at home who cut her off every time she tried to speak her mind? Someone who believed young women should be silent and biddable? If that was so, why had she been trying so hard to go back?

  ‘I believe Grim might let you use his wood carving tools provided you promised to look after them, and provided you were only here at the cottage when I was at home. Or Emer, my assistant – she’s a girl from the settlement, a little older than you. I know it’s hard for you to talk, Cara. You’re doing well.’

  She gave me a sideways glance. ‘My words won’t come out,’ she said. ‘They’re in my head, only my mouth won’t say them. People ask questions and all I want to do is climb a tree and sit there on my own.’

  ‘When I saw you in the wood you weren’t in a tree. Or alone.’

  ‘But – Oh, you mean the birds. Yes, they come.’

  ‘Unusual,’ I said.

  ‘Is it?’

  Just how unusual, clearly she had no idea. No point in pressing her on that. I tried to guess what had upset her before. Was it the thought of needing to speak to Grim? Was she afraid of men? ‘I’ll ask Grim about the tools for you,’ I said. ‘He’s working for someone just now, putting in very long days, so he’s only home at night. I should have an answer for you tomorrow, if you’d like to come here again.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn.’ She smiled, and her face lit up again. Only a child, really; at least, not much more than one. What had her father been thinking of, sending her to Winterfalls on her own and expecting her to fit in?

  ‘We’d best not keep Donagan waiting too long,’ I said. ‘I have one question for you, and you need not answer it if you don’t want to. Also, remember
what I said about wise women keeping secrets.’

  ‘You want to know why I was running away.’ She addressed this to the tabletop.

  ‘Something like that. I might also mention that even though I think of Prince Oran and Lady Flidais as friends, I hated staying in their house. Grim and I were there for a while after our cottage burned down. A long story which I won’t bore you with now. I felt so out of place I wanted to scream. And Grim found it as hard as I did, only he’s better at making friends and talking to folk. You’ll have your own reasons for not wanting to be there. I do know, because Lady Flidais told me, that your father wants you to stay at Winterfalls awhile, and not to go home until he’s ready to have you back there.’

  ‘About the wood carving. Father didn’t show me how to do it, Gormán did. My father’s chief forester. Father thinks carving isn’t a suitable occupation for a young lady.’

  I busied myself stirring more honey into my tea.