Dreamer's Pool

by Juliet Marillier

  ‘Let me help,’ I said, guessing. ‘The headaches were never real, except perhaps for the time of your monthly bleeding. They were an excuse to hide from Prince Oran, so you would not have to face him, conduct conversations that were difficult for you, pretend in front of guests that everything was going well. Yes?’

  ‘I felt so ashamed,’ Flidais murmured. ‘I still do.’

  ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of. Unlike your betrothed.’ How many women, I thought, faced with a situation like this, would be prepared to speak up? To make a stand against those who oppressed women? It did not matter if the oppressor was a prince or a common man, the offence was just the same. Such acts would never stop unless they were publicly exposed and punished under the law. As I had tried to do with Mathuin of Laois. And look where that had got me. How could I push Flidais to tell this story, when I had been thrown into that man’s lockup for speaking out about his offences against women? If it hadn’t been for Conmael, I’d still be in there, and so would Grim.

  ‘You asked why we told you the truth,’ Mhairi said. ‘We thought you would find out, with your sharp eyes and your tricky questions. We thought you would tell other folk, and the story would be spread about, and the prince would be angry with Lady Flidais and punish her.’

  Gods! This was all back to front and upside down, a woeful state of affairs. Flidais was choosing a future of abuse and fear, and I could think of no way to dissuade her. I had no alternative to offer her. ‘You’re quite sure you don’t want this made known? You really intend to go ahead with the hand-fasting?’

  ‘Yes,’ Flidais said. ‘I have no other choice.’

  ‘Then I don’t believe there’s any way I can help you.’

  ‘Oh, but there is,’ she said, sitting up again. ‘There might be. Do you remember when we asked about what you did as a wise woman, the potions and cures? If you could . . . Do you think you could . . .’

  ‘What Lady Flidais wants to ask,’ said Mhairi, ‘is whether you know how to make sure she conceives a son. As soon as possible.’ Whatever I might think of the woman, I could not fault her for plain speaking.

  ‘If anyone can tell me that, it will surely be you, Mistress Blackthorn,’ Flidais said. ‘Oran wants a child. It would be so much better if our firstborn was a boy. I have failed to please my betrothed in so many ways – you must have heard how sharply he spoke to me at supper time, not even pretending to be kind – but if I could do this, I know his attitude would soften.’

  I hesitated. There was no way I knew of to be sure of a son. A woman could improve her chances of conceiving a babe by eating certain foods, taking a particular tonic, being mindful of the moon’s waxing and waning, and so on. But that child might be boy or girl; there was no telling until it was born. I did not want to give Flidais this bad news. She was distressed and weary, and it was growing late.

  ‘I’ll think about this awhile,’ I said. ‘You should sleep, Lady Flidais. And you, Mhairi. You are very loyal to your mistress.’

  Mhairi gave me a tight nod.

  ‘How long do you need?’ Flidais asked. ‘Do you not know the answer?’

  ‘As I told you some time ago,’ I said, ‘it’s unwise to rush these things. They can be complicated, sometimes perilous. And far from clear-cut. I understand the urgency, my lady, and I ask only for a day or two. Now I will bid you good night. Make sure you take the sleeping draught; it should bring you rest without bad dreams.’

  Shaking, shaking until my teeth rattled. Where is she? Where is the miller’s daughter? A gauntleted fist to my right cheek, smash! Where is she? Speak up, slut! A blow to the left cheek, thud! Use your tongue or we’ll cut it out for you, a little bit at a time!

  It hurt to speak. The words wouldn’t come out right. Gone. Gone where you’ll never find her. My aching jaw, my bleeding mouth and muzzy head turned the words into a string of nonsense. I had to stand straight. I had to look brave. But everything was wavering and swirling around, and I wanted to be sick. You’re a thug and a bully and an abuser of women, I tried to say. And so are your men, because they follow your lead. You are not fit to be chieftain. The dung heap is too good –

  Slam! The floor was hard under my face. Something thudded into my ribs. All I could see was black. Filthy slut’s only good for one thing. Mathuin’s voice. Throw her in the lockup with the men. Maybe by morning she’ll be ready to tell a different story. If she survives that long.

  Pain, leering faces, dark corners. Shadows, filth, shame. Under it all, a cold fury that never went away. One day I’d bring him to justice. I’d hurt him as he’d hurt all those women. I’d burn him alive as he burned my sweet boy, my lovely man. I’d stick my knife in his chest and twist it, and I’d watch him suffer and die. When I got out of this stinking hole, I’d make him pay.

  The door creaked open. They were coming! I crouched down beside the pallet, arms wrapped around myself. Waited for the clang of Slammer’s stick on the bars.

  ‘Blackthorn?’ A woman’s voice, slurred with sleep. ‘You all right?’

  ‘Shut up,’ growled another woman.

  My heart hammering, my body all cold sweat, I blinked and opened my eyes on the long chamber full of sleeping women. Wrenched myself back from the dream. The stink of that place still clung close, the screaming, the mindless dark. ‘Sorry,’ I murmured. ‘Nightmare.’ As indeed it was; not only the unfinished business I had left behind, but the unsavoury mess I now found myself mired in. Why in the name of the gods had I suggested to Flidais that I might be able to help? There was no answer for what she wanted. I was not even sure I’d want to share it with her if there was – her decision to appease the man who had abused her sickened me, even as I understood that hers was a pragmatic and, at heart, an unselfish choice. If she did make the best of this marriage, she would be helping her family back home, the family that was facing no lesser enemy than Mathuin of Laois.

  Flidais would conceive a child without my assistance; she was young and healthy, and so was the prince. And if I stayed here in a misguided attempt to support her, I would be hard-pressed to keep up the pretence that nothing had changed. Surely, the very next time I met Oran, the look in my eyes must give me away.

  Around me, the women were quiet again. I lay on my back staring up at nothing and making a plan. A simple plan that I would enact at first light. Forget Conmael. Forget the season. Forget the long miles to Laois. I had travelled in wind and rain and cold before and I could do it again. I had set out for Winterfalls with nothing but the rags on my back. I would leave the place with little more. For the one thing that really mattered, all I needed was my rage.

  33

  ~ORAN~

  The morning after I helped Oisin tell his transformation story, I took Bramble for a long walk around the farm, hoping the exertion would set my thoughts in order. Blackthorn had told me to wait; not to press her for news. But as the day of the hand-fasting drew ever closer, I was struggling to make pretence that nothing was amiss. I could not play the eager betrothed with Flidais. I could barely manage to be civil with her. And Blackthorn’s were not the only pair of sharp eyes in the household. My folk knew me well. They had observed my falling-out with Donagan. They felt the unrest that had engulfed us all. When Donagan was not avoiding me altogether, he watched me, and I saw on his face that he was judging me. Aunt Sochla frequently asked me if all was quite well; she had known me since the day I was born, and not much escaped her. Aedan, Lochlan, Niall, even Eochu seemed careful of me, as if I might be about to expire from some disease. This was not the healthiest way to view an impending marriage. If Blackthorn did not come up with something soon, I feared my private business would become public knowledge.

  The walk did nothing but stir up my anxiety. I decided to seek out Blackthorn as soon as I got back to the house, and never mind that it still lacked an hour or two until breakfast time. I strode down to the kitchen with Bramble trotting behind. With luc
k, the wise woman would already be at work in her makeshift stillroom, and I’d be able to speak to her without drawing undue attention.

  Brid was preparing the day’s loaves for the oven. As I greeted her, I glanced toward the stillroom and saw that the door was closed.

  ‘If you’re looking for Mistress Blackthorn, my lord, she’s already gone out. Went off very early.’

  She must indeed have left early; I had been out since daybreak, and I had seen nothing of her. ‘Did she say where she was headed, Brid?’

  ‘No, my lord, but she had a bag with her. Perhaps there’s someone sick out on one of the farms.’

  Curse it. That could mean Blackthorn would be gone all day.

  ‘Is she needed for Lady Flidais, my lord?’ Brid asked.

  For a moment I could not think what she meant. Then I recalled last night’s fainting fit. I had barely given it a thought. ‘Lady Flidais is still sleeping, so I’m told,’ I said. ‘I believe all she needs is a good rest. As for Mistress Blackthorn, the matter can wait; there is no urgency.’ Oh, I was full of falsehoods today. Lying to the trusted members of my household sat ill with me; I was coming to despise myself.

  Bramble was running around, getting underfoot; I’d best take her away. ‘What about Grim?’ I asked. ‘Is he about?’

  Brid’s smile told me the unprepossessing Grim had become a favourite. ‘He’ll be in for a bite to eat soon, then he’ll likely be off to Dreamer’s Wood to do some work on his house. And get some sleep. Night watch takes it out of a man, even a big strong man like him.’

  ‘When he comes in, please tell him I’d like a word before he goes off for the day. I’ll be in the garden with the dog.’ I motioned in the general direction of Flidais’s private garden. I’d have to take Bramble back anyway. After breakfast I’d be sitting down with Muadan and his councillors to discuss various matters before they travelled on to court.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bramble,’ I told her when we were in the quiet of the little garden, I seated on the stone bench, she nosing about in the ferns by the pond. ‘I would find your presence reassuring. Other folk, however, would most likely differ. I’m afraid you must stay with the ladies today.’

  Not far off, someone cleared his throat. I looked up, and there was Grim. For a very big man, he walked softly indeed.

  ‘Grim.’ I rose to my feet. ‘I did not hear you coming.’

  ‘Sorry if I startled you, my lord.’

  ‘Not at all.’ If he thought me foolish for conducting a one-sided conversation with a dog, he gave no sign of it. His manners had improved since our first encounter at the cottage. That felt strange, as I had been far more deserving of respect back then. Now I was guilty of being unkind, of telling lies, and of allowing myself to descend into near-panic. Some prince I was. ‘I wondered if you and Mistress Blackthorn had made any progress.’ I spoke in an undertone, trying to watch both the door from the women’s quarters and the pathway back around to the main entry. ‘On the matter we discussed.’

  Grim gave me a look that said quite plainly, I thought Blackthorn told you to wait. But he did not say it aloud. ‘Been hard to talk to her. Busy, both of us. When she’s got something, she’ll tell me.’

  ‘And you?’

  Grim shook his head. It might mean he had nothing to tell. But it might mean that he did know something, but would not tell it without Blackthorn’s approval. She had made it clear the two of them worked as a team.

  ‘We are short of time, Grim,’ I said. ‘Perilously short. You do understand that, don’t you?’

  ‘I can count the days until full moon, my lord.’ Was there a hint of disapproval in the deep voice? It would be a mistake to underestimate this man.

  ‘I’m sorry. I have not forgotten that Mistress Blackthorn asked me to wait.’

  Grim had crouched down to pat Bramble. She came to him delicately, allowing him to stroke her. ‘Friendly little thing,’ he said. ‘Reminds me of . . . never mind.’ He looked up at me. ‘Blackthorn’s trustworthy. If there’s a way out of this, she’ll find it.’

  ‘I must exercise patience. I know that. Sometimes it’s hard.’

  ‘Keep busy. That’s my advice.’ He rose to his full, imposing height. ‘Not that you’d be wanting advice from someone like me, but there it is. Will that be all, my lord? Just that I’m off to the cottage soon, got a bit of work to do before the rain comes.’

  ‘Go, by all means. Ask Brid to give you some breakfast first. Night watch, then a day’s work out at Dreamer’s Wood – you push yourself hard.’

  ‘As I said. Keep busy. Stops your head going in circles, tangling itself all up. Quiet times, they’re hardest to get through. I’ll be on my way, then.’

  The man was wiser than he looked. When he was gone, I delivered Bramble to Aunt Sochla, then went to my bedchamber, where garments suitable for a council meeting had been laid out in readiness, though Donagan was nowhere to be seen. I sat at my writing table and prepared some notes for my discussion with Muadan and the others. I wrote a letter to my father, which Muadan could take for me, in which I made some comments on the situation at Cloud Hill and suggested we take advantage of the presence of various leaders at the hand-fasting to hold an informal council. We could discuss the matter of Mathuin of Laois. If all those who had accepted invitations attended, it would be an opportunity too good to miss. Lorcan mac Cellaig, King of Mide, had sent word that he would be there, though as yet his party had not passed Winterfalls. Lorcan was kin both to my father and, by marriage, to the High King. His influence in the matter would be critical. My letter contained little by way of domestic detail; I did not trust myself to speak of Flidais or of the hand-fasting itself. Your obedient son, Oran. There, that was done.

  I turned my attention to the next open council, now only days away. I made a new document: a list of those matters I already knew would be put before me. There were several, but none was particularly serious, which was good, as I hoped to end the council by midday, feed the visitors early and send them off by mid-afternoon. The folk of my household would be busy enough getting everything ready for our departure for Cahercorcan the next day without having to cope with large numbers of folk in the house until supper time. We might, perhaps, leave one day later. Flidais would not be happy about that. Not-Flidais. False Flidais.

  I scattered sand to dry the ink, then set the list to one side. I laid out a third sheet of parchment; dipped my pen once more. Flidais, I wrote, where are you? I cannot believe that you are only a dream, a woman I have conjured up from tales and songs and wild imaginings. You were so real. Lovelier than the first dew on the grass; sweeter than the song of the thrush; truer than a druid’s vow. Gentle, brave and wise. Full of love and wonder and promise. Where did you go? How can I find you?

  I turned my gaze toward the portrait that still hung on the wall above my writing desk, and Flidais looked back at me, steadfast, tender, perfect. ‘She isn’t you,’ I whispered. ‘I can’t believe it. Tell me where you’ve gone. Tell me what I must do.’ I closed my eyes and tried to imagine how Flidais – the real woman, not the travesty that had come to Winterfalls – would reply to my letter. Dearest Oran, I am . . . No, try again. Oran, I know you love what I love: wild places, wild creatures, the beauty of the passing seasons, the wisdom of ancient tales. You must put your trust in what you love. Seek answers there.

  Someone knocked on the door. I started in surprise; I had been lost in my imaginings. More likely, if she could see me now, Flidais would ask me how I had the gall to write such tender words when I had burned her letters.

  ‘Come in!’

  Donagan, his features perfectly schooled. ‘It’s time you changed for breakfast and the meeting, my lord.’ He eyed the clothing I was wearing, garments snatched at random for my early walk. ‘You wish me to assist?’ Since our rift, he had mastered a detached tone; it sent a chill through me.

  ‘You know quite well I
can dress myself,’ I said, failing miserably to make a joke of it. ‘There’s a letter here to my father; you might convey it to Muadan’s chief councillor to carry to Cahercorcan. And this list for the council. I’d like you to cast your eye over it. If you or Aedan have any items to add, please let me know.’

  ‘And that one, my lord?’ Donagan had noticed the letter on the table, neither folded nor sealed.

  I felt oddly calm. It seemed Grim’s advice was sound; writing had steadied my thoughts. ‘I’ll deliver this myself,’ I said, taking up the sheet and folding it once, twice, three times. And I made a silent vow. I would keep this letter within my garments, next to my heart, until I found my Flidais again and put it in her hands.

  34

  ~GRIM~

  Cottage is looking good. I make some fancy bits for the roof, creatures and the like. Old folk say they’re lucky. Can’t hurt, anyway. Owl at the forest end, cow at the field end, others along the ridge: fox, hare, hedgehog, squirrel. Hedgehog takes longest, lots of straw prickles to thread in. I’m putting the last of the creatures up when one of the lads from the brewery, Pátraic, arrives to give me a hand.

  ‘Fine morning,’ he calls. ‘What do you want doing?’

  I tie off the ends of the straw, fixing the hedgehog in place, then climb down my ladder. ‘Need a hand with some inside work. Couple of beds, work table for Blackthorn, shelf or two. Timber’s all cut to size, pegs shaped, just need to put them together. Your friend coming today?’

  ‘He’s got a job for Iobhar. Busy all day.’

  We get started on the work. Pátraic’s a talker. By the time we’re done with the first bed, I know all about who’s been coming in and out of Iobhar’s brewery and what they’ve been saying since last time I saw him. The lad’s job, when he’s not here helping me, is keeping an eye on folk’s horses while they’re drinking their ale or haggling with Iobhar over how many coppers he’s charging for his goods.