Dreamer's Pool

by Juliet Marillier

  ‘For what purpose?’

  ‘In case she changes her mind,’ he said simply. ‘Not about marrying me; she says she’ll never do that. But if she doesn’t take to the travelling life. It’s not for everyone, Mistress Blackthorn. Some folk can’t be happy without a nest, same place to rest their head every night. And though Ness says she’ll be fine as long as I’m there, she hasn’t tried it yet. If she’s not content with it, we’ll use some of her money to buy a place and settle. I can turn my hand to a few things. I’d find work.’

  ‘Really? Is it not just as hard for a travelling man to settle in one place as it is for a girl like Ness to take to life on the road?’

  We had reached a wall that marked off the bottom of Mór’s garden. Beyond lay a field with sheep grazing. Abhan stopped walking and faced me, his eyes as clear as the water of a pool in springtime. ‘I’d give my life for her, Mistress Blackthorn, I swear it. Settling down, going to work as a farrier or groom, I’d do it in a heartbeat. But Ness says she’ll be fine on the road. She likes my mam and my sisters, and she says going south will make it easier to put what’s happened behind her.’

  I could not argue with this. He sounded, and looked, both utterly sincere and remarkably practical. I could not make myself believe he was lying. As for seeking advice from Prince Oran, a man who really did know how to lie, it was quite true that the prince had spoken with fairness, wisdom and courage at the council; he had supported both Emer and Ness all along. On balance, I had no reason to think he would give bad counsel on the matter of Ness’s funds.

  But that was only half of it. ‘Ness has met your family?’ I asked, heading into the more difficult part carefully.

  ‘Yes, Mistress Blackthorn. They came over to visit her today, Mam and the two youngest. My eldest sister’s tending to my grandmother, who’s unwell. But, of course, they all know Ness from before.’

  ‘Before?’

  ‘She and I – we’ve been sweethearts awhile. Ness always came over to visit when we were in the district. Her and Emer. Mam loves the two of them; said she wished we could take them both back south with us.’

  ‘How long will you be staying in Dalriada this time, Abhan?’

  ‘We’d want to be gone by next half-moon, or the roads will be all mud. I have some business to do first, and of course Ness and I must be married before we go.’

  Now came the crux of the matter. ‘You know she’s been badly hurt. You know that man imprisoned her, abused her, took her by force, left her with scars both of the body and of the mind. Deep scars, Abhan.’

  ‘I know.’ His gaze remained steady and sure.

  ‘I’m not sure you can know, not fully. You’re young.’

  ‘I’ve been head of my family since my Da died three years since, Mistress Blackthorn. I’m a man. Ness has talked to me about what that fellow did to her. She’s told me the story. And we’ve spoken about getting wed, and what it would mean.’ He paused to draw a long breath. ‘I made her a promise. Said we wouldn’t do anything until she was ready. Just lie in each other’s arms, nothing more.’

  ‘You have good intentions, Abhan. What if you can’t keep yourself under control?’

  ‘I can, Mistress Blackthorn. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be a fit man to marry Ness. I can wait. I can give her as long as she needs.’

  We started back toward the house. I could see Mór and Emer now, going inside with a big basket of linen.

  ‘You don’t believe me,’ Abhan said.

  ‘I believe you mean what you say. I’m not so sure about your ability to carry it out. What if Ness is never ready for the two of you to lie together as husband and wife? What if she cannot bear your children?’

  ‘She means everything to me, Mistress Blackthorn. I want her to be happy. I want her to feel safe. I never want her to be afraid again. Ness is a strong girl; a brave girl. She wouldn’t have got through this otherwise. Between us, we’ll make a good life. It may not be the life some folk would choose, but we’ll be content.’ After a little, he added, ‘You don’t know me. I understand you’d be doubtful. You could have a word with Mam. She’d love to meet you. Ness and Emer told her all about you. It’s not far, just over the other side of the lake. We were going to walk over anyway, me and Ness and Emer.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit far for Ness?’

  ‘She says not. She and Emer have been going out every day. Emer says fresh air and exercise are good for Ness. Will you come?’

  He was a charming young man. So was Prince Oran. They said all the right things, the two of them. Gave folk no reason to doubt them. Who was to say Abhan might not, on his wedding night or even earlier, take it into his head to act just as Oran had toward Flidais?

  ‘I’ll be honest with you, Mistress Blackthorn. There’s another reason I’d like you to visit the camp. My grandmother is poorly. This cough has settled on her chest and she can’t shake it off. And she’s old. Remembers the wise woman who lived at Dreamer’s Wood before you. Holly, was that her name?’

  A pox on it. Now I’d have to go with him. Not because of my vow to Conmael, which I’d broken already, in intention if not in deeds. But because, despite everything, I wanted to hear that story, the one about Dreamer’s Pool and the pigs, and this old woman might know it. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘but it needs to be quick; I’ve other things to do with my day, what’s left of it.’ Nobody would look for me in a travellers’ camp. I’d keep this as short as I could, and head off straight afterwards.

  The travellers had made their camp on a grassy sward near the lake shore. At the far end were the horse lines, where folk were tending to a large number of animals. Closer at hand, the carts were drawn up in a half-circle. Most of them had covers, so folk could sleep inside, protected from the weather; some were almost like little houses on wheels. These folk favoured bright colours. Their clothing filled the area with patches of red and yellow and blue, as if a flock of exotic birds had alighted there by the water.

  In the half-circle an open hearth of stones had been built, and a fire burned there, with a three-legged iron support over it, and a big cook pot hanging from a chain. Groups of men and women sat around it talking, working at crafts, passing the time of day. As we walked into the circle a tall woman in a green shawl came forward to greet us. She had such a look of Abhan – the lanky build, the lean face, the steady eyes – that she must surely be his mother.

  We were swept into a tide of welcome. She embraced first Ness, then Emer, then me, whether I liked it or not. Then with one arm around Ness and the other around Emer, she bore us away toward one of the covered carts, set at a little distance from the others.

  ‘We’ll give you a brew soon. Ness, you need to sit down after that walk, here.’ A blanket on the grass; a soft cushion for Ness. A couple of girls, silent and shy, brought everything without being asked. Obviously Abhan’s sisters; they were like peas in a pod, this family. ‘Now then,’ said Abhan’s mother, ‘make yourselves at home. Emer, will you take Mistress Blackthorn in to see Mother?’ To me, she said, ‘My mother’s ailing. Abhan will have told you. Emer made her a draught to ease the cough, and that’s helped a bit. It’s kind of you to take the trouble, Mistress Blackthorn. We’re honoured by your visit.’

  What could I say? Most certainly not that I was only here because I’d feared her son might be less than the good man he appeared to be. And not that I was in too much of a hurry to spend time with the old woman. ‘Good work, Emer,’ I said. ‘What brew did you make up?’

  ‘A decoction of black spleenwort, sweetened with a drop of honey. I thought of milkweed root, marshmallow root . . . but I didn’t want to try those without asking you first. I thought they might be too strong for an old lady.’

  Since she’d been in Silverlake, Emer had been making tonics for Ness, gathering herbs in the woods by the lake and using Mór’s kitchen as a stillroom. It pleased me that she was keeping up the skills I�
��d taught her. ‘Good,’ I said. ‘How long has the old lady had the cough?’

  ‘A full turning of the moon, as they travelled north. Deep in the chest. A rattling sound, and it hurts her. They’ve moved her cart away a bit, so she’ll have more quiet.’

  I was expecting a frail old person like the crone in Winterfalls whose deathbed I had attended. The woman in the cart, lying on a bed of cushions, was old in body only. From her wrinkled face shone forth a pair of dark and penetrating eyes, lively with intelligence.

  ‘Climb up, then,’ she ordered. ‘Not you, Emer, I don’t need a crowd. Just you, wise woman. Let’s have a look at you.’ As if she was the healer and I was her patient.

  I climbed up; settled myself on the cushions beside her. The cart was neatly fitted out, with a bench built into one side, various bags hanging from pegs, a shelf here and there, a place for a jug and cup. ‘My name is Blackthorn,’ I said. ‘But I think they told you that already.’

  She was taking a thorough look at me. ‘They did, and more besides. Young Abhan, he’s a good lad. Good through and through. He’ll look after the lass well. No need to trouble yourself. But you will, of course. Seen too much of the bad, taken its toll. Can’t trust.’

  ‘Your name wouldn’t be Holly, by any chance?’

  She roared with laughter. The sound became a splutter, then a wheezing cough. I lifted her to sit, filled her cup and helped her take a mouthful of what must be the brew Emer had mentioned. ‘Holly? Me?’ she gasped as the spasm subsided. ‘That would give her a good laugh if she was still here. No, lass, I’m no wise woman, just an ordinary travelling wife. A mother and a grandmother.’

  I gave her my own searching look. ‘More than that, I suspect, since you seem to know more about me than anyone here could have told you.’

  ‘When you’re as old as I am, you learn to look inside. You learn to see what can’t be seen. If you were as old as me you wouldn’t need to ask questions about Abhan. You’d know at first glance that he’s a good man, steady, brave, wise beyond his years. But something’s filled you up with doubts.’

  It was uncomfortable to hear, the more so because it was true. I had seen that Abhan was a good man; that he truly cared for Ness and she for him. I had seen that his family loved her and would look after her. If he was less than he seemed, would they all have rushed to welcome us as they did? But still a faint doubt lingered.

  ‘Not every man is a liar,’ the old woman said. ‘Some of them, yes. Not all of them. There are good men out there, men who respect women, men with the courage to stand up for what they believe in. Men who’ll be gentle with a newborn babe. Men who’ll defend family and land and country with their dying breath. Don’t tell me you’ve never known a man like that, because I won’t believe it.’

  ‘Stop right there,’ I said. ‘I was asked to drop in and check your state of health. Who I might or might not have known, and whether they were good or bad, has nothing at all to do with that. Now tell me about this cough.’ I bent my head to listen to her chest. ‘Breathe in, as deep as you can . . . that’s right . . . Now let it slowly out. Does it hurt when I tap here? Here? Are you sleeping well?’

  The old woman submitted to an examination. When this was done, she adjusted her shawl and looked down at her folded hands.

  ‘Emer’s draught will help relieve the pain,’ I said quietly. ‘And ease the cough a little.’ I hesitated.

  ‘But I’m dying anyway,’ the old woman said. ‘I know that, lass. I’ve been hearing the flap of Morrigan’s wings this full turning of the moon and longer. If you could keep me going long enough to see the lad wed, that would please me well.’

  I’m not staying. I could not bring myself to say it. ‘I’ll give Emer instructions for something that may help; a draught that’s stronger than the one she’s been using. I believe you’ll still be here for your grandson’s wedding. Sheer force of will goes a long way to keeping a person alive.’

  ‘Hah! You’d know that, I imagine.’

  A vision of Mathuin’s lockup went through my mind in all its pitiful squalor. ‘That, and anger,’ I said.

  ‘I don’t feel angry. I just want to know things are set right.’ She stopped to cough again.

  ‘I want that too,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay. But Emer’s a good girl, she’s learning her craft, and she’ll help you.’

  ‘How can she learn if you won’t stay?’

  I shrugged. ‘She’ll manage.’

  ‘Oh yes? Wise women aren’t abundant in these parts, so I hear. You’re the first one since Holly passed on, that’s what Emer told us.’

  It seemed the whole of Silverlake knew my business. I shouldn’t have told this old woman that I was leaving. ‘I have a question for you.’

  ‘Go on then, ask it.’

  ‘You knew Holly, long ago. Did she ever tell a story about a place called Dreamer’s Pool, over near Winterfalls, and pigs?’

  The old woman smiled. ‘She did. Folk didn’t like to hear that tale. It scared them. They wanted it forgotten. Seems they succeeded all too well.’

  ‘Could you tell me the story now?’

  ‘I need to piss. Need to get down.’

  I would have helped her, but she waved me away with sudden impatience, calling for her daughter. In the confusion that followed, I found myself out of the cart and seated on the spread-out blanket between Ness and Emer, while Abhan’s mother and sisters assisted the old woman to climb down and go off somewhere to relieve herself. She could walk; indeed, she moved with an ease that belied her apparent state of health.

  ‘She’s very unwell,’ I said to Emer. ‘There’s not much you can do but ease her symptoms. I’d suggest the mallow root with milkweed root, in an infusion. But make it weak, and stop straight away if it doesn’t agree with her.’ I set out the quantities and method for her; she had a good memory, and could be relied upon to get it right.

  ‘What about later?’ Ness asked. ‘When we’re away from here and on the road south? She’ll still need the draught, won’t she?’

  I could not bring myself to say it outright. I glanced at Emer, hoping her intuition would serve her well. I would not have an opportunity to speak to her alone and tell her the old woman’s time was running short indeed. ‘No need to worry about that yet,’ I said.

  The day had darkened still further; was that a drop of rain? I did want to hear the story. It had teased at me for a long time. I did want to know if there was a secret to Dreamer’s Pool. On the other hand, if I did not move on now I’d probably get soaked before I reached a spot to camp for the night, and that was not a wise way to start a long journey. Besides, now that Flidais had revealed the truth, sordid and mundane as it was, what was the point in entertaining the idea of some kind of magical transformation? Flidais was the way she was because Oran had hurt and frightened her. Not that she had ever been the woman of those sweetly romantic letters. I had sympathy for the girl’s plight, but I could not believe she had written them herself. Oran’s brutality toward her had perhaps been born, in part, from disappointment. She cannot give me what I expected, but at least she can give me this. The whole thing disgusted me. So, forget the pig story, whatever it was. Get up, make my farewells and move on. South. Mathuin. Justice.

  ‘Brew?’

  The voice was unmistakable. And there he was, standing beside our blanket with a steaming cup in his hand. How such a big man could move so softly I had never been able to understand.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I snarled, scrambling to my feet. A pox on the man. It hadn’t been easy to summon the will to walk away: to set everything behind me, the cottage, my healing work, Emer with her thirst for knowledge. For a while, at Winterfalls, I had felt as if there might be a purpose beyond Mathuin of Laois. Doing good, as Conmael had wanted. Helping folk who needed me. Until Flidais had shared the wretched truth, I had been starting to feel almost comfortable.
But she had told her story, and the old anger had stirred, and I had made my choice. South. Mathuin. Justice. Not the prince’s trumped-up mission, but my own, which mattered more than anything. More fool I, then, that so soon I’d let myself be drawn off the path, and I’d wasted too much time, and now here he was.

  ‘Might ask you the same,’ Grim said, putting the brew in my hands.

  ‘I don’t have time for this.’

  ‘We can walk while you drink it, if you like. Which way are you going?’

  ‘What do you think?’ I snapped.

  ‘I’d have said south. But Conmael said to look here, so here I am.’

  Conmael? What in the name of the gods was going on?

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said to the two girls. ‘I need to talk to Grim in private.’ Without waiting for a response I strode off toward the shore, with Grim following behind. The hot brew slopped over onto my hand, making me curse.

  ‘Here,’ Grim said, fishing out a handkerchief and passing it over. ‘Want me to carry it for you?’

  ‘No, I do not! How in the name of the gods did you get here so fast?’

  ‘Borrowed a horse, in a manner of speaking. One of Scannal’s.’

  I would not even ask about Conmael; that was one complication too many. ‘I’m going south, on my own. You know why. Nothing’s changed.’

  We had reached the water’s edge. I stopped walking, wishing he had not come, wishing I did not have to listen to him, wishing I did not have to explain. Knowing that if anyone could make me weaken, it would be him.

  ‘Something must have changed,’ said Grim. ‘Had a mission, didn’t we? For Prince Oran?’

  ‘Hah! A pox on Prince Oran, the lying mongrel!’