A Dance with Fate

by Juliet Marillier

  When the community buildings come into view I slow my pace to a brisk stride. I’m not a great believer in gods or their capacity to respond to our prayers. But I pray now, a childish sort of prayer to anyone who might be listening. Let him be better today. Let him speak properly, even if it’s only to curse his misfortune. Let him open his eyes and see.

  Archu is up early, too. He’s coming along the path toward me, wearing his big fur cloak as if ready for travel. We meet and halt.

  “Liobhan.” His tone is grave and kind and deadly serious. “We’re taking him over on the boat after breakfast. He had a restless night and is much the same this morning. I want you to come with us. Go and pack a bag. The healers need an assistant who knows what she’s doing.”

  “Of course. I’m glad I can be of some help.”

  Archu folds his arms and looks down at the ground. “There’s something further you need to know. We’ve sent a message to Dau’s family, telling them he’s been seriously injured and asking what they want to do. If they send someone here it’s possible, even likely, that the person may want to speak to you. You understand why we would not want their representative on the island.”

  I do understand. The code of secrecy is long established in the Swan Island community. The more folk learn about what we do, the harder it becomes to keep missions covert and the less likely it is that we’ll be hired. That’s not all. Many of our folk have secrets they don’t want known, dark events of the past that are best set behind them. The island code forgives the time before a person joins us; all that is asked is that the new arrival treads a different path from that moment on, a better, wiser, braver path. So yes, I understand what he’s saying, and in Dau’s case it’s horribly ironic. His kinsfolk possibly coming here? That can’t happen.

  Around us dawn is breaking; the sea is turning from lead to sparkling gold. Birds wing their way out from the ledges, calling to one another. How do I frame the next question? When Dau told me about his past, it was in strictest confidence. “Did you consult Dau about sending his family a message? I know he wouldn’t want that. You may not be aware that they are . . . estranged. Worse than that. Much worse.” It took a long while for Dau to start confiding in me. Growing up, he suffered terribly at the hands of his brothers, and it scarred him deep. His father did nothing to stop it. Dau ran away from home at thirteen. He once told me he hoped he would never see his brothers again. “What if his father decides to take him home? That is the last thing Dau would want. The very last thing.”

  Archu sighs. “We tried to ask him, of course,” he says, “but he’s in no fit state to give us a coherent response; when he’s conscious, he’s not lucid. The elders discussed it at length, I promise you. Dau came to us from a place other than his family home; we did understand he had lived elsewhere for some time, young as he is. We wouldn’t have accepted him for training without knowing his origins. He gave us his father’s name, the place, no more. He’s very badly hurt, Liobhan. We don’t know if the healers will be able to help him. And . . . to be blunt, there’s a possibility he won’t survive this. His father is a chieftain, a man of means and influence. We came to a decision that we should advise the family. Just as we advised your family when your brother left us so abruptly.”

  “That was different,” I say, knowing I shouldn’t argue the point, but unable to forget the look on Dau’s face when he spoke of his brothers. “My family is not like Dau’s.”

  “We are obliged to tell them, whatever they are like. Fergus thought he might die during the night. If he survives he may be blind. His mind may be affected.” Archu hesitates.

  I wait. Whatever’s coming, it’s not good.

  “The situation is complicated by our own need for secrecy. We don’t want Swan Island under public scrutiny; the less this tale is spread abroad the better. So, we’ve advised them early. We’ve made it clear the injury was accidental. We’ve let them know we have two expert healers on the job and that we will cover the cost of treatment.”

  “Did they even know Dau was on Swan Island? He wouldn’t want—”

  “We felt it necessary to advise them, Liobhan. As I’ve explained.”

  I mutter a coarse oath, then an apology. “Sorry. But he’ll hate this. He’ll hate it so much. What if they decide to come here? To confront us face-to-face?”

  “To the extent we can, we must go along with the family’s wishes in the matter. If you’re to be useful you must exercise self-control, even if you don’t like the way this is being handled.”

  “I understand.” What I understand is that this is going to be a real test, and a hard one.

  “We have time to prepare. Their family holding is quite far away; closer to the scene of our mission in Breifne than to Swan Island, but further to the east. And I imagine that even if they do come here, we’ll have due notice.”

  “You’ll come over to the settlement, too?”

  The ghost of a smile crosses Archu’s broad face. “I’ll be there. I carry my own share of the responsibility for this.”

  “I should go and pack,” I say. “Shall I ask Hrothgar to pack a bag for Dau?”

  “Thank you. Just a change of clothing and his small personal items. For now, at least.”

  As I return to the women’s quarters, where the others are just starting to stir, I consider those last words. They sound ominous. Still, the other healer hasn’t seen Dau yet. Someone did say he’s an expert on head injuries. Perhaps all will be well. By the time an answer comes to the message, Dau’s vision may be fully restored and his head clear. If that happens, the first thing he’ll want is to have that final bout again. I think of him beating me and claiming Bran’s Blade, then trying to keep the grin of triumph from his face as he pays me the three coppers he owes me from our wager on Hrothgar and Yann’s fight. I want to see that. I want to see my friend smile again. Winning a fight, claiming a prize, making the elders proud—right now, none of that seems to matter.

  2

  DAU

  Sounds screech and clash and assault my ears. My head shivers like a bell struck by a heavy hammer. My eyes hurt. My neck hurts.

  Some of the sounds come from my own mouth. I can’t stop them. Groans, moans, grunts, shouts. But not words. The words are in my head, but they won’t come out right. I’m hot, then cold, then hot again, throwing off the blankets and shouting at Fergus as if this were his fault. Archu is close by, I hear him talking though he’s keeping it to a murmur, and I shout at him, too, I curse and swear and rage, and it’s the garbled ravings of a crazy man. If this is how things are going to be from now on, I’ll be out of this hut the first chance I get and I’ll run for the cliffs and hurl myself off. At least that way it will be over quickly.

  They put me on a boat. The sea goes up and down and I am sick. Someone wipes my mouth and I push them away, hard. Then there’s someone holding me, someone strong, and I sit there in the dark as the ferry bounces over the waves and my face is damp with sea spray and I hear the birds screaming farewell. If I could pray, I would pray to be as I was before. But I do not believe in gods. Men are cruel. Fate is cruel.

  I can see almost nothing. One eye looks out on utter darkness. The other opens to a shadowy world, all grays, in which shapes move but cannot be identified.

  I cannot fight. I cannot ride. I cannot be the warrior I have worked so hard to become. I cannot be strong. I am as I was before: the helpless child, the boy without answers, the one who lived with fear.

  I wish I believed in gods.

  3

  LIOBHAN

  Dau won’t talk to me. He hardly talks to anyone, though at least now he can make himself understood. For a while I wondered if his wits were damaged along with his eyes, and although Fergus and the other healer, a soft-voiced, dark-skinned man named Jabir, never spoke about this in my hearing, I know they did, too.

  I hate what’s happening to Dau. When we were on the mis
sion he had to pretend he couldn’t speak; that was part of his cover. And he was good at it. The handsome prince, the proudest of the trainee warriors, put in a convincing performance as a mute stable hand. I see that voiceless lad in him now, on the rare occasions when he comes out from the isolated part of the Barn where he’s being tended. He can understand us. His responses make that clear. But he’s all closed in on himself, like a beaten animal hiding away in a dark corner. The healers are doing their best. They’re making sure he eats, and getting him up and walking around with one or both of them to help. They’re trying different things with his eyes.

  Jabir has told me quietly that Dau prefers I do not tend to him. That’s like a slap in the face, though there are plenty of other tasks to keep me busy. I gather herbs for the healers; I prepare soothing eyewashes and various tonics. When Fergus and Jabir don’t need me, I help muck out stables, I fetch water, I sweep floors and chop wood. I help prepare meals. I run through the exercises that keep me strong. There are other Swan Island fighters training at the Barn, but they stay out of our way most of the time, and I don’t ask them about their upcoming mission—if they’re over here that will be what they’re preparing for. I see them at mealtimes and I sleep in the same communal quarters, where a screen separates men and women. Right now I’m the only woman at the Barn. In the settlement around it there are eight separate houses, and families live in them, but they’re all part of the Swan Island community. One husband-and-wife team builds and maintains fishing boats. Others look after the horses that are stabled here for the purpose of training us in mounted combat and to provide transport when required. A former fighter, injured on duty and now reliant on the aid of a stick for walking, looks after the pigeons that carry messages between Swan Island and various strategically situated friendly households—these are dotted all over Erin. There’s an herbalist, and she has her own stillroom attached to her cottage. That gives me an idea.

  “Have you tried a wash with parsley and calamint?” I ask Jabir when I encounter him outside the Barn, taking a break from his duties. “My mother finds that effective to reduce inflammation of the eyes. And there’s a tea that can be brewed from dried holly leaves; I don’t suppose we’ll have time for that, but I could gather the leaves and start the drying, just in case.” When Jabir does not reply immediately, I add, “I know that kind of remedy won’t restore his sight, but the wash will help with the pain, and the tea will provide some ease of mind.”

  “By all means gather the herbs and prepare the wash,” Jabir says. “Ease of mind . . . I wish we could provide that for him now. He is greatly troubled. In despair, I think. Unable or unwilling to help himself. That makes our task harder. We have few answers.”

  * * *

  * * *

  It’s good to get away from the Barn for a while. Because this place is, in effect, an outpost of Swan Island, I have to get Archu’s permission, then speak to the guards on duty as I walk out of the settlement—they need to know where I’m going and for how long. They advise me to keep an eye out for trouble. I have my big knife at my belt and a little one hidden in my boot, as well as the implement I use for cutting herbs. As I set out toward the woodland with a willow basket over my arm and my trousers on under my skirt, I must look like a curious mixture of herbalist and fighter. But I’m still within the domain of Swan Island, a place quite unlike the outside world. I love life on the island. I love combat, I love testing myself and becoming stronger and facing new challenges. I love living among comrades with the same zest for this unusual existence. And I love the cliffs and crashing waves and wild skies of the island itself, so different from the quiet forest where I grew up. But I hate what’s happening now. My friend had a wretched childhood. Now he faces an uncertain future. If anyone deserves to stay on Swan Island and be a warrior, the best of the best, it’s Dau.

  I harvest the herbs I need, finding them in a sunny clearing to the south. There’s holly in the woods. I cut some of that as well, in case we’re here long enough for me to dry out the leaves. Those tasks done, I take off my boots and sit beside the stream for a while, letting the cool water run over my feet and thinking of the time when I had to go home and tell my parents that Brocc was gone. Dau came as my escort, and our household was a shock to him, I could see that from the first. He couldn’t quite believe we were so kind to one another. He seemed astonished that my father was so patient, always ready to listen if someone needed to spill out their woes, always offering a word of comfort or advice or plain common sense. My father is a man of quite intimidating appearance; folk who don’t know him often expect him to be slow-witted and belligerent. In fact he’s the opposite. It’s my mother who is short-tempered, though she works hard to keep it under control. I wish she were here now. I can see her marching into the sickroom and giving the patient a sharp talking-to. What’s happened has happened, she would say. It’s hard, I know. But you’re strong, you’re brave, you’ve got folk who care about you. Shouting and throwing things is the response of an unruly child, Dau. You are a grown man. I wish I could do that. But he doesn’t want me.

  I walk back to the settlement and head for the herbalist’s cottage, where Deirdre, a youngish woman with her dark hair tied back in a kerchief, finds me a corner in her stillroom and leaves me to prepare my wash while she completes a decoction. Three cats weave around her ankles while she works, one ginger, one black, one tabby striped. Deirdre has heard about Dau. Both Fergus and Jabir have asked her for advice.

  “Do you think he’ll get his sight back eventually?” I don’t want to hear the answer, but I ask the question anyway. “Have you seen anything like this before?”

  She takes her time to reply. I concentrate on chopping the leaves and try not to think too hard. “Like this, no,” Deirdre says eventually. “I’ve seen a man blind from a sickness, who got his sight back, partly at least.”

  A glimmer of hope. “What was done to treat that man?”

  “A long period of rest. Leeches. Poultices. But it was different from your friend’s condition. Not caused by a blow, but by ill humors of some kind. Those ill humors left his body with time, and his eyes recovered quite well.”

  “Quite well?”

  “He was a shepherd. He didn’t regain full vision, but he could see well enough to do the job safely.”

  I don’t reply. To do what we do on Swan Island, Dau needs to be able to see keenly, sharply. Quite well won’t be good enough. And he’s not the kind of man who’ll be content to feed the chickens and turn the compost heap.

  “Try your eyewash and your holly tea,” says Deirdre. “We do what we can. We have to make our peace with that.”

  I feel an unreasonable anger rising and I squash it down. None of this is Deirdre’s fault or Jabir’s or Fergus’s. It’s not mine either, though guilt hangs over me anyway, a personal dark cloud. It’s chance, it’s fate, it’s horrible ill luck. And when I’ve got everything ready, when I’ve said farewell to Deirdre and walked back to the Barn, I find out just how ill that luck really is for Dau. Because a pigeon has come in with a message from Lord Scannal. His representative is on his way here, and he’s bringing a lawman with him.

  4

  DAU

  Fergus makes me walk. Up and down, up and down. Around the Barn, so I can hear the sounds of people training, the clash of blades, the knock of staves, the shouts of encouragement or challenge. At first I walk with my arm through his, a degree of intimacy I find humiliating. Then I put my hand on his shoulder, which means I either trip or bump into things. He doesn’t always warn me. When I challenge this, he says I will learn to sense objects close at hand and to avoid them. What utter bollocks.

  It is quite clear they do not expect me to regain my sight, though nobody is prepared to tell me this. They think, perhaps, that I would shout, throw things, run mad. They wish to be kind to the crippled man, the man who was ruined at the very moment of achieving his goal. What is supposed to be my goal
now? To walk twenty feet without falling over? To eat my breakfast porridge without spilling it down my shirt? A pox on that!

  Jabir is kind. So kind, I want to hit the man.

  Then, one afternoon, things change. Jabir is washing my eyes with a cool, sweet-smelling mixture. It feels good; I am forced to admit that. There’s a knock on the door and it’s Archu.

  “I’ll come in, if I may,” he says. “Dau, how are you feeling today?”

  I want to deliver the withering response this platitude deserves, but I shrug and grunt instead.

  “Liobhan’s eyewash is effective, simple as it is,” observes Jabir, telling me something I didn’t know. “I will ask her to gather more of the herbs and to show me how she makes it up. The inflammation has reduced further.”

  There’s a silence, then Archu says, “I have some news. A message came earlier today. From your family, Dau, in response to our notification of your injury.”

  I stand up so violently that there’s a crash and a splash and an exclamation from Jabir. Before I can move further, strong hands restrain me.

  “Calm yourself,” says Archu. “Use what you’ve been taught. You may not be on a mission now, but you are still one of us. Now sit down. No matter how badly hurt you are, you exercise self-discipline at all times. Yes?”

  What complete rot. I’m blind, I’m useless, and he expects me to go on acting like a warrior? What am I supposed to be fighting, dreams and shadows?

  I sit. Archu moves his hands to my shoulders. He keeps holding on until my breathing calms. The man has patience. I can’t slow my heart. It’s drumming hard. The monster of the past is on the hunt and it’s closing in on me. “News,” I make myself say. It comes out as a strangled squeak. “What news?” Inside me the trapped child is muttering to himself, Don’t let them come here, don’t let them find me, don’t let them take me . . .