A Dance with Fate

by Juliet Marillier

  Brigid clears us all out of the long room, apart from Master Saran, Cionnaola, and the two healers—Jabir has come in now, his deep, soft voice unmistakable. Someone’s clanking a bucket in the corner where I was sick. I remember our training at the Barn—how hard it often was, even cruel. We learned to hold our own under intense forms of pressure. I already knew how to do that. I learned when I was very young. How to endure pain. How to keep going when you are so frightened you wet yourself. How to keep your mind sharp even at the worst times. I performed well in that part of Swan Island training. I wish I could do the same now.

  “Dau?” Liobhan’s next to me, touching my arm—it’s a gentle offer to help me find my way out of the building. I’m close to cursing and dashing her hand away, because what is the point? Why even try? But she says, “Come out to the stables with me. I want your advice.” So I go, with my hand through her arm. Providing something useful, even if it’s only advice, is better than sitting on a pallet alone and thinking about tomorrow.

  When we’re outside and walking to the stable block, Liobhan says, “Does Illann know? About what happened when you were growing up, I mean? Did you and he talk?”

  “Forgotten that the stable boy was mute, have you?” I know this is unfair. There were plenty of times, in the stall where we slept on hay while we were in Breifne, when Illann and I exchanged information in whispers. And there were some times when I came close to telling him. But we were on a mission, and I held my tongue. Liobhan hasn’t said anything, so I go on, “No, I didn’t tell him. And I don’t plan to now, if that was your next helpful suggestion.” I feel Liobhan’s arm tense, then relax. She’s made herself count to five. That’s what she does to stop herself from cursing, shouting, or otherwise losing her temper. “It would serve no purpose,” I go on. “Wait until you meet my brother. He is the smoothest, most expert liar in all Erin. Who’d believe the blind man who vomits in a corner over the future chieftain of Oakhill?”

  “Speaking of that,” Liobhan says quite calmly, “you need to change your shirt. How about you wait with Illann—I see him coming now—and I’ll go and find you a clean one. And while you’re out here, ask him about horses for tomorrow. Choose one for yourself.”

  Despite everything, my lips curve in a smile. “I already have. The obvious choice is the gray mare, Dusk. The most placid of the lot, and sturdy. All I need to ask is whether she’s available. For you, I suggest the long-legged chestnut mare, Fleetfoot. Livelier than the gray, but steady when it’s required, and strong. The two are good companions; that should make it easier when you have to ride alongside me and make sure I don’t fall and do myself further damage.”

  Liobhan stops walking, which means I stop, too. We stand there arm in arm, and I feel the sun on my face and the warmth of her body touching mine. I think of her maybe counting to twenty this time.

  “Dau,” she says, “answer this question honestly. Will you keep to that agreement we made? I’d hate to think you’d use a good horse in a way that would end up with . . . with somebody getting hurt. Or an animal getting injured.” Then, in a different tone, she says, “Shit, why must this be so hard?” She releases her hold on me. “Let me rephrase that. No falling off on purpose. No jumping off in dangerous places. No making your horse shy and throw you. No doing anything that might endanger anyone in our party, yourself included. Do I make myself clear?” I stand there saying nothing, and after a bit she says, “You think there’s something funny about this?”

  Was I smiling? I shake my head and instantly regret it; my neck feels as if someone’s stuck a skewer through it. “I’ll stick to the agreement unless a perfect opportunity presents itself. You must know I wouldn’t risk a good horse.”

  We walk on. Someone’s training in the open area near the stables; I hear hoofbeats, voices calling instructions. Liobhan says, “What’s funny is that you’ve already decided who gets which horse. That you remember every single thing the groom told us. I bet you could tell me which horses are right for Archu and Fergus and Master Scannal. And you tell me there’s no useful work a blind man can do.”

  I shrug. It hurts less than shaking my head. “A trick, that’s all. I remember things.” Even the ones I want so much to forget.

  8

  LIOBHAN

  A good thing about the team on Swan Island: if something needs to happen, they make it happen. By the time the party from Oakhill arrives at Hawthorn House, which is a sturdy wattle-and-mud building with a couple of gnarled old hawthorns guarding its front door, their boughs heavy with blossom, Brigid has us deployed inside while Illann and another man tend to the horses in a stable block at the rear. A wayside inn needs working stables. The house, or inn, was all set up when we got here, early as we were: fires laid, food prepared and set on covered dishes in the kitchen, beds made up for whoever needed to stay overnight—it’s unlikely the discussions will be so brief that our visitors will turn around and head homeward without at least one night’s sleep. The building has a big room for dining, with a broad hearth and several long tables with benches. We won’t be using that room for the meeting, even though Brigid says there will be no other visitors until we’re gone. There’s a more modest chamber adjoining the dining hall, with some chairs and benches, and a writing desk in a corner. I help to move a round table in there. Master Saran will preside over the meeting, since he is lawman to the king of this region. I wish I could warn him about Dau’s family, and how truly terrible Dau’s childhood was, but there’s no opportunity, and besides, I can’t do that without Dau’s agreement and I’m quite sure he’d say no. He can be his own worst enemy sometimes.

  The round table, Brigid says, will allow Master Saran to be separated from the parties in dispute, while also being informal enough to avoid the appearance of a legal hearing. A pair of Swan Island men will act as both door guards and messengers. There’s a room set aside for Dau and the healers, who won’t be expected to attend the entire meeting. The same goes for me; I’ll wait in an anteroom to the one Dau’s in. I want to be there for all of it. I want to hear every single thing Dau’s brother says. He sounds vile, just the sort of man who’ll try to twist people’s words to suit his own interests. But I don’t demand to be present; I can’t. I’m a Swan Island warrior now, a proper one. I’ve been trained for today’s encounter, and I’m going to do what’s been asked of me, even if I feel like giving Seanan of Oakhill a smack in the head and a kick in the backside.

  They arrive before the sun is at its peak. I don’t have a window, but I hear the horses coming in and then a conversation at the door—Cionnaola’s voice, and Brigid’s, and others I don’t recognize. They move away to the dining room. They’ll want refreshments after the long ride, I suppose, and they’ll have bags to bring in and unpack. Maybe Dau’s brother will expect the attention of servants. Too bad. Let him sort out his own belongings.

  In the chamber next to this anteroom it’s very quiet. Dau looked like a ghost after the ride here. If he’s resting, that’s a good thing. But I bet he isn’t. His insides must be even more churned up than mine. I sit alone for an interminable waiting period. At one point Brigid brings a tray with food and drink and tells me to take it in for Dau and the healers and to have some myself. I ask in a whisper how long it will be before they start, and she whispers back, “Not long now.”

  Nobody has any appetite, though Fergus and Jabir eat some of the bread and soup that’s been provided. Dau and I both refuse the food and don’t touch the mead, though it might lift our spirits a little. Clear heads are going to be essential. It feels odd that Dau’s brother didn’t come to see him straightaway, though maybe that’s just as well. When the healers have finished eating, I get up to go back to the anteroom, but Fergus says, “Stay here, Liobhan, unless you want to be on your own.”

  I stay, though I wonder if it’s quite correct to do so. If Seanan’s lawman knew I was with the others, he might accuse us of colluding over our accounts of what ha
ppened that day. He might suggest we’ve put pressure on Dau to answer questions in a certain way; for instance, to say his injury was accidental when maybe it wasn’t.

  I don’t like the way my thoughts are headed. Dau looks bad enough already, wound up tight before we even start. He keeps clenching and unclenching his hands, then pacing up and down the room, until Jabir politely tells him to sit down. Some time later there’s a tap on the door, and one of our own men is there. “Liobhan, they want you now.”

  I’d been sure Dau would be called first, and I’m not ready, despite everything. The two healers stand as I leave the room; after a moment Dau does the same. It’s a sign of respect, of fellowship, and it helps.

  I walk into the meeting room. The first thing I notice is that Dau’s brother is so like him I’d have trouble telling them apart at a distance. This shocks me. The Seanan of Dau’s tales is a foul creature, a monster, and even though Archu has told us he looks like Dau, I’ve been expecting his cruelty to show. He scrutinizes me closely as I go to stand in the spot indicated, a gap between the seats that encircle the round table. I’m directly opposite Master Saran. On one side of me are Cionnaola, Brigid, and Archu. On the other are Seanan, his councilor, and his own lawman, who’s been placed next to Master Saran. There’s someone at the small corner desk taking notes. And there are two guards in the room, one of ours and one of theirs. Apart from the lawman, who’s clad in the standard brown robe, Seanan’s party are all wearing dark blue tunics. He has some kind of silver emblem embroidered on his, perhaps a sword. Everyone’s very quiet. Then Master Saran speaks.

  “Master Cionnaola, will you please introduce this young woman?”

  Cionnaola stands. “This is Liobhan of Dalriada. She is a member of the community I lead, and by profession a fighter. Liobhan is nineteen years old and of excellent character. She and Dau came to our community at the same time, about a year ago.”

  “A fighter.” The tone is flat. It gives nothing away. Seanan’s eyes are on me, but I can’t read his expression. “A woman.”

  “As you see.” Cionnaola’s tone shuts off further discussion on this point.

  “Thank you,” says Master Saran. “Liobhan, we have with us Master Seanan of Oakhill, representing his father, Lord Scannal.” I dip my head in a minimal show of respect, aiming in Seanan’s general direction but avoiding his eye. “With him are Lord Scannal’s lawman, Master Beanón, and his councilor, Master Naithí.” I nod again, twice. Neither man responds, though their attention is certainly on me. Waiting for me to blunder, perhaps. Waiting for me to incriminate myself. “Now,” Saran goes on, “please set out for us what happened in the combat area when Master Dau received his injury. Anything you can remember may be useful. Take it step by step. When you are finished I will probably have some questions, and so will Master Beanón here.” His steady gaze is reassuring. I decide I will keep my eyes on him. I recall some good advice Dau gave me once, when I had to face a room full of powerful, hostile men. Hold yourself tall. Tell the truth. Don’t let them see you’re angry. I’m not angry yet. But I suspect I soon will be.

  “Shall I begin, Master Saran?” I hold my hands loosely clasped in front of me. I’m wearing a gown, borrowed from Deirdre. My hair is in a simple plait. That was Brigid’s idea. She said I looked less fierce in female garb.

  “Please do.”

  With Dau’s words in mind, I straighten my back and begin. “On that day, Dau and I were engaging in an unarmed combat before an audience. We’d done that sort of thing quite frequently as part of our training.” I don’t want to tell this story again. It hurts. I grit my teeth and get on with it. “The usual fight is three rounds, with whoever takes two the winner. Bouts take place in the training area. The surface is hard-packed earth . . .”

  “Go on,” says Saran.

  “Dau won the first bout, I took the second. We were well into the third when Dau lost his footing and fell heavily, striking his head on the ground.” Curse it, my voice is starting to shake. Hold yourself tall. “I reached down to help him up and saw that he was unconscious. I checked whether he was breathing, and he was, and then several people came over to help.” I make myself take a breath. Archu has told me we won’t mention the amulet; for a small child to be implicated would be appalling. But there’s a detail I know I should provide, even if it makes things worse for me. “We usually wear leather helms in fights of that kind. But they’re hot and uncomfortable. I took mine off after the first round. I didn’t ask Dau to remove his, but he did, to keep things fair. That meant his head was not protected.”

  There’s a shocked sound from Seanan, who half rises.

  “Be seated, please.” Saran keeps his cool head. “Have you any more to tell us, Liobhan?”

  “About the fight, no. After that, Archu sent me back to my quarters. I kept myself occupied with domestic tasks until suppertime, when Archu told us all that Dau was very badly hurt and would be taken to the mainland.”

  “Did you go to visit your injured comrade? Did you make a formal apology?” Clearly Master Beanón has no intention of waiting to ask his questions.

  “Dau was being tended to by Master Fergus. Archu said he couldn’t have visitors, so I stayed away. I wanted to see him. We are friends.”

  “Not anymore, I suspect,” says Seanan not quite under his breath. I pretend to ignore it, but I feel my cheeks flush.

  I address Master Beanón again. He doesn’t actually look hostile, just very intent. “As for an apology, what happened was quite clearly an accident. But if I had been able to see Dau, I would have told him how sad and shocked I was to see him so badly hurt. I would have wished him a full and speedy recovery.” Gods, that sounds insincere. It sounds rehearsed. I could kick myself. Especially as it’s nothing but the truth.

  “Thank you, Liobhan. Anything further to add?”

  “No, Master Saran.”

  “Very well, you may be seated.” Saran makes a gesture, and one of the guards—ours—comes over to walk me to a bench at the back, as if I might otherwise bolt or attack someone. I murmur thanks and sit. Seems like I’ll be here when Dau gives his statement. I’m glad about that. At the same time I feel sick on his behalf and furious with myself. If I’d kept my helm on, Dau would have done the same. He’d still have his vision and we’d be back on the island settling in to proper work with the team. I may not be guilty. But I’m responsible.

  Archu gives his version of events, which is consistent with mine. He’s a fine example of composure under pressure, which is just what I would expect of the man.

  Master Saran calls Fergus and Jabir. Have they left Dau on his own? They wouldn’t, surely, overwrought as he was. Maybe Illann’s there. Illann would steady him.

  Fergus talks about his first impressions when he saw Dau lying unconscious on the ground. He runs through the steps he took, the checks he performed, the gradual changes in his patient’s condition. The realization that Dau couldn’t see. The wild behavior on that first day, the shouting, the incoherence. The need to dose the patient with a powerful mixture that would calm him before he hurt himself or someone else. He speaks of the decision to call in Jabir, whom he knew to have greater expertise in treating head injuries. As Jabir stands up to speak, it’s plain Seanan wants to interject. He murmurs to his lawman and Master Beanón puts up a hand to attract Master Saran’s attention.

  “What is it, Master Beanón?”

  “We believe it would be more appropriate for the healers to answer questions immediately after their own statements, Master Saran, rather than to wait until all those concerned have been heard. The specialized nature of these statements means that would be easier for all.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Saran says. “Master Cionnaola, do you have any objection?”

  “If questions are to be asked,” says Cionnaola, “surely Dau should also be present.”

  There’s another flurry of consultation
, Seanan with Beanón and the councilor, Brigid and Archu with Cionnaola. Then it’s agreed that Dau should come in. In my opinion he should have been here from the start. But I keep my mouth shut. I’ve got through the first part of this all right. The real test is still to come.

  Dau comes in with his hand on Illann’s shoulder. He doesn’t have his stick. If anything, he looks even whiter than before, his blind eyes deeply shadowed. He’s standing very upright with his head high. He doesn’t look angry. He looks distant. He looks as if he’s in a different place from the rest of us. Which, in a way, is true.

  Seanan springs to his feet. “Brother!” he exclaims in what sounds like genuine concern, and strides around the table toward Dau. Before Seanan can reach him, before he can touch, embrace, do whatever he intends, Dau raises his hand, palm turned toward his brother. “No,” he says. The gesture is imperious. The voice is quiet, clear, and cold as winter frost. Illann’s hand lingers near the weapon at his belt.

  “Please resume your seat, Master Seanan.” Saran is courteous but firm. “This will proceed more smoothly if we adhere to the rules I set out at the beginning.” Seanan obeys. If anything he looks surprised, bemused. Hurt, even. Can he have mellowed over those years since Dau left home? Seen the error of his ways?

  Brigid vacates her seat and comes to sit beside me. Dau takes her place between Cionnaola and Archu. Illann stands at the back with the guards. It’s like a dance, and it leaves Dau facing his brother across the round table.

  “Master Jabir,” Saran says, “we will hear your statement. When you are finished, questions may be addressed to you and to Master Fergus. Is that acceptable?”

  Both healers murmur assent, and Jabir begins. “I serve as senior physician to Lord Coman, a chieftain of Ulaid. I have worked in that household for the last five years. I am also called upon quite frequently to assist other healers in particular cases, so I travel a good deal. I happened to be close to the court of Dalriada when this incident occurred, and I responded to a request for help sent by Master Fergus. In my home country I was trained by a physician with a particular expertise in the treatment of head injuries. I arrived in these parts a few days after Master Dau sustained this damage. At that time he was still in severe pain and greatly distressed, though no longer subject to the violent outbursts I was told had been occurring earlier. He was able to communicate with us clearly. His vision is all but gone. He can see moving shadows with one eye, nothing with the other.